Winston Chase and the Theta Factor (Book 2): Winston Chase

By William Van Winkle

Exhausted. Nearly drowned. And only minutes away from capture. It's not looking good for Winston.

If only the clues his father left him made sense! And would it be asking too much for that time-jumping maniac Bledsoe to let him rest and think?

Apparently so. Agents are closing in. Winston's family may already be lost. Winston's friend Shade would die to help Winston recover the Alpha Machine, but one life may not be enough.

Winston Chase and the Theta Factor is book 2 in a completed trilogy loaded with laughs and action, but warning given: The world is on the line. It's about to get real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Enwritenment Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201335403

Book preview

1

Plummet to the Past

Winston woke to find Shade’s silhouette looming directly over him, unkempt curls of hair dark against an incredibly black and starry sky.

Why are you staring at me? Winston asked. You’re creeping me out.

Because I want to study the clues, Shade muttered with obvious embarrassment.

I thought we were going to sleep.

We did.

So why’d you wake me up?

I was done.

Winston groaned. He remembered closing his eyes after they had taken stock of their food and other belongings. That had been just after sunset, but this looked like the dead of night. They, or at least he, must have been out for a few hours. He felt the vibrating rumble of the cargo ship all about him. They nestled in the cramped protection of a pallet of brown boxes, each stamped with a series of Chinese characters. The boxes formed four encasing walls, right where the boys had placed them before being crane-lifted onto the gigantic ship with its seemingly endless rows of colored steel containers. The ship felt like a filled Tetris screen, with them hidden inside one of the blocks.

Winston caught diesel in the air mixed with cardboard, paint, and rust. Otherwise, the night air was deliciously fresh with a breeze off the Columbia River and pine-covered Cascade Mountains. Of course, that freshness also came with the chill of early fall, and Winston’s still-damp clothes offered little warmth. He wished he’d been able to keep his spare jacket through yesterday’s chaos.

The boys knew they would need a new hiding place before the Hanjin Portland II reached the open ocean. Otherwise, their next stop might well be in East Asia. Also, Winston guessed that the crew wasn’t likely to leave a pallet of cardboard boxes exposed to the open air for much longer, clear skies or not. When dawn came, they needed to have a better plan in place. The last thing they wanted was for the crew to report two stowaways and discover that they were wanted by Homeland Security as nuclear terrorists.

Well, one nuclear terrorist. As far as Winston knew, Shade Tagaloa remained just a missing child with a nationwide Amber Alert posted for him. Either way, they were probably one capture away from disappearing into a prison cell forever and letting the Alpha Machine fall into the hands of people who wanted to go back in time and erase Winston — and who knows what else — from existence.

Considering this sent another wave of anxiety through Winston. It was more than anyone could handle, least of all one fourteen-year-old who’d just learned from his mom that he was the world’s first alien-human hybrid, spawned sixty years ago by time-traveling parents who used a nuclear bomb to destroy research that might hand humanity over into the hands of power-hungry madmen.

Winston shook his head. He couldn’t think about the big picture. Just one thing, one little minute, at a time.

Breathe.

OK, OK. Winston tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. Give me a second to check for email.

Really?

There could be something from your mom.

Obviously your top priority. Shade punched Winston in the shoulder. Do I look that stupid?

Well, it’s pretty dark.

That earned a second punch, harder this time.

Ow!

Shade slumped against their wall of boxes. Fine. See if Alyssa replied. Make it quick.

Winston didn’t need additional urging. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Though it had only been a few days since he’d learned about the gajillions of alien quasi-viruses, or QVs, running around inside him, he felt rather proud of his ability to use these nano-sized things, especially in conjunction with the artifacts he carried. He’d gone from simply having an innate knack with electronics to being able to communicate wirelessly with anything from an elevator to the Internet itself, assuming the receiver in his head could pick up a suitable data signal.

The Hanjin Portland II connected several Wi-Fi access points to the ship’s satellite uplink. The cryptographic engine baked into Winston’s brain had taken about a half second to crack the local router’s encryption. With that done, the router kindly assumed he was a friendly laptop and issued him everything needed to hop on the Internet.

He checked his webmail account, searching through the inevitable fifty or sixty messages from his PC repair clients and social media alerts for anything from Alyssa Bauman.

Sure enough, there was a note from her timestamped a little over an hour ago.

She replied, Winston said quietly.

He heard Shade stir. Well?

Winston hesitated. What if she thought he was insane? What if she laughed at his message and told him never to talk to her again? He wouldn’t be surprised. Wasn’t that how it always went?

He opened the note.

Winston,

Go drop off a bridge.

—A

Winston read it twice to himself. He felt like Brian Steinhoff had just Falcon Punched him in the gut.

Oh, no, he whispered.

What? cried Shade. What’d she say? Is it about my mom?

Winston read the note aloud. He felt sick.

Go drop off a bridge.

Could she get any more angry or dismissive?

She hates me.

Winston expected Shade to deny the idea and talk him out of it. If nothing else, he expected his best friend to try to make him feel better.

Instead, Shade only sat in silence until he finally hummed, Hmmm.

Hm, what?

I mean… Shade gazed up at the stars, searching for insight. It doesn’t make any sense.

Why not? I stood her up, basically told her I wasn’t going to see her, and now she hates me.

Shade sighed. Uh-huh. And back on this planet, you sent a heartfelt note to a girl who likes you. It was obvious — totally Hallmark card obvious — that you like her. You tell her you feel really sorry, but something is wrong. Wrong enough that you can’t tell her what. And then…then she tells you to jump off a bridge? No. I don’t buy it.

Even to Winston’s sleepy, overwrought mind, he had to admit that Shade had a point.

Would your mom have gone to her? Shade asked.

Winston dismissed the idea almost instantly. I doubt it. She’s never met Alyssa and wouldn’t have a reason to—

Both boys froze as voices approached them. A beam of light passed over their heads, making them cringe deeper into their cardboard enclosure.

Mandarin, Shade whispered in Winston’s ear.

Heavy footsteps drew closer. Winston could feel his heart racing and nearly jumped when he saw a dark shape appear over the boxes’ edge. Fortunately, the figure vanished just as quickly. The footsteps receded. Both boys let out huge, quiet sighs of relief.

Winston intended to drop out of his Wi-Fi connection, but he gave his inbox one last refresh, just out of habit.

A new message appeared at the top of the list in bold letters. The sender was D Bledsoe. The subject line read, Your mama.

Winston blew right past the snide joke as he opened the message and gasped.

Shade asked, What? What’s wrong?

Distracted and flush with fear, Winston could only say, Mom.

The message body was filled with a head-to-waist photo of his mom. She appeared to be trying to avoid the camera, but Winston could see the dark circles under her eyes, the clumps of hair that draggled about her cheeks and neck, and the haggard hang of her normally erect posture. Her hands were bound before her in handcuffs. She seemed overwrought and afraid.

Winston found the note under the picture and read it to Shade in a shaky whisper: I have your two parents and you have 24 hours. If I don’t have the Alpha Machine by then you lose a parent. If we make it to 48 hours, I will kill the other one.

Shade took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then said, We already knew he had your dad. From a tactical perspective, I’m not sure this changes anything.

Doesn’t change anything? Dude, he’s got my mom!

I know. But think about it. What are you gonna do? Show up at the FBI’s front door and ask to see her? He almost killed us yesterday, man. I mean, I did die. And he probably killed Agent Smith. You want to go run up against that again, right now?

Winston ground his teeth together in frustration.

Do you? Shade pressed.

No.

Of course not. So, nothing changes. The only way to beat this guy is if we have the Alpha Machine and use it against him. Saving your folks is one of the payoffs, not the main objective.

You’re right, Winston growled. I know you’re right.

Like there was ever a question.

It was Winston’s turn to nail Shade in the shoulder.

Oww, Shade groaned, rubbing the spot. Big, tough alien kid thinks he can go around beating up on innocent earthlings.

Winston ignored the complaint and quietly slid the sandwich bag of pictures from a side pocket in his backpack. First, we need to figure out these clues so we know where to go next. We’ve got a picture of an old boat—

A galley. Maybe a galleon. I’m not sure.

Candles—

Church candles.

And a shoreline with lightning.

Only there was more to the picture than what Winston had seen in his exhaustion earlier. What he had taken for an ocean was, in fact, an undulating sea of trees before which rested a shoreline. And as he peered even closer, he made out an object in the sky. It was black and egg-shaped, easy to miss against the dark sky, and in its center was a red circle with red rays bursting from it.

Winston tapped a fingertip on it pensively.

That’s a Japanese bomb, I think, said Shade. That’s the flag symbol for Japan, right?

Yes! Winston nodded in the darkness, realizing his friend was right. Although I think it might be an older version. What does that mean?

The question hung between them in the darkness.

Do we need to go to Japan? asked Shade. I love ramen.

Stop. We’ve got an old Japanese bomb…a galley…church candles. What connects them?

Did the Japanese have churches on ships?

I have no idea.

Both thought furiously and came up empty-handed.

Me neither, Shade admitted.

They had hit a roadblock. Winston didn’t think it would be their last, but he couldn’t afford to sit there spinning his wheels. If he had only twenty-four hours, he needed to make the best of them.

Reaching into his bag, he felt for Little e, the oddly-shaped, tubular device that could turn special blue marbles into blasts of energy and who-knew-what-else. He’d named it after the energy variable of Einstein’s famous e=mc² equation. Closing his hand around the device’s crosspiece, Winston withdrew the long, slender artifact. Immediately, the device’s six tube tips came to life, bending and groping, obeying Winston’s will. The tips slid across the silver ring and matching metal doughnut also in his bag.

Ugh, muttered Shade. Little Creepy still freaks me out.

Get over it, Winston said. I need to practice with these things if I’m going to use them when the time comes.

Shade gave a quiet snort. When the time comes. Good one.

Winston tried to concentrate. When he’d done this with the chronoviewer and Little e, he’d been able to peek decades into the past, albeit from the same physical place.

After a moment, Winston shook his head. Nothing. Everything seems the same.

Shoot. Shade frowned as he leaned over the artifacts and allowed a small beam from his flashlight to fall on the object. What if you put each piece on a different one of Little e’s arms?

Winston drew both pieces from his bag and tried this. Nothing. He tried holding Little e in one hand and using his other to hold the doughnut’s center over the chronoviewer’s small bulge. Still nothing.

On the point of giving up, Winston used Little e’s flexible metal fingertips to grasp the torus as he pulled the ring over the doughnut. As the torus passed through the circle, Winston felt the pressure in the back of this head expand slightly, like from a slow push on a tire pump.

Wait, he said. There’s something.

Something what? asked Shade.

Winston didn’t answer, but he did increase his physical and mental grip on Little e. As he did so, he felt the ring fight against his other hand, trying to twist and shove. At the same time, Little e’s arms released the silver torus, which remained suspended between them. The ring snapped into position within the bowl formed by Little e’s six outward-swooping arms, and the torus occupied the ring’s center, floating in midair by what appeared to be magnetism.

Something…like that? whispered Shade.

The pressure continued to build within Winston’s head. It ached but not to the point of outright pain.

The torus spun slowly within the circle, both of them tumbling end over end in different orientations. None of the artifacts touched each other, but they all clearly worked together. Already, Winston felt the discomfort in his head easing. This must be how the Alpha Machine was meant to operate, not as he’d used it before in the motel room.

Gradually, Winston saw the world change. The pallets, boxes, Shade, and the ship turned semitransparent. He could see through them into the night and down to the dark river sliding by below. Watching the river was disorienting. If he thought about it one way, he could see the white waves thrown off by the cargo freighter. If Winston shifted his thinking slightly, though, the waves vanished, leaving only the light of stars sparkling on the river’s shifting surface.

I see here, he said. This same place, but I don’t know when. No, wait.

He did know when. Within that zone of pressure in his mind, he felt a spot of stillness, a pale, wispy point set atop the churning shadows of his attention and energy. The more he focused on that point, the more shapes began to form in the lower corner of his vision. Numbers, he realized. Time. It was a date stamp written in pale red outline through which he could still see the world. Above it formed a thin horizontal line with a small ball resting atop it.

He was looking into the past of exactly sixty seconds ago.

Winston knew a timeline scrubber when he saw one. He gave the ball the barest mental nudge to the right. In the space of a heartbeat, the second layer of his vision disappeared and left only the present. He tried pushing the spot to the right again. The ball refused to budge, and the timeline flashed a deeper red. Winston had the impression of pushing against an immovable wall. The future was obviously off-limits. He tugged the time slider, as he thought of it, to the left. Instantly, the second reality before him whipped into a blur of overlapping day and night. Months raced by, then years. The date stamp change from red to green. However, as the distance between present and past increased, Winston felt the pressure in his mind increase. It narrowed and stretched. He couldn’t have described it, but it felt as if the two times rested at opposite ends of a rubber band, and the more he forced the ends apart with the Alpha Machine, the more taut and resisting that pressure became.

Having the past pull against him only made Winston want to see how far he could go. With massive mental strength, could he span millennia? Could he go back to the dinosaurs?

The mental effort required to keep shifting the time slider climbed as the years rushed by. The 1990s flipped into the ‘80s. Winston swallowed and redoubled his efforts.

1977. 1974.

Winston, what do you see? Shade asked.

Nothing…yet.

Outwardly, he saw Little e on his hand, tubes surrounding the chronoviewer ring, torus still spinning within it. Inwardly, he pushed even harder, as if trying to walk into the force of a windstorm.

1972. 1970. 1969.

I want to see how far…I can get, Winston muttered through gritted teeth.

Get where? What are you seeing?

I don’t think I can go much farther.

The continuous blur of light and dark started to separate into instances of day and night.

Winston’s head throbbed as the dull ache tightened into pulsing pain.

Nineteen…sixty…seven, he hissed. Sixty…s—

Hāi! exclaimed a voice directly above the boys. Nǐ shì shuí?

A silhouetted head and shoulders loomed over them. An arm reached over the boxes, and a hand groped toward them.

Winston gasped with surprise and fear. Adrenaline spiked through him. He tightened his hold on Little e, then he saw a brilliant flash of white, as if lightning had suddenly exploded all around him. The pressure in his head burst in an instantaneous clap of agony, then released.

Winston realized he was falling through a rain of sparks. His body tilted forward as air rushed past his face. Looking down, Winston saw the Columbia River rushing up toward him.

2

A Vile Invitation

Devlin Bledsoe studied himself in the bathroom mirror. He had showered and changed, but the bottom of his right eye still bore smears of blood where the vessels had burst hours before. The technology swimming through his veins might allow him to heal quickly, but not quickly enough. He ached everywhere, and his skin still gave off a faint azure cast in many areas, including his neck and jaws. His lower back roared in protest as he tried to lean in closer over the tile counter. Bledsoe winced and gulped, and that hurt even worse. His throat felt as if he’d swallowed lava. He had long assumed he would be impervious against alien energy, since that same energy already boiled inside of him, but the burst from that energy ball the Chase boy set off in his mouth had proven otherwise.

He groaned. This would pass. As soon as he could get a few hours of sleep, he’d be good as new.

Bledsoe ran his fingers through his disheveled black hair. Two-day stubble rasped when he scratched it. The bristles contrasted with his tan skin, giving him an air of hunger and menace, but there was nothing to be done. He wasn’t about to ask the site manager for a spare razor and hear yet again how this is an FBI installation, not the Hilton.

So be it. He sighed and straightened. It wasn’t the clean, powerful look he’d always imagined projecting for this reunion, but details inevitably changed. That was fine so long as the core plan stayed intact.

Was it intact, though? Bledsoe’s old friend and now prisoner Claude had started his son, Winston, off with one Alpha Machine piece, and Bledsoe was fairly sure the kid had escaped from Portland’s drainage tunnels with the second.

Those tunnels. A clever bit of work, Bledsoe thought. You were a crafty old dog in your day, Claude, but now you’re done. No more hiding. No more delays.

Bledsoe had over ten borrowed FBI agents scouring Winston’s trail along the Columbia with the agency’s customized alpha particle scanners. They would find the little sewer rat and his sidekick.

He straightened his tie and found the pressure on his throat uncomfortable and irritating. Angrily, he threw it in the waste bin and put his suit jacket on as he fought down a nervous swallow. Bledsoe scowled at himself in the mirror, knowing he was stalling, then forced his expression into a smile. Loosely speaking, he’d been anticipating this get-together for sixty-five years. He couldn’t go in looking sour or scared. He needed her to respect him. Things would grow from there.

Bledsoe left the men’s room and strode confidently along the dimly lit, granite-gray hall. He pressed his thumb on a sensor pad beside one windowless door. When the door clicked and the sensor flashed green, he turned the handle and entered.

Amanda sat in the interrogation room, wrists cuffed to the tabletop before her, ankles chained to the floor. She looked much as he remembered: auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, high cheekbones framing her large brown eyes, skin white with pink blooms in her cheeks and slender neck. Yes, at some point, she’d had that bookish angle to her nose, almost as if it had been built for reading glasses, filed down. Her chin seemed flatter and less defined. The beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were obviously natural, and those first strands of gray sweeping back from her forehead somehow made her stronger. Even if she didn’t exactly match the memories he’d studied all these years, her beauty still made him swallow, regardless of the ripping pain. The changes of surgery and time detracted from her being the same woman he’d fallen in love with so long ago, but he could always make her change back.

Beneath a thin veneer of control, she looked frightened and vulnerable. That wasn’t the Amanda he remembered, either, but this change he liked better.

Her eyes met his. For the briefest flash, Bledsoe thought he saw recognition and hope dawn in her face, as if she were glad to see him. Then her thin lips pulled into a slight sneer and her head lowered, anticipating some attack.

She obviously hated him, but that could be changed, too.

Hello, Amanda, he said in a low, hoarse rasp. It hurt to talk, but perhaps that would make him sound more gentle and appealing.

Devlin, she replied. What’s wrong? You look a little…blue.

She said the word without a trace of humor.

Bledsoe seated himself in the stainless-steel chair across from her. The metal grated jarringly across the concrete when he moved it. He folded his hands on the table and studied her, wondering if she would blink and break. She refused and waited for him.

Amanda, I want you to know that both Claude and Winston are fine.

Surprise registered in her eyes. She had expected immediate confrontation and demands, not reassurance.

Show me, she said.

Bledsoe nodded toward the long mirror dominating the wall to his right. He knew there was no one in the observation chamber. The recorder linked to the desktop microphone sitting between them was turned off, but she didn’t need to know that.

I would like to. I know they’re both worried about you, but my hands are tied so far. Amanda raised an eyebrow and pulled at her bonds. Ironic, I know. Amanda, my bosses are calling the shots, and they want you three kept separate until they have what they want.

The Alpha Machine, she said. So, you told them what it is? A time machine?

And that was why he had done this with no observers or recording. Go ahead and sing, he thought. Sing as loud as you like.

Of course, he said. I have nothing to hide.

Ha! she laughed scornfully. I really doubt that. Maybe they just don’t know you like I do.

Bledsoe swallowed again, using the pain to help him focus and not rise to her bait.

These people are not stupid, he said. They’re not the over-bloated, blinded, self-righteous generals we worked under after the war. They pressed me when I approached them, and I told them everything so that I would be allowed to have my lab and continue my research — the same research we started and never finished.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed. I don’t know what you could want from me. You have QVs, same as I do. I don’t know where any of the pieces are, which I’m sure you’ll confirm sooner or later. The only reason you could want me here is for leverage over my son. And if that’s your plan, then I’ll promise you this. The chains on her handcuffs clinked and scraped over the table as she bent toward Bledsoe and lowered her voice. I will die before I give you one ounce, one second, the slightest hint of help in manipulating him.

Bledsoe felt the slight stirring of her breath on his hands. It took all of his self-control to focus on her eyes rather than her lips or neck. Still, he knew he would betray himself eventually, so he stared at her long, graceful fingers.

Actually… he began, then paused, as if for shy consideration. I wanted to ask if you would consider assisting in my research.

She leaned back, eyes wide with astonishment. What? Are you insane?

You have years of experience on this project.

I’m a diner waitress, you moron. The last time I studied biology, we were practically using bean plants for genetic research.

Being insulted stung deeply. He had fought too hard for too long to be treated like that. She needed to respect him, just like everyone else. And she would, one way or another.

Keep it together, he thought. Stay in control of things.

Amanda, he said. I pulled the strings to offer you this one and only Get Out of Jail Free card. You could show a little gratitude.

She rocked back in her chair and guffawed at the ceiling, not a quick chuckle for dramatic snark, but a true belly laugh of disbelief. Is everyone getting this? she asked the wall mirror. Devlin Bledsoe, the biggest traitor of my life and a bona fide menace to the safety of this country, wants me to trust him and show gratitude. Her laughter faded, and the grim, low determination came back to her face. I will never trust you, and you will only have my gratitude when my husband, son, and I are somewhere far from here, together and safe forever.

The image she created in his imagination was more than Bledsoe could bear. Like a glass rod flexed to the point when it suddenly snaps and shatters, he leaped from his chair and grabbed Amanda’s arm.

Amanda, he breathed as he pulled her close.

Her lips were only an inch or two from his own, and he ached to feel them. Not yet. If there couldn’t be respect at the beginning, then there would be fear, and there was an art to building fear.

Amanda, Amanda. You will help me. You will. In fact, you will give me everything I ask and more. I hope that’s perfectly clear. You and I have a lot of unfinished business, in the lab and out.

He brought her closer still and brushed his stubble against her cheek.

Where is Winston? she asked.

Bledsoe could smell the sweetness of her shampoo and the sharper bite of fear in her sweat. He didn’t have to tell her a thing, but he opted for the truth. It might hurt more.

He’s out there in the dark. My men are only minutes behind him. He’s running, but he’s tired. Very tired. You should have seen how his eyes bulged when my hands were around his throat.

Amanda shivered against him, but she said quietly, Was that when he did that to your eye and got away?

Bledsoe shoved her hard. Her spine struck the back of her seat, but the ghost of a smile played over her face.

You don’t have him yet, she said. And next time, he’ll be more ready for you.

His hands trembled with rage, and recognizing it filled him with the urge to beat someone, anyone, bloody and unconscious.

I hope so, he said through gritted teeth. Because I want him to put up a good fight before I pin him down in front of you and—

Bledsoe's phone vibrated against his leg, and a moment later the shrill triple-noted chime that meant a call from Management filled the interrogation room. He took a deep breath and withdrew the phone from his pocket.

If you’ll excuse me, he said through bared teeth meant to simulate a smile, I need to take this.

Little pitchers must have big ears, said Amanda.

Darlin’, said Bledsoe as he stood and opened the door. The phone chimed again in his hand. Don’t flatter yourself. The only person around here who cares if you live or die is me. You might want to remember that.

Bledsoe was nearly a dozen steps down the hallway before the heavy door clanged shut behind him. He stopped and took another deep breath, but it didn’t help. Bledsoe struck the wall with the heel of his hand, felt the jarring through his bones and up into his shoulder. He struck the wall again even harder.

The phone chimed once more.

Soon, he breathed. Just take it easy. Play the ball and watch for the opening. Soon.

3

Sunrise and Supervision

Like one of Shade’s infamous lineman tackles, the Columbia River hit Winston’s body with spectacular, bone-jarring force. He only had the last-instant thought to raise his arm so that, when the right side of his body hit, his elbow would break the water’s surface before it could strike his head and drive straight into his eardrum.

The decision probably saved his hearing and possibly his eye. Unfortunately, the movement weakened his grip on Little e, which still held both Alpha Machine pieces. The river ripped the metal out of his stunned fingers. The smooth tubes ran over his fingertips as the pieces sank toward the black depths.

Winston barely registered the icy cold digging beneath his skin and how his body felt it had been broadsided by a car. In fact, he’d heard of people being struck by cars and thrown for fifty feet who got up and walked for quite a distance before the shock of impact caught up to their brains. That must be it. Any second now, his brain would realize he’d been smacked by a tsunami wave, his body would lock up, and he would drown.

Until that happened, though, all he could feel was blind panic, both from his lifelong terror of being submerged and at the Alpha Machine’s sudden loss. Even as his body flailed, Winston caught glimpses of the silvery pieces sinking below him, growing darker and more distant with every racing heartbeat. The torus drifted away from the chronoviewer ring, which slowly tumbled end over end, falling away from Little e now that its tubes had released it and straightened into their regular form.

Winston lunged for them. He kicked his legs, stretched his arms, and tried to dive deeper.

Instinct told him to make a frantic dash for the surface and desperately needed air, but his rational mind kept control. Winston forced himself to stop moving and concentrate. As he had done