Chapter 31: A Hot Knife Through Butter

The midnight appointment between Big Al and his new drug connection was still many hours away, so Tim decided to help solve his cash flow problems by appropriating the extra cash George Johnson, and his friends had set aside in other safe houses they had created. There was still a chance of being caught but, with the changes made to his body and the fact that, to his knowledge, there was no all points bulletin for the police to find him, Tim considered the reward to be well worth the risk.

After quickly finding the different safe locations and surveilling for anyone who might be watching over the safe house in each place he visited, Tim determined there were no extra eyes. He was able to gather the extra cash and a few more burner phones.

Tim admitted to himself that the safe houses were going to be exactly as they were named. He would be safe staying at any of those places. He visited all the locations in San Antonio proper but decided to stay away from the small ranch north and east of San Antonio, outside of the barbecue capital of Texas in the town of Lockhart.

The problem was that, even with the cash, he had nowhere near enough money to live on while beginning his investigation into what happened on his return trip from the past.

Tim reveled in the feeling of eating as much as he wanted without people judging him because of his weight and the amount of food he was eating. In between bites, Tim continued to think of ways to solve his problem, but had not sold himself entirely on any plan to take out the drug dealers and to flee with whatever cash was available. Should he risk his neck for something like that or should he just stay out of it and wait to meet with George Johnson the following day? Maybe George would have a few ideas but, then again, how often are you going to be able to know exactly when and where a major drug purchase was happening?

With his speed and strength, as well as prior training, unless they had heavily armed mercenaries surrounding the deal, Tim should be able to beat any of the guards. Tim realized he was convincing himself to go for the money. After a few hours, he and the nanites realized the pros were far outweighing the cons. He was beginning to lean toward taking their drugs, their cash and a few drug dealers off the streets!

The daylight was beginning to fold into night, so the timeline for the drug deal was still several hours off. Tim sat on the bed with the TV sound muted and the nightly news updating the day. He was continuing to keeping an eye out for any sign of a reaction from the government about his escape from under the hands of the CID-SI. Happily, there was nothing on the news about any manhunt.

Sitting in the bed gave Tim a comfortable seat to strategize how to take out the drug dealers as well as any forces coming from the new distributors with whom Big Al was looking to open a new relationship.

Tim knew the numbers of men that would be waiting. It was the numbers from the new distributor that he did not know and could not easily plan to overcome. The only way to be able to overcome their surprise was to eliminate Big Al’s men first and deal with the extras as they arrived. If he could finish off Big Al’s men before the new gang arrived, maybe he would not even have to mess with them. It was a risk but, for an opportunity like this, the juice was definitely worth the squeeze.

It was getting darker out, and Tim figured now was as good of a time as any. He exited the motel room with a stuffed clothes basket resting on his hip and some specific tools he would need for the nights’ festivities buried under the clothes.

“All right, then. I will do the laundry, and you can watch TV, for crying out loud.”

Tim continued to gesticulate like someone still arguing with their significant other, but he was really yelling at a brick wall – just like arguing with a significant other. He worked his way around to the passenger seat of the red Mercury Grand Marquis and put the basket in the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut and shot both of his middle fingers at the motel room door as he made his way around the car to the driver’s seat. Just before getting in the car, he placed both hands on the roof of the car and threw his hands up to the sky as if asking God, “Why?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the lookout watching and smiling. He talked into his C.B. and Tim could hear the reply from the same model CB he had on in the basket.

“No problems to report – just a guy arguing with his wife about the laundry. We know about that, don’t we, Kenny?”

“I sure do but, then again, I would not have it any other way with my girl,” was the answer. The two “awwws” that answered back solved the first problem for Tim, How many lookouts are there? He kept the CB radio on so he could monitor their conversations, of which there were many. He didn’t need it on very loud -- his enhanced hearing would make sure he didn’t miss a thing.

Tim pulled out of the motel parking lot, down the highway to the next exit, and immediately worked his way back. He pulled into the parking lot of the motel, near where the main lookout was stationed, and parked under a tree. Reaching up, he removed the light bulb from the overhead light to make sure no one would see him if and when he needed to leave the car.

Listening in on the conversations from the lookouts confirmed there were three of them, and they periodically relayed what they saw. These three were okay at their jobs but not great. The chatter between them should have been minimal, and their locations should have been not only more hidden but also visible to each other, just in case someone wanted to do just what Tim was preparing. The hiding places were not in sight of each other, but they each did have direct line of sight with Big Al’s office. Each guard would see who was coming from pretty far away.

With more trips to the snack machines, Tim was able to spot the other two lookouts. However, from his waiting spot, he would not see anyone in the parking lot approaching until they were already making their way down the main hall to Big Al’s room.

After an hour or so, Big Al came on the radio, “All right, tighten up, everyone. We just got a call from the contact. They are within a few minutes of getting here. So, is everyone set?” The three lookouts sounded off as ready before Big Al made what appeared to be a morale-boosting speech.

“Everyone, this means a lot for us. No more messing with the psycho Jamaican cartels. This new contact from Nicaragua and has been trying to get into the South Texas area for a few years now. They were waiting for a group with big enough balls to handle the kind of weight they wanna push, and I know we got the biggest balls in town. We’ll give them what they need, and they have promised to help if we get into any trouble with the Mexican cartels. It is a win-win for us and, for the same amount of work we have been doing, our money doubles. Do you hear that? Doubles.” The approval was transmitted by everyone. “So do this right, with no troubles, and we all get paid!”

Tim grudgingly acknowledged the change in professionalism among the lookouts. They changed from just basically watching for anything to focused check-ins performed professionally. Tim was glad he did not just go ahead and kill the lookout as soon as he could because they started using passwords for check-ins and relaying of information. He needed to wait until he figured out the codes. He also used the computing power of the nanites who anxiously volunteered to attempt breaking the code.

After a few minutes of listening to the guards talking back and forth using the codes, the nanites made a discovery. “Sir, why would we try to break the code when we can just use the code phrasebook the lookout was reading when we went for snacks, earlier today.” A brief pause. “End of message.”

“Explain, please.”

“We can do better; we’ll just show you.”

A small window popped up in Tim’s vision with a view of the lookout from earlier in the day. Tim noticed the window was see-through, and he could still see what was around him, but he remembered the quick look he had while turning around after locking the door. The pop-up window disappeared, and the recorded video of the quick look up slowed down and reversed and paused several times. He zoomed in on what the lookout was reading: it was a 3x5 card labeled at the top “Codes for Security Lookouts.” While he could see the title on the top of the card, he could not make out what else was on it – not because of resolution when he zoomed in on the card, but rather the rail on top of the fence was in the way. The video continued rewinding and playing as the nanites tried to get a better look at what was written.

“We apologize. This is the best look at the card we could find. It was the only time we looked up while he was reading said card. Again, we apologize.”

“There is no need to apologize. Actually, this helps a lot. Can you mimic the voice of the lookout?”

“One moment, please.” Less than a minute later, the printing restarted across Tim vision. “Yes, we have recorded enough of the man speaking to mimic his voice to a ninety-eight percent plausibility.”

“Excellent. Um, why only ninety-eight percent?”

“Interestingly enough, during the time we have been listening to him speak, he has never used the letter “Z,” so we have to use an approximation for any words with that letter. We would essentially be guessing.”

“Okay. That will be fine but, if he does happen to use a “Z,” please make the appropriate changes for the filter.”

“Affirmative.” A brief pause. “End of message.”

The basket of clothes still sat in the passenger seat, so Tim dug into it and removed the Gil Hibben Highlander Bowie knife he’d bought the first night after his escape. This knife, while a very nice piece of cutlery, was not the best knife to use for taking on drug dealers quickly and quietly. Tim made the decision to take out the drug dealers and take their money. So, a few hours earlier, Tim had visited several pawn shops looking for something a little more appropriate.

After striking out in the larger franchise-type of pawn shops, he struck gold in a mom-and-pop pawn shop, finding two Karambit knives with sheaths. They felt perfect while stashed behind his back and were easy to pull out when necessary. The knives seemed to mold themselves perfectly to his hands, and using them came naturally. Not only were the two knives in perfect shape and more than capable of doing the job, but the price for the two knives and their sheaths cost just a couple dollars more than his larger Bowie knife.

Big Al came on the radio once again. “Okay, fellas, look alive. We just got a call from the driver, and he is a few minutes away. Look alive.”

Tim got out of the car, running the little joke through his mind, “Yeah, they will have to look alive now, ‘cause they are not going to be that way for much longer.”

The motel where the main lookout was based was, at one time, a franchised motel. The painted logo was well-faded but still visible on the facade facing the main road. It was one large block with rooms on both sides, a large parking lot, and with long balconies on each side in front of all the second- and third-story rooms and wrapping around the ends of the building. There were stairs going up the three floors in the middle as well as on both ends of the motel. Tim quickly made his way up the middle stairway. At the top floor, he continued, nonchalantly making his way toward the side of the building where he parked and thus behind the lookout.

He knelt on the floor when he got to the end of the rooms before the wraparound to the other side of the building, quickly peeked around the corner and confirmed the man was now standing and watching over the threshold and, every so often, making use of his binoculars. When the man sat back down in his chair, he was still paying close attention to the parking lot across the street more than what was coming behind him.

Tim stalked quietly behind the guard and, in a quick motion, grabbed the man from behind, put his hand over his mouth and jerked his head to the left while slicing into the man’s throat with the blade in his right hand. The move was quick. He sat the body back into the chair and leaned it against the corner of protective fencing for the balcony. Using a plastic tie, he attached the binoculars to the man’s hand and stood it up on the fencing. With another tie, he secured the arm so, at a quick look, he would appear to be still looking out over the motel in his role as an over watch guard.

Tim retraced his steps and went back down the stairs. He got back in his car, drove back to the spot in front of his motel, and parked the car. Rather than going into his room, Tim took the back way around the motel wing and was surprised when he ran into the second guard who was busy checking around both corners he was in charge of watching.

“Hey! Who the fuck are you?!”

Tim decided a little acting would work here and said, “I’m sorry. I was looking for the vending machines. Do you know where they are?” Tim saw the guards expression change when he thought Tim was just another guy staying at the motel.

“Listen, man. Get your ass inside and don’t come out for the rest of the night. You don’t wanna be caught out here tonight.” He used the AR-15 resting against his stomach and dangling by the shoulder strap as a way to emphasize his point.

Tim made like he didn’t notice the gun until the guard emphasized it. Then Tim stuck his hands up and starting backing up.

“Oh, geez, man. Please don’t shoot me, man. I don’t know nuthin’, man. I’ll be cool. I’ll stay in the room all night, man. Just lemme go back to my room.”

The guard took a moment looking at this scared, unassuming man and decided he was not a threat. He surmised a bullying tactic would work best so he nodded at Tim, pointing the rifle and indicating to move on. Tim took a few backward steps, thanking the man for saving his life, and turned. He looked like he was ready to run. The guard also turned around to get back on guard duty. Tim turned the corner, stopped to quickly and quietly backtrack toward the guard and, with the same move he used on the lookout guard, snapped the neck of the second guard before his finger could work its way inside the trigger guard of the AR-15.

Tim picked up the lifeless body and tossed it into a corner where several mismatched garbage cans stood in various states of being filled with garbage. Gravity helped the body slide behind the mismatched garbage cans, conveniently hiding it there. Tim now knew he had two guards down and at least one other, according to the radio, patrolling on the other side of the motel. He picked up the AR-15 and pocketed extra ammunition magazines from the guard’s pockets since he wasn’t going to need them any longer.

“Alright, you got the boys all ready to go?” Big Al found himself a little nervous about the upcoming meeting. He wasn’t worried about the new contact since they had spent months getting to know each other and building a relationship. He was more worried about the other cartel coming to bless the new business relationship with a hail of bullets.

The new cartel, though, was larger, younger, and used the new business tactics of keeping their associations on a friendly level to keep anger from rising on either side. This new relationship got him preferred status with his new friends. They had wanted to find a new distribution group to get them into South Texas and deep into the heartland of America. Bringing Big Al and his small, but seemingly strong crew into the fold was great business for the new cartel.

“Yes, sir. The lookouts are in place, and we have more guys hidden away, just in case but, like you said, we are using minimal men to make sure they feel safe and not under your knife.”

Big Al looked astounded at his longtime friend and right-hand man Julian Houseman. Big Al knew Julian did not talk much because of a severe stuttering problem but, when his brain was engaged in another important matter, he could speak flawlessly. If Julian could be so succinct and without interruptions, it meant, to Big Al, that his right-hand had the situation well in hand.

“Good job, man. Good job. So now we wait.” Both men sat quietly in the office both listening to the radio for any sign of the arrival of their guests. After a few minutes, Big Al was having problems with the waiting. “Have we heard anything from the over watch, yet?”

“No, sir, but now is as good a time as any to run a systems check.”

Julian took a step back from Big Al. To outsiders, that would look weird, but Big Al knew his friend didn’t want anything to get in the way of a current project. Setting physical boundaries around himself was a sign of concentration. Big Al reminded himself he’d have to make sure to give a nice bonus to his friend, in front of the others, once everything goes down without a hitch. Morale is often a leader’s biggest problem.

Tim periodically peeked around the corners, checking for any hidden guards when the CB receiver squawked alive. “Recall. Recall. Let’s have a reading by the book.” Tim realized he would have to answer for the two different guards he’d killed.

When he was adjusting the over watch guard, he looked over the guard call code list on the table next to where he was sitting. He had perfect recall, and the nanites knew what to do. “Alpha watch, here. No birds in the coop, and no cats strutting. Repeat, no birds in the coop, and no cats strutting.” Tim found it a bit disconcerting when he spoke the code phrase and a voice different than his came out, but he did recognize the voice as one of the guards he heard before beginning his attack. He let go of the transmit button with a small smile.

He got his answer soon after that. “Affirmative. Grandma is making cookies. Bravo unit status.”

Tim realized after releasing the transmit button that maybe the guards had different code phrases. He quickly went back to the body and searched his pockets, finding another set of code phrases written on an index card. The phrases were the same. He threw the card back down at the body and, with his feet, pushed the guard’s body back behind the haphazard assortment of trash cans. He brought the CB back up to his mouth, quickly cleared his throat, and pressed the transmit button using the second guard’s voice, “Affirmative. Bravo watch here. No cats strutting. Repeat, no cats strutting.”

“Affirmative. Charlie watch status.” A third guard answered the call.

Tim believed, if he had been in charge of security, at least five different hidden guards would have been in place to handle any contingency against whatever may transpire in a drug deal. After the final guards called in with nothing seen, the number was three more guards, somewhere in the motel, watching the festivities. Tim shook his head at the obvious mistake made by Big Al’s head guard, Julian. He must not have felt anything would happen.

After a few more minutes, Tim was able to locate the other guards. Each one was holed up in an empty room of the motel. Either they just let themselves in, or they got the keys from the night manager or the owner, Mr. Martinez. Tim made the job easy and just knocked on the door. When the door opened, he used his incredible, nanite-powered strength and quickly dispatched the guard. Each time, he would collect the rifle and handgun the guards were holding and return them to his room. He kept a 9mm semi-automatic pistol that the first of the room guards was holding. The two others went just as easily with no one the wiser.

Tim went back to his room and grabbed up one of the AR-15’s and an extra clip of ammunition and placed them in a small gym bag one of the guards was using for the same reason. Rather than turning to his right and working his way around the motel, like he did to take out the guards, Tim turned left, going to the snack machines. When he neared the room serving as Big Al’s home base, he pulled the charging handle back as far as it would go and chambered a round from the magazine.

It had only been a week, and the Criminal Investigations Division – Special Investigations (CID-SI) Task Force was getting antsy. There had already been one incident of a member getting into an altercation with base personnel but, what was worse, all their leads had dried up, and there was still no clue as to the whereabouts of their former guest.

The Task Force was officially off duty for rest and relaxation, but they were actually being punished for losing their guest, especially now that several different scientific groups were getting wind of the special nature of the guest. The videos of the prisoner undergoing intense questioning had made their way through the covert world of secret groups throughout the government. From other time travel experimenters to Genetic Research fellows working with DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), they were all getting interested in the work being done at the secret lab. That lab and related labs were dealing with advanced research, but the chain of secret labs had no affiliation or relationship with DARPA.

The folks at DARPA did not appreciate discovering new projects receiving funding from the government or those groups working without oversight by someone who has experience supervising experimentation of that kind. It was simply a matter of ensuring no one was recreating someone else’s work. That was the official story.

Unofficially, DARPA was tasked with pushing the boundaries of our understanding of everything, for the betterment of mankind -- mainly American mankind. If they didn’t understand it, that needed to change. The number of things occurring at the secret lab underneath the San Antonio Military Medical Center could not be allowed to continue, at least not without their knowledge.

Surprisingly, it took more than a few days for Dr. Alan Lipscomb to work the back channels in the halls of power to request authorization for a complete rundown of all activities occurring in each of the secret labs. Dr. Lipscomb was the Lead Project Manager and Deputy Manager for DARPA and had been there for over thirty years. He never had problems getting authorization for briefs on any group associated with the government, no matter how loosely that association might be. The fact it took nearly a week before he gained the authorization to find out what was being studied at that lab, was enough to piss him off, and the fact he only got authorization for that single lab was simply unacceptable.

“I’m telling you, Charlie, they were much farther along than the group out at Groom Lake. Those boys nearly had a working model of a time travel device before the penny pinchers got ahold of them. I need to get in there and talk to those guys and maybe see what I can do about getting them back on track.” Dr. Lipscomb leaned in to speak quietly to his assistant, Charlie Nelson. “I also want to get more information on their escapee and see about him healing himself so quickly. Whew. I just get giddy thinking about the possibilities of advanced healing AND practical aspects of time travel, but I also wonder why no one actually believes the story he told when initially captured.”