Only the Future is History

by Rich Lewis

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CHAPTER 7

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     I awoke with a start, on a couch, but I didn't know where. I assumed I was still in Jamieson's house, but it was room I had not seen when I had been here earlier in the day. Jamieson was sitting in a chair pulled up next to the couch, bandaging my hand. I was somewhat lightheaded and disorientated, and gave him a blank stare.

      "Oh, so you've decided to awaken?"

      "What happened?" I asked.

     "Suppose you tell me Mr. Scott. It seems one of your friends came calling while I was away."

     "I'm sorry," I said, then lapsed into silence. What had I done? The last minutes I had been conscious came back to me, and I trembled thinking about it.

     "What happened to the man.?”

     "He's dead," Jamieson said cutting me off.

     "Oh god, what have I done."

     "Just what you had to Mr. Scott. Do not make excuses for the man. He attacked you."

     "But I killed a man Jamieson. I killed someone."

     "Someone who was trying to kill you," he said sternly. "And the bastard killed Henry as well. You're damn lucky he didn't kill you."

     He released my hand, now bandaged and throbbing. My neck as well was painful. I could feel a welt on my forehead, probably where the attacker had at some point hit me.

     "You're going to have to get up Mr. Scott. I'm afraid you're not going to be able to stay here."

     I slowly sat up, and the throbbing in my hand worsened. I stared at Jamieson. How could he turn me out like this? Where was I going to go? It also bothered me that he was so unemotional about the whole thing.

     "Don't worry Jarrett," he said smiling, "I'm not going to let you go it alone."

     "Thank god," I said. "For a minute there."

     "Yes, yes. Save your thank you’s. If I turned you loose the police would have you within hours, and we really don't know who we can trust, do we?"

     "No we don’t. So what am I suppose to do now?," I asked.

     "The same thing you've been doing. Keep looking." Jamieson got up and motioned me to follow him. "You're going to have to look at him, see if you know him."

     I swallowed hard. I really did not want to see another dead body, especially that of a man I had killed. It was hard for me to accept the fact that I was capable of killing someone, yet Jamieson was not giving me any other choice. I knew it was something that had to be done but it did not make me feel any better. Jamieson seemed hard and calloused about it as he led me to the front hallway. He stopped and turned on the light.

    The first thing I noticed when the light came on was how the side of his head had caved in under the blow from the coat tree. Then my eyes opened in astonishment as I recognized the face, something Jamieson noticed. I sucked in a deep breath of air and held it, backing up against the wall away from the body.

     "You know him do you? Tell me." 

     "It's George McCall," I answered. "He works, worked at the historical institute in New York. Where I work. Or probably used to work."

     Turning off the light Jamieson motioned for me to follow him back into the living room. "I knew him as Jeffrey Robinson."

    I stopped, giving Jamieson a very surprised look. How could he know him? "Sit down Jarrett," he said. "We have a few minutes until I have to phone the police." The police. Now he was going to turn me in? I did not think he would. My head wasn't very clear. I wasn't thinking straight.

    I sat and leaned back into the couch, and turned to Jamieson. "When did you know him?"

     "On Crete. He was one of the American archeologists."

    "How could that be," I said not thinking, "he's been at the Institute for seven or eight years." None of this was making any sense.

   "Not on the last project," Jamieson answered, "back in 1970. He was there then. He just disappeared after the project was closed down."

     I sat forward, letting my head flop forward, exhausted. "So what do I do now?" I sat there, rubbing my hands through my hair, presently not capable of any rational thought.

     "Like I said, you keep looking. Do you think they're going to let you stop now and just go back to your regular routine? The only chance you have now is to find out what's so damn dangerous about this project to them."

     I sat thinking for a moment. What Jamieson said made sense. They had killed Jenkins, the Scholten’s, and Gary Nelson. They had made attempts on me, killed Henry, and tried to get Jamieson. I was in all the way now and their was no turning back. I wanted a way out, but there was none. I did not want to kill anymore, yet I did not want to die. I had no choice. Somehow I was going to have to find the answer to this puzzle.

     Jamieson rose and made a couple of phone calls. One was to the police, but I didn't hear who the other was too. Jamieson came over and grabbed my arm, helping me off the couch. 

    "Come on. Someone is coming to pick you up. He's an old friend of mine who lives a couple of miles down the road. He'll take you there and you can get some sleep."

     "How are you going to explain this?" I said, motioning to McCall's body as we went out the front door. I shivered at the sight of the corpse. I had done that, killed him. Now I had to live with it.

     "Just like I found it, except you weren't here of course. The man who is picking you up is George Wentworth. He won't ask any questions, or want to know who you are. Get some sleep. I'll be over first thing in the morning."

     A car was coming up the drive, and I guessed this was Mr. Wentworth. Jamieson walked down the steps with me, steadying me so that I did not fall. I was exhausted, and my legs weren't functioning properly. Probably shock setting in I told myself, from the frightening events I had been through. Before I got in my car I stopped and turned to Jamieson.

    "My briefcase," I said. "I should take it with me."

    "Quite correct," he answered, helping me into the car, "where is it?"

    "By the porch," I pointed, and he retrieved it for me. Sliding it beside me on the car seat Jamison closed the door  and leaned in and spoke to his friend.

     "Straight to bed George, I'll call you later." George nodded, not saying anything. It amazed me at how calm and detached Jamieson was. I dozed on the short trip to the Wentworth residence, and awoke when the door opened. George helped me inside, and led me to a bedroom. I set down the briefcase and laid down on the bed. Wentworth said nothing, and closed the door behind him. Exhausted and shivering, and in shock, I was asleep in seconds.

              *          *          *         *

     When I awoke the next morning, I had no idea what time it was. For a brief second I had no idea at all where I was. Looking around the room I was in I realized where I was, and what had happened. There were no clocks, and I had lost my watch in the fight with McCall the night before. It was daylight, but other than that I had no idea what time it was. I rolled to the edge of the bed and grimaced. I had used my right hand to push myself up, and pain shot through it. I looked down at the bandages that Jamieson had put on, and they had a dark crimson color to them. I decided the first thing I needed to do was change the bandages. 

     I got up and walked to the door slowly. My body ached and my legs still did not want to function properly. When I opened the door, Wentworth was coming down the hall.

    "Thought I heard you moving around," he said. "Come. I'll show you where you can clean up."

    He took me around the corner to the bathroom where I began taking off the dressing on my hand. Wentworth left and returned with some fresh bandages. Setting them on the sink, he turned and left. I closed the door and slowly finished removing the bandages from my hand. My fingers were swollen and purple, with cuts along the inside of my hand. Luckily none of them were real serious, and did not think I was in need of stitches. Carefully I cleaned them up.

    There was a knock on the door, and Mr. Wentworth re-entered the bathroom, holding out a hanger with fresh clothes on it.  I took them and hung them on a hook, as he pulled out a clean towel from the closet. Handing me the towel he spoke.

     "Mr. Jamieson said those should fit you," he said, pointing to the clothes I had hung up. "You can take a shower. Mr. Jamieson will be here within the hour."

     Still in a mild daze I turned and asked him what time it was. "A little after ten," he replied as he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

     I quickly took a shower, which helped revive me, and carefully put new bandages on my hand. They were very stiff, but were not bleeding much, so I did not think they would be too much of a problem as long as I kept the wounds moist. My neck wasn't as bad off as my fingers. It looked as if I had a rope burn across my neck, with some bruising, but the skin had not been broken. I had indeed been very fortunate.

     The clothes that had been left for me fit, although not well. I was thankful that the shirt was loose, and had a high collar. Pulling the collar towards the front, the bruises on my neck were hardly visible. Feeling somewhat human again, I ventured out into the hallway. I heard Wentworth call that I should leave my old clothes in the bathroom, and he would take of them. There really wasn't much he could do with them except throw them away as they were torn and covered with blood.

      Leaving the clothes piled up in the corner of the bathroom I walked down the hall, which opened up into the living room. Wentworth entered from a door on the far side, from what must have been the kitchen, and placed a tray of tea and breakfast rolls on a small table. Motioning me to sit down and help myself, he left the room.

     I sat there for the next few minutes, enjoying the tea and rolls, and Jamieson pulled up outside. He entered the house through the kitchen, and I could hear muffled voices as he and Wentworth spoke. After the brief conversation Jamieson entered the room where I was sitting.

     "Good morning Jarrett," he said, "I trust you slept well."

    "Yes, fine," I replied, replacing the teacup to the tray.

     "I see the clothes are adequate," he added as he sat in a chair opposite from me.

     "Yes, they are. Thank you for looking out for me."

     "No problem at all. We must discuss what to do now. It seems we have a bit of a problem."

     I didn't say anything, but sat looking at him. I was sure we had more than a bit of a problem after last night. Again it bothered me at the calm manner in which Jamieson dealt with my current situation. There was definitely more to him than I had first suspected. That fact had me curious and frightened.

     "The police do not know who was at my house last night, but weren't very happy with my responses. I don't think it will take them very long to figure it out. Your fingerprints are on the coat tree I'm sure, and they found your watch."

     "Wonderful," I said. "Now they'll be after me as well."

     "I'm afraid that's not all the bad news. I had a phone call from Diane Henry this morning. Said she tried to call you at your hotel this morning and was a bit worried she couldn't reach you. Seems she called your friend in New York this morning."

       I sat forward on the chair, a moment of panic rising in my throat. I prayed nothing had happened to Carolyn.

     "Don't worry," he said, sensing my fear, "she's fine. It's you who is the one in trouble. it seems a detective Roebuck called your friend and said the New York police want to visit with you rather urgently. A friend of mine at Interpol informed me that they have even called London, wanting you returned if you were found over here."

     "How did they know I was over here?," I asked.

     "Who knows, but they found out. The thing right now is to get you out of here, and out of England." he paused for a moment, then asked, "Where too now my boy?"

     I sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment. I had spent some time this morning contemplating the same thing. There had only been one answer I had been able to come up with. Only one place which offered any hope of ending this.

     "Crete," I said.

     "Um," he said, thinking about it. "That's about what I expected. But what do you expect to find?"

    "I don't know, but I don't have many options. That's about the only place left I have to look for something to help me with this."

    "Yes, I don't doubt that. If there is any further information or evidence to find, it will be there. The problem is how to get you there. I don't really think I can arrange to get you to Crete."

    "How about Paris?" I asked, remembering the name Jack Mellor had given me. I had no idea if I could trust the man, but I had no choice. If I didn’t take a few chances I was going to lose at this anyway. It seemed to me I was being drawn down some road to nowhere, with no other possible destination. From the very beginning, Crete had been the only place that could hold the key. "Can you get me there?"

     He thought for a moment, and then sat forward on his chair. "Yes. I can get you to Paris. It won't be very comfortable I'm afraid."

     "That doesn't matter. If you can get me there, I can get to Crete from there."

     Jamieson did not ask any more questions of me. I was sure he really did not want to know who was going to help me once I got there. Right now, he probably just wanted to get rid of me. He rose, and went to the phone, making a couple of phone calls. I went into the bedroom and retrieved my briefcase, and returned to the living room. By the time I returned, Jamieson was speaking with Wentworth.

    "Okay Jarrett," he said, turning to me. "I've arranged for you to catch a ride with a freighter this afternoon across the channel. It will drop you at Dunkirk, where you can catch a train to Paris."

    "Great," I said. "Sounds good." It did not, but there were very few options. Either the police, or my pursuers, would surely be watching all the normal public transportation routes in and out of England.

    "Okay, now we just have to get you to the freighter. Are you ready?"

      I said that I was, and we went out into the driveway. Jamieson climbed into Wentworth's car, leaving his in the drive. I asked about my clothes at the hotel, but Jamieson convinced me that it would not be a good idea to get them, as my room was probably being watched. I was momentarily disappointed with myself for being so foolish to have suggested it.

     The drive to Brighton took a few hours, and I relaxed in the car. Neither Jamieson nor I had a lot to say on the trip. I really didn't know why Jamieson was going to all this trouble to help me, but I wasn't going to question his wanting too. Around three o'clock we arrived at a small cafe , where we went inside to eat. Jamieson informed me that a man would be here to pick me up. A few minutes later, the man arrived. Jamieson got up and met him by the door. After a brief conversation, Jamieson motioned for me to come over. The man he had met turned and went outside.

     "There will be a car outside shortly. The man I was talking to will take you to the ship. You'll have to be very discreet, or he'll get in a lot of trouble from the captain. Do as he says."

     Jamieson reached into his pocket and handed me some money. I did not say anything, because I knew I would need it.

      "Here's some money.. You can send it back to me whenever you get the chance. It'll give you enough to get the train ticket to Paris and eat, and a little extra. After that you'll be on your own."

     "Thank you," I said, taking the money and then shaking his hand. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the car pull up in front of the cafe. I was somewhat leery about leaving with a total stranger, but what choice did I have. I had to get out of England.

     "Go," he said, "and good luck. If there's anything I can do from here, let me know. " He paused for a moment, griping my hand tightly, and then added "be careful."

     I nodded my head that I would, and went out to the waiting car. The driver said nothing during our short drive to the pier. Parking in a small lot he motioned for me to follow, telling me we would be entering the ship from a loading ramp, and that I would stay in his cabin.

     We only passed a couple of other sailors in the passageways, but no one said anything. I thought to myself that the crew probably gave friends a lift back and forth across the channel, and kept it to themselves. The cabin I was shown to was small, containing only two bunks and a small desk. I lay down on the bunk, and rested for a while.

      About twenty minutes after we had boarded, I could feel the ship begin to move. It took us about four hours to reach the dock in Dunkirk, and I busied myself by re-reading Jamieson's notes. I still had not had time to question him about them. There was so much I wanted to know. So much I needed to know. How was I going to find all the answers I needed when I really did not know what I needed?

      We had been at anchor for only a short time when the sailor came to the cabin to get me. Very quickly we walked through the passageway to the loading ramp. He did not speak until we were off the boat.

     "Up the street about four blocks is the rail station. You can buy the ticket there, but you must hurry. The last train to Paris leaves at eight."

     "What time is it now?," I asked, still not having a watch.

     "It is fifteen minutes till," he said.

     I quickly thanked him and turned to head for the railway station. As I entered the station, I noticed a large clock on the center wall that said it was four minutes till. I quickly bought a ticket and boarded the train, finding a seat in the passenger car.

     We arrived in Paris around midnight. Getting off the train, I stopped in a small gift store that was preparing to close and purchased a watch. Not knowing what time it was bothered me. It was amazing how dependent on the clock that we had become in today’s society.

     I walked through the train depot, noticing how empty it was. I still had enough money between what Jamieson had given me and what I'd had left over to get a room somewhere. I walked out of the depot, and asked a man waiting there where the nearest hotel was. After listening to his directions I walked off towards the city center to the hotel.

      I entered the hotel, and was grateful that the desk clerk spoke English. He gave me a quizzical look when I paid for the room with a combination of American dollars and British pounds, but I was sure he had probably seen it happen before. I stopped at vending machine with some of the change I had, and bought a candy bar and a Coke, and headed up to my room.

     I set the briefcase down on the bed, and went into the bathroom and washed my face. Turning on the television I searched for something that I might be able to understand, but found the hotel only received local channels. Not knowing any French, I turned of the television.