“Wait a second…” Kelly was slowly catching up with the men at the table. “What do you mean you saved me? And what was this business about the BART station? You mean you’re the guy I was honking at?”
“I had to delay you, Mr. Ramer.” The visitor gave him an apologetic glance. “It was only a matter of a few seconds, but it was enough. You were the Primary Lever, you see. We determined that from the tape of the meeting. I must say, I’ve listened to that tape a hundred times. I really feel I do know you, at least the three of you: Mr. Dorland here, and the good Professor, and of course you, my dear Maeve. I know you like we were old friends, and I will be very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ramer, now that I’ve managed to prevent your untimely death.” He let that statement sink in for a moment.
Kelly just stood there, his mouth half open, but the light of understanding was gleaming in Maeve’s eyes, and she put her arm around him, whispering something in his right ear.
“Gentle nudge indeed.” Nordhausen put in.
“Right in the rib of history!” Dorland smiled.
“You were taping this?” Maeve gave Paul a disapproving look.
“For history’s sake. But I think my tape has run out by now.”
“It stopped at twelve minutes after ten,” said the visitor. “I aimed to arrive here well after that, so as to avoid any… complications.”
Kelly just stared at them. As the realization of what they were saying swept over him, all he could feel was the pressure of Maeve’s arm around his shoulder, claiming him, welcoming him. He passed a brief moment of light headedness, and a sudden chill shook his frame. The visitor was looking at his watch again.
“It’s time,” he concluded. “You’re safe now Mr. Ramer, though I see from that cut on your forehead that the world still managed to take a swipe at you.”
“You’re from the future,” Kelly whispered, “and you’re telling me I was supposed to die tonight? You deliberately stepped in front of my car to delay me?” He kept replaying the close call he had when he stopped at the Seven-Eleven in his mind.
“As far as we know,” the visitor said in a low, serious tone, “you were killed by an onrushing vehicle as you went to cross the street at the intersection of—”
“Good God,” Kelly seemed to slump in his chair.
“It’s eleven-o-five,” said the visitor. “We’re a minute past your official recorded time of death now, so I suppose this is another life for you, Mr. Ramer—perhaps another life for us all. But we haven’t much time. The first wave is due to hit the Grand Banks of Newfoundland at eleven minutes past seven, Eastern Standard Time—just after 4:00 AM locally. After that the situation begins to spiral out of control. In another two hours it hits the Eastern Seaboard, and the damage will be too severe to reverse. The event will solidify. For the moment, however, we still have a chance. We’re in a void, you see. It’s a rare interval of grace; a little null spot, like the eye of a hurricane. The tempest rails all around us, but for the next six hours we have to make the most of it. We’ve only this one chance.”
Dorland was taking everything in, smiling to think that his theory on the possibility of time travel had been vindicated—proved beyond any doubt even before they had a chance to test it! His dear friend Kelly was to have died tonight, and he passed a moment of profound thanks that the amiable man was still sitting there, albeit a bit flustered, looking from the visitor, to Nordhausen and then Maeve. In the midst of his elation, however, a nagging thought came to him. He had explained it to the others just a few moments ago when Kelly had been arguing about juggling the numbers on the Arch coordinates.
“Just a moment,” he interjected. “I’m as amazed as everyone else to hear all of this, but there’s something wrong.” The visitor smiled turning his attention to Dorland as if he expected the comment. “The eruption on Palma…” Paul continued looking from one face to another. “It’s a natural event, not a willful event. If you’re thinking we can somehow use these six hours to change things, I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for nothing. Oh, I assure you, I’m profoundly grateful if what you’ve said about Kelly is true. I don’t know what I’d do without him. But the fact of the matter is this: The Palma eruption is an Imperative—Probably a Grand Imperative, and it can’t be changed.”
“I’m afraid you are laboring under a misapprehension,” said the visitor. Everyone looked at him, waiting like supplicants at the throne of the Oracle. “The eruption was not a natural event. You’ll learn this momentarily if you keep your shortwave tuned to the BBC, Professor Nordhausen.”
“What did I tell you!” Nordhausen was up and reaching for the radio, intending to tune in the British news station again as he wagged a finger at Kelly.
“Not a natural event?” Now it was Dorland’s turn to swim in the eddies of confusion that seemed to pervade the room.
“I’m afraid not. Oh, it was probably going to erupt one day on its own, but this time it had a little help.” The visitor looked at his watch. “Let me be brief: The BBC is about to announce that there has been evidence of an unnatural explosive event at the time of the eruption. In point of fact, it was a twenty kiloton nuclear device that was smuggled on to the island by Islamic radicals over a year ago. The plan was in the works for some time, you see. They rented a small villa on the western slopes of the mountain—very secluded. After the World Trade Center incident, and all the talk about an Islamic bomb in Iraq, everyone was so concerned about security in the major cities that they never thought to look in a place like the Canary Islands. To make matters brief, they did their research and managed to get a device onto the island by helicopter. They were months drilling through the cellar level of the villa to get a pipe deep enough to plant the device where the blast would do them some good. We’ve got this first hand from… reliable sources. The recent upwelling of the magma dome on Cumbre Vieja was coincidental, of course, but it led them to believe they could trigger a major eruption with a device of sufficient strength. It so happened the volcano was amenable to their little plan, and the rest, as they say, is history. At least it was history. I’m hoping we can change that.”
“Listen,” said Nordhausen. “BBC is reading a statement that was supposedly sent by a group of the terrorists!” He adjusted the volume on his shortwave and they all leaned in to hear the news.
‘…We are patient, forgiving. We are seekers only of peace, but as Allah chooses, then the command is given for the seas to rise and pound the shore. We are but an instrument, to that power. As the oceans are made up of an uncountable number of individual drops of serene waters, when Allah commands, those drops come together to form the most powerful force on earth, the ocean of Believers, who’s waves of faith become the hammer upon which justice is delivered to all followers of Satan.’
“Then it was a willful event after all!” Dorland’s was breathing quickly as he spoke. “The Palma event was the work of a Free Radical.”
“Precisely,” said Graves. “It was the brain child of one Ra’id Husan al Din—Oh you’ll learn about him soon enough. If you thought Bin Ladin was a Free Radical, then just you wait. Well, as you know from your own time theory, Mr. Dorland, the work of a Free Radical can give rise to significant variations in all the time lines they cross. Sometimes these variations can be quite profound, as in the case of the Bin Ladin nine-eleven attack back in the year 2001. But this, ladies and gentlemen, takes the prize. The Holy Fighters of Husan al Din, as they came to be called in the West, came up with this little gem and set the whole world off its kilter. His name means the ‘Sword of the Faith,’ and appropriately so. He cuts the fabric of the time continuum so badly that chaos ensues.”