Yankees 2103 part 3
on 7/16/2003 (2)
An anxious hour passed as the 747 sat alone on the tarmac. At last, a motorized docking vehicle trundled to the front hatch of the plane, and smoothly locked in place. The door opened, and a group of three armed, blue suited men entered.
"Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Robert Hernandez, I'm an agent with the FBI. We know who you are. We did a detailed analysis of your plane. Welcome home."
The three men stepped gingerly into the plane, an astonished look on their faces as they eyed the Yankees, the flight attendants and the interior of the fuselage. The whole plane was quiet.
"Please stay in your seats. We need to confer with the Air Force. We will return shortly, and take you to a hotel. Please be patient."
Relief pitcher Mariano Rivera jumped forward wildly, barely restrained by his teammates:
"Estimado Dios! lo que acontece!"
A sudden cacophony of voices burst forth, seemingly every team member and flight attendant shouting at once.
Joe Torre shot from his seat.
"What the hell do you mean, "welcome home"?! We want to know what's going on, and where the hell are we!"
Hernandez waved his hand, motioning everyone to sit down, at the same time reaching inside his vest at a hidden pistol.
"We need to interview the pilot and navigator. Everyone will be filled in after we sort things out. Now sit back down!"
Jeter eyed the lakefront nervously from his seat. Giant hovercraft roared back and forth across the lake, their passengers and crew clearly visible in the rising morning sun. He estimated at least a thousand people on board, maybe more.
The three men entered the cockpit and closed the door behind them.
"Captain Berry, I presume?"
Berry mustered a cautious handshake.
"Where are we?"
"You're in Cleveland, captain. We have detailed knowledge of who you are, and when you left Detroit on September 2, 2003. You are United Airlines flight 6389, chartered to shuttle the New York Yankees to Cleveland. Well, here you are but you might say you arrived a little late."
Berry looked over the towering buildings on the lakefront, and the massive, low profile freighters, barley visible above the waterline, dashing at enormous speeds across the silvery surface of lake Erie.
"How late? What has happened? We hit that vortex, and something strange happened. If this is Cleveland, it's not the Cleveland we're familiar with."
Berry slowly rose from his seat
"W-what year is this?"
Hernandez paused, producing a small portable computer from his pocket.
Several moments passed as Berry and Steele allowed the notion to sink in.
Hernandez typed in a few commands on the computer's keypad, and a holograph of a swirling vortex appeared a few inches above the horizontal screen.
Cleary startled, navigator Steele murmured in a barely audible voice:
"Thats it! That's the thing we ran into to, w-what?"
Hernandez flipped a few keys and a schematic diagram of the vortex popped up.
"This is what you ran into, real monster, huh? It's a wormhole. I'm not a physicist, but the way it was explained to me; these things open up on certain date and time, and under certain conditions. We think that as the earth revolves around the sun, it passes through an area of instability in the space-time fabric. The colliding storm fronts you ran into over central Ohio just happened to coincide with the correct time and date, and, for 20 minutes or so, the energy released by the storm created the necessary conditions for the wormhole to open up. We've traced this freak event back in history. The last time was the same date and time in 1925."
Steele and Berry looked at each other blankly, as the reality of their situation became clear. Their wives, families, friend
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