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

it,” Bill said.

  Prescott looked at him pensively. “You will, and I hope that soon it will be yours.”

  “Mine?” Bill wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

  “Yes. You see, as I said, this is an interview. The job consists of not only doing what’s asked of you in the past from time to time, but also running this club.”

  “Running this club? What do you mean?”

  “Simple, Bill. I’m tired. I want to spend more time with my family . . . back in 1860. I’ve had a great experience over the past twenty-five of your years. I’ve traveled extensively and met some of the most important people in history. But I’m tired. And part of my job was to watch for someone to inherit the club. And Bill, I think you are that person, as do the Time Watchers.”

  “They know about me?”

  “Yes, of course. We had a meeting yesterday, and they went over your records. With my recommendation they agreed that you would be the best person to run the club. What do you say?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. What do I have to do? I mean, my job, my apartment . . . “

  “This will be your job. At whatever your price, although money for living expenses will not be needed. The club has been owned privately since the very beginning. The dues more than cover the costs. And as for your apartment, this is a six story Townhouse in the heart of New York City. And all you have to do is, when contacted by the future people about a kink in time, fix it. Any more questions?”

  “Just a million or so,” Bill said. “But if I accept, what happens to you?”

  “I’ll be going back to my time.” He sighed as he spread his hands wide. “Bill, this is a wonderful period that you are from, but I do miss the slower pace of the 1800s. I’m sure you understand.”

  Bill raised his eyebrows and asked, “Are you financially all right?”

  Prescott laughed heartily. “I’m fine. I have all I’ll ever need. I’m supposed to live another twenty plus years, and I want to be with my sister and her family.”

  Bill’s mouth dropped. “You . . . you know when . . . when . . . “

  “When I’m going to die? Yes, July 9, 1886. In Port Monmouth, New Jersey, while at the beach. The papers will say I passed quietly while napping on a blanket on the beach with my sister and her grandchildren. I had to look it up. Just had to.”

  Bill nodded. “Yes, I guess I would have to, too. I’m sorry.”

  Waving off Bill’s concern, Prescott said, “Sorry for what? Sorry that I died? I did, in your history, but as you can see I’m still very much a warm-blooded being just like you. Now, let’s get down to business. Ready?”

  “Ready!”

  Prescott took a small cell-phone-sized unit out of his pocket and showed it to Bill. On the face were number pads.

  “The TFM. Now, to open the portal, you simply type in the date and time you want. As I said, this building was built in 1820, and the door is always the way into and out of the period you selected.”

  “Does the TFM have to be recharged?”

  “No never. But the next thing you have to do is memorize Lincoln’s speech.” Prescott handed Bill a small notebook. “I’ve picked up a copy from our archives. When you are ready, we’ll schedule the trip.  Meanwhile, we have a meeting with the security gentleman in one hour.”

  Bill flipped through the pages. “I’m a quick study. I’ll have it memorized by tomorrow morning. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  Prescott led him back to the door. “One more thing Bill, your resume states that you are single. Is that still correct?”

  Bill nodded his head and smiled, “Yes, that’s correct. And it’ll be this way for a long time.”

  DATELINE: 1863 PLACE: CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK

  It was a sunny day in 1863. A little boy ran by, frightening a flock of birds into the air as his nanny chased after him. The birds fluttered over the large park bench where Bill and Prescott sat and they ducked instinctively. A man dressed in a brown, three-piece suit with matching cravat over his heavily starched white shirt strolled by and nodded at a woman pushing a baby carriage. He stopped and smiled at Prescott as he tipped his top hat. “Good day, sir. Are you waiting for someone or may I sit a spell?”

  Prescott tipped his hat in response. “Please, I insist. It’s a beautiful day and one simply could not enjoy New York better than by sitting in the park.” He turned to Bill and asked, “Don’t you agree, Bill?”

  “I do, I do. One should live each day as though it’s the first day of the rest of his life.”

  The man looked at him admiringly. “Well said, sir. Well said.” He reached into his breast pocket and took out a small, silver calling-card case and flipped it open in his palm.

  “Kenneth Reilly. My card, gentlemen.”

  Both men accepted a card, and Prescott turned to the man with a similar case, saying, “And mine, sir.”

  The two men shook hands as Bill patted his breast pocket. “Blast! I seem to have left mine in my other jacket.” He read the card in his hand, as he introduced himself. “I am Bill Scott. I write for a small newspaper based in Chicago, Mr. Reilly. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is mine, sir.” The two shook hands.

  Prescott smiled at Reilly. “All is well, Mr. Reilly?” he asked.

  The newcomer nodded, “As well as can be, sir.” He tipped his head towards Bill and said, “This, then is the person who will step in for my employer?”

  “He is.”

  Reilly looked at Bill, and Bill returned the gaze. Reilly was stocky with jet-black hair streaked with white through his beard and mustache. His handshake was powerful, and Bill felt that Reilly was sending him a message. Bill’s handshake was as firm as the security man’s and Reilly nodded in acknowledgment.

  “A powerful grip for a newspaperman,” he said.

  “From setting lead type on deadlines,” Bill responded.

  Reilly addressed Bill in a low voice. “Prescott has told me a mighty wild tale, sir. I thought him to be one of the new science fiction writers that seem to be popping up these days.” He smiled and went on, “But a close and very dear friend of mine vouched for him and begged that I would hear him out.”

  Reilly continued, “I am assured by him that you will pass for my employer, and I don’t doubt it. However, if, as Prescott says, the world must never know about it, you must do nothing unless I say so. Do you agree to this?”

  “Of course,” Bill said. “This is your territory and you know the ground rules better than I do.”

  “Well said, sir. I believe we’ll get along just fine. Now then, what is the plan of action?”

  Prescott shifted closer to both men. “The date of the speech is November nineteenth. Is there a way we can have Mr. Scott observe your employer before that? Say, November seventeenth or eighteenth? It’ll give him a chance to get acquainted with his mannerisms.

  Reilly opened a small black appointment book and thumbed through it before saying. “Better we set the interview for the 10 th at two pm. My employer will never question it because he tends to forget things told to him because of his . . . his . . . shall I say, times of forgetfulness? I suggest that you take a room in the Anthony House Hotel on 12 th street. My assistant will greet and escort Bill to my office.” “

  As both time travelers nodded in agreement Reilly scratched his beard in thought.

  “M . . . m . . .m, we have a bit of a problem. Mr. Lincoln is scheduled to leave the White House on the eighteenth and take a train to Gettysburg. That evening he is to attend a dinner and mingle with the many statesmen that will also be attending. I am not comfortable with Bill surrounded by so many of the president’s friends and colleagues.” He then slowly shook his head as he looked down at his feet.

  “Sir,” asked Prescott perplexed, “is there a problem with the plan?”

  With a shrug Reilly said, “It’s just that the President was to travel with,“ he looked up, closed his eyes tightly as he ticked off the names of the group who
were to accompany Lincoln: “Secretary of State William Seward, Postmaster General Montgomery Blair, Interior Secretary John Usher, his personal secretaries John Hay and John Nicolay, several members of the diplomat corps, some foreign visitors, a Marine band, and a military escort.” He opened his eyes and looked at both men. “Gentlemen, if I may make a suggestion?”

  Bill looked at Prescott with raised eyebrows as he passed the question to him.

  Prescott nodded, “Please, sir. Proceed.”

  “We have Mr. Lincoln come down with a cold.”

  “Pray tell, sir, what does that do for the mission?” asked Prescott.

  “It would allow the others to travel down on the eighteenth as planned but I would have them believe that Mister Lincoln should stay in Washington and travel down the next day, thus riding alone.”

  “Can you persuade them to do so, sir?”

  Reilly sat back and said with a grin, “I shall make the trip on the eighteenth more attractive by adding on a wine and spirits car with the White House covering all expenses.” He nodded as he continued grinning, “Believe me, sirs, I know this group well and to be out of sight of their boss and their wives with the free flow of spirits around would entice them all to travel the day before the president does.”

  “Excuse me, Mister Reilly, “asked Bill, “but is there another train the next day?”

  “Yes. The President takes standard scheduled transportation whenever possible. There will be a group of soldiers located at both ends of the car so the center section would be for us two only. The trip is but