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I clamp my own hand over my mouth, watching the woman writhe for several seconds before she stops and her stillness indicates her sudden death. “Oh, my…” A lump rises in my throat, pinning my breath there. “Oh, Ben,” I whisper, my voice tight.

Ben nods solemnly, and I notice he isn’t looking at the screen. “I didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late,” he answers gruffly.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t have stopped all three of them.”

“Impressive.” Lord Bailemore’s voice draws us back to the video. Another wave of nausea rises up in my stomach at his apathetic tone. A woman has just died violently in front of him. “Am I expected to personally force this upon the population of London?”

Gibbons counters with equal disdain in his tone. “No, I’ve drawn up a quite simple plan for you for where you should introduce it into the water supply for maximum effect. It can also be vaporized for ease of deployment.”

I shake my head as the possibilities assault me. Millions of residents of London and eventually England, unsuspecting, as Gibbons uses his elite spy training to wipe as many people out as he can.

“And what do you need from me?” Lord Bailemore asks with slightly more interest. Apparently, mass murder is something he finds enjoyment in.

Gibbons chuckles and holds up something. The camera zooms in again, showing a pixelated image of tiny white pills encased in plastic. “The question is: what do you need from me?”

“Is that the antidote?” Lord Bailemore asks.

“Yes.”

“Can you prove it?”

Gibbons turns to his accomplice, rips off one of the plastic squares, and hands it to him. Dutifully, the man takes it, then opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. The camera zooms in to show the pill quickly dissolving on the accomplice’s tongue, then zooms out as Gibbons hands him the same glass the woman had drunk from, still half full. Without flinching, the accomplice gulps down the entire glass. He turns and looks at Lord Bailemore. I hold my breath, waiting for another violent death, but the accomplice remains untouched by the poison.

“Excellent,” Lord Bailemore says, pleased. “How much?”

“Twenty thousand dollars per pill,” Gibbons announces.

“Absurd!”

Gibbons raises an unconcerned eyebrow. “A pity. I suppose I’ll make this offer to the Germans instead. And after the world has seen this display of power, total control will be swift. I thought from our conversations ten years ago that was one of your goals.”

Heavy silence reigns between the men. Lord Bailemore waits for Gibbons to reduce the price; Gibbons waits for Lord Bailemore to capitulate.

“Done,” Lord Bailemore finally speaks.

“No doubt you have friends in the government who will wish for protection, my lord,” Gibbons says, a leering smile wiping across his expression. “Be careful of whom you extend my saving hand to.”

“I assume you’ve already negotiated with someone to take control of the American government?” Lord Bailemore says resentfully.

“Of course.”

“Very well.” Lord Bailemore spins around, and the camera cuts out.

I turn to Ben, my heart racing. “But when? He could be planning multiple assassinations to take place in a matter of hours, considering his skill. What are we going to do?” Too much to do, too little time. Who would take us seriously? Quint or William might have powerful enough friends to do something, but when they have no idea where Gibbons and Bailemore will strike first, what can we do without causing total panic?

“I intend to lure him here, of course, and send him back to the future before he does a thing,” Ben says.

I scowl, waiting for further explanation, but Ben looks up at Quint. “Have you got enough friends you could call to set a secure guard around your house?”

Quint leans back, surprised. “What for?”

“Because I have these.” Ben pulls a package from his jacket and reveals a thick plastic package full of tiny white pills.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Trying to sleep seems pointless. Every sound makes me sure that any moment Gibbons will burst through my door. He shot me once to keep me quiet and tried to silence me at the department store. He watched a woman die at his feet without so much as a flinch. I shudder to even consider meeting him again. For once, I try to keep my mind on my feelings for Ben and Quint.

I give up on sleep near midnight and flip on the lamp near my bed. Wrapping my dressing gown around me, I leave my room and pad to the hallway. The lights are on, low but still dimly reflected in the mirrors lining the walls. I don’t know which is which or what order he placed them in. That’s a good thing. Part of me is tempted to find the one from the fall of 1928 and save Quint ten years of heartache. I stop in front of one and stare at it. Wonder at how much he believed in me still warms me, despite the tension and frustration of the past few days.