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neighbor along this university warehouse row was an incubator for small businesses and had a garage of bicycles for its enviro-conscious employees. He ducked back into the building and commandeered a few things he thought might be needed, including bolt cutters from the amply outfitted tool and supply closet. Adjusting a new ball cap with SRL embroidered on its front, he trudged the mile or so to go see if he could borrow a bicycle.

Chapter 11
    Aug 10 (00:20)
     
    Monty slipped quietly through the back door of his home and then into his office, attempting not to wake his wife. Faraday, their cat, rubbed against his leg and purred loudly, signaling contentment at its master’s presence. He plugged in the portable hard drive he had grabbed from Dr. Ron’s lab and waited for it to be recognized before he could examine the data. His mind speculated over what had occurred in just the last twenty-four hours, culminating in watching his old friend Dr. Ron travel into time.
    “Holy shit!” he whispered loudly. Faraday responded by hopping into his lap, twirling twice and then coming to rest: a little ball of peaceful satisfaction. Monty’s fingers tapped away at the keyboard, only stopping every so often to guide his mouse and click here and there. He loaded some of the data into spreadsheets he used for crunching numbers, their formulas calculating and generating answers instantly in their allotted fields. And then he considered the implications.
    What had happened was the most incredible thing he had ever witnessed. Dr. Ron actually invented a God-damned time machine and sent himself into the future, and Monty couldn’t tell anyone about it. Now the police were after them and somehow, he would have to get back to the lab and send one or two more probes into his future in hopes that Ron would send back data that he received from a medical researcher that Betsy’s doctor could use to cure her cancer. Are we mad? He scolded himself for having agreed to this. No matter how persuasive Ron’s ploys were, it had been Monty’s decision to agree to the plan. But everything had been going so fast and his damned friend knew he would be immediately drawn in once he saw the data.
    It didn’t matter now. He was committed and he had to see this through. He had to find a way back to the lab, get the power turned back on, send in at least one probe and hope that Ron was right.
    A movement outside drew his attention away from the computer and out his home-office window. A car pulled up into his driveway and parked beside his Porsche. Monty quickly turned his monitor off, hopeful the driver didn’t see him, and watched.

Chapter 12
    Aug 10 (00:30)
     
    The man smoothly guided the Escalade, with its headlights off, up onto the drive beside the homeowner’s car. The house was completely dark and looked asleep, no doubt just like its occupants. This was going to be one of his easier jobs. He drew a cigarette out of the hard red and silver box, set it between his thin lips, and flicked open the top of his black-lacquered and gold S.T. Dupont lighter. Glimpsing into the pack he saw only two left. He would have to make them last. For now, he would enjoy this one; in the time it would take to smoke it, he’d be able to make sure no one was stirring.
    This was his ritual. Just before a kill, he focused on what he knew about his subject, what scenarios might play out, considered even the worst case. Mostly, he relished the moment, enjoying the adrenalin surge that accompanied each kill and knowing that he had power over all things living. It was his one joy in life, and it was something he was good at. This is why he garnered so much for each contract. He had several satisfied clients: the vestiges of the New York mob, although they had mostly dried up; a couple of drug cartels, but he hated working for them; a few politicians, but they were too full of themselves; a few governments, because despite budget cuts, there was always money to take out