Prologue (21 page)

“Thank you, Comrade,” Natasha said. She cast one last look at the bin and turned and walked out the front door.

Murphy watched her walk out the door, focusing on her legs. A pair of six-inch heels would look good, he thought.
With straps, of course.

After the door had swung shut Murphy turned and retrieved the yellow envelope. He hefted it in his hands and then walked out back. In the warehouse workers slowly pushed wheeled bins back and forth. At a rear workstation three men sat hand-sorting mail while a supervisor hovered nearby. There were only a few post offices in the Northeast District that still weren’t automated and
Dorchester
was one of them.

As Murphy walked across the cement floor the supervisor broke away from his duties to meet him. Together they walked to the far corner of the warehouse. They said nothing until they reached the wall.

“What’ve you got?” the supervisor asked.

Murphy held out the envelope. The supervisor took it and studied the back side with the thick tape across the flap. The red “Priority Confidential” stamp had been applied below the tape.

“You should have seen the hot little Russkie number who dropped this off.
Short skirt and killer legs.
Not 30 years old. I could teach her though.”

“Not 30?” the supervisor asked, surprised. “And she had an Agency ID on her?”

Murphy nodded. “I swear, no way she was 30.” He indicated the envelope. “You think Eckleburg will want to see that? The doc says he wants to see everything Agency that comes out of here. See. I rolled the stamp below the tape just in case.”

Rather than answering the supervisor turned the envelope over. He studied the address and then laughed. “This isn’t going to Vodkaville. Look at the address.
‘Vladimir Romanov,
Karl
Marx
University
, Eichenstrasse 10,
Leipzig
, DDR.”

“So?” Murphy asked defensively.

“She’s probably a grad student there and this is her boyfriend. If it was Agency stuff she’d be sending it west. She’s probably the kid of some official and just has the ID.” He held the envelope up to the light. “It’s probably just a porn video of her and her boyfriend.”

Murphy licked his lips. “Maybe we should still open it? I tell you she was a fox.”

“Hey, if we’re gonna’ go to Gitmo’ it ain’t gonna’ be over some Russkie’s porn video, fox or no fox.”

The supervisor laughed again. “Think I can get it in from here?” He reached back and launched a jump shot of the envelope to the nearest out-bin 20 feet away. The package clanged on the bottom of the empty cart.

“Nothing but net,” the supervisor said.

“You ever miss?” Murphy asked.

“Only when I’m sober,” the supervisor answered as he swayed back to his workstation.

Murphy watched him walk away. For a moment he lingered where he stood, his eyes drawn to the bin, and he considered the package that lay inside. Maybe, just maybe I should… He knew there was still another hour before the next pick up. Then, abruptly, he turned and walked back to the front.

Chapter 12

Saturday, August 1, 2026

“Any idea what’s wrong with it?”

Paul deVere stood in the driveway of his
Concord
home peering over the left shoulder of Lewis Ginter who bent under the hood of the 1969 Plymouth Roadrunner. Ginter had the air filter off and was poking at a hinged metal flap that deVere suspected might be part of the carburetor.

“Probably the timing chain,” Ginter answered without glancing up.

DeVere nodded sagely. He had no idea what a timing chain was, or whether it was important.

“Can you fix it?” he asked, trying to sound helpful.

“Not here.” Ginter stood back up and replaced the air filter and a cover that he screwed back on with a wing nut. He grabbed a rag from the fender and wiped his hands. “I’ll probably have to tow it home.”

Minutes earlier Lewis Ginter had driven up deVere’s street, the deep throaty rumbling of the Roadrunner announcing his arrival. It was the
Plymouth
’s first day on the road. Ginter had called that morning to say he was on his way to give him the long promised ride in the restored muscle car. Besides, the pair had to talk.

DeVere had barely suppressed a smile when he heard the car approaching. Valerie’s disgusted look and haughty retreat into the kitchen had not dampened his enthusiasm. But just as Ginter had swung the ‘Runner into the driveway, the engine had quit with a screech and the car had rolled to a stop at the side of deVere’s house. Ginter’s efforts to restart it had resulted only in pointless cranking of the starter.

That had been 10 minutes ago and deVere had spent the time since staring at the engine compartment while feigning knowledge.

“Is it a big job?”

“Big enough,” Ginter answered. “Have to take the engine apart and basically rebuild it.” Lewis unlatched the hood brace and let the cover slam down. He made sure that the hood was closed before turning back around. “I guess you’re not gonna’ get your first ride today after all.”

Across the street deVere’s neighbor rode a mower across the front lawn while occasionally glancing at the automotive behemoth parked in deVere’s driveway.

“That’s O.K.,” deVere answered as he watched his neighbor turn the front corner of his house. “Just having it here is worth it. Why don’t you leave the hood up? It looks more imposing that way.”

Ginter shot deVere a quizzical look before following his gaze across the street. “Oh, the neighbors aren’t real fond of the huge hood scoop in the yard of their MIT professor, I see.”

“Jealous,” deVere said.

“I have to call Triple A. They’ll tow it for me.” Ginter pulled a cell phone from his belt and switched it on.

DeVere reacted with alarm. “Tow it?
To your house or to
Lynn
?”

“
Lynn
,” Ginter answered. “I can’t rebuild the engine at my apartment. No tools there. Besides, I can’t use my spot in the garage for that.”

DeVere kept his eyes on his neighbor as the tractor rounded the rear of the house. When the neighbor disappeared he turned back to his guest. “Do you think that’s safe? I mean, letting Triple A know about the garage in
Lynn
and all?”

Ginter shrugged.
“Why not?
That’s why I rented it. Remember?
To rebuild this thing.”

DeVere nodded. “Just jumpy, I guess.”

Ginter was already punching in numbers.

“You seem to know the roadside assistance number by heart,” deVere observed.

“When you’re a single guy and you drive what I like to drive, the numbers you get to know very well are take-out food and Triple A.”

“You could just buy a fast car if that’s what you like. That new WRX-51 is supposedly the fastest car ever made and that’s right out of the showroom without being tuned. According to the Globe, that is.”

Ginter was already speaking with a customer service representative and giving directions to deVere’s house. When he finished, deVere turned and walked to the back yard. Ginter followed alongside.

“Valerie
ban
you from the house today?” Ginter asked as they moved into the back yard. “Or is it just me?”

DeVere winced. “It’s too nice to be inside. Besides, Grace is home.”

DeVere led Ginter to the rear of the clearing where a brown picnic table stood under the shade of a large maple. As deVere swung one leg over the bench to face the house a breeze rustled through the branches. Ginter sat opposite, facing the woods.

“Suburban life.
Not bad,” Ginter commented.

“So,” deVere said once he was settled. “What did you find?”

“I found a wormhole. It took me about three hours. I’m getting better at this. It connects this coming September first at
8:08 p.m.
in the lab with
July 23, 1962
at a point in
Central Park
,
New York
City at
2:48 a.m.
The wormhole will be open for a little over 38 minutes at this end, and about the same, about 43 minutes, at the other end. Hell, we could stay at The Waldorf,” he chuckled.

“The return is from
December 24, 1962
, the day before Christmas, at
3:32 p.m.
It gives us five months and one day to change the world.”

DeVere nodded absently, his eyes fixed on the back of his house. “Why
Central Park
?” he asked.

Ginter shrugged. “It puts us in
New York City
which is where we want to go. Parks are actually a good idea. There are no buildings there and we can assure that there were none there in 1962. According to geological maps of the park I’ve dug up the arrival spot is near a clump of trees, so there’s a decent chance of us not being seen when we appear.
Especially at two in the morning.”

“
If
we appear,” deVere corrected.

Ginter leaned back. “Well, there’s always that. But you’ve got to admit that the experiments have gone well. The rat shows no ill effects.”

“We still need to test it on humans. We need an observer to go and come back.
Once.
One of us needs to go someplace and come back. That way…” deVere’s voice trailed off.

Ginter snickered. “That way if it fails and one of us dies the other will be around to…do what, try again with someone else?”