Einstein's Secret (8 page)

I looked it up, told him, and he plugged it into his GPS.

“Listen, I know Weldon’s been dead for thirty years,” he said, “but this is one of those trails, and we’ve got to follow it to get anywhere.”

“Clavin was one of those trails,” I said.

“That’s right.”

Well, I can’t say that I really believed that Clavin was one of
those
trails, the kind of trails that Eddie was talking about, the kind that blaze a new history into our existing history, but I did believe one thing. I had followed the Clavin trail and it had proved its worth. It had confirmed that Einstein’s secret was real. And that was Eddie’s point.

“So somewhere in Weldon’s estate is the next clue to finding Einstein’s confession,” I said.

“That’s my bet.”

Neither of us said anything about time travel or about Van Doran being a time traveler. And that was fine by me.

Eddie skirted the town of Cumberland to get to the two-lane road that led to the estate, which was a few miles farther west. Cumberland had been a big manufacturing center, but it had long since fallen on hard times and was now part of one of the poorest counties in the country.

We passed a few houses, almost all of them run-down clapboard homes in disrepair. Then we hit a long stretch of forest, broken up only by an abandoned drive-in movie theater. And judging by how large the parking area and screen were, it must’ve been quite the attraction in its day.

A mile later, a tall iron fence appeared on the other side of the road. It penned in the woods that made up part of the Weldon estate. The fence eventually gave way to a large gate.

Eddie pulled up to the gate, and behind it, at the end of a garishly long driveway, I saw a sprawling Georgian mansion. It needed a paint job and cosmetic work, but it clearly had once boasted great wealth. Next to it was a much smaller structure, either a large garage or stable, or combination thereof.

Eddie scanned the side of the gate for a call box. “So we keep this simple. We tell whoever’s home that we’re doing a story on Cumberland’s most famous residents, and that we’d like to talk to one of Weldon’s relatives.”

“Good plan, except we have to get through the gate.” There wasn’t a call box.

“We need to track down the phone number.” He pulled out his laptop and started his search. It didn’t take long for him to pass judgment. “The Weldons of Cumberland like their privacy.”

“No number?”

“Not even an unlisted number.” He closed the laptop. “We’re going to have to go in there unannounced.”

“They’re not going to be too receptive to us if we surprise them.”

“We can’t wait.”

“Why not?”

“Facts are changing. If we don’t follow this trail now, we’ll lose it.”

Again, I couldn’t help but think that this was the plot of a Philip K. Dick novel. Except this time it felt like I was living that plot, because I had the weirdest epiphany: I doubted that Clavin had ever died in that car accident. Didn’t it make more sense that he’d died today, at the hospital? After all, I’d seen him there with my own eyes, and that was a fact.

Had I ever actually seen his obituary? Or his funeral announcement?
No, I hadn’t. There was no evidence that he’d died in a car accident.

I made myself stop this chain of thoughts. The new history was playing on my doubts. Reconstructing my memory. Just as Eddie had said it would. But I wouldn’t let it. As long as I had this strange awareness of facts competing for reality, for the historical record, I thought I could control my memories.

Eddie got out of the car and tried to fit through the spaces between the gate’s iron railings. He couldn’t. Then he looked to the top of the iron gate, but I could see that climbing over it would be impossible.

He got back in the car. “We’re going to have to walk the length of the gate and find a way in.”

*

We continued down the road until the fence ended. Then we pulled off onto the dirt shoulder. Eddie opened the car hood, as if we’d had car problems, but that wasn’t our problem. Our problem was that the iron fence ran all the way into the woods, not just along the road.

So we started walking its length, into the woods, hoping it would end soon enough. It didn’t. A few trees on our side had limbs growing over onto the other side, and those limbs were increasingly looking like our way in, though not an easy one.

The iron fence finally gave way to a wooden split-rail fence, three feet high, that ran along the back of the Weston property. We walked along it until we were behind the mansion, then climbed over it. As we approached the back of the mansion, the forest thinned out, and it ended at the edge of what must’ve once been an expansive lawn. It was now overgrown with wild grass and weeds.

At the other end of the lawn was a patio that ran along the back of the house. Eddie started toward it, fearless, but when he saw me hanging back, he stopped. “I can check it out alone. It’s up to you.”

“You planning on breaking and entering? Or going around to the front and knocking?”

“Not sure yet.”

As I weighed whether I wanted to add breaking and entering to my resume, Eddie ran across the weedy lawn as fast as he could, minimizing the chance of being spotted from the house. At the back of the house, he positioned himself against the wall, between two of the five sets of French doors that bordered the patio.

He looked back at me, waiting for my next move.

I scanned the marble patio. It was weather-beaten, cracked, and barren of furniture, matching the desolate look of house.

No one lives here
, I thought, and used that rationalization to sprint across the lawn.

I joined Eddie, and he leaned over and peered into the French doors. “Hard to tell, but it might be abandoned,” he said. “Let’s check some of the other windows.”

Each window told the same story. The rooms were furnished with grandiose pieces, in keeping with the Georgian design of the house, but all the opulence looked dull and defeated, as if no one lived there. Either the house had been abandoned, or Harold Weldon’s descendants were terrible housekeepers.

We checked the windows and doors to see if any of them had been left unlocked. None had. At that point, I thought Eddie—the treasure hunter, the commercial archeologist—would come up with a clever way of breaking in. But he went with the old standby.

He took a loose brick from a pathway that ran behind the smaller structure, which turned out to be a combination garage and storage building, wrapped the brick in his T-shirt, and with one quick hit, smashed through a window on the east side of the house.

We waited to see if someone emerged from the bowels of the house in response to the shattering glass. No one did. Eddie unlocked the window, slid it open, and we climbed into Harold Weldon’s mansion.

We were in a sitting room furnished with antique couches, high-backed chairs, and a grand piano. The paintings on the walls depicted lush rolling hills, like the hills you’d find around Cumberland.

I felt uneasy about this whole endeavor and wanted to quickly find a clue that would make sense of this morphing quagmire, then get out. A document, a photo, some kind of record—anything that would put us one step closer to Einstein’s confession.

“I’ll check upstairs,” Eddie said, as he headed out of the sitting room. “You take the downstairs.”

I scanned the room, and at first, nothing caught my eye. Then I saw that the piano bench had a hinge on it, so I walked over to it and opened it.

It was empty.

Then I checked inside the piano itself and saw nothing but the strings and hammers.

I turned to the door and my breath caught in my throat—

Van Doran was standing in the doorway, holding a gun to Eddie’s head. “What did Clavin tell you?” he said.

“Nothing,” I said, barely able to get that out because my heart was thumping so wildly, once again, that my entire body was shaking.

Van Doran jammed the barrel of the gun into Eddie’s temple. “You want me to kill your friend?”

“Clavin didn’t say anything.” I sounded weak.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

Van Doran started to squeeze the trigger, and I spoke loudly and confidently. “I’m not lying. Clavin was incoherent. I couldn’t get him to tell us anything.”

Van Doran stared at me with a punishing glare. It turned into a condescending smirk before he said, “I didn’t think you were talented enough to put it together.” He nodded at Eddie. “No doubt this man played a role.”

How the hell does he know anything about me?

He shoved Eddie forward. “Now, I’ve got a problem. Two more loose ends. You obviously know way too much.” He aimed the gun at my chest, ready to fire—

“Clavin did give us a lead,” I blurted out.

He hesitated.

I pulled out my iPhone. “It’s recorded right here.”

That gave Van Doran just enough pause for me to tap the iPhone a couple of times. “And now five of my friends have a copy of that lead. In case something happens to us.”

Van Doran kept the gun trained on me. “You’re stupid. You’re not saving yourself. You’re putting more people in jeopardy.”

“And giving you more loose ends,” Eddie said.

Van Doran looked at Eddie. “I can take care of—”

I hurled my iPhone at Van Doran and he instinctively jerked out of the way, which threw off his aim as he fired the gun. I lunged at him, and we both hit the floor and wrestled for control of the gun. Eddie kicked the gun out of Van Doran’s hand, sending it sailing across the room.

I was about to chase after it, when Eddie yelled, “Let’s go!” He took off into the hallway and I followed.

“You’re a brave man,” he said.

“Fear of dying does that to you.”

We raced down the hallway, past a deserted study, where I caught a glimpse of a desk and a couple of dusty easy chairs, then down another hallway, when I heard a gunshot—a warm breeze blew by my cheek—the bullet—and I sprinted as fast as I could into the kitchen.

Eddie slammed the door shut behind us, but there was no lock. Another shot rang out, hitting the door with a thick thud. Eddie ran over to the kitchen table. “Help me!”

We pushed the table over, slamming it up against the door just in time. Van Doran pushed on the door from the other side, but we leaned into the table, barricading ourselves in.

“We’re going over there,” Eddie barked out, craning his head toward the back of the kitchen.

Across the worn, yellowed linoleum floor, between grimy cupboards, I saw an open door leading into darkness. “If it’s the basement, we’ll be trapped.”

Van Doran slammed against the door.

“You bailed us out the first time,” Eddie said. “Let me return the favor. Trust me on this. Go on.”

I let go of the table and raced toward the darkness. Eddie let go, and Van Doran’s next shove edged the table forward and left the door ajar. He fired a shot through the opening.

Eddie sprinted my way as the table shrieked forward. Van Doran was barreling in—

I bolted down the stairs and saw pure black ahead of me. But I didn’t stop running. There was no time to think about what was up ahead.
So this is what I do with my career opportunity at UVA
was my only thought as I sprinted farther into the dark. I glanced back to see if Eddie was behind me, when another shot rang out—

I saw Eddie stumble at the bottom of the stairs, and just then, before I could react, everything around me went white and undulating, as if I were running through an ocean of pure, white, glowing energy.

It felt hot and prickly, and went on into infinity in every direction.

Had
I
been shot and not Eddie?

There was nothing around me but this atmosphere of thick white sea. I kept running, even more panicked than before.

Am I having a seizure?

I was sweating hard, and the white ocean was getting even hotter. I couldn’t breathe—the oxygen around me was suddenly depleted.

I doubled over, trying to suck in air, choking, surrounded by what felt like raging white flames. I was sure this pure white sea would burn me alive. But before it did, I passed out.

Chapter Ten

“Jacob.”

Someone was shaking my shoulder.

“Jacob, let’s go.”

I opened my eyes, and the memory of what had just happened flooded into my consciousness. I was already plenty confused and mighty groggy, and the fact that an anomaly was staring me right in the face didn’t help my condition—

Alex was looking down at me.
What the hell was
he
doing here?

“We have to get out. Now,” he said.

I slowly sat up and saw that I was in a small room equipped with a desk and bookshelves. Then I noticed the stone wall to my left. Was I in a carrel in the Caves?
Impossible. This had to be Weldon’s basement.
But his basement had seemed much bigger than this. And where was the staircase?

“We’ve got to go,” Alex said.

I wobbled as I tried to stand up, so Alex helped me to my feet. “What happened?” I asked.

Alex moved to the door and opened it. “Come on.” He stepped out into a tunnel.
One of
those tunnels
. The stone tunnels under the Lawn at UVA. The Caves.

But I’m at Harold Weldon’s estate.

I made my way out of the carrel and into the tunnel, and Alex locked up. He then started down the tunnel at a good clip. I tried to keep up, dragging a little. If there was any doubt left as to where I was, it dissipated when I saw the battery-powered lights and dead pipes.

Was I hallucinating? Maybe I was lying on the floor in Weldon’s basement, dying from a gunshot wound. That made sense. The alternative didn’t: that I’d passed out in Weldon’s basement and awakened in the Caves.

“Alex, what the hell is going on?”

“Let’s just get out of here, first.”

“What are you running from?”

“It’s a ‘who’—not a ‘what.’”

Van Doran
, I thought. But why would Alex be running from Van Doran? He knew nothing about him. I was the one who was running from Van Doran.