Novella.No.Time.Left.2010 by Baldacci David

Author:Baldacci, David [Baldacci, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

He headed toward a stand and bought a newspaper. When he handed the man a dollar, he received ninety cents back. Becker stared down at the coins in the palm of his hand. For some reason the coins looked odd, but Becker thrust them in his pocket and forgot them when he saw the startling headline.

North Korea had just invaded South Korea. As he read further, his skin grew paler and there was a pronounced tic in a blood vessel on the left side of his temple. President Harry S. Truman denounced this unwarranted invasion and pledged support to the South Korean government. Becker shot a glance at the date.

“1950?”

He lowered the paper and stared suspiciously around. Vintage automobiles passed up and down the street. As he looked across at the train he’d just climbed off, he noted that the bullet train he’d earlier boarded had now turned into a diesel model that had long since been relegated to train museums.

Challenging? This must be what the old man had been referring to in his request. The job itself sounded simple. Yet how would Becker get back home, to his own time? How had he gotten here in the first place? He thought back. He remembered the long tunnel, how the train’s interior faded to darkness. How he’d fallen asleep at that moment. Normally, he was pumped and energetic for a job.

Frank Becker had spent the last twenty years of his life maintaining strict discipline and intense self-control. He grabbed hold of his rambling nerves, drew a long breath and dropped the paper in the trash. He fingered the knife in his pocket. He had his instructions and he’d received half his fee. He’d complete the job and then figure out how to return. He was a professional. Perhaps it would be as simple as boarding the train again, going back through the tunnel and falling asleep.

Asleep! Am I asleep? Dreaming?

Becker didn’t know what else to do, so he pinched himself and winced at the pain. He was not dreaming. He was fifty years in the past. He gathered his nerves, squared his shoulders, and walked out of the station.

It was a small town, really a village, with a butcher, baker, shops, restaurants, a pub, and a church on the main avenue. As Becker walked, this delicate burst of retail energy petered out and the lane he was walking alongside became quiet. All he heard was the wind and a few birds. Becker had memorized the contents of the letter from his client and then put a match to it. If things went awry, no one would find any evidence on him.

Like the successful man in the city, the woman he was looking for had a routine. Today being Thursday, she would be at her cottage a half-mile distant. She cleaned her home on Thursdays and then prepared a simple meal for her husband who came home promptly at six from work in town. Becker checked his watch. It still ran though it was now apparently five decades earlier than it had been this morning.

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