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  Jack then discussed his interviews with a dozen people who claimed to have traveled in time. “This was the hardest part of writing the book. I interviewed over a hundred ‘time travelers,’ but most of them were obviously imbalanced, the same kind of people who think they were abducted by aliens. The dozen who made it into the book were normal people, except they all claimed to have done the impossible.” Jack explained that he brought a friend with him on these interviews, one of the book’s contributors, a psychiatrist with the New York City Police Department, Dr. Benjamin Weinberg, who went by the nickname Bennie. Weinberg had a rare skill in spotting lies. He was a hit with every prosecutor he ever worked with. They swore that Weinberg’s testimony was better than a polygraph machine. As a joke he carried a business card that read, “Dr. Benjamin Weinberg - Bullshit Detector.”

  Bennie Weinberg told Jack that each of the time travel interviewees was telling the truth, and any one of them would be a star on the witness stand. “These fuckers (Bennie also considered himself a hardened cop, and his language showed it) are either the straightest shooting people I’ve ever seen, or they’re a new breed of psychopath that I never encountered before.”

  Ashley peppered Jack with questions, especially about the personal interviews. “Did their stories have anything in common?”

  “Yes. None of them started their time journeys intentionally. It just happened. Also, the time portal, or wormhole, always had a specific location. That’s how they were able to get back to the present. It’s also interesting that not one of them tried to go back in time once they returned to the present. A couple of them have traveled more than once, but never intentionally, except for the return trip.”

  Jack also told Ashley, as he had written in his book, that the times the people visited varied all over the place. One guy went back 1200 years to the Bronze Age. Another travelled back to World War I.

  “One of the people,” said Jack, “travelled four times. He always went back to the same period of time, twenty years in the past. He experienced all of his journeys in the mid 1980s, so his travels took him back to the mid-60s. One time he found himself in New York in 1965 on the Number 7 train heading toward Flushing, Queens. The doors opened at the 109th Street Station in Corona, and he could hear the crowd at Shea Stadium, roaring for the Beatles concert. In 1969 he found himself at Altamont Speedway for the famous Rolling Stones concert. His two other journeys also involved rock & roll, but he couldn’t remember those other two bands. Doctor Bennie thought he saw a clinical explanation for the phenomenon. Four time travels, four rock & roll concerts. Could it be the guy just vividly imagined things that were imbedded in his subconscious mind? On further questioning it turned out the guy was a classical music teacher who hated rock & roll, and couldn’t even name one individual Beatle or Rolling Stone. He claimed that he never heard the names Paul McCartney or Mick Jagger.”

  Another common thread, Jack noted, was that the elapsed time between the start of the journey and the return to the present was relatively short, and never matched the time they spent in the past. “The World War I guy said that he was on the battle fields of France for over eight months. An artilleryman, he spent what seemed like ages wading through mud and hooking up horses to caissons. He recalled one incident while he sat in a trench. It was raining heavily. He faced up toward the rain and cried his eyes out, thinking he would never see his wife again. At that point he had been on the battlefield for just over seven months. When he returned to 1987, he was standing on the edge of the rear patio of his house, dressed in the same blue jeans, sneakers and a sweat shirt that he wore when he began his journey. His wife said to him, ‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over the house for you for five minutes.’ ”

  “Then there was the diner traveler,” Jack said.

  “Diner Traveler?” asked Ashley.

  “Yeah,” Jack said as he laughed. “This story is really weird. It’s the only one where there were two time thresholds, hundreds of miles apart. This guy, named Phil, was sitting in a diner in Rochester, New York in July of 1983. It was 8:30 in the morning. He had just ordered his usual scrambled eggs and sausage. After he ordered, he realized he had left his wallet in his car. He excused himself and said he’d be right back. To get to his car, he took a short cut through a hedge opening, stepping on a storm grate. Suddenly, he was standing on a street corner, in what he would soon learn was a suburb of Elkhart, Indiana. He looked down and saw that he stood on the same storm grate. He had no idea where he was, only that he was in a nondescript suburban neighborhood. He looked up at the street signs to see if he recognized anything, a lucky move on his part, otherwise he would have never returned. The sign said Juniper Street and the cross sign read Elm Avenue. He began to walk. He estimated that he walked for three miles based on the elapsed time of 45 minutes, until he came to a business district. He was out of smokes, so he went to a convenience store. When he asked for a pack of Merits in a box, the proprietor said he never heard of Merits. They had Winstons, Marlboros, Luckies, Pall Malls, Chesterfields, and Camels. He asked for Marlboro Lights, and again the owner said he never heard of them. He bought a pack of regular Marlboros and grabbed a newspaper and a cup of coffee. He asked how much and the guy said that’ll be 85 cents. He thought the guy was being nice because he didn’t have his brand, so he just handed the guy a dollar and left, telling him to keep the change. He sat down on a park bench in a small memorial park to sip his coffee and read the newspaper. The paper was the Elkhart, Indiana Bulletin. Phil went back inside to ask the owner if he had anything from Rochester, New York. The owner, beginning to think Phil was a bit weird, just said, ‘Don’t get much call for Rochester news.’ So Phil sat down with his coffee, lit up a butt and began to read. That’s when the cigarette fell from his mouth into his coffee. The main headline was an update on the sinking of the cruise ship Andrea Doria on July 26, 1956. He looked at the date on the newspaper. It was July 27, 1956. He couldn’t describe why, but, like all time travelers I’ve interviewed, he knew instinctively that he had to get back to the location he originally found himself. He began walking back to find the corner of Juniper and Elm. He became hopelessly lost, all of the houses appearing so similar. He finally came across a man who knew of the intersection and gave Phil instructions. After another thirty minutes of walking, he found Juniper and Elm, spotted the storm sewer grate, stepped on it, and was back in the hedge opening at the diner in Rochester, New York. He was back in 1983, after almost eight hours in the past. He noticed his wallet in his hand. He walked into the diner and sat down on the same stool he had vacated those long hours ago. The waitress put his plate in front of him and said, ‘Sorry it took so long. We’re training a new cook.’ He looked at the clock on the wall. He had been gone for six minutes.”

  The longest anyone reported being away from the present was 12 hours.

  “Do you know of anyone who couldn’t to get back to the present?” Ashley laughed and answered her own question. “Obviously, we don’t know because they were never seen again.”

  “That’s right, and you raise an important point, Captain.” Jack talked about his research for another book he wrote about crime statistics and missing persons. “Every year there are thousands of cases of missing persons that aren’t solved. Most of the explanations make perfect sense: unhappy spouses, embezzling employees, military deserters, businessmen who screwed their partners, and many others who disappeared but had a motive to disappear. But there are hundreds of missing person cases every year that have no explanation at all, cases of apparently happy and contented individuals who just vanish. “We’ll never know if some of these people are stuck somewhere on the wrong side of a wormhole in a different time.”

  “So let me ask you a blunt question, Jack. How do we get back to 2013?”

  Jack asked if there was an exact navigational position recorded prior to the Daylight Event. When Ashley told him it was only an approximate navigational fix, Jack suggested that it may be possible to stumbl
e into the time threshold by steaming back and forth until they hit it. Ashley noted this on her yellow pad in all caps.

  “I do see a problem. All of the people I interviewed, including the crazies who didn’t make the book, reported that the wormhole was a distinct place on land. I never heard of a portal located in the ocean.”

  ***

  They had been together for over two hours, and neither wanted their time together to end. Ashley wanted to know more about this guy, and came up with a sneaky way to find out. “So, I bet your girlfriend is proud of all your success.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend, Captain. Since my wife died I’ve been dating my books.” Praise Jesus, no girlfriend.

  “I’m sorry, I know how hard it is,” Ashley said. “As you may know I lost my husband a few years ago, and my ship has become my spouse. Felix was a Marine Major, killed in Afghanistan in 2008. We were classmates at Annapolis. It’s not easy losing someone you love.” Jack’s reporter’s antenna went up. Was she simply commiserating with a person who shared a similar tragedy, or was this gorgeous, charming woman opening her life to him for a reason?

  More time went by as Ashley reviewed her notes and asked more questions. After each question she would sit back and gaze into his blue eyes as he answered.

  “Well, Seaman Jack, this has been a terrific meeting.”

  Ashley noticed something about her own voice. She usually spoke in crisp military tones, common among career officers both men and women. But she noticed that as her meeting with Jack wore on, her voice softened, her commanding officer facade weakened.

  Ashley said, “Is there anything else you think I should know at this point?” Like what’s your favorite type of food, drink, play, movie, song, like I want to know everything about you. Don’t you want to tell me?

  “There is one thing Captain.”

  “Yes, Jack, what is it?” Ashley cooed. Get a grip girl!

  “I’m going to tell you something I’ve only told to one other human being, my late wife.” Tell me honey, your secret’s safe with me. Cut this crap out girl. NOW!

  “I have time travelled. Twice.”

  ***

  Although their meeting was about to end, Ashley wanted to hear the details about Seaman Jack’s personal travels through time. This could be very important. Also, it was kind of nice to have this guy around.

  Seaman Jack began his story.

  “My first trip, so to speak, occurred on October 29, 1996 when I was a 17-year-old high school senior. I was walking to a fishing pond in an old deserted area we knew as the Old Golf Course, which is what it had been until about 50 years before then. I love to fish, and my friends told me it was a great spot. The place was an overgrown mess, nothing but weeds and wild vegetation. As I walked down a path toward the pond I noticed a step made of bricks off to my right. I thought it was strange because the steps were the only man-made structure that I saw, except for the crumbling foundation of the old club house, about 100 yards from where I stood. I have no idea why, but I walked onto the bricks and then stepped down. It was the most amazing experience of my young life. The overgrown mess was suddenly a manicured golf course, and I stood near the 15th tee. My watch said it was 11:30 a.m., the exact same time before I stepped off the bricks. A foursome of golfers headed my way. They wore classic old fashioned golf attire from the 1920s, including knickers. They looked like characters from the movie The Great Gatsby. I guess they thought it was odd to see a kid in blue jeans wearing a sweatshirt that said “South Central High Basketball Champs 1993” and carrying a fishing pole near the 15th tee. ‘How’s the fishing today?’ asked one of the men. I asked where I could find the pond and they all looked at me like I was crazy, which I began to think I was. I was thirsty, so I walked to the clubhouse to get some water. As I walked I noticed more golfers dressed like the 1920s. I didn’t see any women. I also saw no golf carts.”

  “The clubhouse was a beautiful old place. All of the rooms had walnut paneling on the walls. I walked into an area that looked like a lounge. I wanted to catch the news on TV. There was no TV. A water pitcher sat on a table with glasses, so I helped myself. I then walked into the bar to buy a soda. I thought I had stumbled into a wake. I never saw a bunch of more depressed people in my life. One man sobbed. Another guy, sitting at the bar and obviously drunk, kept saying, ‘This is it. It’s all over.’ ”

  “I looked down at a table near the window and saw a copy of The New York Times. It was dated October 29, 1929 and had just one huge banner headline: ‘Stock Prices Slump $14,000,000,000 in Nationwide Stampede to Unload.’ Something told me to get the hell out of there. I couldn’t think of any other way to do that than to go back to where this started. So I went to the brick steps, this time stepping up not down. I felt dizzy and then noticed that I was on the Old Golf Course and the pond was right nearby. I bent over, threw up, and went home. I never set foot in the Old Golf Course again.”

  “Why did you go back to that spot with the brick steps?” Ashley asked.

  “I can’t explain it. It just seemed like a way to undo something that was very strange. I figured if that’s the place where the weirdness started, maybe that’s where it would end. All of the other time travelers I interviewed said the same thing.”

  “What about your second experience?”

  “I was 22 years old on December 7, 2001, just about 12 years ago. I went on a family vacation to Hawaii with my parents and my younger brother Harry. My Dad, a former Navy man you’ll be happy to know, always wanted to visit Pearl Harbor, and he planned the trip so we could be there on the 60th anniversary of the Japanese attack. I worked for The New York Times and I was writing an article on Pearl Harbor, which dovetailed nicely with my parents’ vacation invitation. Because it was only three months after the 9/11 attacks, the comparison to Pearl Harbor was a natural for any journalist, including me. Sunday morning my parents and Harry all decided to sleep late. I’m an early riser, so I woke up at around six and decided to walk along the harbor. I always loved history, and I imagined what this harborfront looked like 60 years before. It was 7:40 in the morning and I wanted to get a good viewing spot by 7:48, the exact time of the attack. As I walked along the concrete pier I noticed that there was a wooden board sunk right into the middle of it. For no reason that I remember, I stepped on the board. It sank down about an inch from my weight, and I tripped, falling forward. I managed to break my fall and avoid breaking my nose. I looked up at a propeller driven airplane heading straight for me firing machine guns. I ran off the pier and dropped down behind a bulldozer. Another plane flew by, and I noticed a big red rising sun insignia painted on its side. Some sixth sense told me that I shouldn’t hide behind anything that may look like a target. I found a concrete drainage pipe and crawled inside. The sounds of bombs, bullets, and anti aircraft fire is difficult to explain. If hell exists, I think I was there. I looked at the USS Arizona, tied up to her birth in the harbor and not far from my position. The day before I stood on the memorial bridge over the ship that enables you to look down into the water and see her sunken hulk. Now she was very much afloat. Not for long. When the bombs ripped into the ship, the explosion shook the pipe I was in like a tin can. Fear can blunt your thoughts. You react to what’s going on around you, and you can’t draw conclusions easily. During a temporary lull in the bombing, my heart stopped racing enough to enable my brain to slip into reporter mode. I then realized that I was present at the attack on Pearl Harbor. I knew all about the second wave of bombers, so I decided I would use the lull to try to get away and return to 2001. Remembering my Old Golf Course experience of a few years before, I ran for the board in the middle of the pier. That’s when I thought I’d never return. The concrete pier with the wooden board in the middle was now nothing but wooden boards. I stood in the approximate location where I went through the time portal, but couldn’t get my bearings. The harbor looked very different in 1941. I then remembered the bulldozer that I first hid behind. I ran to the dozer and then onto the pi
er, going purely from memory, trying to retrace my steps. I lay down and looked at the dozer to give me the perspective I had when I first saw it. After a few position changes, I thought I found the spot where I tripped and I walked across the boards. Suddenly, everything became quiet except for a Navy band in the distance playing memorial music. The pier was concrete. I was back in 2001.”

  “Did you think you were losing your mind?” Ashley asked.

  “Captain, I was sure I was losing my mind. As I told you before, you’re the only person I ever told about these stories. The article I wrote for The New York Times about Pearl Harbor was a non-memorable travel piece, with some statistical comparisons to 9/11 thrown in. With all of the books and articles I’ve written, my life, if you’ll pardon the pun, is an open book. But I’ve never talked about my own experiences with time travel, even in my book, Living History.”

  “Jack, I want you to keep thinking about those experiences. Yes, I know that you can’t explain what happened, but you’re the only person on this ship who has been through the portal, as you call it. You’re the only guide we’ve got.”

  The meeting with Seaman Jack was over, and Ashley tried to sort through the astonishing things she had just heard.

  She also realized that she loved the smell of Jack’s after shave lotion.

  Chapter 10