Arnesto mumbled something, but his raspy voice was inaudible as he tried to speak for the first time since their initial meeting.
Whiteside opened his mouth, but it took him a second to register. “Could you repeat that please?” he asked.
Arnesto cleared his throat. “Do I report to you?”
Whiteside smiled. “I am your point of contact, yes. But technically, you’re my boss. That means you’re welcome to replace me if you choose. Under the circumstances, I would understand.”
“How do I know you won’t suddenly change your mind and put a bullet in my head?” Arnesto asked.
“I won’t lie to you. If you fuck with us, if you do anything to hurt this country, if you force our hand, we won’t hesitate to kill you. Or if we feel you’ve been compromised or you’re not otherwise holding up your end of the bargain, we’ll bring you back here. There’s a lot riding on this, as you know. But as of right now, you are a free man, so to speak.”
Agent Stanfield entered the room and deposited a bag containing Arnesto’s personal effects on the table.
“Thanks, Lindsay,” Arnesto said to the agent, who seemed taken aback. She stared wide-eyed at Arnesto, who turned and gave her an approving nod.
“Thank you, Agent Stanfield,” Whiteside said, not altogether thrilled by her lingering. She nodded and left the room.
“One more thing,” Whiteside said. “You’ve done a decent job of maintaining a low profile all this time. But it needs to be better going forward. We have some fake IDs you can use, but if you want, we can make one of them official — give you a whole new identity. You can even pick your own name. Anything you want, assuming the analytics department signs off on it. For someone who prefers leaving as little as possible to chance, it might make things easier for you. I would urge you to consider it, however, it’s entirely up to you. Sir.”
Arnesto stood up and took his bag off the table. He walked to the door and opened it with his free hand, but didn’t walk out. He thought for a moment, then turned back to Whiteside.
“Call me Arnesto.”
Epilogue
School Gymnasium
Massachusetts
Saturday, August 17, 2013
2:15 p.m.
Pete watched from the stands as his son Daniel, now ten, competed in the karate tournament. A well-built man sat down on his immediate left, distracting him from a much thinner man sitting down on his right.
“Boo,” said the second man, giving Pete a start.
“Goddamnit, Arnesto,” Pete said as he gave his friend an awkward side hug. “You lost a few pounds in there. How are you? Am I allowed to ask?”
Arnesto leaned forward and gave the man on Pete’s left a quick head tilt to tell him they needed space. They watched as the man walked to the next section and sat down again. “We’re clear.”
Pete looked at his friend. Arnesto appeared well-groomed and had a fresh haircut, but still looked like he’d aged ten years.
“I’m okay,” Arnesto said. “At least, I was before I walked in here. Why does it smell like feet?” He looked around at all the barefoot competitors. “Oh, right. Can’t believe I spent ten bucks on this.”
“Is it true about the… waterboarding?”
Arnesto nodded. “It was horrifying. I still have to brace myself every time I take a shower.”
“How did you get through it, I mean, without talking?”
“It wasn’t easy. I almost cracked so many times. But I knew they wouldn’t let me die. My knowledge is too enticing for them. I knew if I could just hold on… How about you?”
“It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t torture, either. Arnesto, I told them everything.” Pete hung his head in shame.
“You told them everything? Or everything?”
“I told them, wait, which is the good one? Whatever, I cooperated.”
“I understand.” Arnesto reflected on this. “You cooperated? Or you cooperated?”
“Arnesto, I revealed so much more than I thought possible. However, I don’t have your memory, so I may have missed a few… details. Still, I blabbed. And I may have badmouthed you as well. I am so sorry.”
“Please. I don’t want your apology for sticking to the plan. You swore to me if I was ever caught and you were questioned, you wouldn’t hold back. Other than how I do it, of course. This was always my mess, not yours.”
Pete accepted this. “So what now?”
“I’ve come to say goodbye. I’ve disrupted your life enough.” Arnesto scooted to the side to put a little more distance between them. Pete noticed Daniel running up to him and knew Arnesto didn’t want Daniel to recognize him.
“Dad, did you see? I made it to the next round!”
“Great job, Daniel, go get ‘em!” As Daniel ran off, Arnesto returned to his former position. Both men knew they had missed Daniel’s match.
“Case in point,” Arnesto said.
“I wish I could help, but I guess you’ve got a team for that now. If I may ask, what did Whiteside tell you exactly?” Arnesto filled him in. “It’s not ideal, but now you can save lives without the danger or having to constantly look over your shoulder. One question, though. Why put you in charge?” He looked at Arnesto’s chaperone pretending not to watch them from the next section. “I mean, no offense, but as such a valuable asset, wouldn’t it have made more sense to keep Whiteside in charge and keep you as a top priority consultant?”
“Damn, it took me almost a week to catch that. And you’re right, we must be using the same playbook. Just like you told them everything to placate them, they pretended to put me in charge to placate me. I’m pretty sure they only let me out to see what I can do for them. Once they realize how little that is…”
“They’ll take you back. Jeez, that’s awful. What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan,” Arnesto said, a knowing grin plastered on his face.
Pete chuckled and shook his head. “Nobody makes plans better than you. I almost feel sorry for them.”
Arnesto shook Pete’s hand. “Before I forget, you’re not flying to Malaysia next year, are you? Well, don’t.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run.”
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to:
Stina Campos, for her neverending support and feedback.
Ryan “Pete Morgan” Kelly, for keeping me sane in high school (the rootbeer popsicles helped!)
And of course…
You! Thanks very much for reading!
Edited by Dustin Schwindt, bookbutchers.com
Cover art by Adam deGrandis
About the Author
Two questions used to keep me up at night. First: what would I do if I suddenly found myself back in September 9, 2001 — two days before the horrible events of 9/11? Second: what would I do if I suddenly found myself back in homeroom in high school?
At some point several years ago, a light bulb went off and I realized I could merge the two and attempt to answer them both. And so, without really knowing what I was doing, I decided to write this book, and Arnesto Modesto was born.
Thank you for reading Arnesto Modesto: The World’s Most Ineffectual Time Traveler! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Actually, considering all the hours I spent cursing to myself as I paced back and forth, I hope you had a lot more fun reading it than I had writing it. I complain but I would do it all over again. And you know what? Those two questions no longer keep me up at night.