Spader looked confused. I didn’t blame him. It was a lot to swallow.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “How do you know that?”
“We saw it all on Third Earth. Look, it’ll take too long to explain, but believe me, it’s true. We have to make sure history plays out the way it’s supposed to. Winn Farrow must blow up the Hindenburg.”
“We’re leaving!” shouted Max Rose. His car was all gassed up and they were ready to roll. We had to go with them.
“You gotta believe me, Spader,” I said.
I then pulled Spader back toward the car. It was strange. I had never seen Spader act like this. Normally he would charge right out front, leading the way into whatever adventure lay ahead. But now, he seemed lost. I guess I couldn’t blame him. I had just hit him with some pretty confusing news. Everything he thought to be true had just been turned inside out. Hey, I knew the feeling. I could only hope that he’d get his mind around it fast, so we could come up with a plan.
But all we could do just then was get in the car with Max Rose, stay close to him, and be ready to move when the chance came. If the chance came.
Spader and I got in the backseat with Max Rose. Two of Rose’s big thugs were in front. It was three on two. I hoped it wouldn’t come down to a fight between us, because we’d get pounded. The driver hit the gas and we were on the way to our date with a zeppelin.
“I owe you boys,” Max Rose said while wiping nervous sweat from his forehead with an expensive silk handkerchief. “Help me stop that rat Farrow, and I’ll take care of you. The deal I’ve got brewing is bigger than you can imagine.”
I could imagine it, all right. The deal he had going was to send the U.S. down the tubes by selling atomic secrets to the Nazis. There was a rat in this equation, but it wasn’t Winn Farrow.
“We know how they’re getting close to the Hindenburg,” Rose continued. “They have uniforms and badges like the ground crew wears. Nobody will look twice at ’em.”
“How’d you find that out?” I asked.
One of the thugs up front said, “We convinced one of Farrow’s boys to come clean.” The two laughed, like they were all sorts of proud for having squeezed that information out of him.
My guess was the guy who “came clean” was probably Saint Dane. He wanted Rose to know exactly what Farrow was up to. As always, he was pulling the strings, making us dance.
“I know every one of those boys,” Rose continued. “I’ll point ’em out, then we take ’em down.” He patted the gun that was hidden under his jacket. That was Rose’s plan. He was going to find Farrow’s men and shoot them. Simple as that. Bang bang. Not exactly a complicated Mission Impossible–style caper.
“How are we going to get inside the airfield?” I asked. “We don’t have uniforms.”
Rose pulled out a wad of cash. “We’ll get in,” he said. “We’re just some innocent tourists who want to see the big ship come in, and we’re willing to pay to get a good view. Money talks. Always has, always will.”
I stared out the window. Forty minutes to go. As I sat in that car, speeding toward destiny, I had no idea how this would play out.
Then something caught my eye. It was a street sign that showed we were traveling on Toms River Road. We then passed another sign. The intersection for Route 527 was coming up. That was weird. I had never been here before, but it seemed familiar. How could that be?
The car charged forward, headed for the four-way intersection. That’s when it hit me. I definitely knew this place. I’d heard about it in the library on Third Earth. History showed that Max Rose died in a car crash, 6:50 P.M. on May 6. Intersection of Toms River Road and Route 527. I glanced at my watch. It was 6:50. Spader and I were in the very same car, charging toward a gruesome date with an innocent motorcycle cop.
We were only a few yards from the intersection now. I quickly glanced to the left and saw it. The motorcycle cop was speeding toward the same intersection. We were seconds away from getting T-boned into oblivion.
There wasn’t time to warn the driver. I dove for the front seat and grabbed the wheel.
“Look out!” I yelled and pulled the wheel hard.
We skidded into the intersection, but were moving so fast that the car started to go over. The motorcycle cop hit us, but barely. He only grazed us from behind. If I hadn’t pulled the wheel, he’d have slammed us square on, and we’d be dead. The next few seconds were a blur. The car flipped. I don’t know how many times. All I could do was cover my head and close my eyes. We were all bounced around like we were in a washing machine. It was a jumble of arms and legs and screams. The sounds were hideous as metal crunched and squealed on the pavement.
Finally the car stopped moving and all was still.
I slowly opened my eyes, not sure if I was dead or alive. Amazingly, the car had ended up back on its wheels and the engine was still running. This was nothing like the wreck the computer had shown me. We had dodged a fat bullet. I was on the floor, wedged between the seat and Spader.
“Spader?” I called out tentatively.
Spader slowly opened his eyes and focused on me. “You all right?” he asked.
“I think so. You?”
Spader squirmed and flexed his arms to see if everything worked. “All in one piece,” he answered.
I looked around the car and saw that the driver was now in the passenger seat. He was dazed, but alive. Nobody else was in the car. Max Rose and the other thug must have been thrown out when we flipped.
Spader and I struggled to sit up. He kicked the door open and we had our way out. Carefully we crawled from the battered car. It wasn’t until later that I realized how many bruises I had. At the time I was too shocked to feel them. Besides, my head still hurt from getting conked back at the hotel. That hurt worse than anything else. I was a mess.
We stood up on shaky legs and checked out the accident scene. The motorcycle was on its side behind the car. The cop was next to it. I went to him quickly and saw that he was unconscious, but alive. Phew. The second thug was already on his feet. He staggered around like he was drunk, but it looked like he was going to be okay too. Finally we saw Max Rose on the side of the road. The big guy was struggling to sit up. It was hard to believe, but we all lived through the spectacular wreck.
I was amazed and grateful. But then a thought hit me. Max Rose was supposed to die in this accident. But now, because I had taken the wheel, Max was thrown from the car and he survived. I had changed history. Again. Now Max Rose was still able to stop Winn Farrow. If I hadn’t acted, he would probably be dead now and the Earth territories would be safe. By saving Max, I may have sealed Earth’s doom.
Did I mention how bad my head hurt?
“Buck!” called Max.
Spader and I went to him. He was alive, but in bad shape. He had a big gash on his forehead and had trouble focusing his eyes. “You gotta stop him, boys,” he said. “You gotta stop Farrow. I’m counting on you.”
Yeah, right. No chance. That’s exactly what we wouldn’t do. Max then laid back down on the ground. He was out of it. I may have changed history by saving his life, but there was no way he could do anything about saving the Hindenburg now. Maybe all wasn’t lost after all.
That’s when I heard the sound of an engine starting. Spader and I spun to see that the second thug had gotten his act back together and picked up the cop’s motorcycle. He was in the saddle, ready to roll. The sound I heard was him kicking over the bike’s engine.
“I got it covered, boss,” he shouted to Max. “I’ll stop him.”
Uh-oh. Rose’s gang wasn’t out of commission yet. I didn’t know what to do. Should I rush the guy and try to tackle him? Should I jump in front of his motorcycle? I had seconds to act, but I didn’t. That’s when something happened that is going to haunt me for a long time.
Spader ran for the bike.
“I’m coming with you!” he shouted as he jumped on the back.
What was he doing? All I could get out was a conf
used “Spader?”
“Sorry, mate,” Spader said. “We’ve got to save the people on that ship.”
“No!” I shouted. I tried to grab him, but the thug gunned the engine and they lurched forward, just out of my reach.
“I won’t let Saint Dane win,” Spader shouted as they sped away from me.
There it was. The moment I had feared for months. Spader’s hatred for Saint Dane had come roaring back. He was going to avenge the death of his father, no matter what the cost. Spader had promised me he could control his emotions, but he was wrong. Or he lied. It didn’t matter which. The fact was, he didn’t believe me about what we had found on Third Earth. Maybe I hadn’t explained it well enough. Or maybe it was too much for him to understand. Whatever. All he saw was that Saint Dane was about to cause a horrific crash and people would die. He was so blinded by hatred he couldn’t believe he was doing exactly what our enemy wanted him to do.
I realized all this as I stood on the road, alone, with no way to follow him or stop him. I glanced at my watch. It was 7:00. In twenty-five minutes the first domino would fall in Saint Dane’s plan to destroy Halla.
It would be the end of the Earth territories, now and forever.
JOURNAL #12
FIRST EARTH
There was only one way I could get to the airfield. I had to take the car.
I had driven a grand total of once. I was thirteen years old, my mother was in the passenger seat and we were in an empty parking lot with all sorts of room for error. That experience didn’t exactly qualify me for the Indy 500. But hey, I had already jumped out of an airplane in the middle of a thunderstorm, rappelled down the side of a hotel, and lived through a horrendous, flipping wreck. How much worse could driving a car be?
A quick glance around the accident scene told me nobody was going to stop me. Max Rose was lying on the side of the road, unconscious. So was the motorcycle cop. The only guy I had to deal with was the thug who was still in the car, slumped in the passenger seat. Out cold. No way I was taking him along for the ride.
This was the same guy who had grabbed Spader and me and dragged us around the hotel like we were bags of trash. I didn’t mind returning the favor, so I grabbed his jacket and pulled. The guy barely moved. He was twice my size and totally limp. It was like trying to maneuver a huge bag of bowling balls.
I guess my adrenaline kicked in because on my second try I was able to drag him out headfirst. His shoulders hit the ground with a dull thud. Sorry, dude. I then dug my legs in and dragged the rest of his bulk out of the seat. I didn’t have to feel bad for the guy, he was totally out of it. I made sure to drag his deadweight far enough away from the car so that if something wacky happened with me behind the wheel, I wouldn’t run the poor guy over.
I then jumped into the driver’s seat and instantly realized I was in trouble.
This was an old-time car. It didn’t have an automatic transmission. It had a stick shift on the steering column and a clutch pedal on the floor that I was going to have to learn how to use real fast. My father’s car had a stick shift, so at least I knew the basics. I used to sit in his car in the garage with the engine off, pretending to drive. He hated that. He thought I was wearing out the clutch or something. But it was a good thing I had done it because now I knew how to shift. Sort of. The trick was to push the clutch pedal all the way to the floor, put the car in gear, then gently lift the pedal back up while stepping on the gas. If it was done smoothly, the car would move. If it wasn’t, the car would stall out. It was a touchy-feely thing. I didn’t have the touch or the feel. This was going to be interesting.
The engine was still running, so at least I didn’t have to worry about starting it up. I moved the seat as far forward as possible so I could reach the pedals. I put my foot down on the clutch, moved the gear lever up to what I thought was first gear, then gently released the clutch while pressing on the gas.
The car began to roll forward. This was going to work! On the first try, no less. I grabbed the wheel, looked forward, and stepped on the gas.
The car bucked twice and stalled. Man! Not only did I not know how to drive, now I had to figure out how to start the car. I had to force myself not to panic.
There was a key in the dashboard, but when I turned it, nothing happened. For a second I thought the car was officially dead. After all, it had just been through a pretty hairy crash. Still, maybe I was doing something wrong. There weren’t a whole lot of control knobs on the dashboard. Remember, this was long before the age of CD players, air-conditioning, and cruise control. I saw one knob that worked the headlights and another that turned on the windshield wipers. That was pretty much it.
Then I spotted a small, silver button below the dashboard. I had never seen a button like this on a car, but then again, I had never been in a car made in 1937 either. What did I have to lose? Unless it operated an ejection seat, it wouldn’t hurt to press it. So I did…and the engine groaned to life. Yes! I had found the starter button.
The car bucked forward and stalled again. That’s because I still had it in gear. What a dope. I jammed my foot down on the clutch pedal to disengage the gears, then hit the silver button again. After a few coughing backfires, the engine rumbled back to life. Excellent. Now I had to move. Four times I tried to get rolling in first gear, four times it stalled out. I was wasting precious time and getting ready to abandon ship and start running.
I decided to give it one more try. This time I gave it lots of gas. When I felt the car start to shake and stall again, I gave it even more gas. I thought the car was going to rattle into pieces, but a second later the ride smoothed out and I was moving. I had done it.
But getting the car to move was only the first step. Now I had to drive. This is where it got scary. I was so focused on getting the car moving, I didn’t look at where I was going. As soon as I remembered to look up, I saw Max Rose standing right in front of the car! He had somehow gotten his huge bulk vertical and was now staggering toward me. I yanked the wheel hard and barely missed him. But now I was in the dirt on the side of the road. I didn’t dare step on the brakes because I didn’t want to stall out and have to go through that whole start-up ordeal again. So I kept my foot down on the gas and desperately cranked on the wheel, trying to get back on the road. After bouncing around and nearly missing a couple of rocks, a tree, and a stop sign, I finally got the tires back on pavement.
I was on my way.
As I pointed the car down the road and focused on keeping it straight, I heard the far-off sound of a siren headed my way. I didn’t want to be stopped by a cop. No way. I had to get far away from the accident scene, so I gritted my teeth and put the pedal to the metal.
It was a good thing there wasn’t much traffic out there in the boonies because I was all over the road. The steering wheel was huge and turning it was hard. Every little adjustment was an effort. Man, you had to be strong back in those days just to drive! It took me a few minutes, but I kind of got the hang of it. I even changed gears when the engine started to rev really fast. I didn’t exactly feel ready to take my driver’s license test, but at least I was on my way.
This whole adventure wasted ten minutes. It was 7:10. Fifteen minutes left. But at least I was headed toward the airfield.
Now that I knew I was going to get there, my thoughts turned to what I would do once I arrived. Truth was, I had no idea. Spader and the gangster were going to try to stop Winn Farrow. I had to stop them from stopping him. But how? One step at a time. First I had to get there in one piece. After that, I’d have to wing it.
I pressed the car on even faster. The speed scared me, but I couldn’t be late. That point was driven home hard when I rounded a bend in the road, cleared a few trees, and saw a spectacular sight before me. I was driving along a rise that gave me a perfect view of my destination.
It was the airfield. Because I was still a mile or so away, I had a wide-angle view of the scene. The weather had cleared, and though the sun had already slipped below the horizon
, the sky was still light enough to give me a pretty good look at the place. It wasn’t huge by modern-day standards. It was a lonely airport in the middle of nowhere. There were a few runways that crisscrossed each other, and I saw several planes parked wing to wing. There were a few airplane hangars, but one stood out from the rest. It was giant. I mean really enormous. There was only one massive door, which told me this was the hangar where they kept the zeppelins. Aside from that colossal hangar, there was nothing all that unique about this place, except for one other very obvious thing:
The Hindenburg had arrived.
I glanced at my watch. It was 7:15. I had ten minutes before Winn Farrow would shoot his rocket to destroy the blimp. But it looked like the Hindenburg was already lining itself up for the final approach. There was a big crowd gathered, with floodlights blasting skyward, lighting up the silver-skinned zeppelin as if it were daytime. I’m guessing that the airship was still about a half mile from the landing point. But with something that big, a half mile wasn’t very far at all. It was an awesome and frightening sight.
The ship was traveling from my right to left. It was a scene that looked all too familiar. All the pictures of the burning ship I had ever seen were taken with its nose pointing to the left. The crowd was all gathered to one side—the ship’s left side. That’s where all the pictures were taken from. Having seen those pictures, I knew exactly where I needed to be. Winn Farrow must be somewhere on the ship’s far side. The right side. It was the only place he could be and not be seen by the gathered crowd. The question was, would I get there in time to stop Spader?
As I drove closer to the airfield, I passed the same bus I thought Spader had taken. It was pulled over to the side of the road and all the passengers were out, watching the arrival of the airship. I wasn’t sure why they had stopped here, this far away. A few seconds later I had my answer.