CHAPTER 15
2015, Texas
He watched Edward Chan walking ahead of him with the other kids. He looked so smal among the other highschool-age kids, so smal and so vulnerable with his highschool rucksack on his back and a yel ow T-shirt two sizes too big for him.
Yes. Yes, he does … but don’t forget who this boy is. Just how dangerous he is.
Howard Goodal grit ed his teeth with renewed determination. Ahead of him, just a dozen yards away, was the legendary Edward Chan, grandfather of time-travel technology. His mind reiterated an inescapable mantra. The boy has to die. The boy has to die.
Too many of his col eagues had been arrested to get him to this place, this time, close enough to kil Chan. He could feel the weight in his own rucksack – a red one with High School Musical 4 stencil ed in cheerful pink across it. He could feel the weight of responsibility in there and the miniature carbon-bre projectile weapon hidden inside an innocent-looking camping ask, the cheap plastic kind you can pick up from Wal-Mart for ve dol ars.
The institute’s guide eased his way through the shu ing trail of students to the front where he stopped, turned trail of students to the front where he stopped, turned round and raised his hands to get everyone’s at ention.
‘OK, now that you guys have al had some refreshments and you’ve had a lit le introduction to the theory behind zero-point energy, we’re going to be heading into the business part of this facility: the experimental reactor building. Before we go inside there’s one more security check –’
Thirty students moaned in unison.
‘Sorry, kids,’ he laughed. ‘I’m afraid it’s procedure, so if you’d al just open your rucksacks and school bags one last time for our security guards to get a quick look-see inside, then we can proceed.’
Third time. Howard did his best to look just as casual and irritated at the hassle as al the other kids. He unzipped his rucksack and held it open for a cursory glance. If the guard bothered to unscrew the drinking cap of the camping ask, he’d nd the smal weapon, which was roughly the size and shape of a whiteboard marker. Howard watched the guard work his way down the line of impatient children.
But he won’t unscrew it … because, Howard, you’re going to look just as bored as al these other kids. Bored and impatient to get on with the tour. And not nervous. Not scared.
Howard was the one in their group they’d selected to do the job. Although he was twenty-three he looked young, young enough to pass as a high-school student, a few tufts of downy hair on his upper lip suggested a boy desperate of downy hair on his upper lip suggested a boy desperate to grow his rst moustache. His dark wavy hair pul ed back into a scru y ponytail, his thrash-metal Arch-NME On Tour T-shirt, took six or seven years o him. Now, he no longer looked like Howard Goodal , a mathematics graduate from the year 2059, but Leonard Baumgardner –
some grungy high-school kid who’d managed to earn a set of top scores in his SATs.
The real Lenny was back home in his basement, bound and gagged along with his mom. Howard had brie y considered kil ing them both, worried they might struggle free and raise the alarm. But he gured this was al going to be done before that could happen.
He looked close enough in appearance to the spot y face on Lenny’s old school ID card to pass a cursory examination, and since this party of students had assembled together in Austin earlier this morning, and he was the only kid from Baumgardner’s school going, there was no one there to not recognize him. No one had any reason to believe he wasn’t young Leonard.
Of course, none of the kids knew each other; they were from di erent schools al over the state – thirty kids assembling, early morning, with their parents, waiting to be signed on to the coach and into the care of Mr Whitmore for the day.
Howard glanced around at the others.
And what if one of the others is not who he says he is?
He kicked that thought away as quickly as it had arrived. He needed to stay very calm. Needed to look arrived. He needed to stay very calm. Needed to look relaxed, like these others; slightly bored, waiting to be shown something interesting, something worth crawling out of bed for so early.
The guard nal y reached for Howard’s bag. ‘Morning,’
he grunted. ‘Let’s take a look, son.’
Howard casual y held out his rucksack.
‘Anything hazardous in here, son?’
‘What? You mean … apart from my big bomb?’ sighed Howard with a lazy smile.
The guard scowled at him. ‘Not even funny, kid.’ His hand rummaged quickly through the grubby items inside: a sandwich box, the ask, several rol ed-up and dog-eared comicbooks, before he slapped the rucksack closed and waved Howard past.
Howard o ered the guard a casual wave. ‘Have a nice day, now.’
‘Go on, kid … scoot,’ said the guard, before turning to rummage through another bag.
Ahead he could see Chan and the other students gathered around the guide, Mr Kel y, and the teacher, Mr Whitmore, waiting for the last of them to be checked. He sucked in a deep breath as he wandered over to join them, set ling his nerves, his pounding heart. Inside the zero-point chamber, that’s when he was going to do it. The chamber would be sealed, and this security guard and the others on the outside; his best chance to re several aimed shots at the boy. It would take them a while to react, to open the door.
open the door.
To take me down.
Howard smiled grimly. Not such a big price to pay to save the future of mankind, not real y.