Silence. Dead silence.
Jonah wasn’t really even thinking about what Angela had said, because it was too bizarre and incredible to consider. It was like his brain shut down, rejecting her theory so completely. After a few moments, he thought to look at Chip and Katherine to see how they were reacting—mostly he was concerned that they’d be all rude and mocking and mean to Angela, when clearly she was just a nutcase. Oh, sure, she’d seemed fairly reasonable at first, except for being scared to talk on the telephone. But believing in time travel? And babies aging backward? Insanity.
Chip and Katherine both had their mouths open already, though Chip’s might have just been hanging open in shock.
“Well, thanks for meeting with us,” Jonah said quickly, hoping he could get everyone away from Angela before Katherine had a chance to speak. “Your ideas are, um, very interesting.” He was struggling for words, trying to think of a polite excuse to leave. Could he carry off, Oh, my, look at the time!?
Suddenly something slammed into the glass door next to Jonah.
Instinctively, Jonah grabbed for the door handle, but it was too late. A man was wedging his heavily booted foot between the door and the glass wall. The rest of the man’s body was sprawled out on the ground, because another man appeared to have tackled him.
“You can’t do this!” the tackler was screaming. No, not exactly screaming. He was keeping his voice down, barely above a whisper, but his words still echoed with fury. “Not here. Not now. You’ll make a scene. Do you want to ruin time completely?”
Jonah shoved against the man’s boot; he drove his shoulder against the door, trying to shut it against the man’s ankle. He couldn’t see the man’s face, because the tackler blocked his view. Then the tackler turned, and Jonah could at least see him clearly. A jolt of recognition flowed through his body; he was so stunned he almost let go of the door.
The tackler was the “janitor” from the FBI, the one who’d told Jonah to look at the file on Mr. Reardon’s desk.
“Jonah! Chip! Run!” the tackler called urgently, struggling with the man in the boots.
What good was that? There was nowhere to run to, except out the door where the men were fighting. The booted man reared up, almost breaking the tackler’s grip.
Katherine shrieked.
“The window!” Angela said.
She rushed over to the outer wall and began tugging on the window handle. Chip jumped up and helped her. The window opened inward, making a narrow V with the wall. Chip dived out through the small space, barely missing landing in a holly bush.
Katherine followed him quickly, executing a gymnastic-like move at the end, when she flipped over onto her feet.
“Jonah, come on!” she yelled in through the open window.
Jonah looked back at the men struggling on the ground. What would happen if he stopped holding the door?
“Go!” the tackler called over his shoulder.
Jonah ran for the window, skirting the table. He looked back once and saw that the men had rolled into the conference room. He still couldn’t see the booted man’s face, but he had a general impression of bulk, of muscles. He wasn’t sure the tackler could hold him.
“You go first, Angela,” Jonah said.
The name seemed to trigger a reaction in the tackler. He jerked his head back, looking over the top of the conference table.
“Angela DuPre,” he called. “We have wronged you in time. We owe you—”
The tackler’s head suddenly disappeared beneath the table. The booted man must have pulled him down. There was a sound like someone’s head clunking against the floor, and the table lurched sideways.
“Angela?” Jonah urged.
He held out his hand to help her out of the window. She was wearing a skirt; she probably wouldn’t want to go headfirst.
Angela drew back.
“You go on,” she said. “I’ve been waiting thirteen years for something like this. I’m going to stick around and get some answers.”
“But they’re dangerous!” Jonah protested. He couldn’t see the men at all now, but he could hear them, grunting and punching and slamming into the chairs and the table.
“Probably. That’s why you need to get out of here,” Angela said. She pushed him toward the window. He grabbed on to the frame, spreading his fingers against the glass to brace himself as he slid his feet out.
“Go, Jonah!” the tackler called from beneath the table. “Hurry! And Jonah—I saw your note! You have to be careful! Careful where you leave anything that could be seen later…anything that could be monitored—”
That was all Jonah heard, because he was out the window now, and the tackler was still using that low voice of hushed urgency. Jonah looked back, and he could see the tackler clearly now, under the table. He had one hand pressed into the other man’s hair, holding his head down. With his other hand, the tackler was frantically waving Jonah away. His mouth formed the words, “Go! Go! Now!” But Jonah couldn’t really hear him.
Jonah spun around and ran. He quickly caught up with Chip and Katherine. Without even speaking, all three of them ran for the bike rack, scooped up their bikes, and took off, pedaling furiously.
They were halfway down the bike path before Jonah’s mind kicked into gear, letting him think again instead of just acting on reflex.
He immediately slammed on his brakes.
TWENTY
Katherine was the first to notice that Jonah wasn’t keeping up, that he wasn’t pedaling hysterically toward home alongside her and Chip.
“Jonah!” she called over her shoulder from several bike-lengths ahead. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go back!” he yelled. “We can’t just leave Angela like that!”
“But—she’s a grown-up! She told us to go!” This was Chip arguing now.
“She—”