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  Jeff collected Dexter and made his way out of the conference room and through the main office, past another waiting project manager who’d actually worn a suit. The man, in his forties, sat with binders similar to Jeff’s on his lap, reminding Jeff how prescriptive they’d been about the format of the reports.

  Jeff’s car was parked two blocks away on a residential street. “How do you get away with that?” Dexter asked as they walked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t they investigate any more to see what you’re really up to?”

  Jeff laughed. “I have to admit, I’m a little gun-shy about what will happen when they actually come to the lab. The good thing is that I can really do everything I said I could do in there.”

  “Yeah, and then some.”

  True. While Jeff’s intent had been, all along, to fulfill the requirements of the federal stimulus grant – a $40 million award that was supplemented with matching grants from private sources – it was the discovery he made along the way that had complicated his agenda.

  Jeff’s energy-to-matter experiment began long before the government started handing out grants to spur the economy. With access to a particle accelerator at the University at Albany, Jeff, a burgeoning physicist, began to experiment with energy-to-matter, and ultimately reached a place where he could manipulate something as large as an atom, specifically taking an atom of one element and changing it to another. When the stimulus funds were announced, he was well-prepared to seek a grant, and the altruistic nature of his apparent goals gave him a definitive advantage. The grant came through, and almost five years ago he’d begun trying to turn bricks into food.

  “Well, I’ll be curious to see what they say,” Dexter said. “I’m assuming, since you drag me to all the other sessions, that you’ll let me come to that one.”

  Jeff sighed. “Let’s just say I have some real experimenting to do before they come to visit. It’s gonna have to be picture perfect.”

  “You’ll have to put off the bank job in any case, I imagine.””

  “No way. It just means we have to do it sooner. Like by the end of the week.”

  Dexter stopped and looked at Jeff closely before shaking his head. “It can’t be done. Not that quickly.”

  Jeff stopped walking a few paces ahead and turned toward his friend. “So you’re in?” Jeff knew he didn’t understand the complexities of the research involved, and might very well be pushing things, but he certainly understood the complexities of the man in front of him.

  “I never said that.”

  Jeff pointed at him, close to grinning. “Your objection was about the timing, not about the concept.”

  “I hate that. You know I hate that.”

  They reached the car and Dexter stood with his hand on the passenger door handle, waiting for Jeff to unlock it. “C’mon – the Great Depression, gangsters, speakeasies, prohibition...” he said, appealing to his friend’s innermost weaknesses.

  “I’m not talking about this right now,” Dexter said, then opened the door and slid into the car.

  Jeff smiled before getting in himself. He’d have to get the rest of the team up to speed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  September 18, 2015

  There was certainly a casualness about their approach this time that Jeff had to admit unnerved him a little. As if they weren’t taking things seriously. But the point of the matter was that with time travel, it didn’t matter if they launched into their mission today, Tuesday or next year. As long as Abby’s math was correct – and Jeff had never found a reason to believe it wouldn’t be – there was no rush to meet a deadline. It was unlike any business trip he’d ever taken.

  The team had landed the night before at John Bell Williams Airport outside of Jackson, Mississippi, and holed up for the night at the Best Western. They’d grabbed a quick dinner; Dexter brought them to a restaurant that he said he’d stumbled upon years before while attending a Civil War reenactment, where they’d all enjoyed healthy portions of fried catfish dipped in comeback sauce before Jeff, Abby, and Emeka all retired to their separate rooms. Always the obsessive-compulsive one, once everyone was tucked in, Dexter had taken the rental car out on the half-hour or so drive to the small town of Learned, where Robert Miles had pulled off his bank heist some eight decades before. Jeff had noted the sound of Dexter’s hotel room door closing when he returned about 11 p.m. and, knowing his friend, surmised that nothing had alarmed him. There would certainly have been a knock on his door had anything seemed awry.

  Now, with the southern sun shining through the room’s window, Jeff was getting ready for his own trip out to Learned, shaving his face clean in the mirror. He finished and looked back to his bed where his costume was strewn. They’d debated what ‘30s garb they should wear for surprising Miles. Their plan was to ambush him during his getaway, once he’d stolen the money and would think he was in the clear. They’d then be far enough outside of the town that they wouldn’t need to worry about running into anyone else, but they had to consider that Miles might try to flee in his car back toward the town. If that was to happen, Emeka was charged with taking out the car’s tires, and had spent an evening at the shooting range practicing with a Thompson. But they knew the right impression might mitigate an aggressive action on Miles’ part.

  They ultimately decided that, with Miles’ desire to become famous as a gangster, he would respond best to others of his ilk. In fact, during the discussion Dexter even raised the notion that Miles quite possibly wouldn’t care about losing the $200,000 since he’d already made his mark with the heist. In any case, they’d outfitted themselves – the guys at least – with dark suits, fedoras and shiny shoes. Not quite the Chicago gangster outfits you’d see at the costume stores around Halloween, but stylish and right up Miles’ alley, and similar to what he was wearing in his famous newspaper photo. Abby, with Dexter’s guidance, had chosen a navy blue form-fitting dress cinched at the waist, topped off with a beret. Each of them had a Tommy gun, but only Emeka’s was loaded.

  They’d talked about whether they could walk out of the hotel in broad daylight, dressed as though they were about to knock over a bank, and finally decided it wasn’t a big deal. Anyone who saw them might’ve assumed they were headed to a costume party – and it’d be easier than changing clothes on the side of the road. Jeff slipped on his outfit. Just as he was about to start posing in the full-length mirrors that made up the closet doors, his impromptu show was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  He found Dexter standing in the hallway in his own suit – a slightly darker shade of gray than his own. “You dirty rat,” he said in his best Cagney.

  “Are you serious?” Dexter said.

  Jeff shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. How’d it go last night?”

  Dexter walked past him into the room and checked himself out in the mirror. “It’s pretty desolate out there, and will only be more so in 1931. I’m comfortable with the location.”

  “Is there something you’re not comfortable with?”

  “Other than doing this altogether? No. But you know me – no matter what, I’m going to be antsy until we’re done.”

  Jeff ignored his pessimism. “Are we all set? Anything we’re missing?”

  Dexter shook his head. “No, we’re as buttoned-up as we can be. We’re not going to find an opportunity more obvious than this one. Even if the take is small.”

  “It’s good practice,” Jeff d.

  Before Dexter could respond, Emeka poked his head in the open door, his hat in his hands. “We ready?”

  Without another word, the two of them followed Emeka down the hallway, the hotel door swinging closed behind them. Abby was standing in the parking lot by the rental van, waiting. Seeing her, Jeff immediately realized that he had a lady gangster fetish. “Not bad for a mathematician,” he said. She spun playfully to give the boys a full look at her. Emeka whistled.

  Predictably, the ride out of Jackson to Learned was uneventful. No
one spoke for most of the way along the Natchez-Trace Parkway until they reached the town. While his own mind had already returned from this trip and was thinking about Wilton’s gold and their plan for moving it upon their return, Jeff figured the others were lost in thoughts of what was about to take place. He did nothing to interrupt them. Everyone prepared in their own way. Taking success for granted was just part of the method of his own process.

  “Not much here,” Jeff finally said, looking around. “Handful of houses and a couple storefronts.” He drove slowly, navigating the streets.

  Dexter pointed, suddenly excited. “That’s where the bank was. Right there.” He’d told them previously that Learned’s First Bank of Jackson branch had closed during World War II. The stone building that once housed it still stood, but was currently occupied with a law office.

  They saw two men walking through the main drag of the town, chatting it up. There was a diner, a hardware store and some very pretty trees lining the street. It was difficult to imagine any hustle and bustle here that would’ve been associated with having a bank in town, but it had been there.

  “There’s the road that Miles took,” Dexter said, continuing to guide the tour. Jeff pulled the van down the street and they drove out of the town in a matter of seconds. About three minutes later, Dexter pointed to a red bandana tied onto a tree on the right side of the road. “There it is. I marked it last night so we could find it easily.”

  They pulled to the side of the road and got out of the van. To the north and south was nothing but empty pavement lined with a canopy of tree cover. They’d chosen the location knowing that four gangsters standing in the middle of a country road would have attracted attention they didn’t want. Hints of sunshine crept through the leaves, and while it was still humid it didn’t seem as warm as it had been standing in the sun in the hotel parking lot.

  Jeff reached into the back of the van and pulled out a small box. He opened it to expose the time device, which he handed to Abby. “Do your thing,” he said.

  Abby negotiated the buttons on the device quickly, referencing a card she pulled from her pocket for the exact coordinates. She handed it back to Jeff.

  “Everyone ready?” They all nodded in unison.

  “Remember, once we get there we’ve got a good ten minutes before Miles will be coming down the road, so we won’t have to spring into action as soon as we land. We’ll have time to gather ourselves.”

  “Good to know,” Emeka said, smiling. “I didn’t want to have to go in guns blazing.”

  “Well, hopefully this will all happen without anyone having to fire a shot,” Jeff said. He held the device out and his three teammates reached out, each touching it. He pressed the button and their world evaporated around them.

  A split second later it reappeared, only in slightly different form. The paved road was replaced with a dirt one. The overgrowth of the trees was gone and more sunlight shone through, but the scene was similarly desolate. It was weirdly recognizable.

  They stood for a moment in awed silence before then Emeka broke it, “Man, that’s incredible.”

  Jeff laughed. He wanted to be humble but it actually was pretty incredible.

  “Let’s get ourselves into position,” Dexter said, now very serious. “According to the police report from the bank, Miles should be leaving town right about now.”

  They lined up, four across, in the middle of the road, Tommy guns drawn. With little room on the shoulder of the dirt road, Miles would have no choice but to contend with them. With guns pointed at his vehicle, he would have no time to maneuver a three-point turn and go back. And with no weapon of his own – no real weapon that is – he would be forced to turn over his bag of cash. Then they’d send him on his way.

  They waited impatiently in rural silence, staring down the road in the direction of 1931 Learned, Mississippi. In high school, Jeff had once pinch hit in the 11th inning of his school’s championship baseball game with the winning run on third base – to him, standing there waiting to see the car coming toward them was akin to waiting in the on-deck circle for that at-bat. The anticipation, his beating heart, the dryness in the corners of his mouth... Of course, he’d grounded out to the shortstop and his team eventually lost in the 12th, but it was the sensation before he batted that was relevant here.

  After several minutes of waiting, Emeka finally laughed out loud. “Look at us,” he said. “We look pretty badass, standing here in the middle of the street.”

  They all laughed. “Yeah we do,” Jeff said, then they settled down again to wait.

  Only a moment later, a black car appeared on the road coming toward them. As it got closer, Jeff could make it out as the 1930 Buick Coupe that Miles had used to escape, just as it had been told according to the newspaper story. He couldn’t help his mind from being distracted by how unbelievable this all was – that they could so precisely pinpoint events from decades ago.

  The Buick continued to approach until it was nearly upon them, stopping finally when it was only a few feet away. The four of them did not move, and, interestingly, neither did Miles. He simply sat in the driver’s seat staring at them. No attempt to get past them or retreat. No effort to exit the car. He just sat there, hands on the steering wheel.

  Finally, Emeka unfroze and approached the driver’s side of the car. Jeff followed him so he could hear whatever conversation took place, but Abby and Dexter remained blocking the road. Miles couldn’t be allowed to make a run for it.

  “What can I do for you?” Miles asked. He was defiant, as they’d expected, speaking in a low, guttural voice with a slight southern accent. In his research, Dexter had found that Miles wasn’t originally from Mississippi, but was born and raised in eastern North Carolina. His outfit was, as they expected, similar to what they’d chosen for themselves, though he’d taken off his fedora at some point.

  “We’ll take that bag now,” Emeka said. He didn’t try to force an accent at all.

  Miles laughed. “What are you going to do, shoot me? You’re going to rob a man out here in the forest?”

  “Let’s just say you’ve already been given a break. A man alone with that much cash staring down the barrel of a Tommy gun should already be dead.” Emeka tapped the gun to make sure Miles understood it was pointed at him.

  He sighed. “Well, you know, I can appreciate that.” His hand started for the bag as if he would hand it over, but instead he picked up his wooden gun, pulling it toward the open window.

  Faster than Jeff could follow, Emeka snatched the bat-gun from Miles and flung it harshly to the side of the road. Jeff was astonished at his speed – it wouldn’t have mattered if it was an Uzi: he’d taken it away that quickly. “What else you got?” he asked.

  Without another word, Miles pulled a black bag from the passenger seat and handed it to Emeka, who turned and tossed it to Jeff. Jeff, as in any movie, opened it up to see piles of bills, then walked to the side of the road. Abby and Dexter joined him.

  Emeka leaned into the window. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” he said, then waved Miles to go on about his business. With the glare of the sun on the window, Jeff could no longer see Miles’ face as he meekly started down the road. A few moments later, he was out of sight.

  “Did he say anything at the end there?” Dexter said once they were officially alone.

  “Yeah,” Emeka said, laughing. “He called me an asshole.”

  They all laughed. “Do they say that here?” Abby asked.

  “Interestingly,” Dexter said, finally dropping his gun to his side, “while it seems like a long time to us, you have to consider the fact that the 1930s actually wasn’t that long ago. For much of America’s 21st century, colloquialism is-”

  “No one cares,” Emeka cut him off. They laughed again, adrenaline slowing. The nervousness was gone.

  “How’d you do that thing,” Jeff said, “where you grabbed his gun that fast? You were like a rattlesnake striking.” He mimed Emeka’s motion.

/>   “It really wasn’t that difficult. You know we get some training in the Marines, right?”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t even hesitate,” Jeff said, mimicking him again.

  “Well, it made it a little easier knowing there was no chance of me getting shot.”

  “Could you do that with a real gun?” He was genuinely fascinated. And envious.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Alright, never mind – we can talk about it back home.” Jeff held up the newly-acquired bag. “Everyone ready?”

  Emeka asked them to wait for a moment and retreated to the side of the road. He picked up the infamous gun that was made from a bat. “I’m keeping this thing as a souvenir. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Jeff shook his head. There really wasn’t any reason why not. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done his own souvenir hunting in his travels.

  A moment later, after Abby programmed the device, they returned to the present, leaving an empty dirt road behind them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  September 19, 2015

  Erica observed a fairly standard practice of never answering her phone. A ringing phone generally meant someone needed something from her, and that something was usually urgent to them... but not necessarily to her. Of course, she had a few exceptions – she’d answer her mother’s calls, she’d answer if she was waiting for a callback from her doctor, and she’d answer any call from a 202 area code. This one was from a 202 area code.

  There were only a select few individuals who she did business with in Washington, and not only did she trust those people implicitly, but they’d all had a lot to do with the progress she’d made in her career. Calls from the nation’s capital generally meant the Smithsonian and speaking opportunities which Erica was happy to undertake, both because of the money and for the ability to give something back to her mentors.