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THE BETTER PART OF VALOR. Morgan Mackinnon
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isbn 9781646546978
Автор произведения Morgan Mackinnon
Издательство Ingram
An hour later, Cresta had the books and files sorted into heaps. There were a small number from Ireland, several from the Civil War era, and a lot from the Western Indian wars. Digging out a large notebook, Cresta labeled the first page “Myles Walter Keogh.” Then she got to work.
*****
Cresta M. B. Leigh didn’t make an appearance back at the CIA building until a week later. She’d spoken with Sammy Chen twice asking for additional information, argued with her mother twice, both times breaking luncheon dates, and chatted once with Jim Sanford when she finally called and told him she was ready for her presentation.
It turned out to be “one of those” days you can run into in late April in northern Virginia—wet, windy, and wild. Hanging grimly onto the steering wheel of her car, she decided that suited the situation accurately. At least the wild part did. She hadn’t brought any of the reference books with her but did have the copies of all the War Department files in her briefcase along with records from Irish archives and some overhead slides she’d prepared.
Rather than hold this particular classified meeting in the regular conference room, Jim Sanford reserved the top secret “war” room on the fourteenth floor. It was soundproof and checked weekly for recording devices or bugs. The door to the room required a preset sequence of numbers and letters to gain access. Since the project relied so heavily on the physicists, they set the door code for today to one with a combination of elemental table numbers and letters. No one left the war room, even to go to the bathroom, as there was a restroom attached.
The conference room was full. Jim was there as well as his entire team plus Montoya’s engineers and, to Cresta’s surprise, even the secretary, Stacie Clayton. The guest of honor was the Secretary of Internal Development, Rick Berstem. Cresta also noticed that rather than the usual Danish and orange juice, the back table held vats of coffee, iced sodas, cupcakes, and trays of covered sandwiches.
Turning on the projector, Cresta began her presentation.
“I apologize it’s been a week since I started working on this. Jim, have you filled the Secretary in on the background?”
Cutting in, Rick Berstem said rather derisively, “Oh, he’s filled me in all right. I understand you people have been flitting back and forth in time for months now. Why the hell didn’t you bring me in on this earlier?”
Jim smiled. “You didn’t need to know. Not until now. We figured the less you knew the less you would have to deny knowing. Now we’re going to need authorizations, ids, strings pulled…the secretary kind of stuff we aren’t paid enough to do.”
Cresta put up the first slide, which basically outlined their problem, and that was a man born in 1840 had to sire a child to be born in 2003.
She then sat while Sammy Chen stood up and reiterated his findings up to the year 2037 and then specifically the year 2037 when a smart, talented young politician had to become Secretary of State in order to prevent all-out nuclear war on a global scale.
The Secretary was obviously cynical. “These documents you found. Have you ever considered the date is nothing but a typo?”
Sammy caught the sarcasm and turned red. “Yes, sir, I did. A man born in nineteen forty could technically father a child in two-thousand two, but he’d be sixty-two. Possible, yes. But in twenty thirty-seven, that same man would be ninety-seven. I have here a photo of the father and son in question taken in twenty thirty-seven, and the father can’t be too much older than midsixties.”
Rick Berstem took the photo and studied it. “You sure this is the right guy? The younger one?”
“Yes, sir. The photo is labeled as new Secretary of State Thomas M. Keogh and his father, Myles W. Keogh. It’s dated January, twenty thirty-seven.”
“All right, Doctor. Chen, how do you prove that all these archived documents are authentic? Accurate? They could be forgeries.”
Chen put both his hands on the table, squared his shoulders, and decided to be assertive. “Because they were archived by me. Look at the stickers on the backs. Samuel Dillon Chen. That’s me, and that’s my handwriting.”
Jim laughed. “Well, if that isn’t job security, I don’t know what is!”
This much established, Cresta took the floor again.
“Sammy knows a handwriting expert and asked him to authenticate his own handwriting, but I requested he go a step further. That expert also matched letters the father, Myles W. Keogh, had written home to his brother, Tom Keogh in Ireland circa eighteen sixties and also with documents signed by Myles Walter Keogh in two thousand two and beyond. Secretary, it’s a 100 percent match. This man we are seeking was born in eighteen forty. Finally, I asked Sammy to take the picture of the older man in the photo and do facial recognition to Myles Keogh of the past. Perfect match.”
Rick Berstem sighed and surrendered his skepticism. His team was the best in the world and if they said they needed a man born in 1840, then they needed a man born in 1840. “You’re sure? Okay, then you’re telling me we have to deal with getting a fish out of water, so to speak. Are there options?”
Cresta changed her slide. “There are some.”
1 Bring Keogh Senior to 2002, convince him sex outside marriage is not a sin and then send him back when his mission is accomplished.
2 Bring Keogh Senior to 2002 and let him stay in his future.
3 Send potential mother to 1860-something to conceive with Keogh Senior and then bring her back to 2002.
Cresta went through each option. In the first, Keogh Senior would remember his journey to the future, which could result in an extreme psychological event. In the second option, if Keogh Senior could handle the psychological issues of remaining in a time not of his origin, it would be a possibility. Third option would probably not work, and she proceeded to explain why.
“Myles Walter Keogh is a Catholic. Not a staunch Catholic but what he himself described as a ‘lapsed Catholic.’ Nevertheless, there is documentation that while our subject loved the ladies, he was discreet with a nearly obsessive fervor. The profile I have built so far would indicate Mister Keogh would go to great lengths to prevent fathering a child out of wedlock just as he was apparently very choosy about the women he courted. They didn’t have one-night flings in those days except with prostitutes. Our subject probably did indulge, but if he did, it is not documented. Soldiers in the Civil War had to be very careful of venereal disease, what they called the French pox, because it could be fatal. I have copies of letters Mister Keogh wrote to his brother in Ireland, and he’s quite frank about this.”
The Secretary of Internal Development leveled his gaze at Cresta. “What’s your recommendation, Doctor?”
Cresta spoke slowly, partly so there would be no misunderstandings and partly because she was still thinking this one through in her head. “I believe we have to approach this from the objective of first convincing Mister Keogh we are real, convince him of our intentions, and then bring him forward to the future. We don’t have much time.”
Jim Sanford interrupted. “Why not?”
“I’ll show you. Here we go…”
The next slide showed a picture of their subject, Myles Keogh. Of course, it was in black and white.
“This photo is courtesy of the National Archives and shows our subject photographed in eighteen sixty-two. It’s the best photo in the file. He’d just been assigned Captain in the US Army.” She put up a second slide which showed Keogh in a formal suit, velvet collar jacket, white shirt, and black shirt stud. His sensuous lips were obvious, although the moustache could have