Silver Storm: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 2 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Timewalker Chronicles, Book 2:

  A Special Note From the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Books by Michele Callahan

  Timewalker Chronicles, Book 3:

  Prologue

  About SILVER STORM

  Lost…

  On a hot summer night more than twenty-five years ago a freak lightning bolt struck Sarah St. Pierre on Lake Michigan. Presumed dead, her body was never found. She simply…vanished.

  Hunted…

  Timothy Daniel Tucker walked away, but the group of people he once worked for aren’t willing to give him up so easily. They watch him, waiting for him to crack, waiting for an excuse to bring him back in to finish what he started.

  Found...

  When Tim finds a beautiful naked woman floating in Hendrick Lake, he suspects a trap. She claims to be the same woman who disappeared over two decades ago, but she hasn’t aged a day. Worse, she knows intimate details about his covert work on a weapon that could destroy all of humanity. Trust is impossible, but Tim will not stop until he discovers all of her secrets, until he uncovers the truth.

  Pursued by an unseen enemy, Sarah claims to see things no one else can see, to know things about the future that no one could possibly know. And she has a frightening power no human should wield. Falling in love is an unacceptable risk but Tim can’t walk away from her visions, her power, or the fierce desire she ignites within him. Predator or prey? Truth or lies? Love or duty? Decisions must be made. Millions of lives hang in the balance…and the clock is ticking.

  Dedication

  For Tom, who never stopped believing.

  I love you, babe.

  Copyright

  Silver Storm, Timewalker Chronicles, Book 2

  Cover design Copyright 2014 by RomCon® & Cynthia Woolf

  Photo Copyright © yuran-78

  Second Edition. September 2014.

  Copyright 2014 by Michele Callahan

  Published By Michele Callahan

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, people, places and events are completely a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Timewalker Chronicles, Book 2:

  SILVER STORM

  by Michele Callahan

  Copyright 2014 by Michele Callahan

  All Rights Reserved

  A Special Note From the Author

  “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.” We’ve all said it. It’s a great joke. It’s funny…until it isn’t, until you meet someone for whom the words are true.

  If you meet this person, odds are, you’ll never know it. The burden they carry is heavier than simple threats or bloodshed, loss of life or loss of innocence, it’s silence.

  My uncle was what the urban legends would call a “company man”. They recruited him straight out of college. He was an honest, highly intelligent, hard-working, country kid from the Midwest when the “man in black” showed up and told my uncle to meet him at a designated time and place, “If you are curious”. He went.

  According to the family lore, it was years before the extended family realized who he actually worked for. Those who did know, who’d been interviewed for the background check, were sworn to secrecy. No one else knew until after he “got out”. He worked for the CIA for a couple years, then transferred to the DOD. He was one of those guys who actually had a suitcase handcuffed to his wrist and a fully armed escort. (He joked about trying to use the bathroom on those days. It’s the little things, you know?)

  As a child, he scared me. As a pre-teen, he became the most romantic and intriguing member of my family. And then, without warning, he walked away after nearly two decades on the inside. As a young adult, I couldn’t understand his choices. Now, as a mother with a family to support, only now do I even begin to grasp the enormity of the weight on his shoulders.

  He passed away a few years ago and none of us ever learned what he actually DID. We do know he was in for nearly two decades, that he worked around advanced weapon development and had very, very high-level military contacts. As new weapons or machines were revealed to the world over the years, we’d occasionally hear, “I worked on that one.”

  His top-level clearances extended to affect the rest of the family. They tried to recruit my dad in college as well. He wasn’t interested. My dad, like my uncle, was a bit of a loner, and ended up working for years as an over-the-road freight driver. My dad believed that because he’d been cleared, he used to be one of the few drivers who would haul truck loads of money, gold bars, and top secret crates around the country. Whenever he had one of those loads, he had an armed escort, and wasn’t allowed out of the truck, not even to use the bathroom.

  When my uncle quit, he didn’t want his mother to be upset or worried. So, he lied. He told her his front company wanted to transfer him overseas, away from his family. He told his best friend and little brother (my dad) that he’d stumbled across something he shouldn’t have, and if They found out, he’d be dead. What it was, he never said. My dad, being curious, asked him several times. The Kennedy assassination? Area 51? The possibilities, and my twelve year old imagination, were truly endless. All my dad ever got in response was a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head. I could tell you…but I’d have to kill you.

  My uncle said “you’re never really out”, but he walked away and tried to provide for a family of five as a true civilian. But no one would hire a man in his mid-40s with no prior work experience and no references. (The “company” he worked for claimed they’d never even heard of him.) They invited him back. He declined, and did door-to-door sales, took construction jobs and drove semitrucks for the rest of his life. Really glamorous life for a former “spy”.

  I think of my uncle as the family oak tree, the giant that sits in the yard watching over the house, never speaking. He didn’t say much. I can’t remember ever hearing him yell—even with five kids in the house. I never saw him cry. He rarely laughed. He answered questions with questions. He didn’t talk much, even with his own family. But he had a wicked sense of humor, if you paid attention. He counted cards when we played Blackjack or Gin Rummy at Thanksgiving. He won, a lot. He stayed with his wife, raised five children, and when the youngest was approached by her own “man in black” on campus, he made a phone call. Couple days later the same man found her, said he wasn’t allowed to speak to her again, but left a phone number, “In case you change your mind.” She didn’t. Her father absolutely forbade it.

  We all go to movies like The Bourne Identity and Mission Impossible, the great spy and spec-op thrillers. Where most see passion and danger, excitement and thril
ls, I see men and women who live truly solitary lives. Men and women who are always alone, even in a crowd. When we see a character like Jason Bourne or Ethan Hawke, we are all dazzled by his power, knowledge, and fearlessness.

  I would argue the opposite is actually true. WE are the fearless ones. We are the innocent children who go about our daily lives without a thought or concern for the battles taking place in the shadows all around us.

  I believe my uncle lived with fear every single day, the invisible They his constant companions, both ours and others. Ever vigilant, he always had a firearm nearby. He studied every face in every country diner. Every stranger was a threat, every dark corner a potential danger. I truly believe that he was watched, monitored, and haunted every minute of every day…and couldn’t speak of it.

  For years I wanted to know what he knew. I am glad, now, that I do not. He protected us all with his silence.

  The hero in Silver Storm, Timothy Daniel Tucker, is a math genius, recruited young, like my uncle, and set to work on weapons, research and development. Like my uncle, Tim gets out because he has to, because the price for staying becomes too high. Tim doesn’t look like my uncle, and their backgrounds are different, but I tried to give Tim my uncle’s soul, the intelligence and curiosity that got him in too deep, the honor and sense of duty that called him to serve for so many years, and the strength of will that allowed him to walk away. In Tim, I tried to give my uncle a fantastic, carefree, happily ever after to dream about.

  This book is dedicated to my uncle, and to all the men and women out there, from CIA to military to civilian contractors who suffer in silence, who walk in the darkest places, who, like my uncle, will never be able to live wholly in the light again. May you all make peace with your secrets and find someone to love you, shadows and all.

  For you, Uncle Ron, with love, respect, and gratitude. You were the strongest man I’ve ever known.

  May you truly rest, at last, in peace.

  Michele

  Prologue

  “Evening, Sir.” The armed guard would serve Tim’s purpose tonight, not his commander’s, not the Department of Defense’s, and not the company’s. Tonight the guard would keep out anyone who might be able to stop Tim, but the kid didn’t know that. The young soldier was wide-eyed and enthusiastic, traits Tim admired and had once shared. But that was before, back when service and duty had meant everything to him, and to his father.

  Tim hoped the poor kid would be far enough away that the blast wouldn’t kill him.

  “Have a good night.” Tim nodded at the guard and scanned his badge for the last time. The darkness of night closed in behind him as Timothy Daniel Tucker walked into the lab building that had been his second home for the last few months.

  He’d taken this job because his father insisted. Senator Tucker was a high-ranking member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, and had pulled some strings to get his prodigal son into the civilian sector working in this weapons development program once his Army gig was up.

  Senator Tucker was powerful, a former Army Ranger, West Point grad, and all-around badass, even at sixty-two.

  He’d wanted his only son to follow in his footsteps. And Tim had tried. West Point followed by Flight School and his own command. But he’d never been able to leave his test scores and mathematics degree behind him. They’d both followed him around like skunk spray, arousing interest from very dangerous people.

  His dad had gotten him this job. Tim had done what his father and his country had asked of him, until he realized that the DOD didn’t care about space travel or unlimited green energy. The people footing the bill only cared about power and control, about military superiority.

  He’d warned his dad what was coming, what kind of weapon he would create. The Senator had spoken up in committee.

  And then the Senator and his wife of over thirty years had died in a tragic car accident on the way home from a fundraiser.

  They’d fucking killed his parents.

  Tim had no proof, but the writing was on the wall. The timing too perfect. The suits that had been following him ever since? Well, they had relaxed the last few weeks.

  “Their mistake.” Tim whispered the words under his breath as the glare of artificial lights flash bombed his pupils, much too bright after the dark outside. He ignored the cameras spaced along the sterile hallways, watching him like all-seeing eyes.

  It had taken him several days to set everything up. But after tonight, no one would ever set foot in this space again. He’d make sure of it. His parents’ death would not be in vain. He’d see this through, come hell or high water. No fucking way he was going to be the obedient dog on a leash now that they’d murdered his parents.

  “Fuck you, pricks.” Tim opened the door to his lab, stepped inside, and locked the door behind him. Standard protocol.

  What he did next, was not.

  “Come on, baby. Time to play.” Tim switched on the separate power generators and waited for them to charge. He was alone tonight, but he often worked late hours alone. He did his best thinking when the world was quiet. No red flags there.

  He walked to the safe, entered his access codes and pulled out his laptop and notes. Exotic Matter. Negative Matter. The stuff had a couple different names now. It wasn’t anti-matter, dark matter, or any other variety of theoretical particle known to science. This one was new, and made by conscious choice in a lab, not born to the universe. It promised unlimited power, travel to the stars at faster than light speed, and a whole new arena in electromagnetics and quantum physics. Space travel. Time travel. Wormholes. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

  The metaphysical, new age, religious fanatics who’d been spouting about a “mirror world” for years would crow and shout in celebration. Where they’d see vindication and a new era of knowledge, he saw nothing but death.

  Tim had spent every moment of his life in service to his country, practically from birth. His father had been a hardcore military man his whole life, his mother a regular rock star on the fundraising circuit, and his upbringing more about fitting their perfect mold than living a real life.

  He’d kept his head down and done what was expected of him. Perfect son. Perfect soldier. Perfect scientist. This new experiment in theoretical physics had garnered him a lot of attention from a lot of very serious people.

  “Dead fucking serious.” Tim set his laptop and notebook down at his workstation and braced himself on stiff arms, gathering his courage for what came next. This move was inevitable, the only way he could atone for what he’d done. He’d realized too late exactly how deep this rabbit hole would go.

  The men in suits and sunglasses were his constant shadows now. He’d tried to quit this supposedly civilian contractor’s job months ago. They’d wheedled and cajoled him, tempted him with ridiculous bonuses and new lab equipment. He’d stayed.

  Then, a few weeks ago, he’d had some success in the lab, and realized what was coming. His dad had agreed with his total end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it assessment and tried to pull the plug on the program.

  And then? Dead.

  Coincidence? He’d thought so the first few hours, walking around in a numb haze, trying to piece his life back together, ever loyal to cause and country.

  Their deaths were the end for him, that and his success. He’d done it…created Negative Matter from nothing, measured it. Stabilized it. Done it again.

  Created humanity’s destruction. The atomic bomb? Child’s play. The Hadron Collider? Anti-matter? They had nothing on this.

  “Jesus. I’m a one-man Manhattan Project.” He rubbed his hand through the dark hair he hadn’t bothered to cut in three months. At first, he’d done it for the thrill of the chase. The challenge had been irresistible. But he was in deep shit now. The suits wouldn’t be able to comprehend the danger of weaponizing the stuff. They’d do what they were told, and trust their superiors to call the shots. It was what they all did. What they were trained to do.

  Not anymore. Death didn’t scare
Tim, he’d faced it too many times in the field during his Army years. Being the next human being responsible for creating a weapon of mass destruction? The sad, haunted look on Oppenheimer’s face on those interview tapes when he spoke about the atomic bomb? His haunting quotation of, “I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.” Being that guy? That scared the holy shit out of him.

  He had to destroy it all. Tonight. All the pieces were in place for the colossal accident to occur. And he had to get the Casper Project off his back. That group had been investigating his past Army ops, listening to recordings. They were breathing down his neck, too, wondering how he knew what he knew, how he’d warned his team about stuff before it happened.

  Tonight he’d kill two birds with one stone. This might be the most brilliant plan he’d ever come up with. Or the most stupid.

  “Okay, baby. Let’s do this.” Tim slid his arms into the sleeves of his fire-resistant lab coat while he talked to his computer and did a visual recheck of his earlier wiring. It was still in place.

  Everything he’d accomplished had been done in this room. Nowhere else. No one else knew what had happened here, or how he’d done it, and now they never would

  The hair on his arms and neck rose as the magnetic energy built in the air around him. Magnetricity, that potentially unlimited power source, sparked to life in the controlled space.

  Instead of monitoring the flow of power, turning it off and controlling the amount of energy passing through the experimental graphene plates, Tim let it grow.

  “Time to forget what you know, sweetheart.” Tim pulled several highly charged magnetite blocks from a nearby cubby and laid them flat on top of his laptop’s keyboard. The screen went crazy, then black. The magnets would erase all the data on the computer’s hard drive. If anything managed to survive, what came next would be the knockout punch.