“Wait a minute,” Fletcher interjected, swiveling toward Klein. “Is this the NMR thing you told me about?”
“That’s it,” he replied. Then shook his head. “You put them in the time stream. I never would have thought you’d be that stupid, Davies.”
Davies drew himself up. “They had to go somewhere. They’re all violent psychopaths. We couldn’t keep them here.”
Fletcher’s face turned the color of her hair. “How many did you transport?”
“If he answers,” his mouthpiece began, “that would implicate Mr. Davies in the unlawful—”
“You’re damned right it will,” Fletcher barked. “How many?”
The lawyer whispered in his client’s ear, but Davies shook his head.
“Fifteen,” he admitted. “As best as we can tell, there are at least thirteen still alive.”
A Baker’s dozen of the worst.
“What time periods?” Fletcher demanded.
“We just dropped them where we felt they would do the least damage.”
“Least damage?” Theo growled. “How could you possibly think they wouldn’t present a threat to individual timelines? To history?”
“Ah, nothing to worry about,” Cynda cut in, her voice brittle. “What’s a few more Stalins, Rippers or Elizars?”
Davies fluffed up. “The psychiatrist in charge assured us they were incapable of doing any harm, at least to the timeline.”
“Walter Samuelson?” she quizzed. A nod. “Let me guess—he became a liability, didn’t he?”
Davies nodded. “Walter knew too much. He kept asking to visit Drogo and some of the others. He knew they were in the time stream, wanted to do a follow-up study.”
“So you ditched him in ’88.”
A wary nod. “It was his brother’s idea. We used Mimes to lure Walter into 1888. He thought he was going to meet Drogo.”
“What was Mimes’ payoff?” Klein quizzed.
Davies rubbed his face, his expression hunted. “We promised to hide the fact he’d ever been in 1888.”
“So his Name the Ripper book would look like actual scholarship rather than complete trash,” Cynda deduced.
“That was the deal. He’d make a lot of money off the book and that would ensure he kept quiet.”
“You didn’t think anyone would notice when Dr. Samuelson went missing?” Hopkins asked, incredulous.
Davies shook his head. “We didn’t care. By then, it was starting to fall apart.”
Which meant they weren’t thinking, just reacting.
“Why did you put one of these people in 1888?” Theo challenged. “You knew how volatile it was.”
“We didn’t. We dropped him in 1768. He forced a Rover to take him to the nineteenth century.”
“Which Rover?” Fletcher asked.
“Some guy named Miller.”
Frank Miller. Cynda groaned. Of course. The guy was so stupid he made a mud puddle look like a Mensa candidate.
“Wasn’t he an old boyfriend?” Mr. Spider chided from her shoulder.
Not for very long. Lesson learned.
“You covered up Miller’s bungle?” Fletcher asked.
Davies nodded. “Copeland still had a use for him, so we didn’t pull his license.”
Bait to keep me distracted. If she hadn’t been so disgusted with old Frank, it might have worked.
Fletcher’s face was less crimson now. “What have you done to retrieve these crazies?”
“We sent out a couple sub-contractors. They didn’t return.”
That wasn’t surprising. If any of the other Null Mems had Satyr’s cunning, it was a suicide run to go up against these guys.
“We’ll take care of them,” Klein said.
Cynda’s eyes met Hopkins. He’d be right in the firing line, one of the first into the time stream.
Sorry guy.
Fletcher leaned back in her chair. “Here’s how it’s going to work, Mr. Davies. You’re going to tell us about each of these transfers—names, dates, all of it. You understand?”
“The previous government is responsible for this. They dropped this mess in my lap,” Davies complained, his forehead damp with sweat now.
“Don’t give me the victim routine,” Fletcher snapped. “You could have raised a stink and stopped this disaster, but you didn’t. You played along and it got you the chairmanship.”
“I am not responsible!” Davies bellowed. “I had nothing to do with what happened to Stone or anyone else in 1888, and I shouldn’t pay the penalty.”
“Someone must,” Theo said evenly.
Cynda picked up the knife, weighing it in her hand. As she anticipated, all eyes swung in her direction. “You hired Copeland and he was your responsibility. While you were trying to save your own butt, you became a party to murder, kidnapping, torture...the whole works. You’re not walking on this one, Davies. We won’t let you. Someone has to pay the piper and it has to be you.”
“Why not Copeland? He did all this! Why isn’t he here?”
Klein started to chuckle. It was an odd sound, like a cat with a rusty purr. “Copeland’s dead. He didn’t survive the transfer from 1888. You’re the one holding the bag.”
Davies’ anger collapsed. He motioned to his lawyer and they whispered back and forth earnestly. After some heated discussion, Randolph sighed.
“Mr. Davies will cooperate,” he announced, “as long as he is given immunity to future prosecution.”
“To hell with that!” Theo roared, pounding the table with his fist. Everyone jumped at his raw fury, including Cynda. “He’s got as much blood on his hands as Copeland or any of the others.”
“You’ll not get the information any other way,” the lawyer replied.
Theo’s face hardened. She knew that look. A samurai adopts it right before he lops off your head. “Then if we grant him immunity, he’s sent Off-Grid. Permanently.”