Vincent looked at him surprised. “How do you know that?”
“I traveled back and saw Jack get killed, remember? The man you described as Phillips is the man I saw leading Jack away and who shot Jack and shoved his body in the river.”
Vincent thought on this. “So what does this mean?”
“It means Jack is dead. Our only way to save ourselves is to save him, just as we planned.”
“So who will do the killing? Neither of us are killers.”
“But both of us have killed before. It was self-defense for me and you killed during war.”
Vincent inhaled deeply. “I’ll do it,” he said calmly.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. The war did something to me. I’m not the man I was before, that’s for sure. I killed Hitler in cold blood. There’s no reason I can’t do it again.”
Wilson looked closely at Vincent. “Would you do this if you were the only one on the hook here?”
“Yes. But I’m also doing this for you.”
“That’s selfish of me don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, but I’m not asking for your blessing. I’m doing this. Besides, if anyone is going to kill Jack, it’s going to be me. Not someone from another time who has an issue with him.”
“I’m coming with you,” Wilson replied.
“Thanks,” Vincent agreed. “So when would you like to go back?”
“How about now?” Wilson suggested. “Every minute we spend in the present time brings us closer to being confronted by someone looking into Jack’s death. Perhaps that will end up being one of the neighbors. Either way, it won’t end well.”
“So we’re agreed?” Vincent asked.
Wilson nodded. A moment later, the kitchen table around which they were sitting was empty.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Passchendaele, Belgium – November 1917
He stood back in the shadows of the trench, watching. Hitler was not his visual target; his target was Jack.
He listened for the shot and grunt that would signal the end of Hitler and watched as Jack made his way to Hitler’s side, just in time to watch him die. He could have changed that moment but there was no reason for it. Hitler was a small, despicable man and he was glad he was dead.
He watched the medical unit haul the body of Hitler away. He knew the next morning, Jack would go out into No Man’s Land and challenge the other side. The Allies would refuse to send a man, having suffered much loss to their Howitzer unit and not being in much of a mood to entertain. Jack would leave soon after the unanswered contest.
That’s what he did know. What he didn’t know was how or when those who wanted to save Jack’s life (he still had a hard time accepting that) would actually make the move. He knew who they were; he just had to stop them. One advantage he had was that they didn’t know who he was. Plus, they had no idea that he was trying to stop them.
It wasn’t personal. In fact, even though he had much reason to want Jack dead, it wasn’t personal with him either. It was just that Jack no longer had a place in the world.
Satisfied that nothing had changed, he prepared to leave. But before he did, he took a good look around at the mud and death around him. His breath turned to vapor as he exhaled and the cleanness of that act was deceptive. The vapor was clear and pure, although the lungs that had just exhumed that vapor were filled with smoke caused by burning flesh. The smell of dead men combined with the reek of dead horses. Men and animal alike drowned in the mire of mud and rain and those bodies were blackened by exploding mortars.
All around him he could hear men screaming. Men were still on the battlefield, begging to be taken to the hospital. Men screamed in the hospital as their legs and arms were amputated. Men lay on gurneys holding in their intestines as the doctors watched, waiting for their death so they could move the dead bodies out to make room for the hundreds of wounded.
The rain fell as men stuck in the mud tried to rise but were not successful. One man looked over at his arm that had been severed by a mortar. The man tried in vain to move through the thick mud to reach his arm before he died. He bled to death on the battlefield before he could capture his lost limb.
Other men around him retched as the smell became too much. The sight of their friends tore to pieces before them impaired their ability to control their stomachs as they vomited their last meager meal.
He took all of this in before he left. He had once been a man who was interested in curing death. Now he was a man who relished it. He inhaled and took in everything. The smells were wretched but they add to the ambience of death staged in the war theater.
He smiled. Now that he had his fill of true human sacrifice, he was content. The urge to kill was settled, at least for the moment. He wanted to save the executioner that lived within him until he came face to face with those who wanted to save Jack and thus supplant his own place in history.
Satisfied, he thought of his next move. He had no need to follow Jack as he knew all of Jack’s moves going forward. What he needed to do was protect the man who would kill Jack. That meant going back to when Bagster Phillips was still working for Scotland Yard in London. That would
