“I pay little attention to such trivial matters, Mr. Tannor — although I do see your point.” Wallace drew a shallow breath, “So does that mean you’ve considered this mission?”
“Apparently you do pay little attention because I haven’t gotten to my point yet,” Ethan said.
“And that would be?” Wallace crooked an eyebrow; if he was annoyed by Ethan’s candor, it didn’t reflect.
“That the chaos in my example sprang out of events that occurred in a linear pattern. Stepping back into a pattern that has already been set could cause untold damage to our future.”
Wallace’s eyes flashed. “Our future already is damaged. Don’t you understand that?”
“This is a waste of our time, sir!” Jackman said, inserting himself into the conversation like a head-butt from left field. “What makes this guy so damn important?” He gestured at Ethan, disgust lines etched deep in his face, before turning back to Wallace. “What about that Pendergast fellow? He seemed like a good pick — this sort of thing would suit him well. There’s also Epping — or even Amberson. Hell, you know any one of us would buy stock in this job.”
“Oh my God, someone please stick me with that knock out juice again so I won’t have to hear all this bitching,” Ethan blurted out.
Jackman pinned Ethan with a hateful stare. The man’s cool, indifferent expression was gone, replaced by barely suppressed rage and a pulsing vein in his thick neck.
Ben’s voice broke through, calm and peaceful, his earlier brief display of anger having vanished. “I understand your concerns, Jackman, but if need be, we’ll exercise our other options. As it stands now, Pendergast would need more convincing. With regard to Amberson and Epping, they had their chance and created nothing but disorder.”
Jackman balked, staring at Wallace in disbelief.
“That mess was cleaned up already,” Wallace said. “Those issues are moot at this point, we have two days before the Russians make their move, but I need your services here. Your team has already been prepping, and to lose their leader now could cost them dearly.”
“If they choose an earlier date, we are fucked … sir.”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know they won’t?” Jackman’s tone was that of a pleading child, in total contrast with his appearance. Ethan had the sudden urge to laugh out loud.
“I have sources,” Wallace said quietly. “It is impossible for them to attempt the jump.”
“And you’re so fucking certain — how, exactly?”
Ethan watched this exchange with open curiosity. If Jackman was out of line, Wallace didn’t show it. It was evident theirs was not a normal military relationship — as if Ethan hadn’t already figured out nothing about these jokers was remotely normal.
“Because they’re not ready,” Wallace said patiently, as one would speak to a slow learner. “They will go when I have told you and not a day sooner. We know the when, but we don’t know the where.”
Jackman’s frustration was becoming contagious and Ethan felt worry spread through his own body, even though he still wanted to believe the story told to him moments ago was mere fantasy.
“This is starting to sound like bullshit,” Jackman said. “I don’t see why we have to sit by and —”
“Stand down.” The decibel level in Wallace’s tone was no different than earlier, but it commanded respect. Jackman’s mouth slammed shut following the order, but the bunching of his jaw muscles belied his silence.
Ethan couldn’t help but feel impressed with Wallace’s intangible aura of command over those around him. Perhaps they were all just blind disciples of a crazy man, but Ethan’s instincts told him this wasn’t the case with Jackman and his squad. Wallace’s words carried the undercurrent of truth. And then there were those videos he’d seen. Given all of that, Ethan supposed that if this man had said the world was ending tomorrow, he’d be compelled to believe.
But what if this time machine didn’t work and it was all a hoax? Still, what would be the harm in trying? There was nothing to lose. Ethan thought briefly of Art, Mary, and the kids, but reminded himself that if everything Ben Wallace had said was true, that would mean all of this business about the Russian cell was even more serious than Ethan had anticipated. And everyone’s future was at stake.
“I’ll do it,” Ethan said suddenly.
The expression on Wallace’s face tempted Ethan to start rattling off demands. The man seemed so desperate for him in particular; Ethan doubted a second choice would have been given the full-scale tour he’d just been treated to. So why not capitalize on his position? Two prostitutes, a million dollars, and maybe a line of coke to try just once before taking a giant leap into the unfucking known. But Ethan kept quiet, allowing his own words to sink in and relishing the look of unexplainable relief that washed over Wallace’s face.
“Excellent,” the man said, settling his features back into a mask of composure. “Tomorrow morning we should be finished with the remaining items on our checklist and we’ll be turning the system on. You should get some rest and a nice meal. Jackman will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow will be a long day; what comes next will change the world.”
It wasn’t until Jackman escorted Ethan from the room that he felt a sudden heaviness press down on him, carrying with it a dread unlike any he’d ever known.
Two hours later the doors to Wallace’s office opened again. Jackman strode in and planted himself in the spot where Ethan had stood earlier. Wallace looked up from his reading material and waited for the other man to speak.
“So why didn’t you tell him the whole truth?” Jackman stood motionless, like a stone gargoyle, as he spoke.
Wallace contemplated the question. “And what would you have me tell him? That Tobias failed and we need to send him back to clean up? That the Communist bastards have already gotten their filthy hands on that meteorite and the future is grotesque? That this mission is suicide at best and he won’t make it out alive?”
He placed the reading material aside and sat forward. “The past is hard to change, my friend; all we have is hope. Because thirty, forty, fifty years from now there is nothing but dust and death.”
“You could have told him more about Tobias’s body and the shootout at his apartment.”
Wallace flipped a dismissive hand and sat back in his seat. “And what of those two bodies?”
“Incinerated, as you instructed,” Jackman answered, his face impassive.
But Wallace knew him well enough to sense the man was troubled. “Sometimes it is necessary to lie by revealing nothing,” he said quietly.
“And you think it’s better to tell half-truths? I know what it feels like to be led astray.”
“Yes, I guess you would know a little something about that.” Wallace arched a brow. “Killing your own commander; it was justified, I agree — but look at you. There is no hope of redemption; is that why you’ve been insisting on going back yourself?”
“You know it is. No one has a happy ending coming.” Jackman paused, and his mouth formed a hard, thin line as he continued, “If I’m going to die, let it have purpose.”
“I need you to understand that running away from your past is not the answer.” Wallace stood and walked around the desk to lay a hand on Jackman’s shoulder. “Your past is over and done. It’s the future you should be worried about; the future is always unknown.”