A Thief in Time (Thief in Time Series Book 1) by Cidney Swanson

Author:Cidney Swanson [Swanson, Cidney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kindle Press
Published: 2017-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

30

• KHAN •

It was a tiny thing that disturbed the professor. It tickled away in the back of his brain during his financial transactions with Martin Nieman, purveyor of antique and estate jewelry. It troubled him as he sat in the parking lot outside the gallery, contemplating the sale of “three golden chains with pendants, sixteenth century, manufactured by N. Hilliard,” and tried to decide how he would sell a fourth valuable necklace, which Nieman had regrettably declined to purchase.

Dr. Jules Khan was familiar with these odd ticklings, these just-out-of-reach inklings. They had led to his greatest breakthroughs in scientific discovery. As a postdoc with a freshly minted PhD, he had pursued these ticklings doggedly, attempting to corner and intimidate them. Eventually, he had learned this was a dead end, methodologically speaking. He learned that only when he exercised restraint would the ideas bloom, unfold, and reveal themselves. The trick was to keep one’s eyes averted. And then, voilà! A breakthrough. A revelation. An answer.

So, he averted his attention. Focused upon the fineness of the morning—another perfect day in paradise. Considered what he would take for breakfast (a coffee from the Nordstrom Café Bistro, perhaps?). Mused upon a pet hypothesis he was anxious to test. And then, as he turned a corner, emerging into blinding sunlight, it came to him.

The young man. Edmund Aldwyssen.

There had been a moment when the professor had been certain that Edmund meant to harm him. Dr. Jules Khan hadn’t survived dozens of forays into history without scenting the subtle shift that preceded a revealed firearm, a drawn sword, a pair of raised fists.

But the boy hadn’t raised his fists like a boy ready to duke it out. He hadn’t reached for a firearm concealed in a shoulder holster like an undercover agent. No, the young man had done neither of these things. Instead, he had shifted his right hand to his left hip like someone reaching for a sword. Like someone who’d been pulled into this century from an earlier one by means of the singularity device.

Khan swore. This, then, was the subtle clue that had been itching and tickling the professor’s brain—and it gave the boy away, the action of reaching his right hand across to his left hip, seeking a sword that should have been there.

Or had he misread the clue? Maybe Edmund had been reaching to scratch an itch. Maybe he had poison oak. Maybe he’d been swiping at a fly.

It was still possible the laboratory remained inviolate and unprofaned. Wasn’t it?

In his mind’s eye, the professor visualized his subterranean chamber. His sacred space. His hidden source of limitless wealth and knowledge. He was in trouble. In peril.

He slammed on his brakes as a frisson of fear ran its way up his spine. He had been so careful for so long. Would the girl have blabbed everything she’d seen and done all over social media? Exposure was unthinkable. Whipping out his cell phone, Jules Khan searched a few key phrases. Fortunately, he found nothing to increase his fears.

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