A Collision In Time

The important thing to know about an assassination or an attempted assassination is not who fired the shot, but who paid for the bullet.

– Eric Ambler

June 28, 1914, 6:05 a.m., Sarajevo, Austro-Hungarian Empire

“Now what?” Dov opened her eyes, frustrated.

Ariel spread the curtains and early morning daylight flowed in. “Did you sleep well?”

Dov yawned. “Would you mind keeping those closed?”

Ariel ignored her, sliding the window up to allow fresh air to swirl into the stale room. “I apologize for waking you up, but there are some new developments you should be aware of.”

“Go on.” Dov fluffed her pillow and leaned back.

“This morning the algorithm detected some unusual patterns; we may have found the time anomaly.”

Dov leaned forward, any lingering sleep gone. “Okay?”

“There are unusual deviations from our historical records. As we collect data around Sarajevo, we compare it to events from our archives, and if those are inconsistent, the algorithms flag it.”

“Must they involve Misko?”

“No, not necessarily. We are looking for anything at all that seems inconsistent. The fact that we have cameras all over the city helps us with data collection.”

“Okay, so what did you flag?”

“It’s a historical deviation. Unusual activity at the Sarajevo train station. The scale and level of participation by police, dignitaries and other officials, combined with uncharacteristic preparations at city hall, indicate an event with potential historical impact. The fact that our historical archives do not mention events concerning Sarajevo on June 28th indicated a potential point of deviation from our historical timeline.”

Dov eased out of bed and sat on the edge, drawing the duvet cover around her. “But Ariel, not everything is recorded. Throughout history, every day a politician will deliver a speech, open a school, or announce a new program at city hall without it being captured in the historical record. Especially in this day and age, where nothing is recorded digitally.”

“I’d normally agree with you, Dov, but we are now within the event window of when the first time disturbance occurs. Of course there is the possibility that this may be a coincidence, but the algorithm’s findings are significant enough to raise concern. We should investigate. This may be indicative of the anomaly we reported on back home.”

Dov sighed. “Give me a few minutes to get ready. I’ll be curious to see whether Misko is involved or not.”

Uriel left Dov’s room, and she hurried to prepare.

6:20 a.m.

Ariel and Uriel joined Dov in her room to plan. Dov fidgeted with the holodevice, calibrating it. She gestured and a grid of videos materialized: crowds of police and soldiers congregating at the train station, carpenters constructing a podium at city hall, and large numbers of street cleaners.

Dov shook her head. “I’m nervous, I have to admit. This looks significant.”

“Agreed,” said Ariel. “What makes you nervous?”

“Think about it, Ariel. If a time wave disturbance is about to happen soon, as the evidence makes it seem, it forces our hand. We will have to act on something. Like what?” Dov felt tension knotting her shoulders. “I am a scientist, Ariel. I study phenomena, I don’t cause them.” She gestured to the screen and watched the video showing the train station. Crowds had gathered. “We are three small actors in a play of hundreds. What could we possibly do to prevent this?”

A memory of Elder Brumion flashed through her mind. She recalled his words: “You are someone who forms, not just informs. You shape events.”

But how? Dov felt her jaw tighten .

Uriel interrupted her thoughts as he tapped the screen. “Ah look, our friend.” Misko was walking in the town center. “Dov, we have the advantage; we have access to information that Misko doesn’t. We act, adapt, then redo, learn, and react. Destiny is ours to manipulate.”

“How do we know that?” asked Dov. “We may be wrong. Perhaps Misko doesn’t cause something to happen; instead perhaps he prevents something from happening. Who’s to say we shouldn’t let him act freely?”

“Whatever he does or doesn’t do, we will be forward-looking and extrapolate in real-time to determine if his actions may cause a time shift,” Ariel replied. “Our algos will assist. I updated them to calculate a level of confidence which will be communicated to you as needed.”

“That makes me uncomfortable,” said Dov. “I would prefer you double-check—” A soft chime interrupted her. “What’s that?” Dov looked around, panic surging.

“This morning I configured a remote alarm to activate when new data becomes available,” Ariel explained, his tone soothing. “It’s analyzed by the biocomputers on Pachamama for accuracy. This will guide us as we decide on our next course of action. Also, I made sure that the alarm sound can only be heard by the three of us. I modified the subvocalization routine.”

“Hand me the device.”

Uriel and Ariel waited for Dov to read the new information.

“Is the connection speed to Pachamama fast enough to analyze and recalculate?”

“Indeed, near-instantaneous,” said Ariel.

“Alright, here we go.” Dov pointed at the holographic image. “This must be why it chimed. The nanocams detected Misko. We should—” Another chime interrupted.

Uriel investigated the source. “Ah, new information. There is a 93 percent chance that the anomaly involves a visit by Archduke Franz Ferdinand.”

Dov held up her hands. “One step at a time, please. I can’t process this instantly, as you both can.” Dov took a deep breath.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Dov waited. Ariel and Uriel processed the new data as the algorithms narrowed in on possible movements and decision points.

Dov stood and walked over to look out the window. She watched two children walking to school in their uniforms. “I don’t know what we should do. It’s overwhelming.”

Dov found it difficult to disconnect herself from the gravity of the situation; she knew that they were approaching the point where their decisions had the potential to alter history. The choices they were making had no precedent, with implications ranging from trivial to apocalyptic. There was a good reason that historians were bound by rules when they time-traveled. She could not shake the feeling they were making a mistake.

Another chime sounded. Dov shook her head and waited for Uriel to read the new data.

“Some potentially good news,” Uriel said. “The time-wave disturbance has settled. Perhaps Misko altered his approach. Nevertheless, the disturbance is in flux; there is a lot of variability and chaotic behavior.”

“That’s good. But again, what should I do?” Dov sighed. “I’m sorry; I’m used to the pace of a university, nothing like this.”

“I recommend a cautious investigative approach,” said Uriel. “The nanocams show Misko walking along the Appel Quay, on the avenue beside the Miljacka River. Start at that location. Go meet him, and I promise we will communicate with you regularly. You can arrive in under five minutes. Find out what he is thinking.”

Before sunrise

Misko had not slept that night. He had not even tried to. He tossed and turned, unable to stop his mind from wrestling with who to please, whose words to listen to, and what course of action to take. He reviewed the subtle threats and rewards offered by both Modi and Karima.

At 2:15 a.m. Misko got out of bed and began to pack his suitcase. He would walk to the train station and leave, ignoring the pleas and threats of Modi and Karima.

Half an hour later, the suitcase half packed, he returned to bed. Bosnia required his allegiance and the archduke must pay the price.

By 4:25 a.m., his mind half asleep, Misko placed his Bible on his chest. Murder is a sin. the decision is a simple one. He would not leave his apartment that day.

But as the sky lightened he rose and packed his black duffel bag with five .380 caliber revolvers and three handheld bombs. They were to be delivered to Danilo at 6:45 a.m. He was indeed a loyal soldier.

Misko checked the time on the grandfather clock. He relaxed, pulled a chair from the table, and sat down. He closed his eyes, finding comfort in the regular motion of the pendulum. In the chair, he rocked to the rhythm of the clock, two strokes each time the wooden front legs tapped the floor. He stopped rocking, the chair balanced on the back two legs where he froze, scenarios circulating in his mind. Slowly the chair rested again.

What a good idea.

Misko opened the duffel bag and delicately removed one of the bombs. He examined the timing device. If he changed the duration of time before the bomb exploded, this would sabotage the effort to assassinate the archduke. It would still appear to Modi that he acted to fulfill his end of the bargain—after all, how would Modi know that he’d tampered with the bomb? At the same time he would oblige Karima in her plea to change the outcome of the planned event.

His mind jumped. He was sure that Danilo would double-check the weapons, so the effort would likely not be effective anyway. Misko put the bombs back in the bag and lifted it onto his shoulder. And hesitated again.

Changing his mind, he put the bag back on the floor and took out the three bombs. He slowly and carefully lengthened the fuse of each bomb a few millimeters to increase the time to detonation. This might provide enough time for the archduke to move safely away, thus saving his life.

Finally, Misko put the bombs back into the bag one at a time, then checked his watch. He put on his jacket, straightened his vest, and fitted his cap. Lifting the bag once more onto his shoulder, Misko left his apartment for his rendezvous with a new lightness to his step.

7:05 a.m.

The brisk walk toward the Miljacka River helped Dov reset her mood. She felt encouraged by the news that the time-wave disturbance had shifted. It was an open question whether the shift was in their favor or not, but at least their actions had made a potentially positive difference. It meant they could still influence the outcome. It meant their actions mattered. It was also good to be doing something, anything, rather than just thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

Dov scanned the streets and smiled at people as they hurried about their morning. She reminded herself to enjoy the architecture and the history despite the predicaments. Reaching the river, she stopped, unsure how to proceed. As time dragged on she began to grow worried, with Misko nowhere in sight.

“Fuck,” she whispered out of character. Her patience ran out. “Do you see Misko?” she subvocalized.

Ariel replied, “I was just about to call. We spotted Misko transferring a duffel bag on the Cumurija Bridge. The algorithm identified that person to be Danilo, a colleague. Misko is headed toward you. You will certainly meet. Head toward the bridge.”

“Send me a photo of Danilo please.” Dov walked as she was on her morning stroll to appear unhurried. She avoided teams of workers who prepared for the archduke’s reception; street cleaners with brooms and buckets of water, garbage men, and important officials who assembled barricades along the street. Sarajevo Police arrived to establish physical controls in the event of street protests or signs of unrest. She smiled at the officers, who smiled back, quite unconcerned with her presence.

Dov noticed two police officers a block away who seemed to be very interested in her. She relaxed her posture, focused straight ahead, and strolled as naturally and relaxed as possible. She glanced at the two officers, then smiled, relieved. Uriel and Ariel had imitated the local police, with uniforms.

“Clever,” Dov subvocalized. “Are those holographic or did you steal—?”

“Don’t ask,” interjected Uriel, in his Sherlock Holmes accent. “You should keep walking.”

Dov continued to stride purposefully. A sweet smell stopped her. Like a magnet, the sights and scents of a chocolate shop pulled her toward it. Displayed in the windows were cakes of all sizes, fruit pies, baking and other unknown sweets. A mother who had brought her children inside pointed at small chocolates with swirls of orange, white, and red icing. A man behind the counter winked at her and waved, beckoning Dov to enter. Dov surrendered and began to enter the establishment.

“Karima,” a man shouted, disrupting the pleasant distraction. “Karima,” the man said again a few seconds later.

Dov sensed someone near her.

“Karima, wait,”

Dov finally remembered the name reference. She turned her head to see who called her and saw Misko approaching.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember your real name,” Misko said, out of breath.

“Dov, but don’t worry, it was I who misled you.”

“Ah yes, Dov. No matter. How are you?”

“I’m very tired,” she admitted, but needing urgent information from him, she added, “Tell me, what’s happening, Misko?”

Misko did not reply. He flinched and ignored the question. “May I see you tonight, for dinner?”

Dov ignored his question in turn. “Misko, did you honor the promise you made to me?”

“Everything will be fine. I must leave, but let me see you tonight and I will explain.” Misko began walking. “Tonight at seven, at the same café where we met.”

Misko had moved too far away for Dov to respond.

“That was a short visit,” Uriel said. “It sounds encouraging—”

A notification chime interrupted Uriel. They waited until Ariel interpreted the meaning of the new information.

“Something is happening,” said Ariel. “Six vehicles have arrived at the train station with a large security detail. I launched a nano-drone overhead to track the envoy. If I notice anything—”

“Wait, I think I see Danilo,” Dov said. “He’s with Misko. I’m going to head over there.”

“Be careful, Dov,” Uriel said. “There are weapons in three of the men’s overcoats.”

Over the next hour, little happened. Danilo, his men, and Misko stayed close together, like a pack of wolves waiting for their prey to make the first move. Dov remained close to Misko and made eye contact with him more than a few times. It will keep him honest, she reasoned.

An alert notified Dov that the vehicle procession had left the train station and was following the parade route. It was nearing Dov’s location. Danilo’s men relocated, spacing themselves along two blocks of the procession route. Misko also moved to a new position.

Uriel continued to monitor the six vehicles from the nano-drone. He subvocalized on its progress. The convoy would intersect Danilo’s men in minutes.

“What do you think?” Dov said to Uriel while she maintained a vigil on Misko.

Ariel answered. “Uriel and I will stand close by the three armed men and make our presence known. Stay near Misko. There are six cars en route, and the archduke is in the open car.”

Dov focused on the approaching cars. She could sense the crowd beside her straining to see the car’s occupants as they neared. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Misko’s expression tightening. He stared intently at the man nearest to Uriel.

“Uriel,” Dov subvocalized, “pay attention to the man with the beard beside you.”

As the bearded man reached into his overcoat, Uriel calmly placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man glanced back at Uriel, noted the policeman’s uniform he was wearing, and froze. He stood and grimly watched the motorcars pass by.

A second man along the route drew Dov’s attention. He had keenly watched the interaction between Uriel and his comrade and now stood motionless as the motorcade approached.

Dov subvocalized, “I think what we’re doing is working. We are disrupting their plan.” Dov looked at Misko and watched his expression change. “Wait, Misko is staring at that third man you mentioned.”

Then abruptly Misko shouted, “No Nedeljko, no!”

* * *

Nedeljko ignored him. Body tense with hostile anger, Nedeljko reached inside the pocket of his overcoat.

The archduke’s car was just seconds away from Nedeljko. The first car in the motorcade passed, followed seconds later by the second car. Nedeljko focused on the archduke and his wife the duchess in the backseat of the open convertible. She smiled and waved at a group of children.

Nedeljko pulled the bomb, a crude hand grenade, from his pocket as the archduke’s car neared him. He pulled the pin and started counting. Four one-thousand…three one-thousand…

He threw the bomb. It arced above the car.

* * *

The appearance of a flying object drew Misko’s attention. The apple-sized item arced over the street and started its drop toward the motorcar. Misko counted silently.

It took a few more tenths of a second for Dov to register and understand what was transpiring. As comprehension came, she screamed a warning.

Time slowed. The bomb bounced from the folded back of the archduke’s convertible and rolled under the motorcar behind it.

Nedeljko pulled back, confused, and yelled something indeterminable.

Seconds later, with a deafening roar and searing heat, the bomb finally exploded, propelling stone, debris, and glass into the crowd. People screamed and panicked, running haphazardly away from the crater in the road and the damaged car, now consumed in flames.

Individuals picked themselves up, many cut and bruised by flying glass and debris. The children who minutes earlier had handed out flowers to symbolize peace and goodwill huddled together in shock and tears, fortunately with only with minor injuries.

Nedeljko hovered, defeated. Bystanders yelled at him and a number of them ran toward him. A heavyset man swung his arm toward Nedeljko but he twisted away from the man’s punch and ran toward the river, three men in pursuit.

Dov pivoted to observe the retreating motorcade as the archduke and his wife looked back, panic on their faces. Their car sped from the scene, taking the royal couple out of danger and out of sight.

Like an anthill that had been poked by a stick, the street teamed with nervous energy. A group of policemen forced Nedeljko out of the shallow river. A group of nuns and policemen tended the wounded and the shocked. The final two cars in the motorcade came to a stop and the occupants rushed to those in the destroyed fourth car. An official scrambled over the wreckage and pulled a bloody piece of paper from a briefcase, then passed it to a man in the last car in the motorcade. The automobile raced forward in pursuit of the first three cars, still headed toward city hall.

Dov searched the crowds, located Misko, and made eye contact. She nodded toward him, then pointed toward the chocolate shop.

* * *

Dov and Misko sat together on the curb, each holding a bowl of ice cream. The rich, unique flavor offered Dov a few minutes of pleasant distraction. Nearby, the owner offered chocolate desserts to the wounded.

She touched Misko’s arm. “Thanks, Misko. You sabotaged the bombs?”

“Yes, in a way. I changed the fuse from the original setting that we planned. It confused Nedeljko’s count.”

“Well, thank you again.”

Misko halted and glanced down the street. He fidgeted with his hands.

“Are you distracted?” asked Dov.

“Yes,” he replied, but said nothing else.

They sat in silence.

* * *

Uriel and Ariel snuck away and huddled together in an alley to assess whether the failed bombing had impacted the time-wave disturbance. They studied the data as the time-wave information refreshed.

“Dov?” Uriel subvocalized. “I am afraid this isn’t finished.”

“One second,” Dov rose and took a few steps away to casually look around, to avoid catching Misko’s attention. “Sorry, I needed to get away from Misko. What did you find?”

“The first problem: the disturbance occurred outside of the physical probability boundary outlined in the original reporting. We were nowhere near Schiller’s Deli. This is an oversight that I missed when we decided to follow Danilo and Misko rather than referencing the location in that report.”

“What reference? I have no idea what you mean.”

“The place mentioned in the original anomaly report.”

“Slow down, please.”

“Sorry. The explosion that happened was 260 meters away from Schiller’s Deli, and our calculations place that outside the location of the anomaly. But more importantly, the time disturbance did not disappear. This means events are still to unfold.”

“But didn’t history already change today? Nowhere in our historical timeline did anyone attempt to bomb the archduke, at least that I’m aware of.”

“Yes indeed, the history post-1914 did change from our perspective, and further, it smooths out by our time at Pachamama. We detected minor population differences and shifts in the political map of Europe and the Arab world. But listen, Dov, there is a time shift, but not a time disturbance. Time is still fluid and remains fragile based on what still might happen today.”

“So you’re saying significant disturbances should still happen?”

“Yes, that’s essentially right. And it may be catastrophic.”

“This is awful,” said Dov. “Okay, I’d better get back to Misko. This might explain his confusing demeanor.”

“We will meet you shortly, near Schiller’s,” said Ariel. “Incidentally, the archduke is giving a speech now at city hall, and he appears shaken up. Also please ask Misko about the tall man driving the first car. He matched the sketch provided to us by Boris.”

“See you in a few minutes. Please hurry.” Dov turned back toward Misko, but he had disappeared.

10:45 a.m.

Dov met Uriel and Ariel in front of Schiller’s Deli on Franz Joseph Street. Had Schiller’s not had a large sign, the salty fragrance of prepared meat surrounding the deli assured them they had arrived at the right place. Dov’s stomach grumbled. Other than the small portion of chocolate ice cream, she had not bothered to eat yet today.

“Uriel, what are we looking for?” Dov asked. The two AIs now both wore more typical urban Bosnian attire.

“Anything suspicious,” Uriel answered in the London Sherlock Holmes accent he’d adopted. “Something out of place, if I might say.” He grinned awkwardly.

Dov smiled, appreciative of his sense of humor even as stress grabbed her. “Thanks, but that wasn’t useful. Listen, I’m going to run in and grab a snack. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Dov entered the deli to see two men queuing in front of her. The deli counter displayed an assortment of sandwiches with small placards identifying them as Italian, French, and Austrian style. The first man in the queue received his order and left. The man in front of Dov turned around and said in Bosnian, “Miss, I haven’t decided what I want. Why don’t you go ahead of me?”

Dov froze, then quickly recovered. “Thank you, sir.” She addressed the server behind the counter. “Whatever you recommend.”

The server gave her a French-style sandwich. Dov paid for it, then hurried to exit. She subvocalized, “One of Danilo’s comrades is here. It may be a coincidence, but likely not.”

“Are you sure?” asked Uriel when she joined him and Ariel outside.

“Go inside and take a look, why don’t you?”

Ariel nodded and had pivoted to enter the deli when the chime sounded. He stopped and analyzed the incoming data. “The archduke is leaving city hall. He is in the same car as before, with the top down. He remains a trigger point.”

“I hope he doesn’t come anywhere near us,” whispered Dov.

“They are moving fast,” Ariel said, digesting the image data flowing from the nanocams. “Sorry to disappoint, Dov, but they are moving down the Appel Quay straight toward us. Again they move in a convoy of vehicles.”

“Again, hopefully, they pass right by,” Dov said, determined to get closure.

A nearby voice interrupted Dov. “Are you tourists?” It was the man from the deli. He spoke in between bites of his sandwich. “I am sorry about the reception that Sarajevo offered you.”

“I am not sure who that is, Dov,” Ariel subvocalized, keeping his expression neutral, “but indeed I recognize his face.”

The man with the sandwich winked at Dov. “You are all very silent. Do your friends speak Bosnian?” He waited for Dov’s response.

Dov broke the silence. “Yes. Sorry for our rudeness. We had a busy day, and the terrible bombing this morning…”

“Yes, that was unfortunate. A rude introduction. Again, on behalf of the beautiful city of Sarajevo, I apologize. My name is Princip—Gavrilo Princip. Nice to meet you.”

Screeching tires interrupted Gavrilo’s introduction. The first car in the motorcade turned from the Appel Quay and accelerated toward them. Despite the velocity of the car, Dov made eye contact with the driver as he zipped by. It was Misko’s tall friend. His eyes looked frenzied. He turned his head as he passed her. Dov thought he acknowledged her.

She pointed at the front car. “That’s the man in the sketch. What is he doing—”

Again their conversation was cut short by a second car, also hurtling toward them. It accelerated and raced past.

Misko? Ariel mouthed as he drove by. Then he said aloud, “Misko is driving the car.”

Dov yelled, “Misko?” at the auto that rushed beyond.

Gavrilo studied Dov and Ariel. His expression changed. He paled and backed away from the deli, creating distance for himself.

The sound of screeching tires came again. A third car turned and sped toward them. It was the open car of the archduke and the duchess and it stopped quite suddenly in front of them.

Time stopped.

A shot rang out. A loud, terrifying bang, from seemingly nowhere.

Gavrilo held a pistol, a .38 caliber Belgium-made Model 1910. He’d shot the archduke in the neck. Blood oozed from his wound.

Bang! Another shot.

Gavrilo’s bullet hit the duchess. Blood streamed from her stomach. The archduke, still aware, cried out and shifted to assist his wife, even as streams of red soaked his clothes.

Uriel lunged and grabbed Gavrilo, wrestling with him as other men ran from the deli and scrambled to help subdue Gavrilo. Nearby, bystanders struggled to support the wounded archduke and duchess.

Dov remained frozen. Ariel’s voice broke the spell. “Uriel, STOP.” He turned and grabbed Dov’s arm. “Dov, run. NOW. To our hotel, NOW.”

Uriel understood. Before Dov’s brain could register what she needed to do, she ran in full flight between Ariel and Uriel. Dov didn’t understand why but realized it was immediately urgent that she follow as fast as she could. She glanced her behind and caught sight of Misko and his tall friend walking toward the murder scene.

Her feet glided over the street as she ran. Buildings whipped past. They arrived at the hotel and flew upstairs to their room. Ariel swung open the door and immediately accessed the equipment. He got to work, saying, “It’s not too late.”

Meanwhile, Uriel packed their belongings. “Dov, arrange your things and come back to this room.” The London accent had disappeared. He sounded more panicked than she had ever heard. Somewhere in Uriel’s network, an urgency algorithm had triggered.

Ariel continued to work with his equipment, his hands moving rapidly. “Six minutes, Dov,” he added, “and then you need to be back here.”

“What is happening?” Dov cried, tears flowing from her eyes. “I need to understand.”

Ariel paused. He spoke in a calm voice. “Dov, the assassination of the archduke triggered a major time disturbance, as predicted. But worse, we lost full communication with the Pachamama signals. The only way that’s possible is for Pachamama itself to be compromised, or more likely, for Pachamama to no longer be as we knew it.” He paused briefly so she could digest his words.

“So we must escape immediately. I calculated that we can use the energy in the residual time-wave to make our next jump, but that opportunity is fast fading. We cannot think about returning home as there may not be a home to go to. However, we can jump in five minutes and thirty-five seconds to our next destination, which is still intact. So run, get what you need, and come back. Go now, and hurry.”

Five minutes and twenty seconds later, Dov, Uriel, and Ariel disappeared from their hotel and left no trace behind.