The Time Stone Read online

  “Already done, Sir, a random search of the citizen database found two virtual nobody simpletons who are the perfect fall guys for this. Once they are arrested and convicted, the case dies and no one is the wiser” spoke Liz with a clear and concise voice. “No one would miss them.” Liz patted two manila file folders under her leather portfolio.

  “Good” said Broad, “and what became of the artifact?”

  “It disappeared. Our guess is the Contractor had no choice when he saw the guard who was not supposed to be there and he panicked… he activated it.” Liz’s face was blank, pale as a ghost. “It seems from our examination of the police file and our own investigator’s reports, there was a secondary alarm that he did not anticipate.”

  “Disappointing indeed,” said Broad. “We hired the Culto to get the artifact back safely to us, its rightful lawful owners since antiquity time, not to use it. Regardless of his motives at the time, we need to get the artifact back, the ‘Eye of the Gods’ must be returned home.”

  “But now, Sir, it is simply gone” said Liz bluntly, “it could be anywhere in time or space.”

  “We will find it my pupil. There is another way.” Broad’s eyes burned with passion.

  CHAPTER 4

  The tall tower of the Chronix Bay News building was looming over the daily routine of the urbanites passing on the streets below to their respective destination. While almost no one could tolerate the dangers of the high stakes news business throughout the city, the beat belonged to hard-witted reporter, investigative journalist, and anchorperson Sylvia Armstrong. She knew since she was a small child that he was meant to cover the mean streets and report the most important news to the public. Her eyes widened from the vantage on the twenty-eighth floor as she just barely saw a mugging in broad daylight, a man in a hooded sweatshirt grab an old lady’s purse and run off into the distance.

  “Crime statistics truly are up in Chronix Bay” thought Sylvia as she sat at her desk facing the large full-sized wall window in her office. She peered at the glistening visage of the ivory city over the water, as it was called, a term coined first by her great grandfather, Stanton Armstrong, one of Chronix Bay’s founding fathers. She wondered how much the city had progressed, this great municipality, since those bygone days. The stories of adventure and pioneering days passed on by her forefathers were drilled into her head since childhood, notably why she chose this career to pursue the truth at all costs.

  “As the tides of time sweep over man and country so does the weeping of its most vital component.” A man’s hoarse voice echoes behind her as she turned completely to see her boss, Michael Oppenheim, standing there. He was a tall lanky man of Eastern European descent with a coy smile that churned his ever ambiguous flamboyant yet openly jovial personality.

  “Hey Mike” she said turning back to the window.

  “Your ancestor often spoke those words. We wouldn’t have what we have today were it not for the sacrifices made by him and others like him.”

  “That I know… I’m not worried about the past. I’m just worried about the future. We’re facing a very real possibility that there is a growing divide in our community. Rich vs. poor, white vs. black, old vs. the new way of doing things and we may be losing the war. There is little we can do.” Sylvia spoke cautiously as she faced her boss and mentor.

  “As reporters we only find and tell the truth, not make it.”

  “Maybe we ought to” she turned back around facing the ‘ivory city over the water’.

  “In every one of us there lies a revolutionary,” she thought.

  CHAPTER 5

  Chronix bay’s downtown area was not unlike any major metropolitan area in that it had its ups and downs. Reams of truths inside massive tall buildings trying to scrap the sky and store front outlets, eateries, localities capitalizing every pocketbook and wallet holder walking around but there were some landmarks that made the city interesting was for many years, and continues to be, its shining body of water, the Sea of Hope, leading into the vast network of rivers that fed out into the Atlantic ocean, and also the tallest structure at the center of town exceeding the other buildings in the area in both attractiveness and unique design. Recently built, it was made of pure nickel and glass metal and shining like an obelisk, a beacon of hope, against the backdrop of the clear water in the distance. It was a mighty fortress by the bay for the world to see, the Chronix Bay Central Tower aptly named as being construed exactly in the center of the city coordinates. Its history was a legend known to every elementary school boy and girl who had to memorize the classic song from the history books written in the name of the founders’ old glory reigning onto the spectacular view and transcendent proverbial power spilled out of the shining glass walls to the memorial dedicated to the founding fathers. The Museum of Ancient History was nearby showing the old and the new reminiscent of that old blending to the new in the pages of history.

  “Hey watch it, buddy” screamed Sylvia bumping into someone as she was trying to squeeze her way through the crowd near the museum during the day, the press vans and police cruisers maintaining their position from the burglary the night before. She showed her press badge to the police officer guarding the crime scene area near an array of yellow tape but he shook his head and refused to let her through.

  “Sorry, I have strict orders. No one can pass through!” the officer exclaimed.

  “Haven’t you become familiar with the rights of the fifth estate, freedom of the press, and so forth at the academy…” she yelled in response leading her camera crew through the crowds and disgruntled at the idea of being thwarted from going in to report the truth about the crime scene. “Come on people, press coming through” she yelled but the officer shook his head and held out his hands refusing them access. Other officers soon approached including an overweight plainclothes detective with a beige trench coat and hat.

  “What’s going on here?” screamed the detective with a pompous attitude and toothpick in his mouth.

  “Detective Cartwright, we’re trying to get through. I’m Sylvia Armstrong, Channel Nine news. Are you willingly refusing us access? You know this is highly illegal. We have a right to report this.”

  “Not now, you’ll get a chance later when we’re done investigating.” Said Cartwright.

  “Hey, I am used to investigative journalism on the ground floor. I was in the mind fields of desert storm, many explosive sites of Kosovo, Somalia, and Afghanistan. I need to be there” she pointed to the floor where several suited men and uniformed officers snooped about and examined the scene.

  “I’m sorry ma’am but I was told no by the Lieutenant and Agent in charge.”

  “This is ridiculous. I think you’re aching for a lawsuit.”

  “Hey” said Cartwright pointing his finger in her face “you’ll have to wait. This is a joint investigation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and we will have a press statement released shortly. In the meantime, hang tight or you will be taken into custody” he added.

  “What?” Sylvia responded rhetorically with a shocked grin as Cartwright walked away with the officers but the original one who continued to stand by blocking their path. “Hey, hey” she yelled again at the other officers and suited agents walking by but they continued to ignore her. “We just want to know what happened to the guard. Any word on him?”

  “Sorry” said the officer refusing access to her and the several masses of reporters and pedestrians behind her.

  Nearby, Agent Adam Stone talked with his old buddy Lieutenant Brock Walton.

  “This time of year is especially difficult with the news. The break in of the museum really put an extra spin on things” said Brock.

  “Well it isn’t everyday something of this magnitude happens in a town as isolated. I heard about your local muggings and riots but nothing like this. I bet everyone in town is a bit shaken up.”

  “I know. We are letting people in on a case by case basis. Your division has issued top clearance only orders on t
his case. Back there you guys can observe a lot of ruckus from the press.” Brock looked at Sylvia and her crew trying to get through and waving their arms over to them.

  “Who is that?” asked Adam looking at Sylvia.

  “That’s ‘hardnosed investigative journalist’ Sylvia Armstrong. She is used to unorthodox methods of getting to ‘the crusade for the truth’ as she calls it. I collared her myself a couple of times for breaking and entering where she didn’t belong. It looks like she is behaving herself this time.”

  Sylvia stopped and stood still suddenly looking at the agent wearing a navy blue shirt and a purple tie as he looked at her. She ignored the lieutenant barking out orders to the uniformed officers around the area running back and forth with evidence bags. Her eyes locked with Adam’s. He had his hands on his hips and spoke to the lieutenant. There was a sudden attraction between them. Sylvia wondered who he was. But in the midst of the confusion her cameraman yelled out to her as her crew found another point to get a clear shot from without crossing the tape and they were headed in that direction. She followed them passing by the agent and lieutenant on their way to the vantage point. As Sylvia and her crew were in earshot of the pair of law enforcement officers, she yelled out, “when are we gonna be allowed to eat at the big kids table?”

  Adam and Brock turned to Sylvia seeing them walk away. They were shocked and Adam stared with a curious frown at the young woman who he felt an unearthly attractiveness to. “That Sylvia is interesting and feisty.” Adam whispered to Brock.

  “I think she just crossed the line, Adam. You want me to shut her up?”

  “Don’t you dare” he scolded.

  Sylvia walked coolly down the sidewalk next to her cameraman who nodded to her in recognition “you got some guts, we’re lucky they didn’t come after us.”

  “I don’t care about that. I want to find out why the feds are on this.”

  “We got to wait for the press release. There is no other way. Besides what makes you so interested in that suit anyway?”

  “I don’t know but I got to find out…somehow.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Miles away from the downtown area where the mayhem of the crime scene continued, the daylight was bright over the city’s residential district. The sun shone overhead and the day was relaxed and quiet. The people of the city had wandered about their daily routines in the urban center but far from the chaos of the museum there was silence in the residential district. The routine pedestrian population was gone, the people either out at work or tucked in their homes dismissed from the streets as they went off to their places of business or learning not knowing what had happened at the museum the night before.

  Chronix Bay has had its share of poverty and homelessness. Amongst those aware of the decay of this society, were the lonely and impoverished individuals who sulked about aimlessly. One of those wanderers, lost in his own world, was James Timewalker, a young man in his late thirties. He strode down Main Street.

  James was often alone. He was accustomed to many hardships during his life of failure and noted each moment as he passed by the old high school, now an ominous fortress in its after- hours appearance. It appeared empty, lonesome, epitomized of utter want as he passed by looking up at it. At this time of the year, it was vacant with not a soul in sight. He remembered his life as a student thinking that he always aspired for success and had failed to achieve it, whether as a student or as a business man or as anything he ever wanted to be. He grimaced as he thought of his failures in school, one of many in his life. His eyes were dark and lonesome; somber and saddened. His cracked olive skin bore signs of a wrinkle showing pain that comes with age and he had a permanent frown on his face as he wandered without a companion, without an opportunity, without a hope, and without a prayer. He felt his dreams were an endless blur of images forever forsaken in the long expanse of time. He often wondered what the point of going on in life was when everything seemed to equate to nothing no matter what he did. He had no worldly possessions but the clothes on his back: a pair of faded denim jeans, torn sneakers and a loose fitting burgundy shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Unlike the others that had wandered throughout the city, he embraced the hot and humid air, muggy like thick pudding, and, so he feared, a shallow precursor of things to come. He had a heavy unkempt beard and a thick odor, not having had a shave, bath, or warm meal in weeks. His personal hygiene and his dreams had vanished long ago into the realm of oblivion. He walked across the intersection of Main Street and Avenue X as he had done hundreds of thousands of times before since he was in grade school and now being thirty-five years old, homeless and destitute, sad and lonesome. As clouds began to gather and the rain began to suddenly pour down hard, he walked forward with a sense of indignation and humility. He felt an acceptance of his current state of affairs and how glory and hope might never return to his world or to his heart.

  After a moment, the rainstorm had passed and James walked forward down towards the blocks surrounding the pier and the Sea of Hope, the body of water that bordered the small community where he grew up and still lived. His clothes were drenched from getting caught in the midst of the downpour. He did not know where he was headed for the moment nor did he know where he was headed for in life. He looked past the small body of water towards the shining downtown center with its tall buildings. He hoped and prayed this one of many trips to the Sea of Hope would yield some benefit but he felt he knew better.

  He turned and saw in the distance a silhouette of a woman and as he strained his eyes, decaying with age, he saw her approaching suddenly. He thought she looked familiar. His mind quickly conjured up the past image of a face he hadn’t laid eyes on in ages, a young woman from his past who he had once harbored great feelings of attraction for but had always been too shy to speak to her. His mind was feeling aged but his soul as mighty as a runway train. He approached her barely making out her facial features, the intense sunlight blurring his vision. He walked along the street finding it difficult to see. As the two became physically closer, he saw more of her ever so slightly. At first he thought he might be hallucinating, a mirage brought on by fooled senses because of malnutrition and dehydration but as he was compelled to approach her and did approach her, he saw her clear as day. She was dressed slightly provocatively, wearing a short mini-skirt, net stockings, leather boots, and a white cotton shirt tied at her waist revealing her belly button, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was dark with chestnut blonde highlights and tied in a knot behind her head.

  “Tina May", said James, his hoarse voice barely formed the words, “Tina May Prescott, is that you?” He noticed her head turn, her dark brown hair and pale complexion glistening in the open street lights. “She is very beautiful!" he thought as he approached.

  She smirked. “Do I know you?” she asked, a young lady in her thirties, accustomed to life on the streets.

  “Yeah, “he said standing before her, “It's James. James Timewalker. We went to CB High together back in …," he grunts, "...too long ago.” He laughed and she smiled in return.

  “I do remember you now. You always were a funny one. How have you been?”

  “Well great…”

  She caught his confusion. “You're not doing too well, huh?” She frowned seeing his shabby and unkempt appearance.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Doing well,” she replied shrugging her shoulders. “Trying to survive like everyone else,” she added.

  “Ain’t that the truth? It was nice seeing you. We ought to keep in touch.”

  “That would be great.” Tina smiled in a manner symbolic of preschool puppy love. Then a car pulled up, headlights bright purple of the old Cadillac. “Well I got to go.” She pulled out a card from her shirt pocket and handed it to him, “call me when you get the chance.”

  He thanked her and pocketed the card as she turned away and entered the old Cadillac that subsequently pulled away. He felt the sense of butterflies in his stomach like a
school boy crush he carried once before. The feeling of romance newly revived in him made him forget his troubles and feel young again. He thought he would see her again soon. Then he turned and realized the reality of his meager existence and that the truth was that he was alone in the dimness of the street corner and he was homeless.

  CHAPTER 7

  “It’s how the other half lives. We exhibit fortuned excellence of and for all civilizations.” Broad Staffnight spoke so eloquently with his silver tongue and quick wit that his echo could be heard down the dim corridors and brightly lit hallways and doorways of the typical lavishly decorated office building belonging to Temporo, Inc., a major corporate giant in high stakes finance and not a typical company in the downtown areas of the metropolis of Chronix Bay. The arched portals mimicked ancient Greek architecture and the attitude of the principal officers were akin to the Gods. “Just imagine my friend, with the right timing and patience, we will be like Gods.”

  “I like your style, Broad. You have a bright future with this company.” The older man patted his subordinate on the back as he walked out of the younger man’s office.

  “I’ll see you at the country club, Mr. Barry,” said Broad waving goodbye to his elder contemporary, Mr. Marion Barry, Chairman of Temporo, Inc.’s Board of Directors and a solid mentor to Broad as the elder man left the room.