Blake’s eyes glittered, and he smiled like a man who had a secret to tell. “How would you like to screw the game and get home faster?”
45
The Last Deployed Scout
Blake and Tobias walked up the steps to Amhurst’s house and let themselves in. Blake knew right away that something was off; there were no muffled screams, no whistling of the air hose, not even the whining of a drill.
He ran to the torture room and found Amhurst sitting on a stool, hands covered in blood. Splatters of red marked his face, even though there were no visible wounds. A brow-wiped smear of it was streaked across his forehead.
Tobias came up behind Blake and sucked in a sharp breath. Blake ignored him and addressed the old man. “Amhurst, are you okay? What happened?”
“He’s dead.” The doctor pointed a red finger at Mikhail. The Russian was still sitting in the chair, head dipped down, chin resting on an unmoving chest.
Amhurst realized there was another visitor in the room and blinked at Tobias. “Who is that?”
“I’ll explain later. First explain this.” Blake waved an arm at Mikhail’s body. “I wanted him alive, dammit!”
Amhurst looked like he was still bewildered by what had happened. “I was preparing to drill more holes into his teeth when the strap holding his head broke.”
He paused, but Blake said nothing, waiting for the rest of the story. He continued, “I thought nothing of it and was going to reattach the strap, but it all happened so fast.” His eyes grew sad.
“Come on you geriatric old man — out with it!”
Amhurst drew in a shuddering breath. “He killed himself.”
“How?” Blake threw his single arm wide in the air, frustration mounting. “You’re not explaining how he went from alive to dead in this story arc.”
“The drill.” Amhurst blinked up at him with dull eyes. “It was still spinning, and he jerked his head at it on purpose. Tore right through his eye in an instant and the bit went into his brain.”
Blake’s jaw dropped; he couldn’t help himself — this was too far-fetched to believe. Swallowing a cyanide capsule to induce death was one thing, but this was gnarly. Talk about dedication.
“The ocular nerve must’ve severed and then the frontal —”
“I get it!” Blake snapped. “It killed him.”
“I am sorry,” Amhurst said with genuine remorse.
Blake gritted his teeth on the profanities that wanted to erupt. “This is why I said we should go for his stones first!” He moved away from both men to pull his thoughts together. “We’ll have to dispose of the body. He’s useless to us now.”
“Bodies. Satoshi is still in the lab,” Amhurst reminded him.
“It’s a good thing we have an extra pair of hands then,” Blake said, turning around to face them. “Tobias, I need you to get rid of the bodies.”
It had been strange enough to start referring to himself as Blake, but looking at a man who shared his own face and calling him by his uncle’s name was something Blake didn’t know he could ever get used to.
Tobias nodded in mute understanding and Blake started to leave. “Wait — where are you going?” Tobias called out with a quavering voice.
“I’m going back to Ben’s body. It’s a long shot, but it occurred to me that he might have had his time traveling device on him, and we may need it.”
“What should I do?” Amhurst asked.
“Try not to die of old age while we’re gone.”
Blake went to the front foyer and headed for the small table in the entryway. He withdrew the empty gun from his belt and opened a drawer to put it inside. Some objects clinked together when he pulled on the handle and he looked down. Nine bullets rolled around inside the drawer, clattering into each other. Amhurst. He was a man of science, after all, and against having a dangerous loaded gun in the house. Yet the man’s ineptitude with weapons left him without the sense to remove the round that had been in the chamber. Was it the old doctor’s morality, or was it the stubborn nature of time holding him back from changing the course of history? He tossed Mikhail’s gun into the drawer and pushed it shut.
Approaching the beach, Blake heard the commotion up ahead before his eyes found it. Shit. The body had already been found. It would be impossible to search Ben’s remains with the herd of onlookers and police officers — or Bobbies, or whatever the Australian cops were called — gathered around.
He came up behind the circle of bystanders. Ben Wallace’s body was just as he had left it hours ago. Blake cursed his stupidity; he should have searched through Ben’s pockets and belongings earlier. Now the opportunity was gone.
The sun was spreading its glow across the beach and a breeze caressed his face. He looked up at the early morning sky, wishing he could just sit here all day and enjoy the view of the ocean, feel the crashing waves sweep up to tickle his feet, to bask in the rays …
A man walked over to Blake and stood directly in front of him. He returned a fixed stare. What the hell does he want? Blake’s silent question was answered the instant the man pulled up a camera and put the crowd — Blake included — in his sights.
In a moment of panic, Blake threw up his good arm to cover his face as best he could just before he heard the flash bulb, and the area lit up around him.
Dr. Cunningham’s words about memories being summoned in an instant came back to him like a jolt of electricity, almost as if sparked by the illumination of the bulb. He remembered sitting in a New York library in 1986, pouring through his assumed uncle’s belongings. He’d been staring at a newspaper article that documented the mysterious Somerton Man case. A photo in the paper from the scene of the body showed a crowd of people, and in the midst of that crowd, one individual stood shielding his face. A circle of red ink had been drawn around the unknown man.
But unknown wouldn’t be the correct word now. At this very moment it was evident who that covered visage belonged to — him. Again, Blake found himself caught in the act of changing nothing and crafting everything as it had been; like a memorized script quoted verbatim.
It had been an unproductive trip, but the cogs in Blake’s mind were spinning. Ben might have been right — how could he change things if he didn’t know what choices would generate which outcomes?
He would work with Dr. Amhurst until he died if that’s what it took. He was determined to get home somehow. Then again, how well would that go? Should he just try to build another life for himself when he got there, or should he confront his future self? Blake was thankful he wasn’t married; that would have made for a complicated dynamic.
Would Ben have even recruited him if he’d been tied to a family? And then, for the first time in his life, Blake wished he had taken the time to settle down. Sharing his years with a special someone, and sleepless nights with a newborn seemed like a paradise to him now. The image of Art and his family rose in Blake’s mind and his chest constricted.
He arrived at Amhurst’s and lumbered up the steps. The effects of the drug had almost worn off now. With each passing hour, the ache in his arm magnified and he felt the strength draining from his battered body.
When he walked inside, Tobias was in the living room, straightening the table to its correct position. This was all still so eerie; it wouldn’t feel normal looking at his own doppelganger anytime soon. “Where’s Amhurst?”
“The lab.”
“I’ll be down there with him. How about you make us some coffee?”