Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I Read online

wife and child?” Bill offered.

  “And what would that be, sir?”

  “There’s a man looking for advice and financial assistance. His name is James Plimpton.”

  “Is Mr. Plimpton in the security business?”

  “No, Mr. Plimpton has an idea for a transportation system that goes on your feet. His design has four wheels, rather than the standard two, and is much, much easier to use than the old style. They will be called roller skates, and believe me, they will catch on, and you and your family will be set for life. He resides in Medford, Massachusetts and should be easy for you to look up.”

  O’Neil made some notes on a small pad then finished his drink and stood up. The men shook hands, and O’Neil asked, “Mr. Scott, will we meet again?”

  Bill answered, “No, Mister O’Neil, I don’t think so, but you never can tell.”

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY 

  Back in his club’s office in New York, Bill sat at his computer while a snowstorm raged outside. A knock at the Time Portal door grabbed his attention.

  “Prescott?” Bill mumbled as he happily crossed the room, slid the key into the lock and swung the door wide. “Pres . . . ”

  A tall young man in his mid-twenties wearing a one-piece light blue suit stood there. He was a clean-shaven, dark haired man about Bill’s height. He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled as he offered a hand to Bill.

  “Bill Scott, I’m Edmund Scott. I’m from 2066 and very pleased to meet you.”

  Bill was surprised but not shocked. He shook the stranger’s hand and said, “Same here, Mr. Scott. Is it a coincidence that we share the same last name, or are we related?”

  “We are related, Bill, I am your grandson.”

  Now Bill was shocked, but he beamed at meeting his future relative. “Damn! This gets better and better. Did they just recruit you to meet me, or what?”

  “No, I’ve been a part of the Time Watchers program since I was eighteen years old. You can say it runs in the family. After you, it was a natural selection for us Scotts.”

  “Come in . . .err . . . Ed . . . err . . . Edmund. What do I call you?”

  The young man entered the room and answered, “My friends call me Edmund, and I you? Grandpa . . .”

  “Don’t! Stop right there,” Bill interrupted. “It’s obvious that I get married, but I don’t want to know everything. I’d prefer to let it just happen. And call me Bill.” He closed the door behind Edmund. “Would you like a drink, Edmund? Coffee, tea or whatever?”

  “No thanks, Bill. I was selected to be your contact, and I waited until you finished your first mission. You did great. I’m proud to be a Scott.”

  “Lots of credit has to go to Prescott Stevens. It was his call.”

  “Mr. Stevens is a legend in our time and, believe me, you have just gained a lot of respect from the time watcher’s group. You are a perfect successor for him.” Edmund put a hand out to steady himself on the desk. “Whoa . . . little dizzy for a second. The air, you know. I can’t stay long, not used to it. Maybe over time . . . “

  Bill helped him into a chair. “Stay still and breathe slowly. I’ll get you some water.”

  “No, no thanks. They told me the water from this era would upset me. I’ll just sit a second.”

  “Right,” Bill said, “But I’m curious. Are you here to give me an assignment or just to let me see my future family?”

  Edmund smiled as he rubbed his temples. “Just to introduce myself and let you know that we of the future, appreciate your work. As for an assignment, nothing yet.” He took a slow breath, “There is a hint of Theodore Roosevelt swerving off course, but it may be nothing. We are sending a probe back to investigate the possibility and will let you know.”

  He started to stand up, wobbled, and Bill went to help him.

  Edmund said slowly, “I’m okay, Bill. I just have to come for short visits until I become more . . . more, acclimated to your air. But for now . . . “

  They shook hands, and then Bill hugged him. “Do families do that in your time?”

  Edmund smiled. “They do. I’ll see you soon, Grandpa Bill.”

  Bill gave him a good-natured punch on the arm and walked him to the door. “Edmund, let me just ask you this. Is there a Charlene Greene anywhere in your family line?”

  “No,” Edmund said, his face in thought, “never heard that name before. Should I know her?”

  Bill smiled and answered, “No, just wondering. Now, take care of yourself, you young whippersnapper.”

  Bill closed the door, as a tap on the den’s door drew his attention.

  “Come in,” he said.

  The door opened, and Matt entered. “The guests are seated, sir” Bill nodded as he looked in the full-length mirror and straightened his cravat. “What’s on the menu tonight, Matt?”

  “Roast pork chops, carrots, corn, mashed potatoes, cornbread and brown gravy, sir.”

  “Excellent. Be down in a minute. Thanks, Matt.”

  Bill turned back to his computer and looked at the results of the subject he had punched into Google. The text read, “In the late 1800s, James Plimpton invented what became the modern-day roller skates. His small company received an infusion of cash from John O’Neil, who became a partner in the firm. Both men lived to ripe old ages and saw their company grow to be at the top of the roller skate kingdom and worth millions of dollars.” Along with the text was a black and white photo of O’Neil smiling at Bill from across the years.  

  Bill smiled and closed the laptop. He put his jacket on and walked toward the stairs as the storm outside continued to howl. He caught his reflection in a dark window and wondered what his next mission would be. Boy, he thought, I’d love to meet Teddy Roosevelt.

  The Theodore Roosevelt Mission

  DATELINE: 1898 PLACE: CUBA

  A bullet ricocheted off a rock and dug itself into a tree trunk, almost hitting a butterfly. In a foxhole beneath the same tree, an army private noticed that the butterfly didn’t even react to the near miss.

  Guess being scared is only for us humans; he thought and quickly ducked his head as another shot whipped past his ear. He didn’t see as the butterfly flew off and perched itself on another tree close to three uniformed men in a large shell hole. They held an unfolded map, studied it, and looked around as though trying to orient themselves. A slim, gray-haired man wearing U.S. Army Captain’s bars gestured to the group’s right flank.

  “Sir, I think the Spaniards are up that hill,” he said.

  All three ducked in unison as a burst of rifle fire tore through the dirt in front of them.

  “Damn close,” muttered Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, as he wiped the dirt off his glasses. “Damn close.”

  The third man, a lieutenant, shook his head in disagreement and pointed to a spot on the map. “Sirs, with all due respect, I do believe the enemy is on our left flank.”

  The colonel squinted up the hill. “It’s their damned smokeless gunpowder,” he said. “They’re picking us off one by one and we can’t even see where they are. Isn’t fair.”

  Another burst followed by an explosion put the three officers deeper into their makeshift foxhole. Roosevelt looked perplexed, while the two other officers were close to an argument as each expressed his theory of the enemy’s position.

  A runner suddenly jumped into the already-tight hole and breathlessly reported: “Message for you, Colonel Roosevelt. Captain Lewis spotted the Spaniards straight ahead and up on San Juan Hill. He requests your troops take it as soon as possible to relieve the pressure on his flank.”

  Roosevelt looked at his map, then forward to the top of the hill. “Tell Captain Lewis I’ll attack as soon as I can, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir,” the runner said as he crawled out of the hole and scurried off to deliver the message.

  Through the smoke of battle, the three officers tried to make out the hilltop.

  “It’s going to be a tough one, Colonel,” said t
he captain.

  “That it is,” replied Roosevelt, through tight lips, “that it is.”

  The Lieutenant looked at him. “Sir, if we can get an artillery piece to fire on the hilltop to keep their heads down, we might be able to pull it off.”

  The heavyset colonel brushed dirt off his tan uniform jacket and said with a grimace, “There are no artillery pieces ready in our sector, and to attack straight up the hill would be sheer suicide. No, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until it gets dark.”

  The Captain sat in the bottom of the hole and lit a cigar. “It won’t be dark for hours yet. But we can’t just go up the hill and attack their front. We’ll be mowed down. I hope Lewis can hold out until nightfall.”

  A butterfly skimmed over their heads and startled the three men.

  “Don’t blame the little critter,” said Roosevelt as he wiped dust off his boots. “If I had wings I might do the same.”

  The two officers looked at their commander and wondered if he really would fly off if he could.

  DATELINE: 2066 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

  As the person in charge of this mission, John Hyder sat at the head of a long, mahogany table. The mid-thirties, blond-haired man scratched his long, gray-flecked sideburns nervously as he activated the hologram brought back by the butterfly probe. The rest of the time watchers team sat waiting to see why he had summoned the group meeting. Hyder mentally checked the group in: Joseph Sergi, tall at six-feet six-inches with long dark hair that was always in his eyes and made all think he was much younger than his 40 years of age sat on