Paul Jones - Towards Yesterday

Jim’s window whirred quietly into its recess as DeWitt’s voice came over the internal speaker, “ This won’t take a second, Doctor. ”

The security guard peered in through the open window, comparing Jim’s face to a picture attached to a clipboard he carried. He scrutinized Jim for a few seconds, then turned to his partner in the control booth. Satisfied that the car’s passenger matched the information, the guard nodded once and the security gate that blocked the entrance began to rattle open. Jim noticed several metal spikes protruding like punji-sticks from the hot concrete of the entrance road retract into their holes in the tarmacadam.

The car engine engaged and they pulled silently forward onto the long black drive leading up to the complex.

It was a low black building.

To Jim it reminded him of a squat, fat, black spider sitting at the center of a web of roads that led off and encircled the complex.

Hopefully, he was not the fly.

The Lincoln pulled to a halt outside the canopy-covered steps leading up to the glass double-door of the building’s entrance. DeWitt climbed out and opened Jim’s door. “Here we are, Sir,” he said, as Jim exited the vehicle. “I’ll get your bags and make sure they arrive at your apartment.”

“Can’t I just take them with me?” asked Jim.

“Sorry Sir, procedures. Security will want to give them the once over before they are allowed into the main building,” was DeWitt’s reply, delivered with a tolerant smile.

The doors to the building swung open and a woman dressed in a two-piece gray business suit descended the five concrete steps, a professional well-practiced smile on her face. She was close to six-feet tall, but at least three-inches of that was due to her stiletto heels; the wearing of which she was obviously accustomed to, as she strode confidently down the steps toward him. Her shoulder length black hair was pulled back into a topknot accentuating a face with a firm jawline, and a minimum of makeup. Attractive , Jim thought, in a stern sort of a way .

“Welcome, Doctor Baston,” she said, offering her right hand. The woman’s voice was the epitome of distant professionalism, the considered aloofness of one of Mr. Tolkien’s famous Elves. “My name is Mina Belkov. I am Doctor Lorentz’s personal assistant.”

Jim shook the proffered hand; she had a strong grip, with none of the looseness he had been expecting. Her voice was a surprise too; very soft, very feminine, belying the austerity of her dress and the rigidness of her posture. “If you would like to follow me,” she continued, gesturing toward the entrance, “I will process you and show you to your apartment. This way please.”

She ushered him up the steps, through the smoked-glass double doors and into the building’s reception area. The exquisite parquet floor and brass fixtures of the building’s interior were a stark contrast to its bleak, utilitarian exterior. Here and there, large pots held what Jim guessed were probably real ferns. A waterfall cascaded serenely into a pool full of Koi and water lilies near the base of a wide open-backed stairway leading up to the second floor.

Belkov escorted Jim up to the marble—paneled reception desk. The pretty, blond-haired receptionist behind the desk raised her head in acknowledgement of their approach. She placed a guest book on the counter for Jim to sign, which he dutifully did, filling in his name and time of arrival.

“Now if you would just step over here to this spot please,” said the receptionist as she guided him to a red ‘x’ taped to the floor next to her desk. A few feet away stood a tripod and digital camera, the lens of which the young woman now asked him to look directly into as she stepped behind it. “Say ‘super accelerated particles’,” she said with a wry grin but which extracted only a disapproving glare from Ms. Belkov. A few seconds later, a photo popped out from a printer sitting on the reception desk. Peeling off the backing, the receptionist placed it sticky side down onto an ID card that already contained Jim’s name, printed in bold black capitals.

“Now if I could just get your thumb print here,” the receptionist said, pointing with her manicured index finger to an inkpad and a blank box below his image on the card. “And finally,” she continued, handing him a tissue for his blackened thumb, “Just sign here at the bottom, please”

Placing the completed card into another machine, she finally handed Jim a still-warm laminated security badge which Mina fastened to his shirt pocket for him.

“You will need to keep this with you at all times. If you lose it, please contact me immediately, ” said Mina, her tone indicating the loss of the card might well herald the end of the world as it was currently known. Well, a little too late for that, Jim thought absently. He smiled his understanding back at the woman as she continued talking.

“Okay, let me take you to your apartment.”

By the time Mina Belkov had escorted Jim to his quarters, his bags had miraculously already arrived, considerately placed in the bedroom next to the nightstand.

“I know a few airports that could learn a lot from your baggage handlers,” Jim joked, his quip bringing only a mechanical smile to the face of his escort. Mina gave him a perfunctory tour of his new home: one bedroom, a living room and a well-equipped kitchenette. A small office off his bedroom held a computer she assured him connected to their mainframe LAN, along with a desk and a single filing cabinet; so he could work at any time he chose, she explained.

“I doubt that you will have much need for the cafeteria,” said Mina, “but it is open 24-hours a day and I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the menu range.” Leading Jim back into the living room, Belkov continued, “You will find a list of all the facility’s extensions next to the phone, over there. If you need anything, please feel free to dial zero; that will get you through to reception, and they will be able to help you locate anybody or anything you need. You should also have received an itinerary in the package given to you by your driver.” The last sentence was a statement rather than a question.

Jim nodded as she continued, “There will be a formal meeting tonight at six-thirty where you will meet Dr. Lorentz and the rest of the team.”

“How many other…” Jim’s eyes focused to the right as he searched for the right word, “ guests are there?” he asked.

“Besides the original group members? There are two new people, including you of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile.

Belkov began to walk to the door. Over her shoulder she said, “Is there anything else I might help you with, Doctor Baston?”

“No… thank you.”

“See you at six-thirty then.” And with that, she was gone and he was once more alone.

Jim quickly settled into his new accommodation. He took a nap, followed by a shower before changing into a pair of fresh slacks, button-down shirt, and jacket. It always amazed him how a shower and change of clothes could rejuvenate an exhausted body.

By the time Mina Belkov knocked on the door just before six-thirty, he was sitting comfortably—if a little nervously—on the sofa.

“All set?” she asked.

Jim gave a nod and joined her in the corridor.

An estimated thirty-seven thousand people turned out today to hear the self-proclaimed leader of the Church of Second Redemption, Father Edward Pike, preach at Gunn Avenue Park, Whittier.