Chapter 4

"The event horizon cannot be a sharply defined plane," Fuller explained. He drew skillfully on a sketchpad he'd borrowed from Ella Hernandez. "It has volume, within which, there is turbulance caused by the interraction of opposing temporal forces. You might describe it as 'time displacement."

He and Arnim conferred in the privacy of his room. Kurzbach declined to hear Fuller's latest theory, preferring to go for a walk.

"The forces must be catastrophic," Arnim commented, "how could anything pass through it?"

"I don't believe the forces have a physical effect besides the disturbance of the static electrical charge of the atmosphere."

"The storm?"

"Yes. The forces are purely temporal. But the distortions within the horizon give rise to anomalies, and here, I think, you can have a physical body present in both times at once. Or, perhaps, aspects of that physical body? Hence you may have a radar track, even a conversation, with something that is not fully physically present but 'in transition'. We were talking to Houston of 1986 while still observing 2006. We saw the storm, and picked it up by radar, but not the flight apparently flying through the middle of it. That's because the storm was in 2006 yet the other aircraft was in 1986."

"How do you explain pieces of the wreckage disappearing?"

"I believe the 2006 wreckage of 1070 is slowly being moved clear of the time portal, piece by piece."

"You believe we crashed in 2006?"

"I believe the aircraft could not remain long physically present in two time periods. The contradictions... Perhaps we didn't remain on it, or at least fully present physically. There are many things for which I have no explanation at present," he shrugged.

"If what you say is true," Arnim considered, "the portal must still be present. It is maybe two way, also? Our aircraft is disappearing back to the future."

"Maybe? Maybe not? It is vanishing, sure, but, I think, because, in 2006, it is being moved clear of the link that keeps it present in two times."

By the end of the week, all interested parties wanted to get rid of the clerical and legal problem that was 1070. 'It was an act of God, ' the official verdict read, and that was sufficient to foist the cost of the clean up onto the Federal Government.

Conducted with indecent haste, the enquiry concluded that the 747 had inadvertantly broken through onto an undiscovered saltwater aquifer. No negligence could be attributed to the Airport Authority, who supervised the tow according to its own operating rules. Similarly, nothing was proven wrong with the design of the aircraft, which pleased the makers, Boeing. All parties were anxious to sign off on 1070 and so employed a technique known locally as 'a Texas whitewash.'

The 'whitewash' enquiry could bear no scientific scrutiny and few outside experts were called. Bob Garland confirmed the 'facts' as given. He personally saw the ground sink below the aircraft causing the undercarriage to fail. He was officially congratulated by the judge for his quick thinking in getting everybody clear as the 747 toppled.

The aircraft was a 'constructive total loss, ' and the wreck was hauled in sections to the large shed Raul had hired, awaiting the insurers. Those 'insurers, ' naturally, weren't likely to show up as 1070 wasn't yet on the books. But at least it was out of everybody's sight as well as their minds. Things could get back to normal.

Some witness's, sure, persisted with claims of supernatural goings on. Such rumours, however, merely provided fodder for tabloids, such as the 'National Enquirer, ' and so lacked any credibility. Often these stories were embroidered by alien spaceships who beamed up pieces of the wreckage for their own mysterious purposes. The stories lasted two weeks before dying natural deaths.

However, very few employees of the Airport or BFF went anywhere near the shed where the wreckage was stored. Raul put a bond seal on the doors and secured it with heavy chains. The Authority and the freight company shared the cost of rental, a fact neatly concealed from BFF's head office by bumping up the rent on existing facilities.

Ultimately, though, some solution had to be found for the crew. Lacking any valid documentation, they were as illegal as any wetback.

In 2006 Ben Shepherd and Ari Ramcke had made little progress towards finding an explanation for the loss of 1070. Slowly, the wreckage was hauled up from the depths of the Gulf of Mexico, piece by piece, to be reassembled at a hangar in Houston. On thing could be ruled out virtually straight away. There was absolutely no evidence the aircraft was brought down by a terrorist act.

Two more bodies were recovered, the remainder of the relief crew, still strapped to their seats in the upper cabin area. Like Reinhardt Stumpf, they were found to have died of drowning. It was, though, just another inexplicable fact that confounded the harrassed directors of the investigation.

The black box had been recovered quickly. In a 747 it was located in a compartment below the floor of the upper cabin, considered to be one of the most secure areas in the event of a crash. The forward section, containing the cockpit, had broken from the rest of the aircraft and lay in deeper water some distance away. It would take the Navy another week or more to retrieve it. Both Ben and Ari were anxious to recover this important part of the wreck, both to find the rest of the crew, as well as study the vital evidence they were sure it contained.

Ben was growing more certain the crash was the result of human error. Ari was reluctant to blame his fellow countrymen and remained sceptical. Proof might be provided by the settings of the controls in the cockpit: the instrument recorder merely gave height, course, speed and other 'digital' information. Ramcke needed the cockpit O2 system, convinced the problem had been cabin oxygen failure.

No theory covered more than 30% of the available evidence, a unique event in crash investigation history. No investigation before had been faced with so much contradictory information. Ben found himself almost wishing Bobby McClone's time travel story was true, although how he'd put that in the official report he'd no idea.

Sometimes, in a quiet moment, he'd take out the copy of 'Air Spectator' and study the grainy photo. The magazine, itself, had since gone out of publication, however, most issues had been preserved in the Public Archive. Ben had sent a young researcher to find any subsequent articles that may have flowed on from the original piece. There was just one, dated the next month, reporting that Boeing had denied any prototypes were currently being route tested.

To Ben it was a startling and puzzling find, supporting the authenticity of the original issue.

Ben even began researching time travel articles on the Internet. Most appeared to have little supporting science behind it and the general consensus among 'legitimate' scientists was that it was intriguing yet impossible.

Eventually, however, he came upon a website apparently run by a research engineer in Seattle, Washington. The website asked people to relate their experience of time travel. There were many, many posts by people who were clearly deluded and 'fringe dwellers.' Most appeared to be fantastic and sometimes linked their 'experiences' to some kind of extraterrestrial activity. Ben had never wasted his time on such bullshit before and was surprised at the extent of the time travel sub-culture.

But Ben was intrigued by the replies attached to some of the posts by the Webmaster. They were sober and logical and not afraid to dismiss something that was clearly nonsense. The guy appeared to have scientific knowledge as some of the theoretical pieces testified. On impulse he Emailed the Webmaster, describing Bobby McClone's theory and attaching a scan of the magazine cover.

The reply came a day later. 'You must look for a possible portal near the crash site, ' it said, 'and there is a shed at Austin airport that you might like to examine. Raul Hernandez knows where it is.' It was signed with the initials, 'JF.'

Ben jerked in shock as if a thunderbolt had struck him. He picked up his phone and dialed Bobby McClone's mobile.

"Can I come in?" Ariana asked as she opened the door. Arnim quickly closed his laptop computer as the girl looked in. "What's that?" she asked.

"Nothing, um, merely my document case. Is there something you want?" Arnim was irritated at this invasion of his privacy and the thought that he'd been caught out.

Ariana, though, sensed his defensiveness and was determined not to let it go. "I've never seen a briefcase like that before," she told him.

"It's German," he replied, "I bought it in Berlin. They are quite common there." Arnim collected himself, but not enough to convince Ariana. She'd glimpsed the screen as she'd walked in and knew he was lying.

"Let me see?" she laughed playfully, "Have you got dirty pictures in it?" she made to grab it across the bed.

"Please!" Arnim raised his voice, agitated, "this is private!" He quickly grabbed her around the arms, pulling her back and across his lap.

She lay across him panting with the struggle as Arnim released her. She sat up and readjusted her clothes. "Do you fancy going to the movies?" she asked, smiling. "There's one on about flying, it's called 'The Final Countdown.' I missed it when it first came out."

"Sure..." Arnim replied, shrugging, "sure, why not."

In truth he was feeling claustrophobic. It had been three weeks, now, since he'd left the house. Kurzbach was getting on his nerves and even Fuller, whom he related to more because they were nearer in age, was driving him a little nuts with his endless theories.

Also, the maintenance of their cover story was wearing him down. He could lie for short periods about trivial things, but this ongoing pretence was sapping his energy. Going to the movies with Ariana would be a blessed diversion.

She fancied him, that was obvious. Also obvious was the fact that he fancied her, too. Although sexual attraction played a big part of it, he also just liked being around her. They had an easy rapport, hampered, a little, by his need for secrecy. 'Could he open up and tell her the truth?' There were few reasons why he couldn't, besides her scepticism. He had promised Kurzbach that he wouldn't alter the timeline, but, according to Fuller, everything had happened anyway. Nothing he could say and do would alter that basic fact.

"Ariana?" he said, as she got up to leave, "let me show you?" Arnim opened up the Toshiba. Jaw sagging, she sat down beside him on his bed, transfixed by the screen.

"Ok, Bobby," Ben told him, "I'm not saying I believe this horseshit, but, right now, we're just running out of ideas. Every theory we've tested so far get's unstuck at some point. This is got to be the most frustrating investigation I've ever been involved in."

"Y'know what Raul told me?" Bobby replied, "he said that at times in the history of mankind, some people are selected to go back in time to make... er... certain things happen."

"What things? Look, Bobby, I'm tired of the mumbo-jumbo. I don't believe in the Great Architect nor anything that can't be explained by science. If time travel is a fact, it's because of a natural phenomenon, not some whacky, preudo-religious nonsense. You want to test this theory? Ok, let's have a look at the evidence and see what we've got."

"You found the cockpit section?" Bobby asked.

"Well, that's the final thing which decided me to call you. Its seems the Navy has... ah... lost it."

"Lost it?"

"Yep, they can't find the damn thing. The only explanation they can come up with is that it's been carried away by a strong current. What the Hell kind of current moves 14 tons of metal along the sea floor so far the fucking Navy can't find it anymore? You don't misplace something that big. They used to detect Soviet submarines from space with technology far less sophisticated than what they have now, ferchrissake!"

"So where do you want to start?"

"Go get this Raul," Ben said, "I want to talk to him about a shed in Austin. What do you suppose a 'portal' looks like?"

"Hell, I don't know!"

In 1986 President Ronald Reagan's Republican Administration was strident in its condemnation of the 'Evil Empire' of the Soviet bloc. Rufe Hartman was Raul's local congressman and was known to be a fervant supporter of Reagan's stance.

Connie Hernandez worked for the law firm of Garcia-Rogers in downtown Austin. Latterly the firm had been specialising in immigration cases; mostly involving members of the local Mexican-American community. However, when Connie brought the plight of three German airline pilots without documents to the notice of the firm's senior, Beneventura Garcia, the old lawyer knew he had an issue for Representative Hartman.

"East Germans, you say?" the old man raised his eyebrows, "jumped ship from an East German Interflug aircraft in Rotterdam and stowed away on a cargo flight to America?" He could see handy publicity for the law firm and a winner a man like Hartman would love to be involved in. "Can they prove their case?" he asked Connie.

"How can they?" she replied, "the East German Government are hardly likely to help. But these are good men with education and skills. There'd be no problem finding them work."

"Sure, sure," Garcia agreed. "Normally, these cases can take a year or more to resolve. But if I get Hartman to sponsor them, I'm sure we'd get a decision within a couple of months. Damn, eh? Defectors right here in Austin?"

"We don't want too much pressure put on these guys," Connie told him, "they're nice boys, we don't want a circus in the media and all."

"It'll blow over in a week," he said, "but they'll need to speak to the papers. It'll help their case and head off any speculation. Would one of your boys be willing to handle reporters?"

"I think Arnim Krauss would," she said, "he's charmed my daughter Ariana and that's not easy to do."

"No," he chuckled, "that's for sure!"

Connie left Garcia's office nervous about what she'd just done. She'd involved herself in immigration fraud, but she could see no other alternative. Raul and her daughters had urged her to see Garcia, desperate for the plight of these men. She was still in the dark about why they couldn't go home, but she knew it couldn't be anything criminal. Most likely they had defected from the East, but she knew it wasn't the way Raul had suggested. They'd flown in, piloting an aircraft, not concealed away somewhere in the cargo hold.