ONE IF BY LAND, TWO IF BY SUBMARINE

CHAPTER 8

Sudden stillness. Kep didn't know how long he waited to hear a sound. He'd lost all sense of time. Had he been in that seat for minutes? Hours?

No lights glowed on the control panel. Gloom blanketed the entire transport until a few backup lights blinked on overhead. He instinctively touched the sheath strapped to his leg and glanced to check on his brother. 

Beside him, Max gave a weak smile. Kep twisted toward Tela and T.J. 

"Whoa!" T.J. blew out a deep breath. "Talk about a G-force ride. Bullet trains have got nothing on this thing!" He started unclicking his restraints. 

"Didn't Annie say to wait for an all clear signal?" asked Tela in a shaky voice.

"I don't think any signals are working," Max ran his fingers across the unlit controls. "Maybe something short-circuited." 

Kep unhooked his restraints and cautiously stood. "Like we ran out of gas? What if we're not at the competition site yet?"

 "My guess is we're there. No one's going to pay overtime to all the extras they had to hire for a big Boston scene." T.J. bounded out of his seat. "Where're the instructions?"

Kep exhaled in relief. Now they'd get the specifics on exactly how to recreate Revere's ride.

Tela tugged the case from under her seat, pulled out a paper, moved under one of the few overhead lights, and began reading, "If you're reading this, you've survived the journey and are beginning your mission. The future of our country, indeed, the future of the world, is in your hands."

"Melodrama." T.J. rolled his eyes. "Saved a few bucks hiring some hack writer."

"With chicken scratch handwriting." Tela squinted at the paper and kept reading. "If all has gone as planned, you have traveled back in time to April 18, 1775—"

Max made a choking sound. His eyes shot wide as softballs.

 Tela glanced at him in surprise and Kep's throat went dry. Don't be stupid. Easter Bunny fake, remember?

"Show time!" T.J. snatched the paper from Tela. "I'll read. You guys look shocked. Check out Max. He's got it."

T.J. cleared his throat. "Before I read, I'd remind you, my teammates, my fellow Americans, that as we face down the British, the most powerful army on Earth, we must all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately."

"Ben Franklin," said Max in a weak voice. "He said that, about the hanging, just before signing the Declaration of Independence."

T.J. shrugged. "Not like it's copyrighted." 

He started reading in a low, deep voice. "There is a plot to undo the American Revolution. Paul Revere and William Dawes have been cap- tured or killed by a man named Fox. You must complete their midnight ride—details are below. Get to Boston immediately. The enclosed map and several hundred in eighteenth-century British pounds, shillings, and pence will aid you. The final paper is the ten digit code for your return transport. There are three critical elements to this mission. First, you must tell no one you are from the future. Dangerous people may be waiting for you. Second, make no reference to inventions or knowledge unknown in 1775. To do so would make you easy to identify and disturb time lines. Finally, you must return to this capsule within twenty-four hours. Your bodies' break- down reactions to time travel—" T.J. stopped reading.

"Breakdown reactions?" Max repeated in a high-pitched voice as T.J. flipped the paper over.

"And?" Kep barely restrained himself from grabbing the paper.