“Hold on a minute. I have to change clothes. Front door display off,” I said. The screen went dark.

“Dammit!” I shouted.

“There, there, easy now.” Said my sexy computer. Her tension abatement programming had kicked in.

“Engage legal advisor.”

“Legal advisor engaged.”

“Analyze data from front door reader. Tell me if it’s legal.” I wanted to make sure the code cops’ warrant was above board.

“It is a legally binding document. Standard warrant to search the premises, bearing the signature of the honorable Connie Capsowicz.”

“Known as Judge Cappy,” I muttered.

“Please restate query.”

“Disengage legal advisor.”

I didn’t want to answer the door with scotch on my breath, but I couldn’t ignore them any longer. I shed my dirty clothes and opened my closet to see if I had anything presentable. There on the shelf lay my Ruger BFG 3000. Blasting my way out was not an option; that would give my brother a great reason for having me cut off from the family fortune. Still, it was reassuring to see it.

“Play Mozart. Random selections, tempo allegro. Replay waterfall.”

——-

“You’re sure you don’t want some Cuban coffee? I make a damn good cup.” I said.

We all sat in the living room, the sound of Mozart in the air and a replay of a 50-meter waterfall on the display. I wanted to seem as polite and welcoming as possible. It was killing me.

“No thanks. No stimulants on the job,” Agent Speel said. She was pretty, about 40, with light brown hair cut just below her jawline.

Glock just shook his head, which was shaved bald. I put his age at about 50, but when he squinted his eyes to get a better look at my skyporter out back, I bumped that guess to 60. Too many crows feet for 50.

“Doughnuts?” I almost laughed. I knew cops never touched them.

They declined. I was angry that neither of them wanted my coffee, made in a painstaking replica of an eras-gone espresso machine. It was the one true skill I brought to the role of gracious host.

I was under suspicion of era contamination. They said that I filed a jump plan for the same date and location that Compton reported finding the note. The manifest showed that I took three passengers, and Glock and Speel believed one of them wrote it. The handwriting was not mine, according to the analysts who still were searching for a match.

“Another problem, Mr. Plotz, is that we find no record of any women going by the names on your manifest,” Glock said.

“They told me they used fake names. Whoever they were, they went to a lot of trouble to make sure that even I didn’t know it.” I spooned sugar, and lots of it, into my coffee. “Until the end, when it looked like they might not make it to the exit point.” My voice trailed off.

I had just talked to Danetta. She had used her real contact information. What an amateur. That number wasn’t on the jump plan, but if they asked for my records or scanned my comm signatures, they would know as much about her as I did.

“How did they make contact, Mr. Plotz?” Speel asked.

“Please, call me Falcon.”

She stared off over my right shoulder for a second, straight-faced. Then, back into my eyes she said, “How did they make contact?”

“They said they found me through a friend.”

“We’d like to scan your comm signatures,” Glock said.

Dammit.

“Display comm signatures,” I said.

A record of all my contact with the outside world appeared on the screen. The agents took turns saying, “Scroll up,” to see more.

I barely got two more sips of my coffee before they found record of my conversation with Danetta. They spent the rest of the night tossing my place and my office, after a no-frills ride in their skyporter. When we got back, a team waited to begin searching all the vacant flats in the building. My brother owned it, but he obviously had told them that I was unoffically the resident premises manager. I gave them my key plasti and a list of the vacancies.

“Hey, I need to go get something out of my skyporter.”

They said that was fine.

When I got to the balcony, I looked down to see agents parked at the street level. They waved. I smiled and returned it.

I climbed over the rail and into my skyporter. Nothing as simple as following a falcon this time. I reached underneath the passenger’s seat, where I always kept a secure talker for emergencies. It left no comm signature. Taking people back in time carried with it risks and responsibilities most people would never know, so contingencies were important.

I entered the number Danetta gave me.

(continue to Part 5)