The howl of the alarm resounded against the metallic walls of Subdivision headquarters. Hector jogged down the narrow corridor until he caught up with Colonel Taylor. Both headed toward the control room.
“What are we looking at?”
“Molecular transfer,” said Hector. “Two signatures this time.”
“That fast? Five hours later?”
“Four, since Dallas. They’re getting more aggressive, sir.”
Hector’s dark eyebrows slanted forward over a pair of concerned auburn eyes. Failure echoed through the halls at a higher pitch than the alarm. And it carried more weight. They paused at the door to the control room.
“I’m responsible, sir. We didn’t get there–”
“Our intel was all over the place. We’re playing with time, and I don’t have enough of it to let you second guess yourself right now. Got it?”
Colonel Taylor stomped into the control room and watched the latest reports flashing across his datapad. His scowl expressed more concentration than anger, but his demeanor held something new—apprehension and worry. The recognition of catastrophe and its consequences came as a heavy blow. Known history had been altered on his watch.
“What do we have, folks?” Taylor asked.
An operative stationed at a nearby terminal answered, “Still running the decryption, sir.”
“I need a location!”
The operative’s eyes burned into the screen. She spun around. “Got it! Florida, 1970!”
Colonel Taylor stared at Hector. “You’re the best we’ve got, Salazar. No second-guessing. Let’s go!”
Hector saluted and headed for the transfer machine. Resolution cast its glow across his features. He needed redemption.
