Independence Day Read online

  They fell silent again, waiting for the lecture to end so they could chat with Isabella.

  But they weren’t going to have that chat as their satphones chimed in unison: Lawyers, Guns and Money.

  The Possibility Palace

  Where? Can’t tell you. When? Can’t tell you.

  “If Scout’s mission was insuring the pre-lineage of Alexander the Great,” Doc said, “and not saving Pythagoras, then we can flip the result on this mission.” He indicated the bottom left rectangle on the blackboard.

  “Eighteen for eighteen,” Ivar said. “Pretty impressive record.”

  “Except Mac is dead,” Doc said.

  The two stared at the board as if the answer might fly off and smack them in the forehead.

  “Turing had thousands of German intercepts to work with,” Doc said. “But he finally focused on specific aspects that we common to each. A salutation. An ending. The bulk of each message might be different, but a message has common parts.”

  Ivar frowned. “What’s common about the missions? The time span is from pre-history to relatively recent. Locations are all over the world. Every continent except Africa and Antarctica.”

  “There are some commonalities, though,” Doc said. He tapped the chalk on the board as he indicated. “Scout went to Greece twice within two years. The Roman Empire twice, with Caesar and then Odoacer.”

  “That’s more coincidence than commonality,” Ivar argued.

  Doc tossed the chalk at him. “You have a better idea? What’s your great theory?”

  Before the two could come to theoretical blows, one of the four doors opened, and an analyst stuck his head in. “I am to relay a message. ‘Lawyers, guns and money’.”

  *****

  Eagle stepped down off the chair and examined his handiwork. Not bad for a magic marker and freehand:

  For team members like Moms and Roland and Eagle, who’d earned their Ranger tabs (Moms among one of the first graduates of the previously all-male dominion) and their Special Forces tab, it couldn’t hurt to have another tab. Even though they’d never wear it, they’d earned it.

  True professionals understood the difference.

  Eagle believed that those on the team who’d never gone to Ranger or SF school, (Doc, Ivar and Scout), would appreciate the symbol.

  Another tradition on which to build the Time Patrol.

  Eagle didn’t turn his head as he heard the door open.

  “Lawyers, guns and money,” someone informed him.

  “Right,” Eagle said. He reached up and slapped the Time Patrol tab.

  The Possibility Palace

  Where? Can’t tell you. When? Can’t tell you.

  Sin Fen sat across the square table from Frasier, the Time Patrol’s psychiatrist. The two did not exchange small talk. Sin Fen had her eyes closed, her hands folded neatly on her lap, as still as a statue. She had seven folders in front of her. Frasier was ostensibly reading through notes in a file folder, one of his own pile of seven, but he glanced up every once in a while. His one eye was a completely black orb, a functioning prosthetic wired into a relay that transmitted to his brain the various data it picked up.

  “What do you see?” Sin Fen asked, without opening her eyes.

  “You’ve very calm,” Frasier said. “Body temperature normal. Pulse slightly below average. How’s the brain after all that testing?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “What do you see?” Frasier asked.

  “Confusion, uncertainty, fear.” Sin Fen opened her eyes. “Do you mean overall, or just with you?”

  “Cute,” Frasier said.

  Dane entered, seven folders in his hands. “Thoughts?” he asked as he sat down.

  “Same year for two missions,” was Frasier’s first comment. “That’s unique.”

  “It’s not the only thing that’s unique,” Dane said. “Scout is going back to Greece for the third time.”

  “Pandora is not done with her,” Sin Fen said.

  “So, Pandora is piggy-backing on Shadow bubbles somehow,” Dane said. “Why?”

  Sin Fen shook her head. “I don’t know. I was talking with Scout before. She believes Pandora never left between her last two missions.”

  “Yeah,” Frasier said, “but they were only two years apart. This one is 116 years later. If Pandora hung around in between, then she’s something other than human.”

  “She’s human,” Sin Fen said. “We’re all human. These are Earth timelines.”

  “Before the Nightstalkers shut the last Rift,” Frasier said, “it seemed as if what was on the other side of the Rifts might not have been human.”

  “They were human,” Sin Fen insisted.

  “How do you know?” Frasier asked.

  “Let’s stay on task,” Dane said. “Greece is obvious.” He scrawled Scout’s name on the sheet of paper.

  “Same problem as the George Washington mission for Eagle going either to Gettysburg or Vicksburg,” Frasier said. “Wearing the gray, which both missions require, is out of the question.”

  “Eagle did very well on the Washington mission,” Sin Fen said. “He figured out the misdirection and stopped both attempts to change our timeline in the same bubble.”

  “He got shot,” Frasier pointed out. “And he didn’t figure out the misdirection until it was almost too late.” He turned to Dane. “Matter of fact, they’re getting pretty banged-up. Scout was cut, Moms was shot with an arrow, and Doc was irradiated.”

  “And Mac was killed,” Dane said. “But the others have all healed nicely during their time off the past month, with the help of Sin Fen. And Eagle is back to active status. Plus we have a new team member.”

  “About that—” Frasier began, but Dane held up his hand, cutting him off.

  “Lara is not going on a mission. Not one of the date missions, anyway. Let’s get back on task. Vicksburg and Gettysburg. Same year. That’s new.” He looked at Sin Fen. “Any significance to that?”

  “I think we need more work in the area that Doc suggested. A Turing Time Computer. Trying to figure out what the patterns are.”

  “Doc and Ivar have been doing just that,” Dane said, “but they don’t have this data, as we just learned these dates. Let’s focus on the immediate problem.”

  “Ivar to Vicksburg,” Frasier said. “He met Grant at West Point. That gives him some insight.”

  “But the intelligence indicates he’d going into the city,” Frasier pointed out. “As a Confederate officer.”

  “Grant’s the one besieging Vicksburg,” Dane said. “He’s controlling the action. Perhaps Ivar is going with Pemberton to the surrender. Who knows what the Shadow has planned, but it’s his mission.” Dane checked with Sin Fen. She nodded. He wrote Ivar’s name on the sheet. “Gettysburg?”

  “This one is odd,” Sin Fen said, tapping the folders in front of her. “The information is unusually specific, down to what the problem is going to be.”

  “Some Agents in the era are better than others,” Dane said. “A sniper is needed. One who is an expert with weapons. So that’s Moms or Roland.”

  “Roland,” Frasier suggested.

  “Agreed.” Dane wrote Roland’s name. “That’s the Civil War taken care of. What about the two dealing with the Founding Fathers?”

  “Monticello for Moms,” Sin Fen said. “She’ll have to deal with Jefferson’s lover. I have a sense she’s a factor, especially since Jefferson died relatively early on the Fourth.”

  Roland wrote Moms’s name down.

  “Philadelphia?” Dane pulled the thinnest file out. “Not much on it other than the date, which is, of course, the most significant for the Fourth.”

  “If you’re not sending Lara on a bubble mission,” Frasier said, “we’re left with Doc and Eagle. I think the last two missions are pretty easy to decide. Doc gets Philly and Eagle gets Entebbe. Of course, Eagle on that mission means he’s on the ground,” Dane said. “Not with the assault force.”

  “Not necessari
ly,” Dane said. “There’s more to that mission than was ever made public.” Dane wrote the last two names.

  “What about Lara?” Frasier asked. He tapped a file. “This doesn’t tell us much and we haven’t learned anything more while she’s been in training at Bragg. She barely does what she’s told to do. Hasn’t connected with anyone. Doesn’t talk. Just does the training at a minimal level.”

  Dane looked at Sin Fen.

  “She’ll tell her story when the time is right,” Sin Fen said. “Right now, we’re bringing her back. We think we’ve got a window to wipe out the Ripple from Scout’s last mission.”

  The Mission Briefing

  ROLAND WAS THE FIRST one geared up and in the team room. He couldn’t decide if he was more thrilled with the rifle, the revolver or the knife. He wore Confederate gray cotton, but he didn’t care one way of the other, because all he cared about were the weapons: a Whitworth sniper rifle, designed by the British engineer whose name it bore; the famous Colt 1851 Navy Revolver; and, to top it off, an original Bowie knife.

  He put the rifle down on the table, glad to have some time by himself to play with his toys, but first, there was something he needed to do, something more important than weapons. He pulled a piece of cloth out of his pocket, unfolded it, then retrieved a one-by-two inch piece of ridged green material. There were also two small thumbtacks.

  Roland went to the wall, where Eagle had hung the Badge of Merit from his George Washington Ides mission. To the left, Roland positioned the trophy taken from Grendel’s mother on his last mission, then used the tacks to keep the scale in place. He stepped back, nodded, then turned, pausing as he spotted the Time Patrol tab Eagle had drawn above the door leading to the Gates. It brought a smile to Roland’s face. He went back to the table and the rifle.

  The most distinguishing feature about it was that the inside of the barrel wasn’t round, but hexagonal. This polygonal design was patented in 1854 and originally used in cannons. Sir Joseph Whitworth transferred the concept to a rifle, believing it would give longer range and accuracy. The hexagonal rifling meant that the bullet didn’t have to dig into groves inside the barrel like as in conventional guns. He designed it as a replacement to the British Army’s recently adopted rifled musket, the 1853 Enfield.

  Rifling a musket was a drastic change in weaponry, one that the generals on both sides in the Civil War were only slowly coming to appreciate. They’d been trained on tactics for smoothbore battle, where mass of fire and troops was of significance. A rifled barrel made guns much more accurate, able to shoot farther, and outdated smoothbore tactics.

  At nine pounds, lighter than most weapons of the time designed for sniping, the Whitworth proved itself in testing to be much more accurate than the Enfield, by a factor of three to one. It could reach almost 2,000 meters while the Enfield could only manage seventy percent of that.

  Other than the unique barrel, the Whitworth was essentially the same as other muzzle-loading weapons of the time, including the Enfield. Re-loading was a chore and used a percussion lock firing system. This was a step up from the flintlock used in earlier rifles. Instead of using a piece of flint to strike a spark that would ignite the powder in the barrel, the percussion lock had a hammer that struck a cap, which set off the main charge.

  Roland was sure he’d get the rest of the history behind the Whitworth in Edith’s download, but he knew enough about the weapon to appreciate it. He’d spent some of his copious time on the ranges at Fort Bragg learning how old firearms worked. One instructor had been into muzzle-loaders and introduced Roland to the Whitworth, mainly because, even to this day, the barrel design was so unique.

  The British government hadn’t adopted the Whitworth because it was too expensive, which reminded Roland of a Nada-Yada: Remember, your weapon was made by the lowest bidder. But the French army bought some and so did the Confederacy.

  Roland pulled one of the bullets out of the leather case. It was long and slender, not at all like the famous Minie ball of the era. The bore was .451 caliber (such things were important to Roland and this was one many, many arcane facts about weapons rattling around in his brain like other men memorized batting averages). The bullet was shaped to fit the barrel, flat on six sides. The rifle had a 1-in-20” twist which was very tight compared to other similar weapons of the era. That extra spin helped stabilize the bullet and with accuracy.

  Roland was fondling the bullet when one of the doors opened. He looked up. “Again?” he asked.

  Scout didn’t look pleased to be dressed in the white tunic and red cape she’d worn on her previous two missions to ancient Greece. She carried a Naga staff, a spear with a wide sharp blade on one end, and a seven-headed snake pommel on the other.

  “Looks like it.” She gave him the once-over. “That’s different. Wrong side, though, aren’t you?”

  “Depends on what they want me to do,” Roland reasoned, which was actually really good reasoning for Roland.

  If only Mac had been here to hear it.

  Ivar came in.

  “Looks like we’re both in the same army,” Roland observed. “Except you’re an officer,” he noted, indicating the rank on the tab. He tapped the chevrons sewn on his own sleeves. “I’m a sergeant.” He noted that Ivar also seemed under-armed. “Just a revolver?”

  Ivar shrugged. “No clue. Dane will tell us, and then Edith will fill our heads with more crap about the Confederate Army than anyone ever wanted to know.”

  “You know how to use that?” Roland asked, indicating the gun. “Seems you had a problem with—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ivar said. “Flintlocks. But this is more advanced, right?” He indicated the Colt resting on his hip.

  “It’s a Colt 1851 Navy Revolver,” Roland said. “It’s a cap and ball, percussion-fired, six-shot revolver. Cap and ball means it doesn’t have bullets like you’re used to.” Roland showed Ivar. “Paper cartridges firing a .36 caliber ball, so you don’t want to get it wet. Muzzle velocity is around a thousand feet per second, which ain’t bad, but ain’t great, although a modern .38 is pretty much the same. Not exactly gonna slam someone off their feet, so I’d shoot ‘em a couple of times just to make sure.”

  “Double-tap,” Ivar said. “I heard Nada preach it more than once.”

  “I’d go with a triple-tap, center of mass,” Roland suggested. “You know how to quick draw?”

  “You think I’m going to the Wild West?” Ivar asked.

  “No idea where you’re going, although it’s likely the Civil War,” Roland said. “The cool thing is this revolver was used by the likes of Wild Bill Hickok, Doc Holliday, Nathan Bedford Forrest and the whole dang Texas Rangers. It’s a good gun. If the Colt is all you got, then you’d better be prepared to draw it fast.” He slid his revolver back into the holster. “Let me show you. It’s single-action, which means you have to cock the hammer back each time before you pull the trigger. So, as you slide it up out of your holster, have your thumb on the hammer, pulling it back.” Roland drew, the hammer cocking. “Did you hear that? Two clicks? That’s going to half then full-cock.”

  Ivar glanced at Scout who smiled at him, knowing Roland could go on with this forever. She nodded, indicating Ivar should humor the big fellow.

  “As you bring it on target,” Roland said, “notice that the sight is now clear with the hammer back. This revolver has great balance. Now, when you pull the trigger, because it’s percussion, there’s a very slight, but noticeable delay, as the powder ignites. When the bullet fires, you’re also going to get a puff of white smoke and—”

  “Got it,” Doc said. “Cock the hammer. Pull the trigger. Shoot the bad guy several times.”

  Roland frowned as there was a lot more in his bin of knowledge about revolvers, and especially this particular one. “Big thing,” he said. “Don’t think if you have to draw. Just do it.”

  Ivar opened his mouth to make the wisecrack at Roland’s expense that would have been Mac’s, but then he stopped himself. Instead, he
indicated his uniform. “Maybe we’re going to the same place. Together.”

  “Doubtful,” Scout said. “Six missions. And we’ve only got six—” she paused, as they all realized the implications of no longer having seven team members.

  The silence lasted a little while and was broken only when Doc entered. He was dressed in Colonial American garb: breeches, stockings, waistcoat, coat, cravat and a tricorne hat.

  “Cute,” Roland said.

  “You look nice,” Scout added.

  They didn’t have time to speculate before Moms made her entrance, forcing her skirts through the door. The overshirt was joined with the bodice, which was cinched very tightly. The front of the overskirt was split, revealing a petticoat underneath.

  “I preferred the animal skins,” Moms griped as she eyed a chair, trying to figure out how to sit down. She noted what Eagle had drawn above the door and nodded, understanding her team sergeant’s intent right away.

  “Looks like Doc and you are going to the same time,” Roland said. “Same as Ivar and me.”

  Moms looked them over. “Two Confederates. Interesting.” She smiled at Scout. “Once more into the breach for you.”

  Scout nodded glumly.

  “So far, nobody into pre-history,” Moms said. “That’s one positive.”

  Eagle entered, his face and hands smeared with camouflage paint, wearing a wet suit, a wide belt, and a silenced Beretta .22 in a plastic bag inside a holster. He carried a load of gear: an Uzi submachine gun, a rucksack wrapped in plastic, and a reserve parachute. He had a main parachute on his back, although the harness wasn’t secured.

  “What the heck?” Moms said.

  Eagle was just as perplexed. “MAROP, water jump, obviously,” he said, referring to a maritime operation. “But I don’t understand the Uzi.”

  “Shayetet 13,” Roland said, surprising everyone.