"You have an appetite after all of that?" Fletcher snapped the case shut.

  "Yeah, I do." Perhaps this kind of work suited him after all.

  CHAPTER 15

  The caution tape sagged between the branches where it had been strung. Weighted down with rain from a summer storm, it was easy for Kellerman to step over.

  "Are you sure it's okay for us to be in here?" The young airman hung back with her hands on her hips.

  As the lieutenant surveyed the scene, he noticed small orange flags marking an area on the other side of a fallen log. "I think they found the body over here." He picked his way through sodden leaves, sticks, and mud. "The authorities who were here before us were looking for different things." With a long stick, he poked around the location where the body had been.

  Fletcher crept up behind him. "What are we looking for?"

  Every few pokes, he lifted the end of the stick and examined it. "Organic material."

  "What kind of material?"

  His focus sharpened on the tip. "Do you have a flashlight?"

  "I think so. Why?" Fletcher dug through the backpack she'd brought with her. It was full of all kinds of useful things besides evidence collection materials from snacks to bottles of water to, hopefully, a flashlight.

  "If it's the right material, it should fluoresce in the light."

  "Got it." She pulled out the flashlight, triumphant.

  "Shine it on the stick."

  With a quick flick of her finger, she snapped on the flashlight.

  A warm breeze blew through the elms. Even though it was mid-afternoon, the thick canopy of trees above kept the sun from breaking through.

  She played the light across the tip of the stick.

  It glowed a weak green.

  "Wow."

  The lieutenant smiled, then snapped his fingers. "I need a vial. Quick."

  Fletcher grabbed a handful of glass vials and uncapped one. "Here."

  From his pocket, he pulled out a packaged cotton swab. Then he snapped open the wrapper, wiped at the glowing goo, and dropped the swab into the vial. "Perfect."

  Fletcher capped it. "How should I label this one, sir?" She'd prepped the vials ahead of time with the blank labels showing only the date.

  "Sample 1."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it." Kellerman focused in on a pile of leaves right next to one of the orange flags. "Hold on, we might get lucky again." He prodded the spot with his stick. "Flashlight?" He lifted the pile with it.

  Fletcher played the flashlight across the exposed detritus underneath. More glowing green light. Brighter this time.

  "Jackpot!" Kellerman shook a fist. "I hoped we might find some that hadn't been destroyed by the rainstorm."

  The airman prepped a few more vials and handed them, in turn, to the lieutenant for him to add the swabs. "Will we need samples for NCIS-A?"

  Kellerman popped the last swab into a vial. "Nope. The commander gave me orders about the body, not these." He gestured at the half dozen vials Fletcher secreted in her backpack. "But he did want photos of the crime scene." He tossed his stick into the woods.

  "Didn't we just trample all over the crime scene?" Fletcher looked down at her feet. Orange flags surrounded them.

  "The authorities trampled it before we ever got here." The lieutenant took his phone out of his rear pocket. "The light's shit right here." He looked up at the sky blocked out by the branches above them. "Oh, well."

  For a few minutes he took snapshots of every flag, the depressed area where the body lay, and, once they'd stepped outside the caution tape, the whole scene.

  "Enough?" the airman asked. "They close the gate in thirty."

  Kellerman nodded. "The body is more important than these pictures, really."

  They headed back. A mile walk back to the duty van should mean they'd squeak out of Camp Grafton with a few minutes to spare.

  Fletcher, a mere five-foot-two to Kellerman's towering height, trotted alongside to keep up with his pace. "So did you work with the professor on his project?"

  "Yep." Kellerman took purposeful strides down the trail that led to the parking lot.

  "Is this green stuff going to help him with it?"

  "Yep."

  The airman followed a few steps behind him now. "Before I received my orders to Minot, there were rumors flying around about what he was building in the warehouse." She shifted the heavy backpack to her other shoulder.

  "People like to gossip."

  "Do you know what he's building in there?" She raised her eyebrows. "I never had a chance to go inside. It must be something really amazing."

  "Uh-uh."

  The parking lot came into view.

  "You aren't going to tell me anything are you?" Her mouth flattened into a line.

  "What made you think I would?"

  "We both have the same clearances," she pointed out.

  "Do we?" He stopped abruptly and faced her.

  "I couldn't walk into your NCIS-A office. But the professor's work? You think he'd have me help you, if he didn't trust me?"

  He crossed his arms and snorted. "If he trusted you that much, wouldn't he have told you about the project in the warehouse?"

  She gave an exaggerated sigh.

  Fletcher looked over her shoulder toward the scene that now was invisible behind a layer of trees and shrubs. "Wonder who that guy was."

  On the return trip to DC, Kellerman was glad to see he had the plane mostly to himself. No highbrow DC politicians or lobbyists on this trip.

  A pair of airmen sat toward the front—as far away from the cargo area as possible.

  They'd seen the gurney roll in with the coffin-like container used to transport the body.

  Although it had been on ice since they'd found it on Camp Grafton, the flight back had no refrigerated compartment. The box stamped "Handle With Extreme Care" held the body bag and the remains of the unknown man. Dr. Stern would be meeting him at Andrews to take ownership of everything.

  Before the plane took off and they lost their wi-fi signal, Kellerman sent a text:

  It's done.

  Three dots appeared and flashed across his encrypted texting app indicating a response was incoming.

  The plane began to taxi down the runway.

  He stared at his phone. With this job complete and the samples acquired, what were his next steps?

  I have a new assignment.

  He blinked his eyes rapidly. He typed back:

  I'm listening.

  Kellerman’s pulse quickened. To have the trust of someone he admired so much pleased him more than he expected.

  The sound of the engines roared in his ears, and the plane accelerated.

  He needed an answer.

  How he could help? How could he further support the important work being done? He believed in the project now more than ever. And with Cutter on the verge of uncovering the correct formulas from that old manuscript, he knew he could produce results quickly once he returned to the office. In fact, he was itching to be back.

  A new text popped up on the screen.

  Not the response he had expected.

  Shit.

  He answered in the affirmative and shut off his phone for the duration of the flight. Over the next several hours, he had a lot to think about.

  CHAPTER 16

  The professor finished texting and set his phone on his desk. He pinched his bottom lip. Kellerman had come through with the samples despite many obstacles and at great risk to himself. He could trust him with this next request.

  He spun his chair around and approached the large window that looked out over the warehouse floor below. From this vantage point, the project he'd obsessed over for more than twenty years sprawled before him. Finally.

  Clear plastic sheeting protected the delicate work from the elements. Too much moisture and the material would disintegrate. Too dry and the circuitry wouldn't work properly.

  Workers were split among four separate sectors: material recovery, testing, replication, and application. Rather than keep each group separate and in the dark about the ultimate goal, the professor had built the laboratory as an interactive space. Knowing the why of one's work usually produced better results. It had been a hard fought battle with the security folks who loved their regulations and compartmented information. But since he came from outside that world and had brought his knowledge and techniques with him, the military had been eager to please him and keep his work moving forward.

  They understood the potential.

  The last thing they wanted to do was upset him and tempt him to end his experiment.

  Especially now that his team was so close.

  He knew this day would come.

  He only had to have some patience.

  Someone knocked on his office door.

  Pressing a button on a small, black remote, the blinds automatically closed over the window, blocking a visitor's view of the warehouse activity.

  "Enter." He rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs.

  One of the many flag officers, this one naval, who loved to stop by and pretend he had a hand in his project, crossed the threshold. "Professor, I have a VIP guest on base today. Thought you could give her the grand tour."

  Slipping his hands into his pockets, he kept his distance from the Rear Admiral. "A tour?"

  The Rear Admiral closed the door and sat in one of the leather armchairs that flanked the desk. "May I?"

  Considering he'd already made himself at home, the question was belated. "Be my guest. What kind of tour? You know we're doing delicate work here."

  The buttons of the officer's jacket strained against the middle-age man's gut. "You've done tours before."

  "For a select few. And those few were in charge of funds that would keep my work afloat." A necessary evil, he'd learned, in the world of military science experiments. "Who is this VIP?"

  "Senator Hargraves. She's on a tour of some of the bases out West."

  The name meant nothing. Politics were of no interest to him. The only thing that interested him was enough money, enough people, and enough equipment to see the project through. And he was almost there.

  "No."

  The officer leaned forward with mouth agape. "What do you mean, no? She's a senator. A very important one."

  "I don't care."

  The Rear Admiral's face turned bright red. "Who do you think pays for that shit down there, Allwood? The federal government. That's goddamn who." He leapt up from his chair. "You will give this woman a tour. She'll be stopping by in the next hour. Either you explain the project to her, or I'll do it."

  The professor flexed his fingers. Every fiber of his being wanted to lash out physically at this stupid buffoon of a man. Who was he to command anything? "This is my project. My expertise. You will not bring an unauthorized person into my lab. Perhaps you need to speak with the Base Commander?" He picked up the phone receiver and punched a button.

  The officer's nostrils flared and his eyes bugged out. "I will take this up with the Base Commander personally."

  The professor hung up the phone. "Be my guest."

  After the irate Rear Admiral left, Byron Allwood wondered how much longer he could bully these military officers before they finally followed through on their threats. He sensed he didn't have much time left before he'd lose control. For years they'd seen his work as 'promising' and 'interesting' enough to fund at low levels. But as his work had sped up in recent years, expectations had risen along with the funding.

  He couldn't give up now, not when he was so close. Everything depended on his success.

  CHAPTER 17

  Restless in her sleep, Charlie rolled over. Her elbow jabbed Angel's prone form.

  He groaned and shifted on the mattress.

  It had been a fitful night. Not only was she in an unknown bed, her mind wouldn't turn off. After Angel's confession about being from the future—and what the future held for mankind—should she really be so surprised she had trouble sleeping?

  Her mind shifted to the manuscript.

  She sat alone in an empty library with shelves all around and tables covered in stacks of books. In front of her the Voynich manuscript sat open. She attempted to translate one of its mysterious pages with drawings of plants and instructions. As she stared at the pages, however, the symbols rose into the air and floated in front of her like holograms. They spun faster and faster until they transformed into words in English that she could read.

  Her heart sped up.

  She reached toward the floating symbols. When her fingers were about to touch them, her leg jolted, and she awoke.

  Charlie looked at her watch.

  Five in the morning.

  She sat up, a strong need to continue her translation work pushing her.

  As she slipped out of bed, naked, and picked up her clothes from the floor, Angel mumbled something. She tiptoed to the bathroom.

  Turning on the shower, she waited for the water to heat up. She brought up the notes option on her phone and began typing out what she'd seen in her dream.

  Despite the lack of sleep, her mind was clear and focused. Somehow she knew she'd be able to read the manuscript with native fluency.

  But why now? Was it the pod examples? Was it truly as simple as that?

  Angel knocked on the door. "Come back to bed. What are you doing?"

  "I'm taking a shower." She stepped under the showerhead and the too-hot spray.

  "I figured that part out. Where are you going?"

  "Work."

  "Orr won't be there for two hours," he reminded her.

  "Will you unlock it for me?" Only Orr and Angel had the combination to retrieve the key for the lock on the door.

  "Come back to bed, Charlie."

  The tone of his voice ran shivers down her spine. "I can't."

  "Yes, you can."

  She shampooed her hair. "Something clicked. I think I can read the manuscript."

  He said nothing.

  "I don't need to work on translation anymore. Somehow my mind must've worked it out. I can read it." She rinsed her hair, soaped up her body, and quickly finished showering. "We can find out what your sister wrote, Angel."

  Grabbing a towel off the bar, she wrapped it around herself and opened the door.

  Steam bled into the hall.

  "How is that possible?" Angel's brow furrowed.

  "I can read the manuscript. I know I can."

  "But how?"

  "I don't know. In my dreams something told me I can. Maybe I've internalized things in my subconscious without even realizing." A feeling of weightlessness filled her. "I'm surprised you aren't rushing me over there."

  "If what you say is true, what if something in the manuscript exposes me?"

  "I don't have to tell anyone else. Not right away. We can decide together."

  He hesitated and pressed his lips together.

  "I would never risk exposing your secret, Angel. You have to know that."

  He crossed his arms. "I know I said I trust you, but understand how hard this is for me. I've hidden my past for so long."

  She reached for him. "It will be all right. I promise." Why was he so distrustful of her? He'd shared so much. Why did he put up another wall? "We'll have time in the office alone before anyone else shows up. Now's the time to take advantage of the opportunity."

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're right."

  She brushed a hand up and down his arm. "The manuscript contains everything we need to know about the pods. Maybe it will even tell us what happened to Allwood or more about Armas."

  He drew away from her. "Armas."

  Why did the boy make him so uncomfortable? Hard to believe he wouldn't be happy to find a connection to his sister—a nephew.

  When Charlie looked at him like that, he wanted to tell her everything. By admitting where he came from, the time travel, the Purists, and the Genesis Project, he'd already risked a lot. But, God, he'd wanted her. Despite all of his attempts to push her away, treat her badly, ignore her—he couldn't fight the attraction any more. It had been worth it to give up some of his secrets if he could have her.

  Even now, as she stood a few feet away, wrapped in a towel, he'd confess more if she'd follow him back to the bedroom. Her intelligent gaze penetrated him.

  But she wouldn't forgive some of the things he'd done, some of the things he still had to do. His mission was tantamount, and it was the only reason he was stuck in this bizarre time. To protect her, she didn't need to know all the details. Did she?

  How could she possibly understand the hatred that burned inside for Allwood? The seething dark side of him that could be brutal when necessary. She didn't need to know that part. Never needed to know. Only he knew the truth of what he'd done, and it would stay that way.

  He'd arrived in this time alone, and now the manuscript had proven true what he dreaded—although many had traveled from his time via the pods, not everyone arrived in the same time. His heart hurt thinking about his sister. He'd never contemplated the idea she could have traveled so far back that it would be too late for him to rescue her from Allwood. And the boy? The last time he saw his sister she hadn’t looked pregnant.

  He shuddered at the possibilities.

  Risa.

  Why didn't she escape when she had the chance?

  CHAPTER 18

  Many years in the future...

  Angel Demarco crouched outside the crumbling structure. A leftover chunk of concrete and metal from The Before. The sun set behind the hills, and a chill filled the air.

  A lantern flickered on and off in the distance.

  The signal he'd been waiting for.

  One of their reconnaissance men had tracked a follower of Allwood's from the market to this long abandoned structure. The farming communities shunned the old cities and the remnants of the way people used to live with their odd metal fragments and broken bits and pieces that held no meaning hundreds of years later. The old ways of living had been dangerous. That's what they'd learned. The old ways had caused massive destruction, starvation, sickness. No one in their right mind would want to recreate The Before. It was madness that would end with death.

 

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