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  #

  Over the next few weeks, Nikki Scott’s plans continued to come to fruition, and she updated me on her progress at each of our weekly meetings. At each rendezvous, I provided her with intelligence to assist her, and she asked me about my wife. Each time, I would tell a story or paint a mental picture, but avoided the specific truth about where she was. Each time, Nikki would press me for more, but I would keep her at bay. And despite my constant effusion about my “missing” wife, it became clear by early January that Nikki was falling for me. It was only natural, of course. And I was having a hard time holding back my feelings toward her, even though I detested what this distorted version of my sweetheart was doing.

  But I was running out of time.

  It was January 19th, 2012. The day before Inauguration Day. Washington was packed with leaders, media, and what was expected to be the largest citizen turnout ever. All ripe for destruction at the hands of my own better half.

  If I was going to make this happen – if I was going to fulfill my mission and save the world – it had to be now. I had learned that Nikki held the key to this operation. She was to provide an al Qaeda operative with the code sequence for arming the nuke. She was the only one with that information, having obtained it from one of her own operatives before that man was killed.

  As the moment approached for her to contact the bomb man, I knew that it was now or never. This was it. I had to confront her with the truth.

  We’d grown comfortable enough together that I was able to convince her to take a walk through the park for the hour before her time to provide the code. It was a park that I had realized we used to walk in together between missions – in the future. It was hard to imagine that it could be razed by a nuclear bomb – that those walks would never take place. The paradoxical nature of this mission was mind boggling.

  “So,” she smiled. “Tomorrow’s the big day. Are you finally going to tell me how I can help you with that wife of yours? I’m beginning to wonder if she really even exists – or if it was just a ruse so you could get close to me. I mean, the way you describe her – she actually sounds a lot like me.”

  “Okay,” I said, “you caught me. You’re right. I just wanted to get close to you.”

  I took her hand. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she stopped and turned to me. She saw my expression and said, “You’re serious.”

  “Nikki,” I said, “this is going to sound a little – crazy – at first. But, the reason my description of my wife sounds so much like you, is that - she is you.”

  She looked confused, but continued to hold my hand.

  “You, Nikki, are my wife. Your name is Nikki Dennis. And you’re a time traveling agent from the future.”

  Nikki’s perplexed expression suddenly exploded into laughter. She brought her hand up to her mouth, as she always used to when she was having a good belly laugh.

  “Michael, you are one funny guy. Weird, and funny. Now come on, cut the joking and tell me the truth about your wife.”

  “That is the truth. You are from the future. And so am I. We work for something called ATC – the Allied Time Corps.”

  Her expression reverted from jubilant to serious as quickly as it had first changed. Now she did release my hand. “This isn’t funny anymore,” she said.

  “Admit it,” I said, “from the first moment you saw me, back at the Lincoln Memorial, you recognized me. You knew me. You have always known me. I’m your husband. We don’t belong here, Nikki. You’re not a terrorist any more than I am. You don’t really want to kill people – it’s just part of your ATC mission parameters gone awry.”

  Nikki’s face was a wash of confusion and turmoil. It seemed that my words were having an effect. She seemed to be doubting the reality to which she had grown accustomed. Then her face turned to anger.

  “I don’t know who you are or why you’re messing with me, but you are not going to ruin this! Tomorrow, the world will change – and you are not going to stop it!”

  She pulled a pistol from inside her coat and pointed it at me. I was equally quick on the draw. Both our weapons were equipped with silencers and leveled at each other’s chest like a mirror image.

  “Nikki, don’t,” I said. “I warned you the truth would seem bizarre, but it’s true. You have to believe me. I know you – I know that you can tell when someone is lying. Look into my eyes, Nikki – look – am I telling you lies? Or am I telling you the truth?”

  I could see her struggling. And I knew exactly what she was going through – only she didn’t have the advantage of a restoration visual or any algorithms to help her return to reality. As a tear rolled down her cheek, she raised her weapon a little higher, preparing to shoot me between the eyes. I quickly raised my weapon over my head, along with my other hand, to indicate surrender.

  “Don’t shoot,” I said.

  “No, don’t,” said a man’s voice from behind me. I turned to see a familiar-looking man who’d stepped out from behind a nearby tree, holding a gun. He trained it on Nikki. “It’s over, agent Dennis. I’ve been sent to finish this before it’s too late.”

  Nikki quickly adjusted her aim, pointing past me to the other man. In the instant she moved her arm, I could see out of the corner of my eye a slight flinching motion in the man’s hand. Like a reflex, I threw myself to my right, placing my body between Nikki and the man.

  Time seemed to slow as I felt the bullet enter my shoulder and thrust me backward. The impact caused me to twist as I fell to the ground. An instant after feeling the heat of the bullet, I landed at Nikki’s feet, blood oozing from just above my right collar bone and already soaking through my white coat.

  I lifted my head and looked toward the shooter. My vision blurred, but then sharpened again, and I saw that Nikki had managed to dispatch him. He lay still on the ground, weapon still in hand. She kneeled down beside me and ripped open my coat and shirt to inspect my wound.

  “Why did you do that?” she muttered through gritted teeth as she attempted to stop the bleeding.

  “Because you’re my wife,” I wheezed.

  She suddenly stopped what she was doing. With one hand pressing firmly on the hole in my shoulder, she stared into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity. As I watched her study me, I saw tears well up in her eyes and drip onto my face. It was dawning on her. I had done what was necessary to make her see – to snap her out of her illusion.

  “Michael?” she whispered. She leaned down and cradled me in her arms, pulling me close, slowly rocking me. “What is going on?”

  “You’ve been lost on assignment for a very long time,” I said. “I came to find you – to bring you home.”

  “And who’s that? Who did I just kill?”

  “I think he’s one of us,” I said, wincing. “Go check him out.”

  Nikki moved to the prone man and rifled through his pockets. They were empty. Then the man moved and groaned.

  “He’s alive!” Nikki said to me over her shoulder.

  “Agent Dennis,” the man croaked. “You need to come with me.” He passed out again. Nikki checked his pulse.

  “He’s still with us,” she said, “just unconscious.”

  “We need to get out of here,” I said. “Help me to my feet.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” said Nikki. “As far as this world is concerned, I’m still Nikki Scott.”

  She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and made a quick call. Within a minute, four tough-looking men jogged up to us and carried both me and the other agent to Nikki’s limo, which was waiting just around the corner.

  Nikki ordered the driver to take us to her headquarters and then rolled up the privacy glass.

  “You both need medical treatment,” she said, “and I have a doctor on staff. You’re going to be fine.”

  “What about the handoff?” I asked. “There are people expecting you to provide the arming codes for the nuke.”

/>   “They’re gonna have to wait,” she said.

  #

  The Slaves for Freedom doctor bound up my wounds and also took care of the other agent. When he came to, we had some questions for him.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to place his face.

  “I’m Max Roman. I was sent as a contingency to make sure that you didn’t fail your mission,” he told me.

  Suddenly, I recognized the commander. “Well, in a way, you did just that,” I said. “Your shooting me brought Nikki back to reality. My willingness to sacrifice myself proved to her that I was telling the truth.”

  “Well, I’m glad that we’ve been able to recover you,” he said, turning to Nikki. “But there’s still the issue of thwarting tomorrow’s attack. How are you going to stop it?”

  “I’ll just keep the codes to myself,” said Nikki.

  “And you’re the only one who has them?” Roman asked.

  “The only one still alive. I set it up that way on purpose – to protect myself. Just in case anyone decided to double-cross me, I’d be worth a lot more to my new allies alive than dead.”

  “They don’t have a workaround?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “But it won’t matter anyway. I’m going to call in a very detailed anonymous tip to the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA – just to be sure – you know they don’t communicate that well between themselves. They’ll find the device today.”

  “How do we get back home?” I asked Roman.

  “I was sent as an in-and-out job,” said Roman. “Get in - restore things so that when this superthread takes over, life will be all right in the future - then get out. Extraction is supposed to take place at the next window, which occurs tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Then they can just take us all home, then,” I said.

  “Not so simple,” said Roman. “Nikki Scott is established here. She could wind up dead in a park, but she can’t just disappear. Remember, that’s the whole reason we didn’t just perform a smash-and-grab extraction with her in the first place. A cover needs to be provided.”

  “Can’t we make it look like she was killed by her co-conspirators for failing to deliver the nuke codes?” I asked.

  “That would work,” said Roman, “but we’d need to do it right – something that would leave no identifiable remains.”

  “My doctor specializes in that kind of work,” said Nikki. “That’s why I pay him the big bucks. He can make it look like I was disappeared, no problem.”

  “Then let’s go home,” I said.

  I grasped Nikki’s hand with my left hand, the other now in a sling. Her touch felt good – it felt right. It was like there had been a transformation. Holding Nikki Scott’s hand had been a mixture of sadness, anger, longing, and revulsion. Holding Nikki Dennis’ hand – having my wife back – seemed to make the pain of being shot fade into the past. “It’s good to have you back,” I said. “It’s been a long time.”

  THE END

  © 2011 Michael D. Britton, Intelligent Life Books

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