WEDNESDAY FEB 20 1630 HRS - CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Gary unknowingly led the way up the stairwell to the thirteenth floor of the Randolph Building.  Normally, he would have preferred to use the elevator, especially as his back was giving him a fit.  But he knew how chancy that could be.  More than once, he’d changed a headline by effectively changing places with the victims.  Considering the circumstances, he didn’t think that would be a good idea in this case.  The elevator was about to plunge thirteen floors down to the basement.  Ten people would be killed instantly.

Donovan and Parker had been unable to come up with any constructive ideas as to how to prevent such a disaster, and were curious as to why Gary had even asked.  They had finally made some excuse and said their goodbyes, then waited in a position to watch both exits.  When Hobson had come running out a little after four o’clock, they had followed at a discreet distance.  He had almost lost them when he caught the bus, but they managed to grab a cab and keep up.  Barely.

Gary burst through the fire door just as the ad executive hit the call button.  As the lights counted down from the upper floors, Gary counted heads.  Six.  He only counted six!  That meant that there had to be four already on the elevator!  

“E-excuse me,” he gasped as he skidded to a halt next to the panel of buttons.  “I-I’m afraid you can’t use this car.  W-we have to take it o-outta service . . . f-for repairs on the automatic brakes.”  He waved a hand at the door to the stairwell.  “I-I’m afraid I hafta . . . ta ask ya to take the stairs.”

“Thirteen floors?” a portly woman asked.  “Are you out of your mind?  What about one of the other cars?”

“L-lady,” Gary panted, leaning forward as he fought for breath, “I just . . . ran up those stairs . . . to warn you.  Wh-whadda you think?”

Wordlessly, the six people filed for the door.  A moment later, the doors opened to show four more people looking bored and ready to knock off early.  Gary quickly herded them out of the car and toward the stairs, glancing at his watch as the last one stepped clear.  ‘Three, two, one,’ he counted to himself.  On zero, there was a horrendous groan of tortured metal on metal as the cables began to slip. A moment later, as the four he had just rescued watched in stunned silence, the car fell a couple of feet before jerking to a halt.  A few seconds later, it lurched again.

“I think you should all step . . .” Gary began.

The cables gave a shriek, and then parted with a loud series of snaps.  As the four stared on, the car disappeared from view.  Less than a minute later, there was a resounding crash as the bulky conveyance hit bottom.

“. . . back,” Gary finished with a grimace.  

He gently, but hurriedly urged everyone toward the stairs, saying that he had to block the other cars.  Which he then proceeded to do by calling all the cars to that floor, wedging the doors open and slapping ‘out of order’ signs on each of them.  Anyone he found in a car was quickly escorted off and directed toward the stairs.  Soon, his task was done.  

As the two agents watched from just inside the door to the stairwell, Gary slumped against the wall with an explosive sigh.  He remained that way for a few minutes as he let the rush of adrenaline fade from his system.  Finally he stood and looked around the empty hallway.  He appeared to be the only one on the floor.  Wiping his palms on his thighs, he stepped away from the wall and turned back toward the stairwell.  Frank nudged Craig back from the door and the two eased down a few steps, prepared to bolt if necessary.  When more than a minute passed and Hobson had not appeared, they returned to their observation post to see if something had gone wrong.  

Hobson was standing in front of an office on the eastern side of the building.  He kept rubbing his hands on his jeans in a nervous gesture as he stared at the open reception area.  Moving like an automaton, he took a few tentative steps forward before coming to his senses.  Stepping back with a haunted look on his face, Gary turned so suddenly, the two agents barely had time to duck.

Racing down the stairs as quietly as possible, the agents ducked out on the second floor and waited until Hobson finally walked past them.  He was not in any hurry, now, taking the steps one at a time and still wearing a distracted, weary look.  They followed to see Gary pause at the door leading to the ground floor lobby.  He peered cautiously out the door before finally going through.  It was almost as if he didn’t want to be seen by the excited people milling around the elevator shaft.  The wrecked car had apparently caused quite a commotion.

Gary nonchalantly strolled out the side door, on out to the street and hopped onto the next trolley to be headed his direction.  Even from his position just inside the doors to the Randolph Building, Parker could see that the man was hurting.  He kept rubbing at his back, trying to ease a persistent ache.  After the day that Hobson had put in, Frank didn’t wonder that he was in pain.

After a brief stop back home, where he apparently freshened up and put on a suit and tie, they followed him to a Japanese restaurant on Ontario St, where he met up with a stocky, white haired man in his sixties.  They were escorted to a private room, where the two agents lost sight of them.  

“There’s no way we can follow him in there and not be seen,” Craig sighed.  “And I don’t think we should push the coincidence thing too far.”

“With this guy,” Frank murmured, “I don’t think the word ‘coincidence’ has any meaning.  You’re right, though.  No sense in pushing our luck.  Why don’t we go on down to that Chop House down the street?  I could do with a good steak.  Besides, we need to get Ramsey to check out that office Hobson was so fascinated with.  I’ll just bet he has some kinda history with that place.”

*******

Gary slid into the corner of the booth and picked up his menu.  ‘The shrimp kogane yaki sounds good,’ he decided.  

“So, when do I meet this Evans guy,” Zeke Crumb grumbled as he poured over his copy of the menu.  “Before or after we eat?”

“He had to pick up his parents at the airport,” Gary told him distractedly.  Suddenly he wasn’t seeing the menu.  Instead, he was back on the thirteenth floor of the Randolph Building.  He gave himself a shake as he jerked his mind back to the present.  “H-his girl friend is joining us, too.  He just wants to go over the details of the investigative branch of the Foundation.  Now that Chaste and Rossellini have been convicted, the bank in Switzerland is releasing the rest of the funds, and requests are already pouring in.  Ya know,” he added, laying aside his menu for the moment, “it’s amazing how many people there are with no clue where they come from!  Jake needs to know what you’ll need as far as office equipment, computer set-ups, communications, the works.  And start-up capital.  You can’t be expected to do all the work yourself.  You’ll need a staff.  A-and office personnel!  You’ll need secretaries and a receptionist.  Someone to schedule your appointments, at least!”

“Whoa!” Crumb pleaded.  “Slow down, Hobson!  The check hasn’t even been written, yet!  Jeez!  You’re worse than that guy goin’ around knockin’ down windmills, for cryin’ out loud!  Always lookin’ for someone ta rescue.  Why can’t you just kick back and enjoy some o’ your reward?  Like a normal . . . Are you even listenin’ ta me?”

Gary wasn’t.  At that moment he was staring wide-eyed toward the door.  A nervously smiling Jake Evans was escorting a tall, angular woman into the dining room.  He was closely followed by a beautiful woman with thick red hair on the arm of . . . Crumb.  Stunned, Gary looked from his dinner companion, and back to the man with Jake.  At almost the same instant Jake spotted him and waved, his smile of relief slowly faltering to a look that mirrored Gary’s.

Crumb looked up to see what had so thoroughly captured Hobson’s attention . . . at the same moment that the rest of the party saw him.  Slowly, the detective stood to meet the newcomers.  ‘Dear God!’ was his first thought.  ‘Another Hobson!’  His eyes widened even more as he saw his own mirror image almost on the other Gary’s heels!  The four men stood staring at each other as the two women looked on in stunned amazement.

“Gary Hobson, Marion Crumb,” Jake sighed, being the first to recover, “I’d like you to meet my girl friend, Joan Gallagher, and my parents, Howard and Marie Evans.  Looks like we have a lot to talk about.”

**********

Four antacid tablets plopped into two glasses of water.  Gary and Jake waited until most of the fizzing had stopped before clinking their glasses together.

“To survival,” Jake sighed.  “God!  If my dad had shared his ‘philosophy of life’ one more time . . . A-and can you believe the resemblance between those two?  It’s incredible!  I-it’s impossible for two unrelated men to . . . to look that much alike!”

“Um, Jake,” Gary murmured with a tired grin, “should we go find a mirror?”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Jake snorted as he sipped at his antacid.  “You were the one that found a connection, remember?”

Gary shuddered as he did, indeed, recall the incidents leading up to the discovery of their mutual ancestors.  Jake saw this and instantly regretted his rash words.  Gary had almost died in that discovery.  Three times if they counted that bout of pneumonia he’d endured after saving the family that had Captain Gary Chandler’s saddle in their private collection.  

“Sorry, cousin,” Jake murmured.  “I almost forgot.  I’ve been meaning to ask how things were going on that end.”

“Pretty good,” Gary assured him.  “I’m having those pictures enlarged into posters, and the same with the letter.  I’m also having copies made for anyone that would like a memento.  But the medal, the saddle, and the original of the photo with President Lincoln are going on display at the American History Museum.  I’ve even had a call from the White House about that picture.  What do you think the twins would say to letting it hang in the Lincoln Room of the White House?” he asked with a tired grin.

“Whew!” Jake whistled.  “You could call them up and ask, but I already know what they’ll say.  You were the one that bled for that picture.  It’s your decision.  I don’t know that I could pass it up, though.  That’s a hell of an honor.”

The picture they referred to was of their mutual ancestor, Gary Martin Chandler, Captain in the Union army, receiving a medal from President Abraham Lincoln on the very last day of the President’s life.  It was taken by one Matthew Brady.

“They want to buy it, though,” Gary sighed.  “And they’re offering a handsome price.”  He named a figure that caused Jake to choke on his Alka-Seltzer.

“My God!” he wheezed.  “For one picture?  I don’t know who’s crazier!  Them for offering or you for hesitating!”

“It’s not that simple,” Gary protested.  “If all that mattered was the money, we never would’ve started the Foundation.  It’s a piece of history.  Our history!  I might let ‘em display it, but it has to stay in the family.”  He drained his glass and set it down with a grimace.  “Crumb and your dad.  I still can’t get over that,” he chuckled.  

“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen both my parents speechless,” Jake admitted with a rueful smile.  “I think we kinda blew Mom’s mind, too.  She not only saw two of me, she also saw two of Dad!  But Joanie was a real sport about it.”

“Yeah,” Gary nodded.  “She was.  It was great the way she kept making jokes and tryin’ to get everyone to relax.  Then offering to drive your folks home so we could talk. You said she’s a school teacher?”

“Um,” Jake replied.  “High school history.  And she’s good at it.  The kids love her.”

Gary watched his cousin as he talked about his girlfriend.  It was obvious how he felt about her.  Something was obviously wrong, though.  Something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  Then it hit him and he felt a sudden kinship with Jake that had nothing to do with blood.

“She said no, didn’t she?” Gary murmured.

Jake shot his cousin a bemused look.  “You read minds now, too?” he chuckled.  “Yeah, I kinda moved too fast.  We’d only known each other six weeks and I guess I scared the crap outta her.  She’s not used to the idea that someone can love her for who she is.”

“She’ll come around someday,” Gary shrugged.  “Just let her know how you feel and be patient.”

“Did that work for you?” Jake asked

“No,” Gary sighed.  “But there’s a difference.  My wife turned out not to be in love with me so much as what I represented.  Escape from a domineering father.”

“And there hasn’t been anyone else since?”

Gary thought of a lovely, spirited woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes.  For a fleeting instant he wondered what she might be doing at that moment.  Then he thought of the tiny Italian with the volcanic temper, and wondered if she had shot anyone lately.  

“One or two maybes,” he finally shrugged, not meeting his cousin’s troubled gaze.  “But things ’ve gotten . . . complicated.  I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

*********  

“Here it is,” Frank murmured as he leafed through the Hobson file.  “Sometime in the early hours of May 20th he was found at the bottom of his staircase.  Man!  He really did a number on himself!  They had to transfuse . . . does the human body hold that much blood?”

Craig looked at the entry his friend was pointing to and let out a surprised whistle.  “A little more than that, but not much.  I’m surprised he had enough to keep his heart beating!”

Frank picked up a grim looking document, reading it carefully before handing it to Craig.  “He didn’t,” the NSA agent replied solemnly.  “They already had the death certificate filled out.  All it lacks is a signature.  Jesus, Donovan!  The guy came back almost fifteen minutes after they called the time!”

“That’s impossible,” Donovan grumbled, grabbing the file.  “The brain dies in less than ten minutes without oxygen!”  He quickly scanned through the medical reports.  “I wish we had one of the base medics to translate some of this.  Talk about living on borrowed time!  This guy‘s in the hole big time!  What about earlier?  Do we have anything that mentions the Randolph Building?”

“This is all Ramsey had time to dig up before the jump,” Frank shrugged.  “He gave this to me as we were getting ready to launch.  Except for public records and income taxes, this only goes back to the fall of ‘96.  And there are gaps.  See?  This police report, here, begins with Hobson saving some editor at the Sun-Times from a letter bomb.  Yet, just a day or so later, he’s wanted for questioning in the same guy’s murder!  Why would Hobson save someone just to kill him?  And why does it end there?  Was he questioned and released?  Obviously he wasn’t charged.  And why run if he wasn’t hiding something?”

“The more we learn about this guy,” Craig growled, “the less we know.”  He looked at his watch.  “Ramsey should still be up.  Let’s give him a call and see if he can fill in the gaps.”

“Right,” Parker nodded.  He held up a tiny object between his thumb and forefinger.  It was perfectly round, flat, and about the size of his pinky nail.  “Then we can figure out how to plant this on ‘im.  I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of chasin’ this guy all over the city.  The only time he’s gonna be in any real danger is Saturday morning.”

“And what was this afternoon?” Donovan snorted.  “A romp in the park?”

**********

THURSDAY FEB 21 0630 HRS - CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Gary rolled over and slapped the alarm.  He already knew what the weather was going to be like today.  The three-day forecast in yesterday’s . . . today’s Paper, that is, called for a rise in temperatures through Saturday.  Today would be a perfect day to relax and take it . . .

“Wrrowrr!”

Plop.

. . . easy.  With a sigh of resignation, Gary rolled out of bed and padded his way to the door.  He scratched at the back of his neck with his left hand as he opened the portal.  The cat was currently involved in a similar activity.

“That’s twice, cat,” Gary grumbled, secretly amused at the feline’s attempt to make fun of him.  “Keep it up and I’m putting in for a Great Dane.  C’mon in and I’ll fix your breakfast.”

The cat obediently ambled toward the kitchenette as Gary retrieved the Paper.  As was his habit, he skimmed the headlines as he prepared the cat’s breakfast, then his own.  There didn’t seem to be much.  A couple of injuries in a biking accident, someone was going to trip on the escalator in North Bridge Mall, and two kids would be hurt crawling around a construction site.  For once, they seemed to be spread out over the day and he wouldn’t have to half kill himself to get from one to the other.  

After a quick breakfast, Gary was able to stop the two bike couriers from colliding by calling up one of the services and having the rider make a detour to McGinty’s for a package.  He sent a hastily wrapped religious plaque to his parents’ new address.  He would explain it to them later.  The woman who had run to the mall on her lunch hour was a little trickier.  He got there just as the heel of her shoe snapped and she fell backwards . . . into Gary’s strong arms.  After keeping her steady all the way to the top of the escalator, he led her to a shoe repair shop and bid her a good day.  He then returned to McGinty’s where he had time to finish some paperwork as he scarfed down his own lunch.  All the while, he kept the Paper close, skimming the headlines from time to time and praying that nothing would change for the worse.

As Gary laid the last of his invoices to the side, he paused to wonder about the elevator accident of the previous day.  How could all of those elevators end up with faulty brakes at almost the same time?  And the way the cables of that first one just . . . snapped!  Ten people would’ve been killed or seriously injured if he hadn’t gotten there in time.  And why that floor?  True, the weight of all those extra people could’ve been a factor, but Gary had his doubts.  

That had only been the second time Gary had ever been in the Randolph Building since coming to live in Chicago.  To his dying day he would never be able to forget that first fateful race up those stairs.  Of pushing his way through the plastic sheeting to see the rifle lying on the worktable.  His morbid fascination with the sinister looking object.  Of hearing that silk-smooth voice saying: “Like a moth to the flame.”  Feeling his heart drop into his stomach at the realization that the man he had known as ‘Dobbs’ was, in truth, the renegade agent named J.T. Marley.  The feel of the rifle in his hands as he grabbed it to defend himself, only to see Marley’s pistol just inches from his face and being told the rifle was unloaded.  The icy chill of steel on his wrists as he struggled against the metal restraints.  The feeling of helplessness as Marley taunted him by telling of his plans and how he had manipulated Gary from the first moment they had met.  That moment of sick horror as he watched the renegade line up his target, knowing that he could do nothing to stop the slaying of another president.  

Almost as bad had been when the police, in the person of Crumb and a detective who’s name he couldn’t recall, appeared on the scene.  Crumb ordered him to drop the gun.  An order the assassin refused.  Gary had silently been pleading for the killer to listen.  For him to drop the rifle and live.

Marley maintained his stance, his finger tightening on the trigger.  Gary could still hear that loud report, see Marley’s body jerk with the impact.  Could still feel the nausea rising in his throat as Marley dropped dead at his feet.

When the Secret Service had ordered Gary to keep silent about the events of those three fateful days, he’d been more than happy to comply.  He hadn’t needed their orders, or their threats.  If they’d told him they had a way to make him forget everything entirely, he would’ve insisted that they use it.  Not talking about it was easy.

Forgetting was impossible.

With a shuddering sigh, Gary pulled his mind back to the present with an effort.  That was ancient history.  No way could Marley menace anyone again.  No way.

**************

Two twelve-year-old boys were indulging in the age-old pastime of daring each other to perform reckless acts.  Currently, they were trying to outdo each other for stupidity on the sixth floor of the skeletal structure of a future shopping mall.  Gary forced his way through the locked gate, then scrambled to ascend to where the boys had laid narrow planks down to bridge the gap between two girders.  Someone had locked the elevator on the fifth floor. The first child had already taken three paces forward by the time Gary reached them.  Cautiously, he eased out onto the girder.

“B-Billy Metzger?” he gasped.  “Jesse Swenson?”

“Yo,” the boy on the plank replied as he balanced on one foot.  “Whatcha want?”

“You guys need to get down from here,” Gary told them.  “You’re gonna get yourselves killed pullin’ stunts like this!”

“Nah,” the other boy laughed.  “We do this all the time.  It’s fun!”  He started to step out onto his own plank.

Gary grabbed the boy’s jacket and yanked him back . . . just as a bucket toppled from a higher level and snapped the plank in half!  Petrified, the boy watched as the fragments tumbled end over end to the ground below.  The bucket hit first, scattering rivets and chain links everywhere.  The wooden planks hit a second later, bouncing six feet before clattering to a halt.

Horrified, Gary straightened up with a shudder.  “Wh-which one are you?” he asked the wide-eyed boy at his side.

“J-Jesse,” the freckle-faced boy stammered.  “Oh, man!  That coulda . . . I-I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.”

“Same here,” Gary murmured.  He tried not to look down at the ground so very far below.  Gary had never made a secret of the fact that he had no head for heights.  “Wh-why don’t you have a seat right over here by this . . . this elevator while I get your friend.  That’s it.  J-just . . . yeah, right there.  Y-you stay . . . stay put a-and I’ll go right out there a-and . . . ho-boy!”

Billy Metzger now had both feet planted firmly in the middle of the plank.  Stunned by the near miss, he looked about ready to pass out.  Gary tied a rope around one of the uprights, then around his waist.  He then cautiously edged out onto the precarious support, playing the rope out behind him with his left hand, all the while murmuring assurances to the frightened boy.

“I-it’s okay, Billy,” he stammered.  “W-we’re just gonna . . . gonna get you down from here.  Safely.  Y-you understand me, Billy?”  Gary slid forward one hesitant step at a time.  Billy had yet to make a sound, other than faint grunting noises.  “Billy.  Billy, listen to me.  I’m gonna need you to help me, here.  You’re gonna have to slide your feet this way, toward me.  Billy, look at me.  Look at me!” he hissed, trying not to startle the boy.

Billy slowly raised green, fear glazed, eyes to meet Gary’s.  The child’s face was completely drained of color and Gary began to worry that he might faint.  Edging a little farther out onto the board, he reached a hand out to the terrified boy.

“Slide your feet toward me, Billy,” he murmured.  “Just a few steps.  C’mon, you can do it.  You gotta help me out here, kid.  You’re a little big for me to carry.  Just slide this way a little and let me take your hand.  C’mon, Billy.  You can do this!  Just . . . just stretch out your hand.  That’s it.  A little . . . Whoa!”

Billy had been stretching his hand toward Gary, inching his way toward salvation.  His youthful bravado of just moments before was gone, to be replaced by open terror.  As his outstretched fingers brushed Gary’s hand, his foot slipped!  With a shrill cry, the boy toppled from his narrow perch!

Without hesitation, Gary lunged forward, grasping the boy’s wrist as his own feet lost purchase on the slippery steel girder!  His other hand clenched the rope he had wound about his wrist, arresting their fall a few feet below the horizontal beam!  A shaft of fire shot through his shoulders as they jerked to a halt, swinging back and forth like an erratic pendulum, the rough nylon cord biting cruelly into his hand.  Eventually, the wild swaying slowed to something a little less nauseating and Gary dared to open his eyes.  He looked up to see Jesse staring down at them, eyes wide with shock.  

Gary quickly realized that there was no way this slender child could pull the two of them to safety.  He urged Jesse to go for help, cajoling the frightened boy into motion.  Finally, Jesse nodded his understanding and went racing off to find a phone, a policeman, anything!

After just a few seconds, Gary was definitely feeling . . . stretched.  His arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets!  The left one especially.  He tried to get Billy to climb up, using him as a ladder to reach the girder, but the boy was too frightened to respond.  He dangled at the end of Gary‘s arm, his eyes fixated on the ground almost six floors below.

“B-Billy,” Gary grunted. “You gotta look up!  Billy!”  The boy snapped his head up, finally meeting Gary’s distressed grimace.  “G-good boy!  Now, I want you to bring your other hand up and grab onto me.  Can you do that?”

Hesitantly, Billy brought his free hand up until he could almost touch Gary’s sleeve.  His fingers had barely brushed the smooth leather when another bucket came hurtling down, hitting Gary’s back a glancing blow!  Tightening his grip on the boy, Gary bit back a cry of pain.  The ungainly projectile had struck him just beneath the angle of his right shoulder blade.  Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he fought to retain his hold on the now thrashing, screaming child.

“Hold still!” he shouted.  All the jolting around was putting a tremendous amount of strain on his already abused shoulders.  

It took another falling object, a hammer this time, to silence the panicked boy.  ‘Where’s all this stuff coming from?’ Gary wondered to himself.  Looking around, he tried to find a quicker way out of their predicament.  He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.  Brief flashes of another time, another face, kept intruding on his memory as he tried to think.  Finally daring to look down, he saw a crosspiece about ten feet below them and three feet to his left.  It had a segment of completed under flooring that looked strong enough to hold them both.  The next nearest one was almost twenty feet straight down.  He tried to recall if the rope might be long enough to reach.  It hadn’t seemed very long when he’d tied it around his waist as a makeshift lifeline.  Gary looked at the loop of rope between his arm and where it was attached to his waist.  Not more than six feet.  What if he untied it?  That would give him . . . what?  Another three, almost four feet?  And leave him dangling with no margin of safety if he failed.  

“B-Billy,” he panted, “I want you to reach up and untie the rope.  I’m gonna pull you up as far as I . . . I can.   A-all you gotta do i-is just tug on the end.  It’ll come loose easy.  C-can you do that?”

“I-I think so,” Billy stammered, the first words he had spoken since that first bucket had fallen.  A promising sign.  “L-lemme try.”  He stretched up, his fingers straining to grasp the end of the rope.  

Groaning with the effort, Gary pulled the boy up a few inches, until Billy could close his hand around the cord.  With a quick yank, the knot was loosened and the end of the rope fell free.  All that was holding them up now was the loop wound around Gary’s left wrist.  Letting the slender cord slip through his hand an inch at a time, he tried to ignore the burning pain as it cut into his palm.  He strove to shut out the way each jolt sent streamers of pain through his back and shoulders.  

“N-now, Billy,” he gasped when he’d let out as much rope as he dared, “I-I’m gonna try to swing us . . . swing us over to that section of . . . of floor.  It’s gonna be close, b-but I think we can make it.  I’ll have to . . . to swing you over first.  Roll toward the middle.  You got that?  Stay in the middle.”

“Stay in the middle,” Billy repeated numbly.  “Got it.”

Gary hoped the boy meant what he said, because there was no more time.  Gary knew he would only have the strength for one try.  Using his legs to set up a controlled swinging motion, he gradually increased the arc until Billy could almost touch the flooring with his feet.  By this time, pain had narrowed Gary’s vision down to that one spot where he hoped to land with the boy.  At the last moment, as they were coming to the apex of the arc, Gary released the rope . . . and prayed.  He heard Billy hit the boards and roll, coming to a grunting halt.  Numb, Gary was unable to control his own tumble so easily.  He continued to roll toward the edge of the platform!

Something snagged his jacket, stopping him less than a foot from the edge.  Panting, Gary lay there, trying to slow his racing heartbeat.  His whole body ached, especially his shoulders.  It felt as if every muscle and sinew had been stretched to the limit and released with a resounding snap!  His left hand burned where the rope had cut into the flesh of his palm.  His leather jacket and the wide leather bracer that his watch was affixed to had protected his arm and wrist, although he knew he would have a wicked looking bruise the next day.  There also seemed to be a tender spot where the bucket had impacted.  Still, Gary felt he should count his blessings.  He was lucky to be alive!

“Are you okay, Hobson?” a concerned, and very familiar, voice asked.

Gary dared to open one eye and look up at the man who had stopped his wild tumble.  “P-Parker?” he stammered.  “Wh-what . . .?”

“This kid came barreling into us just down the block,” Frank explained.  “He said his friend and some guy were about to be killed.  He led us back this way and we saw the two of you auditioning for the next ‘Batman’ movie.”   Which was only partly true.  Parker and Donovan had been following Gary most of the day.  They had lost sight of him three blocks away, only finding him when they heard young Jesse screaming for help.  “Now, answer my question.  Are you okay?”

“I-I think so,” Gary replied, wincing as he tried to move.  “M-maybe not.  I-I can’t move my . . . my arms.”

Alarmed, Parker looked over to where Donovan was helping the shaken boy to his feet.  

“Craig!” he snapped.  “Is the kid okay?”

“Shaken up some,” Donovan reported, “but no damage I can see.  Hobson?”

“We may need an ambulance,” was Frank’s grim reply.  “He can’t move his arms.”  Turning back to the injured man, Parker asked, “Can you feel them?”

“Oh, yeah!” Gary panted.  “That’s . . . that’s why . . . why I can’t move.  H-hurts too much.  Man!  I’m gonna be bathing in sports cream tonight!”

**********

The two agents helped Gary to his feet, and then helped him and Billy to the elevator.  Recovering quickly, the boy was chattering excitedly about their ‘awesome’ brush with death.  Gary just looked at the enthusiastic young adventurer and ruefully shook his head.  A movement he regretted as it sent a shaft of pain through his stiffening shoulders.  

“H-how’d you kids get in?” he asked.  “The gate was . . . was locked . . . when I got here.”

“Two guys let us in,” Billy shrugged.  “Said not to worry about security, and to have fun.  They even showed us where to find the boards.  Jesse and I, well, we’ve snuck in and done this before, lotsa times.  This is the first time we’ve ever been invited in, though.”

The ambulance and a patrol car were just pulling up as the elevator reached ground level.  At Gary’s insistence, the EMTs checked Billy Metzger over first while he spoke with the police.  He managed to come up with a plausible story as to why he just ‘happened’ to see the two boys playing among the girders.  At least Frank couldn’t find too many holes in it.

The medics quickly assessed Billy and pronounced him fit.  Gary, on the other hand, was soon found to have at least one broken rib on the right side.  The EMTs strongly recommended that he let them take him in for treatment.  

“Great,” Gary sighed.  “Who’s on tonight?”

“Dr. Carter,” the dark haired young man chuckled.  “He’s been wondering what you’ve been up to since last month.  Pneumonia, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Gary sighed.  “Wonderful.  I was supposed to meet Mom tonight, to help her plan a ‘house warming’ party for next weekend.”

“Did they finally sell their old house?” the female tech asked as she checked Gary’s pulse.  “I thought it was still on the market?”

Gary cautiously shook his head.  “They closed the day after Christmas,” he told her.  “Oh, you guys are invited.”  He rattled off the address in the suburbs.  “You, too, John,” he added to the cop.   “A week from this coming Saturday.  You guys free?”

“I’ll check my calendar,” Barb chuckled.  “Climb up on the gurney, now, and let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gary sighed.  Biting his lower lip against the pain, he obediently stretched out on the litter.  A moment later, the ambulance was on its way.

Craig turned to the officer taking notes, glancing at his nametag.

“You’re a friend of Gary’s, Officer . . . Tate?” he asked.  “Have you known him long?”

“A few months,” the cop murmured.  “He wasn’t in very good shape then, either.  I don’t know how he does it.  The guy almost died the last few times I’ve seen him.  Yet he never hesitates.  If there’s some way he can help someone, he’s gonna do it.  You know, those two men the kid described, did they sound familiar to either of you?”

“No,” Frank replied with a shake of his head.  “What worries me is what he had to say about those falling buckets and the hammer.  It sounded like someone was dropping things on them.  Deliberately.”

*******

Dr. Carter took one look at the name on the chart and shook his head with a sigh.  He’d just been talking about Gary with Dr. Kovac the other day.  They hadn’t seen their trouble prone patient in almost three weeks.  Not since he had been released after that bout of pneumonia.  What had he gotten himself into this time?  And who won the pool?

Stepping into the treatment room, he saw Chuny cleaning a deep abrasion on Gary Hobson’s left palm.  Two men, one tall and black, the other about average height and white, stood to one side, trying to keep Gary distracted from the painful procedure.  It wasn’t working too well.  

“Gary, Gary, Gary,” Carter sighed.  “What are we gonna do with you?  Let’s see . . . pain in the upper back and shoulders from . . . hanging?”

“I-it was a little more involved than that,” Gary murmured.  “Th-there was this kid a-and he was about to fall a-and . . . well . . .”

“You couldn’t let that happen, of course,” the young physician remarked with a disarming grin.  “Well, I can’t fault your motives.  Let me see that hand.”  The nurse stepped aside to let him examine the wound.  “Um, looks bad.  That’s gonna hurt for awhile, and it’s gonna leave a scar.  Let’s get your watch off and see how far this bruise goes.”  He unfastened the broad leather band and lay the timepiece on the counter.  “Is that the same watch we gave you?”

“Yeah,” Gary replied with a grimace.  “I only take it off when I bathe.  Man!  I didn’t think it was that tight!”  He was looking at a broad, painfully tender spiral that wound around his wrist and halfway to his elbow.  It was already darkening to a deep purple.  

“Whew!  That had to hurt!” Frank whistled.  Behind him, Donovan had picked up Gary’s watch while everyone’s attention was fixed on the injured man.  

“Well, let’s get this cleaned up and get you to radiology,” Dr. Carter sighed.  “Polly will be glad to see you.  She’s been calling down every ten minutes for the last hour, wanting to know if you had been admitted yet.  Is there something going on between you two?”

“Sorta,” Gary mumbled.  He looked up to see Carter giving him an amused look.  “Get your mind outta the gutter, Doc!   We’re friends!  She just . . . God!  I’m never gonna be able to explain this.”

 “I don’t think I’d even try,” Carter chuckled.  “Chuny, you don’t have to get too aggressive on this.  It looks pretty clean.  Just disinfect and wrap it up.  Then I want x-rays of both shoulders, upper right ribs, left forearm, and lower back.  Then let’s get an MRI of his upper torso and lower back.  I’d also like an ultrasound of his left rotator cuff.  Lets rule out any ligament tears.”  He looked up to meet Gary’s look of resignation.  “You’ll have plenty of time to reassure Ms. Gannon, Gary.  You’re gonna be up there for a few hours.”  He looked at the two men standing by the counter.  “You two can have seats in the waiting room until he’s through.  Or you might want to leave and come back.”

“I think that’s what we’ll do,” Frank nodded.  He clasped Gary’s right shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.  “We’ll be back before you’re through.”

“Th-that’s okay,” Gary grimaced.  “I can get a cab on my own.  You guys don’t have to hang around.  Um, in case I didn’t say it, thanks for saving my hide.  I’ve kinda developed an attachment to it.”

“We owed you,” Craig grinned.  “Hang in there, Hobson.  We’ll be back in a coupla hours.”

As they left the treatment room, Craig slipped the watch back among Gary’s things.  It wasn’t until they had stepped out into the main corridor that he turned to Frank and gave him a knowing wink.

“It’s in,” was all he said.

*******

“Well,” Dr. Carter sighed, looking closely at the x-rays, “you’ve got a couple of cracks on the right, but no separation, and no pneumo.  The MRI and ultrasound show no ligament or muscle tears, either.  You got lucky, this time.  We won’t have to admit you.  How’s the back?”

“Sore,” Gary grudgingly admitted.  “I’ve been keeping ice on it, and using the sports cream.  Honestly, Doc, I’ve been as careful of it as I can.  I’m keeping up with the therapy and exercising regularly.  My lungs and heart haven’t given me any problems and the only headaches I get lately are from stress.”

“No more nightmares?” the young physician murmured as he checked over Gary‘s chart.  He looked up when his patient didn’t answer right away.  Gary was staring down at his hands, off to the side, anywhere but meeting his doctor’s concerned gaze.  “Are you still seeing Dr. Griner?”

“Once a month,” Gary admitted.  “They’re not so bad, most of the time.  Just . . . sometimes things happen that . . . that kick ‘em into high gear for a while.  I usually manage to get a handle on ‘em.”

“Need anything to help you sleep?”

“No,” Gary replied hurriedly.  “And no pain meds, please.  I’ve still got plenty from the last time.”

Carter looked at Gary’s medical record with a puzzled frown.  “That’s been a while,” he murmured.  “And I don’t see that we gave you all that much.  If you’re in pain, Gary, don’t be afraid to get a little relief.”

“Trust me, Doc,” Gary shuddered.  “There are worse pains to endure.”

************

Gary emerged from the treatment room to find Parker and Donovan waiting for him.  They were chatting with a pretty brunette nurse who was trying not to appear bored with the attention.  

“Hi, Abby,” Gary greeted her as he limped in their direction.  “These guys giving you a hard time?”

“Nah,” the nurse shrugged.  “They’ve just been telling me of your latest adventures.”  She looked him up and down appraisingly.  “So I take it we can let someone else have your room tonight?  If we need to, that is.”

“Ya never know,” Gary chuckled.  “The night is young.  I thought you guys would be gone by now,” he said to the two agents.

“Um, yeah,” Frank replied as he watched the nurse run off in answer to an urgent summons.  “We, ahm, we’ve got this rental and thought you could use a lift instead of having to wait for a cab.”

“Thanks,” Gary nodded carefully.  “I’d appreciate that.  Dr. Carter wants me off my feet for the rest of the night,” he sighed.  On the way out he had snuck a glance at the Paper.  So far, nothing new had been added.  Looking at his watch, he saw that it was well past suppertime.  “Can I treat you guys to dinner?  There’s a great pizza place right on the river”

*********

Gary eased onto the bench seat with a sigh, leaning his forearms on the table.  If he had a single muscle that didn’t hurt, he was sure that it would before the night was over.  Every joint creaked like a rusty hinge!  He was definitely going to have to take something tonight or he’d never get any sleep.  

Parker and Donovan slid onto the bench on the other side of the booth and picked up their menus.  They waited until the waiter had taken their order before settling into ‘small talk.’

“So!” Donovan smiled.  “How long have you been doing this?”

“This?” Gary asked innocently.  “Wh-what ‘this?’  Running a bar?  I got the title to McGinty’s in ‘97.  Why?”

“We don’t mean that, Hobson,” Frank snorted, “and you know it.  How many lives have you saved just in the last coupla days?  How did you know that Craig was gonna be hit by that car?  Or those kids were gonna be in that construction site?  How many other lives have you saved just by being in the right place?  Is this a hobby with you or something?”

Gary squirmed uncomfortably as he tried to think of a reasonable answer.  “I-I just . . . It’s hard to explain,” he sighed helplessly.  “Th-these things just seem to . . . to happen to me.  I don’t know if there is a rational answer.”

“But how do you know where to be?” Donovan asked.  “This is more than just coincidence!”

“C-can we talk about something else?” Gary pleaded.  “Wh-what are your plans tomorrow?  Have you been to the aquarium, yet?  O-or the planetarium?  Oh!  Um, since you guys a-are security, um, whatever, m-maybe you’d like the Police Museum.  We’ve got all kinds of theaters, galleries, and museums.  You name it, we got it.”

“Gary,” Frank sighed, “you can’t hide from this.  I’ve seen you risk your life twice in just a little over twenty-four hours.  You’re hurting so bad, right now, you can hardly sit still.  And, judging from what happened at that construction site this afternoon, someone was either playing a pretty dangerous game, or they seriously wanted to kill you!  Has that ever happened before?”

Gary seemed to develop a sudden fascination with his water glass as he considered how much he could safely tell these two strangers who had thrust themselves into his life.  Not much, was the only answer he could come up with.

“I-I’ve had some trouble in the past,” he grudgingly admitted.  “Usually with people who think I know more than I do.  O-or that I can . . . see the future.  The police think it’s because I’ve stuck my nose in where it doesn’t belong.  Or that I’m hiding something.  Or even that I was behind it somehow.”

“There is no way in hell,” Donovan commented dryly, “that you could drop buckets of scrap metal on your own head while dangling sixty some-odd feet above the ground by one hand, and holding onto a screaming twelve year old with the other.”  This earned him a fleeting smile from Gary.

“Some of the authorities I’ve had to deal with are starting to come around,” Gary shrugged, wincing as the motion sent a spasm of pain through his upper back.  “Ssst!  I’ve gotta remember not to do that.  A-anyway, um, m-most of them just think I’m . . . I’m some kinda nut.”  He leaned back with a sigh followed by a slow hiss as his aching muscles touched the back of the bench.  “I’m not crazy.  Not yet, anyway.  I can’t stop . . . knowing about . . . things.  I’ve tried.  God knows, I’ve tried,” he added with a dry chuckle.  “I guess what makes it so hard is . . . I don’t know how to stop caring, either.”

**********

It was close to midnight when the two agents finally took Gary home.  After his solemn statement, neither of them had known what to say, so they’d said nothing until their pizza had arrived a moment later.  Frank was surprised to find that his appetite was unaffected by the grim mood brought on by Gary’s matter-of-fact assessment of his situation.  Neither was Gary’s or Craig’s.  Between them, they’d made short work of a large pizza.

After another hour, which they devoted to sports, women, and general small talk, Gary had started showing definite signs of fatigue.  He’d also had trouble concentrating on the conversation, and had even seemed to drift off to sleep at one point.  With both eyes open.  That was when Parker had decided that enough was enough.  Their quarry was exhausted and in pain.  They would get nothing further, of any consequence, tonight.

They stayed with him as he laboriously climbed the stairs to his loft, watching with interest as he unlocked the door with his palm print.  As they entered behind him, Frank took a closer look at the alarm system.  It was state-of-the-art, with redundancies on top of redundancies.  Only those whose prints the system was programmed to recognize would have access.  He thumped the pane of rippled glass speculatively.  He was willing to bet that it was not ordinary glass, either.  Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble and expense to ensure that this man had a safe place to sleep.  He made a comment to that effect as he strolled into the room.

“It was a g-gift,” Gary grunted as he eased onto the bed.  “Some . . . friends from, um, Colorado had it installed last year.  I was having a-a little problem with break-ins at the time.”  He eased his shoes off with his toes, then lay back with a sigh of relief.  He had one bad moment when his shoulders touched the mattress, but it quickly passed.

“Where’s that sports cream you were talkin’ about?” Parker asked.  “You need to rub some in before you hit the sack.”

“Medicine cabinet,” Gary murmured drowsily, waving a hand in the direction of the bathroom.  “Top shelf.”

Parker stepped into the bathroom and took a moment to look around at all the modifications that had made everything more accessible to someone in a wheelchair.  What had it been like, he wondered.  

When he’d first been brought into the Project, Frank had become good friends with Dr. John Ballard, a geeky sorta guy who had been stuck in a wheelchair since he was a teenager.  Frank knew that, while Ballard had outwardly accepted his situation, he never stopped praying for a miracle.  Had it been the same with Hobson, or did he make his own miracle?

The sports cream was right where Gary had said it would be.  Frank grabbed the tube and headed back to the living area.  Donovan was coaxing Hobson to sit up so that he could remove the jacket and shirt from the nearly lethargic man.  He was also encouraging Gary to swallow the pill he was holding out.  Which he finally did.  As Craig pulled the t-shirt over Gary’s head, Frank’s breath caught in his throat at his first sight of the barkeep’s bare back.  Craig had a similar reaction as he looked at Gary’s chest.  

“Those are bullet wounds!” the ex-SEAL commented with a grimace of empathy.  He’d been shot more than once and knew how they had to have felt.

“Hmm?” Gary murmured, following Craig’s eyes.  “Oh, yeah, well, I guess I forgot to duck a few times.”  He rubbed one hand over his face, trying to rouse himself enough to pay attention.  “That pill wasn’t morphine, was it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Demerol,” Craig replied with a shake of his head.  “About 50 mg, from what the doctor said.  How many times have you been shot?  I count three, no four scars here.”

“Gimme a second,” Gary sighed, eyes closed in concentration.  “Um, twice here,” he mumbled, placing a hand on his right shoulder.  “Once here,” indicating the left shoulder.  “Once on the left side,” he added, putting a hand to his lower ribs.  “Creased across the back.  Twice.  And once across the back of the head.  That one kept me groggy for a week or so.  So that’s . . . seven?  No, eight,” he finished with a sleepy nod.  He rubbed at a scar on his right bicep.  His brow creased into a frown as the room jiggled a little too much.  “I don’t think I like Demerol.”

“What the hell happened to your back?” Frank asked as Hobson turned over onto his stomach.  “Were you a POW somewhere?”

“Hmm?  Oh.  No,” Gary murmured sleepily.  “Took a li’l vacation last November.  Ran into some trouble.  That feels better,” he sighed as Frank applied a liberal layer of the menthol-scented medicine.  

Parker tried to ignore the ridges of scar tissue crisscrossing Hobson’s back as he rubbed the strong smelling cream into the barkeep’s broad shoulders, being extra careful around the livid bruise beneath the right shoulder blade.  Someone had worked him over good at some point!  Recently, too.  Still, most of them would fade, given time.  

By the time Parker had finished his ministrations, the medication had kicked in and the barkeep was snoring softly.  They rolled him over enough to turn the covers back, then managed to get his jeans off and tuck him in.  Through all this, Gary never stirred.  Between the battering he had taken in saving the boys and the medication, he was out for the night.  As Frank pulled the covers up to Hobson’s chin, he couldn’t help but recall this same man lying in a hospital bed, his mother and father giving him permission to die.  With a shiver, he picked up Hobson’s discarded clothing and lay them over the back of a chair before slipping his own jacket back on and turning toward the door.

“Remind me not to go on any vacations with this guy,” Craig murmured.  “I don’t want to be the one to bury him.”

“Let’s go,” Frank said as he pulled the door closed.  “I need to get another look at his file.  There’s something not right here.”

*********

FRIDAY FEB 22 0035 HRS - CHICAGO. ILLINOIS

“I thought so,” Frank mumbled as he scanned the page.  “Look here, at the autopsy report.  No abrasions on the hands!  And he has a doozy of one right now.  There’s also no mention of that bruise on his forearm.  Or the one on his back.  It mentions the scars on his back, on his wrists, old fractures, an appendix scar, everything.  The injuries he’s gotten since I back-stepped didn’t even happen in the other timeline!”

“That makes sense, if you think about it,” Craig mused as he took a seat on Frank’s bed.  “I wasn’t here before, so he wouldn’t have needed to rescue me from that car, and he wouldn’t have hurt his back.  So how did that cause those two kids to be playing at that construction site?”

“I don’t know,” Parker sighed, tossing the file onto the desk.  “I just don’t think it was all that ‘accidental,’ if you get my meaning.  Two guys let these kids into a closed construction site and tell them to ‘have fun.’  Even show them a place to find the most trouble.  Then you’ve got buckets of metal plummeting from the upper floors, straight onto Hobson and those kids.  It almost sounds like someone is testing him, seeing how far they can push him before he breaks.”  He looked down at the open packet.  “Here’s another scary thought.”

“Like we shouldn’t be scared enough?” Donovan snorted.  “What next?”

“Just this,” Frank replied grimly.  “I grabbed Hobson less than a foot from the edge.  What if I hadn’t been there?  He never could’ve gotten to DC if that’d happened in the first timeline.  Even if he hadn’t ’ve died, he would’ve been critically injured.  It didn’t happen!  Somebody chose to make it happen!  Somebody who knows about Hobson, or has at least heard of someone like him.  I think they’re making sure of their target before they either pick him up . . . or take him out.”

Craig shuddered as the implications hit him.  Looking at his watch, he saw that it was a few minutes after midnight.  He picked up the phone and started dialing.  Suddenly, he felt an urgent need to talk to Ramsey.

**********                                               

Gary moaned in his sleep, rolling over onto his back and raising his hands to shield his face.  He wanted to wake up, but the medication was keeping him mired in the dream realm.  His lips moved as he made murmuring, pleading noises.  He seemed to be begging someone to stop . . .

******

He was once more in that half finished office, plastic sheeting covered work surfaces, divided one ‘room’ from another, providing perfect hiding places for . . . things.  Like bodies.  And guns.  And killers.  

Gary strained against the steel rings encircling his wrists, binding his hands behind him and around the metal skeleton of the scaffold.  Marley stood at the window, the rifle in his hands.  Gary tried to persuade him, at first, then found himself yelling, almost screaming!  Anything to distract the assassin from his deadly purpose!  

“You’re lost, Marley!” he cried.  “Lost in your own logistics!”

Crumb was there, screaming at Marley to drop the gun!  Marley glanced back for just an instant before turning back to his murderous task!  Speechless, Gary could only watch the drama unfold.  

Crumb cried out once more.  

Marley raised the rifle to his shoulder, taking aim.  His finger tightened on the trigger.

A shot rang out!

**********

Gary sat straight up in bed, his heart racing and chest heaving as he fought to get himself under control.  The nightmare/memory had completely overcome the sedative effects of the painkiller.  Looking around wildly, he flopped back with a sigh of relief to find himself alone.  The action sent a shock of pain through his back, his only acknowledgement a soft grunt of protest.  His heart was still thumping away like a bass drummer on amphetamines.  

Finally, he covered his mouth with both hands and sighed.  Turning his head just enough to look at the clock/radio, Gary saw that it was only two o’clock.  Two o’clock.  Why did that seem so important?  Two o’clock.  The Randolph Building.  Marley.  

Marley.  

Why was he dreaming about the renegade Secret Service agent now?  Was it because of his recent visit to the Randolph Building?  Why not the night before, when the memories had been so fresh in his mind?  There was still a lot about that incident which puzzled him.  Gary still couldn’t believe that every elevator in the building could malfunction at almost the same time!  And why the 13th floor?  Most buildings refused to have a 13th floor, going straight from 12th to 14th.  Why was this one different?

Marley.

He was dead.  Had died at Gary’s feet before his nefarious task could be completed.  Crumb had shot the turncoat as he was taking aim on the President of the United States.  He had been buried in an unmarked grave more than five years ago.  It was done.  Over.  

So why couldn’t he get that bastard out of his head?

*********

Gary was still wide-awake by the time the Paper arrived.  As he led the way back to the kitchenette, the cat kept rubbing its body against his leg and looking up at him, making little questioning noises.

“I’m fine, cat,” he sighed.  “Just didn’t sleep so good last night.  You want a can of the chicken this morning?”

The cat sat on its haunches and licked its lips.  Gary was almost certain it was smiling.

“Chicken it is, then,” Gary replied with a tired grin.  “C’mon.  I’ve already had my breakfast.”

As the cat dug into it’s breakfast, Gary sat down with the Paper and a cup of coffee.  It promised to be a slow day.  There were only two items that were of any interest to him.  The first one was the only one he had that morning.  Taking one more gulp of his coffee, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.  A homeless man was going to be found in the alley behind Portillo’s on W. Ontario in less than an hour.  He would die that afternoon from injuries sustained in a vicious beating by two unknown assailants.  As he neared the door, Gary grabbed his hockey stick.  And his cell phone.  Was Peter up at this hour, he wondered?

*********

Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee

“He’s on the move already?” Frank groaned, rolling out of bed.  He tossed a pillow and struck the figure occupying the other bed.  “Rise ‘n’ shine, Craig!” he sighed.  “We got work to do.  Our boy’s an early riser.”

Craig Donovan raised his head just enough to look at the clock, then buried his head under the pillows.  “Tell him to go back to bed,” was the muffled response.  “I’m sleeping in.”

Frank tossed another pillow as he pulled on his pants.  “C’mon, Craig,” he insisted.  “After yesterday, I don’t wanna take any chances.  He wasn’t supposed to be killed until tomorrow, but he almost bought it along with that kid.”  He picked up what looked like a PDA on the nightstand.  It showed a color map of the immediate area along with street names.  A tiny dot was moving slowly along one of the streets.  “He’s headed north on Wells.  I don’t see how he can move after the beating he took.  He must have a higher pain tolerance than I do!”

They reached street level as Gary came trotting by, still moving north. He was now on LaSalle.  He was holding a cell phone to his ear with one hand and carrying a hockey stick with the other.  

“A hockey stick?” Frank exclaimed.  “What now?  He’s a little old to be tryin’ out for the team, isn’t he?”  

“It’s never that simple with this guy,” Craig sighed as they hurried after their quarry.  “C’mon.  He’s already past McDonald’s so he’s not after breakfast, either.”

They followed Hobson as he cut through the parking lot around the ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll McDonald’s’ and crossed W. Ontario to disappear into the alley between the Amoco and a restaurant called Portillo’s.  They ran across the street just in time to hear Gary yelling for someone to ‘Back off!’

The two agents entered the narrow alleyway to see Gary facing off against two bruisers who were standing over what looked like a bundle of old rags.

“Leave him alone,” Gary snapped.  “He’s just a harmless old man.”  He had the hockey stick cocked back over one shoulder, ready to wade into the two gorillas.

They were apparently unimpressed.  The overgrown thug on the left took a step forward, one hand reaching inside his windbreaker.  “You just bit off more trouble . . .” he growled.

“Than one person can handle,” Frank finished for him.  “That’s why he brought backup.”  He moved up to Gary’s right, a 9mm automatic clenched in his right hand.  “You really don’t need whatever you have in that pocket, pal, so let’s keep both hands where we can see ‘em.  You, too, friend.  Good boys,” he added as both men raised their hands.  “Craig?  You got your cell phone?”

“The police are on their way,” Donovan replied from Gary’s left, staying well clear of the hockey stick.  “Ambulance, too.”

Gary had managed to contain his surprise at seeing his two new acquaintances, and now took a cautious step closer to the old man.  The two bruisers stepped back when Frank waved them away with his pistol.  

“Why don’t you two just turn around and put both hands on the wall, there,” he suggested.  “Now.”

The two did as they were told.  The moment they did, Gary wasted no time in rushing to the side of the motionless form on the pavement.  Laying his hockey stick to one side, he began a careful search for broken bones.  From the look on his face, he was finding a few.

“The guy is seventy years old,” he grumbled.  “He’s not even a threat to himself.  What could he possibly have that two healthy guys like you couldn’t go out and earn like the rest of us?”  He pressed a folded handkerchief against a deep cut on the old man’s forehead.  Casting a glance at the expensive watch on one man’s wrist, he asked, “Or is this how you make a living?”

“That’s for us to know, Hobson,” the one who had spoken earlier chuckled.

Three sets of eyes locked on him instantly.

“Do I know you?” Gary asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.  “I don’t recall having met you before.”

No response.

“The man asked you a question,” Craig murmured in a menacing tone.  “That usually requires an answer.”

All they got was stony silence.  While Craig covered him, Frank stepped up and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the speaker’s neck.  

“I’m in a lousy mood, pal,” he commented in a conversational tone.  “I missed out on my beauty sleep.  Now, how do you know Mr. Hobson, here?  And please remember that I am in a really lousy mood.”

“Put the gun down, mister!”

Gary looked up to see a police officer removing the gun from Craig Donovan’s hand.  Another officer had his pistol trained on Frank Parker.

“It’s okay, guys,” Gary told them.  “They were helping me help him,” he added, nodding at the man on the pavement before him.  He looked past the two officers to the EMTs coming up behind them.  “The two holding up the wall were trying to cave in his ribs when I got here.  He needs a ride to the ER.”

Things got a little crazy after that.  As Frank stepped back, intending to lay his gun on the ground and identify himself, if necessary, the man he had been threatening pushed out from the wall, knocking him over Gary and the old man.  The two officers brought their guns to bear, only to find themselves aiming at Gary.  The one who had yet to speak had grabbed Gary by the hair and yanked him up to use as a shield!  He now had one muscular arm clamped around Gary’s throat and a pistol pressed tightly behind his right ear.  The other man had disappeared in the confusion.

“We’re going to leave, now,” the man holding Gary said in a surprisingly calm, and cultured, voice.  “Mr. Hobson is going to be our guest for just a few minutes.”

He pulled Gary backwards one step at a time, backing around the corner and into the parking lot behind the Amoco station.  Gary looked back at the others, meeting Frank’s eyes with a frightened, pleading gaze.  While the bruiser’s attention was fixed on the cops, Frank slowly stretched his hand out for the gun he had dropped earlier.

“I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Parker,” the silken voice purred so low that only Frank and Gary could hear him.  “You don’t want anything to happen to your new friend.”  The arm had tightened and Gary’s eyes rolled up as he struggled to breathe!  His hands came up to tug ineffectually at the constriction.

Frank slowly brought both hands up even with his shoulders.  Down on one knee, as he was, there was little else he could do.  He watched helplessly as Hobson was dragged over to a nondescript black four-door sedan.  The passenger door was thrust open from the inside and the man with the smooth voice backed up until he was almost inside.  With a lightening quick move that belied his bulk, the man raised his pistol and brought it down with stunning force across the back of Gary’s head at the same moment as he thrust his hostage away.

Gary dropped in a boneless heap as the black car peeled rubber and sped off, his abductor safely inside.  He was conscious only of the blinding pain in his head, and finally being able to draw air into his oxygen starved lungs!  He rolled onto his back, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving, as he strove to get air past his bruised trachea.  He was dimly aware that someone had knelt beside him and was calling his name.

“M’kay,” he croaked.  He blinked his eyes open, wincing as the early morning sunlight sent a shaft of renewed agony through his battered head.  “A-almost, anyway,” he added with a grimace.  “Man, what is this?  ‘Beat up on Hobson Week?’  And who were those guys?”  He tried to raise his head, only to give it up when another stab of pain raced through the back of his head.  

“Just lie still, Hobson,” Frank’s voice suggested.  “You probably have a concussion.  The EMTs will be here as soon as they’re through with the old guy.”  Two fingers gently pushed his chin to the left, eliciting a groan as the motion stretched bruised skin and muscles.  “That’s gonna need stitches.  Looks like another scar to add to your collection.  Did those guys look familiar at all?”

“N-no,” Gary stammered.  “You?  Th-that guy knew y-your name, too.”

“Yeah,” Frank murmured, his voice thoughtful.  “He did.  And that makes me very nervous.”

**********

“Your CT was negative,” Dr. Kovac murmured as he tied off the first stitch.  “As were your x-rays.  You have a very hard head, Mr. Hobson.”

“I think we, unh! know each other well enough that you can call me Gary,” the patient grunted.  “And that hard head has been my greatest asset the last few years.  How’s the old man?  Is he gonna be okay?”

The swarthy Croatian took the time to tighten another suture before answering.  “He’ll be fine in a few days.  From the look of him, the rest will do him good.”

“He’ll probably eat better here, too,” Gary chuckled.  “Ow!  Not so rough, Doc!  I think the Novocain is wearin’ off.”

“Are you saying that our hospital food is not as good as the local, how do you say, soup kitchen?” Dr. Kovac asked in mock indignation.

“I lived here for several months, remember?” Gary pointed out.  “And I’ve been a ‘guest’ several times since then.  It’s not exactly home cooking.”

The doctor said nothing as he continued to suture the gash just above Gary’s hairline behind his right ear.  Although Gary had a sneaking suspicion that the swarthy Croatian was smiling behind his back.

********

“No concussion,” Gary reported as he rejoined the two he now suspected to be more than ‘security consultants.’  “Just a God awful headache.”  He gingerly probed the bandage covering the sutures.  “And a little needlework.  I’m beginning to think I should buy stock in the company.”  

“So,” Parker murmured, tilting Gary’s head up to get a closer look at the livid bruise starting to darken around the other man’s throat, “any ideas on who those two were?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Gary remarked.  “Mine wasn’t the only name he was tossin’ around.”  He freed his chin from Parker’s grasp to give the shorter man a direct look.  “Is there something we need to talk about?”

Parker and Donovan exchanged concerned, hesitant gazes.  How much should they tell him?  How much would he believe?  

“Give us a moment,” Frank sighed, as he drew Craig off to one side.  The two men held a hushed conference, with an occasional glance at their companion.  Finally, they turned back to face the irritated barkeep.  “Come back to our room with us,” Parker told him.  “We’ll tell you what we can, which isn’t much.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose,” Gary grumbled.  “Let’s go.”

********

Frank handed Gary the thick file that detailed his life . . . and death.  With a puzzled glance at the two NSA agents, or so they had claimed to be, Gary opened the manila folder and began to read.  He skimmed through most of it, pausing only to read someone’s psychiatric analysis of his odd behavior.  The words ‘delusional,’ ‘schizophrenic,’ and ‘paranoid’ cropped up a lot.  Nothing he hadn’t already heard before.  Turning to the most recent events, he found the photos taken at the train station, although he had no way of knowing that.  They were the ones showing Parker holding a bloody figure dressed in what was left of one of Gary’s blue flannel shirts.

“Th-that’s me?” he stammered, looking up at the two agents.  “But . . . but that never happened!  I haven’t been to Washington in years, and I know I was never . . . I mean . . . th-this never happened!”

“Not yet,” Frank told him, his voice surprisingly gentle.  “It happens tomorrow, but I can’t tell you how.  Not yet.”

“Why would I go to Washington?” Gary asked, unable to take his eyes from the gruesome pictures.  “I rarely leave the Tri-state area these days.”

“You’ll know tomorrow,” Donovan replied.  “We’ve been given strict orders not to interfere until there’s no other choice.”

Gary’s face had lost all its color as he read the autopsy report.  His autopsy report!  The medical jargon left his head spinning as he tried to understand what he was seeing.  He checked the date on the report.  It read ‘Sunday, February 24th.’  Stunned, he almost fell onto the bed.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded in a hushed whisper.  “How did you . . .?  You’re from the future!  Y-you have some way o-of traveling through time!”  Gary leapt to his feet, still holding that damning file, as he paced the narrow confines of the hotel room.  “Is it one way?  Can you only travel to the past, or can you return to your own time?  No, of course not.  You change the past and the future changes, too.  H-have . . .?  God!  I can’t believe I’m even asking these questions!   H-how far in the future are you from?  A few days?  A week?”

The two agents watched as he started putting the pieces together with a lot more reasoning than they would’ve given him credit for a few days before.  But then Frank had been there when Gary had discovered the sphere, had seen him analyze the object with uncanny accuracy for a layman.  He could actually see it in Gary’s eyes as the barkeep made the connection.

“That thing in the park,” Hobson murmured, his eyes growing wide.  “Th-that overgrown blue soccer ball!  One of you was the pilot!  Wh-which . . .?”  He turned to look directly at Parker.  “Were you hanging around, watching me?”

“What makes you think it was just one of us?” Donovan asked, stunned at how fast this man was putting the pieces together.  

“It was only big enough for one,” Gary replied, not taking his eyes off Parker, who met his gaze openly.  “You did see me.  You watched me crawling around that thing.  Th-that’s why you mentioned it in the bar that evening.  You were checking me out, seeing if . . . if I could be trusted w-with something l-like . . . this,” he concluded, looking down at the file in his hands.  With a shudder, he tossed the folder on the desk.  “So I’m supposed to die tomorrow.  What can I do to change that?”

“Don’t go to D.C.” Frank told him with a dismissive shrug.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to D.C. for!” Gary muttered with a silent curse.  “I-if I’m going there for a reason, then that reason hasn’t changed.  And you won’t tell me what that reason is.  Why?  If it’s something that needs to be stopped, then why can’t you stop it?  Save me the trip?”  But Gary had been down that road too many times before.  He knew why.  Knew what it was that the two agents’ superiors wanted to know.  “You’re supposed to find out how I’ll know.  My so called ‘secret.’  Well, you can go back to whoever you really work for and tell ‘em to go to Hell!  I’ve done my bit and, from the looks of it, I’ll keep on doin’ it until I can’t anymore.  How I do it, and why . . . that’s my business.”  He turned and took a couple of steps toward the door.

“Gary, look . . .” Frank started, reaching a hand out to stop him.

“No, you look!” Gary snapped heatedly, spinning back to face the two agents.  “I tried!  Last September, I tried to warn you people what was gonna happen and you . . . laughed at me!  Well, no one’s laughing now.  Least of all, me.”  He paused, biting his lip as he rubbed at his eyes.  “You have no idea what it felt like,” he continued when he could speak again.  “To know what was going to happen and be completely, totally helpless to do anything about it.  And you!  Y-you could’ve gone back and stopped it!  Why didn’t you?”

“It’s not our decision,” Frank sighed as the implied accusation stirred up old resentments.  “If it were, believe me, it never would’ve happened.  There‘s a-a sorta . . . committee that tells us what we can change and when.”

“Well thank God I don’t work for your ‘committee!’” Gary grumbled.  His eyes narrowed as things began to click into place.  “That’s the rest of it, isn’t it?  They want to know how I do it so they can call the shots.  Well, just double what I said before.  I do what I do because it’s right!  Because innocent people, regardless o-of race, or religion, or social standing, or political clout, have just as much right to live as the President of the United States.  I’m not going to stand by and let some ‘committee’ decide who lives or who dies!  Not on my watch!” he added, stabbing a thumb at his chest.

Without giving them a chance to reply, Gary snatched the door open and practically ran from the room.  In truth, there was nothing either man could say in the face of his accusations.  He had pretty much nailed all their own complaints on the head.

“Well,” Frank sighed.  “All things considered, I think that went just great.  Don’t you?”

**********

Gary hurried back to his loft and grabbed the Paper from where he had dropped it to rush off for that first, fateful rescue.  He still had plenty of time to stop that fire in the offices of the Loyola Law School.  It wasn’t going to happen for another three hours.  

He paced furiously as what the agents had told him replayed itself in his mind.  Damn them!  Damn them for not listening before and for expecting him to play their asinine games!  And double damn their self-righteous ‘committee,’ while they were at it!  How could anyone with the power they had use it to play God like that?  And how could they expect him to go along, even if he could?  

His troubled thoughts ground to a halt as he felt something rub against his leg.  Looking down, he saw the cat winding itself in a figure eight around his feet.  He seemed to be telling the human to chill out.

“You chill, cat,” Gary grumbled irritably.  “You’re not the one that might be dead by tomorrow night.  Or the one who might end up under a microscope for the rest of his life.  Jesus Christ!  Why me?  How’m I supposed to make these kinds o’ decisions?”  He plopped down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands.  “This sucks,” he moaned, rocking back and forth in agitation.  “Talk about ‘damned if you do and damned if you don’t.’  If I stay here, something bad is gonna happen in Washington that other people know about, but no one wants to stop but me.  And I don’t know what it is, yet, so I can’t warn anyone.  If I go, there’s no guarantee I’ll succeed and, apparently, I’ll die in the attempt.  But how can I live with myself if I don’t try, at least?  If I sit back and do nothing, then I’m no better than that blasted ‘committee.’  And who were those other guys?  What’s their stake in this?  Are they gonna cause whatever I’m supposed to stop?  And how did they know me?  A-are they gonna . . . are they gonna be the ones who . . . B-but why tomorrow?  Why not this morning?  What kinda game are they playing?”

The cat stood up, placing one forepaw on Gary’s knee while he patted the sleeve of the human’s jacket with the other in an oddly comforting gesture.  Smiling hesitantly as he looked into those golden yellow eyes, Gary reached down to scratch the savvy feline behind the ears.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed.  “All these questions are driving me crazy.  The answers are probably worse.”  He lifted the cat into his lap and began stroking the orange back.  An activity the tabby wholeheartedly approved of.  “At least I have backup, now.  And someone to listen to me rant like a lunatic,” he added, rubbing the purring feline under the chin.  

Gary leaned back with a sigh, wincing as his back came into contact with the sofa.  He had been so wrapped up by the morning’s activities, and the stunning revelation by the two time-hopping agents, he had almost forgotten how sore his shoulders were.  Fortunately, they were not as stiff as they could’ve been.  The sports cream Parker had applied the night before had helped.  As had the few hours of sleep provided by the medication.  Gary recalled a few twinges as he’d raised the hockey stick over his shoulder, and again when that bozo had put the sleeper hold on him.  In a few more days he should be as good as new.  

If he lived that long.

********

“Let me talk to Ramsey,” Parker said into the phone.  He glanced at Craig and shook his head with a sigh.  “Hell, I agree with everything he said.  I wanted to go back before 9/11 so bad it made me sick.  At least he can say he . . . Ramsey!  What did you find out about . . .?”  He listened for several long seconds as the security chief gave his report.  “Jesus!  No wonder he looked spooked!  Any information on the . . .?  What about follow-up?  Did Hobson . . .?  Not even a handshake?  That’s cold!  Can you blame the guy for being bitter?  That had to stick in his craw big time!  Yeah,” he sighed.  “We told him.  No, not about the trains.  He still doesn’t know about that, yet.  He does know that he may die tomorrow.  Actually, he was angrier that the Panel let the WTC disaster happen.  Scared?  I don’t know.  I think he was too mad to be scared.  We didn’t have to tell him much at all.  He seemed to take the file at face value, as if he’s seen stuff like that before.  Yeah, he put the pieces together in a heartbeat.  I think Isaac would love this guy.  He figured out the connection with the sphere with no prompting from us, and even knew that it was a one-seater.  The guy’s a little weird, Nate, but he’s no dummy.  He thinks on the fly.  Tell Bradley that he’s probably going to resist recruitment.  When we told him why we didn’t stop what happened on 9/11, he told us where the Panel could go and all but offered to buy them an express ticket.  No, I don’t think he’s ever gonna make president of their fan club.  His motives!  Christ, Ramsey!  He cares!  What other kind of motive can he have?  You haven’t even seen the stuff he’s done in just the last few days!  Did I tell you that he saved Craig’s life?  No!  There was absolutely no way that he could’ve set it up, you suspicious . . . From three blocks in the other direction?  Give me a break!”

Frank listened to the man on the other end of the line for another few seconds, rolling his eyes as he fidgeted impatiently.  Finally, Ramsey concluded the conversation by repeating the order to ‘keep an eye on Hobson.’

“Talmadge and the Panel still want to know how he does it,” Ramsey sighed.  “If it’s something that we can duplicate or . . . commandeer, they want it.  Whatever it takes.”

Closing his secure cell phone with a snap, Frank looked up at his friend and shook his head.  There didn’t seem to be any way to convince the Back Step Panel that Hobson was not exactly a ‘team player.’

“Talk about your one track minds,” he sighed.  “Ramsey had the full scoop on Hobson and the Randolph Building, at least.”  He quickly filled Donovan in on the attempt on President Tyson’s life a few years before.  “This Marley guy was a real piece of work.  He tries to convince Hobson he’s crazy, almost did convince the police he was guilty of murder, started a city-wide manhunt for Hobson, and then trapped him in the Randolph Building.  When the police arrived on the scene, Hobson was chained to a scaffold, ripe for the slaughter, and Marley was lining up his shot.  If not for Hobson’s interference, Tyson woulda died that day.”

“So why wasn’t any of that made public?” Donovan wondered.  “You’d think the President would’ve called for some kind of award ceremony, at least.”

“The Secret Service swept it under the rug so fast,” Frank chuckled, “Martha Stewart couldn’t have found a speck of dirt.  Marley used to be one of their own.  They didn’t want it made public.  Neither did Hobson.  He refused to let anyone lodge a protest on his behalf.  When the Service threatened him with Leavenworth, he just shrugged and said not to worry.  Not exactly a ‘glory hound,’ is he?”

**************

The fire at the offices of the Loyola Law School had proven to be pretty routine, as Gary had hoped.  Two first year students had been trying to prove a point about an arson case.  The demonstration had gotten more than a little out of hand.  Gary had been sitting in the back, next to a fire extinguisher when the flammable liquids had spilled out across the desk.  A quick scramble to the front, a few long spurts of the foam, and the situation was contained.  

That left him plenty of time to think about what he had learned that morning.  And what might happen the next afternoon.  To say that the prospect of his own death frightened him would be a gross understatement.  To say that it scared the crap out of him would be a little closer to the truth.  Not that he hadn’t faced death before, and more than once.  Somehow, that never seemed to blunt the feeling of gut-wrenching terror he felt as events unfolded.

“And I think we could have a three-ring circus in the backyard,” Lois was saying as Gary just nodded, his thoughts still on Parker, Donovan, and Washington, D.C.

“I’ll look into it,” Gary murmured absently.  Then her words penetrated the fog in his brain.  “A circus?  Isn’t that a little ‘over the top’ for a housewarming party?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and giving his mother a puzzled look.

“I had to see if you were listening,” Lois grinned.  “You never said a thing when I mentioned the go-cart races or the tandem skydivers.”  Her expression sobered as she reached across Gary’s desk to take his hand.  “Something is bothering you, sweetie.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“I can’t,” Gary sighed.  “I’d like to . . . but I can’t.  I, um, I may have to go out of town tomorrow, Mom.  I’ve already given Peter a call and he’s gonna cover things until I get back.” ‘If I get back,’ he added to himself.  “I hope to be home in time for the party, but I can’t promise anything right now.”  He saw no need to mention that he had spent the long walk back from E. Pearson St. getting his thoughts together and taking a long look at things.  Places and scenes that he might never see again.  Nor that he had stopped in to see Jake and get the money he would need to charter a plane.  There was no need to leave his preparations until the next day, when it would be so much harder to transfer the funds.  Not this time, anyway.  

“Is it something to do with . . . you know?” she asked, almost afraid to mention the Paper.  Gary had come so close to dying so many times in the past two years.  Mostly because of that blasted, fortune telling rag!

“S-sorta,” he shrugged, wincing as the motion tugged at his back and shoulder muscles.  “Honestly, Mom, I can’t tell you what’s gonna happen, ‘cause I don’t know, yet.  But I may be gone f-for a few days.  Marissa and Emmett should be back from their honeymoon by next Friday.  Do you think that you and Dad can handle the bar until then, if it comes down to it?”

“I don’t think we’ll have any problems, Gary,” Lois replied, giving her son what was meant to be a reassuring smile.  She couldn’t hide the worry that shone from her eyes, however.  This was her only child and something was tearing him apart.  She could feel it as clearly as if he were shouting it from the rooftops.  It bothered her that there was nothing she could do to help unless he let her.  Which he didn’t seem inclined to do.  “Is it something . . . major?” she asked, knowing how badly he had beat himself up over the tragedy of the World Trade Center.

“I-I think it might be,” he murmured, staring down at their clasped hands.  “I just don’t know yet.”

“Then you be careful, Gary,” Lois told him, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it to sit back with a sorrowful sigh.  “I just wish I knew what was going on so I’ll know how much I should worry.”

“I promise to tell you as much as I can when it’s all over,” he assured her.  “Just . . . don’t expect it to make a lot of sense.”

“Please, Gary!” Lois snorted daintily. “Nothing has made any sense for the last five years.  Why should tomorrow be any different?”

With a relieved chuckle, Gary leaned across the desk and kissed his mom on the cheek.  He then looked down at the list of things they had been compiling for the party.  “Go-cart races?” he read, his brow knit in a puzzled frown.  “S-sky divers, and a three ring circus?  It’s still a little cold for any of that, don’t you think?”

***********

The crowd at McGinty’s was hopping that night, which was good as it kept Gary from thinking about the next day . . . and what news the Paper might bring.  The behemoth from Tuesday evening was there, and behaving himself nicely.  He even left Karen a generous tip.  

Parker and Donovan were there, also, trying to convince Gary not to go on his fateful flight the next day.  Gary took them to his office where they could talk privately.

“You know you can’t stop this,” Frank told him.  “You’ll die for nothing.  Let us find a way to stop it.”

“That may not be my choice,” Gary told them candidly, “or yours.  Just the fact that you’re here could mean it won’t happen.  Or it may happen regardless.  I’ve learned not to get my hopes up.”  He gave Frank a direct, appraising look.  “Besides, weren’t you the one who said you had orders not to stop it unless I couldn’t?  What will your ‘committee’ say if you ignore their orders?”

“Like that’s never happened before,” Craig chuckled.  “Frank is lucky he’s the only one who can fly that thing.  Otherwise, he’d ‘ve been canned ages ago.”

“How do you handle it?” Gary asked the chrononaut.  “How do you feel about being the only one to’ve seen the disasters you get sent back to prevent?”

Frank looked down at his feet as he leaned back on the sofa.  It seemed that he was not going to answer, at first.  Then he looked up at Gary, his gaze level and full of misery.  “I think you know how I feel,” he said.  “You go through the same thing everyday, don’t you?  You don’t travel back in time, but you see the future in some way.  Some way that’s incredibly accurate.  I only have to do it every few weeks or so, sometimes less.  You’ve stopped at least one death, or disaster, a day since we’ve been here.  How do you handle it?”

“By reminding myself that each life matters,” Gary shrugged.  He bit his lip, trying not to react to the spasm of pain that ran through his back and shoulders.  At least it wasn’t as bad . . . this time.  “Knowing what I know, how could I sit back and do nothing?  How could your committee, with the capabilities your guys have, sit on their hands and not undo what happened last September?  Whose life is in danger tomorrow that they think is more important than the thousands that died that day?  And don’t say mine, ‘cause I know better.”

“We can’t tell you any more than we already have,” Frank replied with a shake of his head.  “You just have to trust us on this, Gary.  It’s better if you stay out of it.  You already know what’s on our agenda.”

Gary was about to reply to that when Graham called him out to help deal with a disturbance in the main barroom.  When he returned, the two agents were gone.  ‘Just as well,’ he thought.  He hadn’t liked the direction the conversation was going, anyway.

Much later, up in his loft, Gary tried a hot bath to help him relax.  It didn’t help much.  As the hot water swirled over his lean body, the possible scenarios kept playing themselves over and over in his imagination.  A plane crashing into the White House or the Capitol Building.  A terrorist attack on a crowded mall or popular tourist attraction.  A train wreck.  A massive traffic . . . His mind drifted back to the train wreck scenario.  For some reason, that one stood out among all the other possibilities.  Why?  Why was that one more plausible than, say, a plane crash?

After a while, Gary gave it up.  Drying himself off and donning his sweat pants and t-shirt, he got ready for bed.  Not that he expected to get much sleep.

He was right.

********

SATURDAY FEB 23 0600 HRS - CHICAGO, ILLINOIS  
 
Peter Cain had come by early that morning so that he and Gary could go over the Paper together when it arrived.  When the door swung open it revealed Hobson, already wide awake, although his eyes showed a distinct lack of sleep.

“Did you even go to bed at all last night?” the Shaolin asked.  “You look like hell!”

“Nice to see you, too.” Gary mumbled as he poured his third cup of coffee.  “Things ‘ve just gotten a little weird the last few days.”

Pulling up a stool, Peter gave the other man a bemused grin.  “And how is that different from any other day?  For you, that is.”

“Cute,” Gary chuckled.  “Yeah, I guess I kinda push the limits on ‘weird.’  It’s just that someone’s trying to raise the bar with this one.”  He started to tell the ex-cop about the two agents when a thought occurred to him.  Because of his state-of-the-art security system, courtesy of the Stargate Project, Gary was pretty sure his apartment was free of listening devices.  No one could have gotten in to plant one.  Still, it couldn’t hurt to be sure.  “This may sound a little paranoid,” he said with a grimace, “but is there any way we can check this place for, um, ‘bugs?’”

“No problem,” Peter replied with a grin.  He pulled out a device that looked like a Palm Pilot.  “I borrowed this from Kermit for a case I just finished.  He asked me to bring it by the precinct this morning.  Let’s see what we can . . . whoa!  What have we here?”  He removed the pot from the coffee maker and tilted the base just enough to see the tiny disc affixed to the bottom.  He peeled it off and held it up for Gary’s astonished inspection.

It was black, about the size of a dime and twice as thick.  One side had an adhesive layer while the other seemed to have a fine metallic mesh.  Wordlessly, Gary took the disc and dropped it into an empty cup.  He then poured a liberal amount of the hot coffee over it.  Dropping in a couple of lumps of sugar, he stirred it all with a spoon.  He then picked up his own cup, clinked it against Peter’s, and then the ‘phantom’ cup.

“Salud,” he murmured before taking a sip.  “Any more, you think?”

Ten minutes later, the two men were satisfied that the apartment was ‘clean.’  Gary was fairly sure the bug had to have been planted the one time that Parker and Donovan had brought him home from the hospital.  This was confirmed, in his mind at least, when Peter found something in his watchband.  It was a thin, flat disc, shiny on both sides, and smaller than a dime.

“This isn’t a listening device,” Peter mused.  “I’m not sure, but I think it’s a locator of some kind.”

“We can take it by the precinct and let Blake or Kermit take a look at it,” Gary suggested.  “Until then,” he added as an idea occurred to him, “let’s leave it where we found it.”

About that time the alarm sounded, followed almost immediately by the familiar sounds from the hallway.

“That is so weird!” Peter chuckled.  “You could set your watch by that cat!”

“I do,” Gary murmured as he reached for the door.  The cat sauntered in, gave Peter an appraising glance, and headed straight for his food dish.  “Make yourself at home, cat.”  He reached down for the Paper and froze.  The banner headline practically screamed at him.  Slowly, Gary grasped the Paper and straightened up, unable to take his eyes from the gruesome, full color pictures spread over most of the front page.  “Oh my, God!” he murmured softly.  

“What is it?” Peter asked.  Reaching around, he took the mystic periodical from Gary’s numb fingers.  “Jesus!” he exclaimed as he, too, saw the carnage captured by the camera’s eye.  “This is what you’re going to D.C. for?  No way are you gonna do this alone!  I’m . . .”

“Gonna stay right here in Chicago,” Gary told him in no uncertain terms.  “Look.  There are at least six major incidents throughout the day,” he added as he leafed through the Paper.  He paused as he caught sight of his obituary on page three.

“Christ, Gary!” the Shaolin whispered.  “You . . . you can’t go on this one.  Not after . . . Jesus!”

“It gets worse,” the young Guardian sighed.  He was staring at the pictures on page six.  “No matter what,” he said, “don’t let my folks see this.  Promise me that.”

Numb with shock, Peter took the Paper back from Gary, staring at the bloody figure being cradled by a man whose face said more than any caption ever could.  The Shaolin priest looked at his younger friend with a mixed expression of horror, grief, and shock.

“How can you even consider going, knowing this?” he asked.  “Knowing that you could . . . that you will . . .”

Gary folded the Paper back to the front page and tapped the largest picture.  “How can I not go?”

**********

Continued in Installment 3

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 

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