Chapter 7

"Please, she's all I've got. I'll tell you all you everything if you just give her back," Williams said.

"Grandma?"

"Vee?"

"Let him in."

Junior opened a small door in the bubble and Mr. Williams stepped through. His head exploded. The body dropped in the opening. From a car down the street an RPG fired but the door was already shut. The RPG hit so softly or the bubble absorbed the energy so gently that it didn't explode. It slid down the side of the bubble and laid on the ground in the snow steaming.

Junior popped a bubble over the car and filled it with nothing. No air, no light, no sound. The engine died as did the occupants. A second car pulled away from the curb, accelerating rapidly. Junior threw another bubble in front the new danger. The collision between the bubble and sheet metal was permanent.

"Grandma?"

"Vee?"

"Do we still have the girl?"

"Yes," Junior replied.

"Do we need to question the people in that car?"

Too late ... from seemingly out of nowhere a small package dropped on the car, burst into liquid fire and incinerated the occupants. Junior expanded the bubble but it was too late.

The police came, gathered, left and came again.

"The number plates are stolen Princessapality plates, the cars were stolen from around the area, however, forensics was excellent. Mr. Williams was a Colorado resident and a former police operative, that's undercover for you who don't know. The occupants of the car with the RPG were Bosnian and mercs ... mercenaries.

"The second car occupants were pretty fried but they were a step up on the Bosnian organizational ladder, probably sent to make sure of the others. There is a girl missing ... Williams' daughter, last seen riding a bicycle like the one in your garage. You wouldn't happen to know where she is?"

"I have her," said Junior. "Executive privilege on that one. I'll let you see the vids, but right now, she's mine."

"Would you care to tell us where?"

"Wouldn't do you any good ... what's the use of having a time machine if you can't use it to hide the bodies?" Junior chuckled. "Nick has her... 1923 Pentwater. For sure she'll be ready to talk in about a week."

"Who is Nick?"

"The Greek who runs the bridge in the channel."

Pentwater in the winter is no fun. It's cold, the wind never seems to stop, but the fishtugs go out anyway. They're built like mini icebreakers. The bow is arranged to slide up on top of the ice and then the weight of the hull cracks the ice and that's enough to let the hull smash its way through and slide up on the next little bit. It's slow and there are times but generally they make it through.

In 1923 the fishermen were just beginning to close in the boat. The two cylinder Kahlenberg oil engine that the better boats use isn't all that fussy about getting wet but the men are. Most are beginning to use steel arches that snap in place and a canvas cover is pulled over those to keep out the wet. As long as the boats go out Nick works the bridge.

Right now, The Wendy's weren't worried about the girl ... as long as she didn't freeze she was where she couldn't be found.

"What I think we have here is an attempt by persons unknown to take control of the princess."

Vee asked, "Did you think to find out about the testing?"

"Yes, we did," said the principal detective, "The testing is legitimate ... Williams had nothing to do with it ... the Proctors have no idea where the authentic examiners are. From the violent manner of the attacks and the ruthlessness of the slaughter of the