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1
a
maniac
scattering
!
!
a novel by david wilcock
Ever wanted to turn the clock back?
Re-unite with a lost partner.
Recapture that exquisite first love.
Or watch history unfold at first hand.
How about the Future?
Want to know what’s round the corner?
Next week; next century; next millenium.
Or watch your lonely planet’s death throes.
Well now you can.
Past or Future.
On demand.
Because we’ve found out how to ask.
But so has someone else.
And they don’t give a shit.
Big Bang or Final Countdown.
Now, what was it you wanted to see?
‘And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.’
Tennyson
2
!
Prologue
Nine thirty in the morning, June 3rd 2015 and a high sun softened tarmac in a deserted
riverside car park in Sisteron; alongside the powerful rushing waters of the nearby
Durance, the air was much cooler.
A man and a woman sat, a couple of metres apart, on a cast concrete bench just a few
feet from the river. The woman clothed in black from head to foot, hunched forward, her
face hidden beneath a thick black scarf. Beside her, dressed in travel wear, olive
skinned with lying eyes, the man relaxed casually into the bench’s harsh contours. He
spoke in soft, reedy tones, menacing above the Durance’s dull rumble.
“ It’s Time. We must have your answer now. Please choose wisely.”
The woman remained silent.
“ There can be no more delays.”
As he spoke, Olive Skin slid a plain brown A5 envelope along the bench.
The woman reached out hesitantly, fingers reluctant to touch the package, and fumbled
it open; a faded black and white photo dropped silently onto the bench. Despite it’s
age, the monochrome clearly revealed a man, tanned and handsome with blonde hair,
stood amongst coils of rope at the foot of a limestone cliff, shining like bleached bones
beneath the Provencal sun.
“ Bastard. How easily you must take to evil,” the woman hissed.
Olive Skin smiled.
“ An answer.”
“ I’ll give you the initial code string now. Your grand design must come later.”
Olive Skin smiled again...
“ Be sure it will.” ... and was gone.
3
!
A Maniac Scattering
!
On a satisfyingly hot June 4th, Summer finally crowded the promenade at Westmouth.
Tourists ambled in family groups, ate candy-floss and ice cream and sat in deck chairs
facing out across the bay. A brass band played seaside tunes and a soft, warm sea
breeze set flags snapping and carried the siren scents of summer along the
promenade. It was one of those peaceful, old-fashioned sort of days when Time stood
still.
Victoria Bryant was tired. Five year olds are apt to be tired, even on holiday. So she
lagged behind, little by little, until her mother, father and two brothers were almost fifty
yards ahead. Too busy on a summer’s day, talking, holidaying, to notice a little girl
lagging far behind. So when Vicky saw the ship, they never heard her excited cries.
!
A quarter of a mile away in a scruffy dilapidated concrete shelter, Waldo and Thumper
were getting high. Waldo was dressed for summer, neat in riggies and cut-off T-shirt.
Beside him Thumper lay naked beneath a donkey jacket.
After a breakfast of Kestrel Super strong lager, Waldo and Thumper had moved on to
glue and by now were both well out of it; a tin of tile adhesive in a plastic bag lay
discarded beneath the bench.
Thumper was crying. She always did after glue. Waldo could barely see. Unknown to
his mate he’d hit some moggies, scored in the arse end of a pier end rave, two nights
earlier. So when the ship appeared in the bay he had to rely on Thumper for the finer
details; distinguishing one blur from another had become difficult.
4
“ Jesus Christ. D’you see that. Waldo...wake up for fucks sake. Bastard, what’ve you
been on. Look you numb cunt.”
Waldo stirred, struggling upright. Gagged as a thin stream of snot ran into the corner of
his mouth. The voice seemed so far away it was easier to drift on, he slumped back.
“ Waldo...there’s a ship. Look, you useless fucker.”
It was true. A full rigged galleon cut gently through the placid waters of the bay, less
than a quarter of a mile from shore. Waldo forced his eyes open, unsticking the gummy
lids bit by bit. Thumper stared in fascination as the big ship slowed to a halt. A flurry of
activity at the bow and it dropped anchor, the dull boom as the rust encrusted iron hit
the water just carrying ashore.
Waldo had both eyes free; saw, far away a blur that must be the ship Thumper had
been on about.
“ Nice ship Thumper...fucking good boat.”
It was his last speech.
!
Back down the promenade, Vicky Bryant stared entranced at the galleon. It was
something she wanted to share.
“ Mummy...Daddy...look, look...big boat. Look...”
The lack of immediate response stopped Vicky short. She looked round, fear beginning
to take hold. Suddenly in the midst of all these people, she was very alone. All around,
adults that weren’t her parents stared out at the ship.
!
On board HMS Victory, Admiral Nelson gave the order to open fire. It was well
received. His crew, tired of facing the French fleet of the Nile, were ready for action.
Hearts of oak shook to the cannons roar; from a hundred parched throats a mighty
5
huzzah rang skywards as the demon French were engaged. In the midst of the first
crushing broadside, one of the most famous ships in history disappeared as suddenly
as it had arrived.
!
Onshore there had been little time to discuss the apparition. Advertising seemed the
most likely force behind the ship’s appearance but before an agent could be found for
the hard sell, the first two cannonballs landed.
Alone in the shelter, Thumper freaked out; with the cannon fire, fear swamped her
initial curiosity. Beside her Waldo drooled and twitched in his sleep. Scared shitless,
Thumper turned on him...
“ You useless fucker. Fucking wake up or I’ll kill you...”
She got no further. Less than twenty yards from the shelter, a two hundred year old
anachronism exploded with devastating effect. A four inch shard of the cannonball’s
casing neatly sliced the top off Waldo’s skull, killing him instantly. Dead to the world, he
felt no pain as the ancient metal despatched him from it.
Close by, Thumper stared in disbelief. Paralysed with fright, unable even to scream as
Waldo’s blood and brain splattered over her milky skin. There was little time to ponder.
A second fragment of old iron ripped through her midriff, scattering internal organs
before emerging from her back and embedding itself in the shelter wall.
Despite the carnage inside her abdomen, none of the wounds was immediately fatal.
Shielded from the devastation by shock, Thumper looked down in hot shame as she
lost control of her bladder: cried bitter tears seeing urine flood from between her legs.
Her life re-wound back to childhood, fast and out of control.
6
Floating on the edge of unconsciousness, terrified of great and inevitable pain,
Thumper prayed to a god she hadn’t used for many years. Committing finally what her
village priest would have seen as the ultimate sin, she begged for death.
!
Everyone on the promenade agreed the galleon was incredibly realistic, the cannon’s
roar startled young and old alike. On the verge of tears, Vicky hunted desperately for
her family through the forest of adults. At the moment she saw her parents burrowing
through the crowds towards her, the second cannonball exploded against the sea wall.
Metal shards and broken paving cut through crowded holidaymakers, tearing flesh and
breaking bones at random.
A crescent of old iron carved away the left side of June Bryant’s head and face. She
ran on, dying, heedless, before collapsing at her daughter’s feet, a mess of blood and
shattered tissue. Close behind, Gareth Bryant’s horror had barely registered when part
of a promenade railing sliced into his groin, destroying the femoral artery. With fast
weakening fingers he clutched feebly at the blood jetting from the gaping wound in his
upper thigh, blood slicking the promenade as he crawled towards his dead wife.
Staring down at her mother, Vicky tried to scream as carnage erupted around her.
!
Seventy miles away across the Irish Sea, the same sun beating down on the bloodied
mess on Westmouth promenade gently softened tarmac on the Isle of Man’s main
roads. It was the last day of the TT races. In packed grandstands alongside the
GlenCrutchery Road, thousands of fans sat gripped in anticipation as the Senior TT
entered it’s closing stages.
In the Grandstand area spectators cupped hands to their ears to catch the progress
reports broadcast by Manx Radio. The race leader Rob McAllen, a local privateer, was
7
approaching the Grandstand about to start his final thirty-seven and three-quarter mile
lap.
Rob sat up behind the screen of the ex-works Honda RC45, his back a solid sheet of
pain. Forearms pumped from the hundred and ninety mile an hour charge over the
mountain, he wrestled the big Honda through the complex series of bends from
Signpost Corner to Governor’s Bridge.
Turning onto the GlenCrutchery Road, he felt the rear tyre creep as he powered on.
There would be no pit stop. His last card showed a twelve second lead over Jamie
Seward on the works Kawasaki. It would take more than that to change wheels.
Dropping back behind the screen, Rob revved the Honda hard for the one hundred and
forty mile an hour plunge down Bray Hill. As he approached the Grandstand, the crowd
rose to it’s feet.
Without warning a vintage sidecar outfit appeared in the centre of the road, travelling in
the opposite direction. Inexorably sidecar and Honda closed at over two hundred miles
an hour.
McAllen looked up and knew instantly that he was dead. There was nowhere for the
Honda to go. It was his last lap. Vainly he wrenched the RC45 towards the right hand
wall.
As quickly as it appeared the sidecar vanished, but it was too late. McAllen hit the
boundary wall at over a ton. The Honda exploded and a tortured scream rose from the
fans. McAllen’s momentum took him through the screen, which neatly sliced his head
off. Still in it’s helmet, the head bounced off the wall, rolled across the road and came
to rest in front of the Grandstand. The screaming stopped.
!
8
Next day, summer foundered over the North York Moors’ implacable heights. Along the
A169 Whitby to Pickering road, drifts of hail filled in the dykes and peat hags. On
Fylingdales Moor a vast man-made pyramid thrust upwards into the cloud base. Inside
the edifice a nations eyes and ears kept watch with inhuman persistence. It contained
the Ministry of Defence’s Ballistic Missile Early Warning System ( BMEWS ). Deep
below the surface of the moor, two men argued.
One, young, fair-haired, deep-set blue eyes, lounged in a battered office chair. Wearing
a dark blue Crombie double-breasted suit; he sat back, feet clad in Crockett and Jones
loafers, propped up on his desk. A second man paced about the room. Long brown hair
fell constantly forward over his face; he wore denims, jeans and shirt, and a leather
jacket, soft with age. He was a Ministry man, the first a scientist. Their discussion,
intense, was as yet without acrimony.
Leather jacket stopped in front of the desk, held out his arms, hands palm uppermost,
in a gesture of entreaty.
“ Ciaran you’ve got to open up. We must have something to go on. I can’t hold this
down much longer. Every news desk can lad in the country thinks he’s discovered his
own personal Watergate. If I can’t give GHQ a way to defuse this, they’re going to
come in here and take the place apart until they find one. And that, my friend, would
fuck this lot up good and proper. For Christ’s sake, loosen up.”
Ciaran Ward pulled a silver hip flask from the breast pocket of the Crombie. Offered it
without speaking to Nick Beresford, who stood, arms folded, waiting.
“ Take a drink Nick; it’s Laphroaig, you’ll like it.”
Despite himself, Nick took the flask and drank. The friendship cup made no difference.
Anger broke into the confines of the bunker.
9
“ Don’t piss about Ciaran. I meant what I said. If I’ve to leave here with nothing, not
even a good lie, you’ll be tunnelling out with your bare hands screaming for air before
the week’s out. And stop looking so bloody smug.”
Ciaran nodded slightly. Took a drink from the flask, stoppered it, leaving it between
them on the battered surface of the desk.
“ What if we’d not been friends Nick. Who’d have come then?”
Nick considered the lie; decided against it.
“ The same. Me first...I am Head Field Officer for this area you know. Afterwards,
well...like I said, that would depend on your degree of co-operation.”
Again the almost imperceptible head movement. Suddenly Ciaran swung his legs off
the desk and came upright, very businesslike.
“ How many reports.”
Nick was taken aback, the sudden change of pace unnerving.
“ Two so far. Why, what difference does it make?”
“ You’ll see. Any personal damage? Injuries, that sort of thing.?”
Nick frowned, reached down for the whisky.
“ You bastards. You’ve been expecting this haven’t you. Just what mindless little games
have you been playing down here?”
“ Oh, anything but mindless mate, believe me. You were about to tell me about
personal damage.”
“ Five fatalities. Thirty five injured, one seriously.”
Ciaran retrieved the flask, slipped it back into his suit. Reaching down he opened a
bottom drawer, took out a full bottle of Laphroaig and two glasses, placing them on the
desk-top.
“ Sit down. We need to talk.”
10
Uninvited, Beresford poured malt into the glasses, pulled a second chair over and sat
down.
“ What’s gone wrong Ciaran. Tell me what’s gone wrong. And no flannel; remember we
studied together. If you can do it, I can understand it.”
Half the whisky in Ward’s glass disappeared before he spoke.
“ You know what we do here.”
It was a statement. Air conditioning hummed in the background.
“ Of course. Temporal research.”
“ Meaning?”
“Well, er...investigation into Time. Details have always been fairly sketchy. No
accountability, no
results to produce. You can’t really blame others for being
suspicious, or hostile for that matter. Every other department has had to go to the far
end of a fart just to get a sniff at funding. Yours has been dished up without so much as
a yearly report.”
“ Mmm. Didn’t realise we were so well liked. Maybe it’s time to update you.
Firstly we’re important. Just how important will become clear later. As you probably
know the Joint Institute for Temporal Studies (JITS), was formed six years ago. It’s
name intentionally suggestive enough for most people not to question exactly what it
was doing. Which was just as well. Until eighteen months ago neither the software, nor
the hardware was available to successfully pursue our objectives. With it’s availability
progress has been rapid.”
Beresford refilled the glasses.
“You mean the Institute did nothing for over four years and still received funding.”
“Correct. Difficult to believe isn’t it. And what you may also find hard to take is the fact
that identical organisations exist in France, Russia and America.”
11
“ I’m not sure I want to hear any more.”
“You no longer have a choice. Since you were keen enough to force my hand, you
already know too much.”
“ So what can I report back. I’ve got to give them something.”
“ Sorry Nick, zilch. You’re not going back.”
Beresford drank with great deliberation, eyes cold across the rim of the glass
“That’s crazy Ciaran, you can’t keep me here against my will. I can’t just disappear, this
is an official visit. Save it for the movies. I’m going back.”
“ Believe me Nick,” Ciaran shook his head sadly, cascading the blond locks over his
forehead, “when you’ve listened to me you won’t want to go back.”
“ What makes you so sure?”
“ We’ve known each other a long time Nick. Through better days than these, in all that
time you never struck me as the destructive type.”
“ Make sense Ciaran, I’m tired of the intro. Let’s have some fucking details. What is
going on.”
“ OK. These ’reports’. Know what they are, what they represent?”
“ Well, not exactly. We know what has, or is supposed to have happened...information
hasn’t always been that reliable. But not how, or why. And we’ve had a hard time
keeping the press at arms length.”
“ Right. I’ll try and be brief. What the country has experienced is a series of ‘Temporal
Incursions’, TIs for short. In all the cases so far...”
“ Hang about Ciaran; explain TI. Keep the jargon to a minimum and I’ll follow the logic.
No bullshit, OK.”
Ward drank whisky before continuing rapidly.
12
“ TIs occur when events, past, present or future, become relocated in time and/or
space. In all cases so far, precedent TIs have occurred, which were dislocated in space
also. First let’s clarify your perception of Time.
I would imagine that, like most people, even scientists surprisingly, your concept of
Time isn’t much more sophisticated than an old man with a long grey beard and a
scythe. Old Father Time. An endless stream, flowing in one direction only. Stretching
infinitely into past and future. Close?”
“ Actually, I hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought, but I suppose that’s not far
off. Isn’t it accurate?”
Ciaran ran his hands through his hair and laughed, a peculiar sad chuckle, hollow and
desperate in the bunkers isolation.
“ Well, I guess it’s fine for greetings cards and cartoons, but it doesn’t bear much
resemblance to the real thing. This is going to come as a shock, Nick, but Time is big
business.”
“ Make sense Ciaran, I can still get up and walk out you know.”
“ Bear with me, you won’t regret it. First of all, forget Times ever flowing stream:
moments past, gone forever; the future unattainable, all that nonsense.
Imagine, instead, a library. Vast beyond our wildest dreams. Labyrinthine in it’s
complexity. Infinite in capacity. But without books. Instead, a repository for events.
Recorded, catalogued and stored. Second by second, hour by hour, year by year. From
the smallest sub-atomic interaction to changes in the cosmos. The entire history of the
Universe, there for the asking. And that’s the problem Nick. We’ve found out how to
ask.”
Ward broke off, reached for the Laphroaig and Beresford wondered.
“ It’s different Ciaran. A sort of Time Incorporated. Fine, but who runs it. God?”
13
Ward ignored the sarcasm.
“ No, no. You’re missing the point Nick. We’re not talking about a creator. No, what
we’re dealing with is a Librarian. And a very special one at that.”
“ Fine. Look Ciaran, to be honest I’m running out of patience. I’ve been straight with
you and I didn’t expect some half-cocked sci-fi story in return. If you can’t, or won’t
help, I’m leaving. You can’t stop me. But understand this, my report will recommend
you be relieved of your position. Busted. I don’t know what’s happened here, but
you’ve flipped. You need help. One way or the other I’m going to see you get it.”
Again Ward gave a slight nod, sighed quietly.
“ I didn’t want to have to do this Nick. Know what day it is?”
“ Of course; 5th June. Why?”
“ Where are Stephanie and the children?”
“ At the air display, RAF Leeming. I’m picking them up later, when I’m through here.
What do you know Ciaran, don’t fuck me about.”
“ Believe me Nick, I didn’t want to do this. You made me. Remember that.”
Ward thumbed a remote control. Away in one corner of the room a television crackled
into life. He looked at his watch.
“ Watch the television Nick.”
!
!
Chapter 2
!
Beresford dismissed the questions flooding his thoughts and turned to the set. Despite
the malt whisky, a screw tightened in his stomach. He said nothing to Ciaran.
14
The annual air display at RAF Leeming was one of the premier events in the service’s
social calendar. Beresford had been under pressure for two years now from his rapidly
growing twins, Nathan and Sally, to take them to the show. This year he’d finally
considered they were old enough and the assignment with Ciaran had come as a bitter
disappointment. It left his wife, Stephanie, to accompany the twins and bear the brunt
of their spiralling excitement.
The display had reached it’s mid-point. Above the sun-patched fields of the Vale of
York, eight Apache helicopters treated the crowd to a heart stopping show of high-tech
chopper aerobatics. Misshapen and ugly, one of the world’s most effective killing
machines bucked and weaved over the spectators. Few of it’s victims could ever have
appreciated the Apache’s dazzling virtuosity.
Still the two men remained silent. The flight had split. Parting with thunderous, beating
power, high over the base. Returning, levelled out, just two hundred feet up, four
abreast from either end of the runway. The commentator’s slightly languid tones
tightened with excitement as the killing machines rushed towards each other.
Beresford felt sweat, icy, fear ridden, ripple down his back. In a dry mouth his swollen
tongue stuck. Ward, silent, stared at the television in dreadful fascination.
Closing at more than three hundred miles an hour, the Apaches were less than quarter
of a mile apart, poised, ready for the pass. Without warning, impossibly, an aircraft
appeared flying at right angles to the runway. Out of clear skies, the Tupolev Tu 141
supersonic airliner bisected the approaching lines of helicopters, pulled maximum
power on all engines and climbed away over the grandstand. Two seconds later it had
vanished completely.
It was too late. Flying at Apache One, left of pole, Sven-Marc Petersen, fastest hands
in the flight, reacted instinctively. There was no time for anything more than a fractional
15
correction, but it was enough. Apache One crossed rotors with Apache Leader.
Tragedy exploded at the air base as instability replaced precision in the flight.
Apaches Seven and Two, the wing-men escaped. The remaining six Apaches were
engulfed as they came together in front of the grandstand. Both men heard the first,
agonised screams begin to rise before the screen went blank.
!
Beneath Fylingdales Moor, far from the carnage at RAF Leeming, violence flared,
sharp and bitter, pungent in the dull, soulless atmosphere of the bunker.
As the screen darkened Nick Beresford turned and leapt at his friend’s throat. Ward
remained
motionless, slumped in the flimsy chair, making no attempt to defend
himself. Beresford’s momentum carried them crashing to the floor, scattering papers,
glasses and fine malt in the meleé. Still Ciaran made no move to resist. Beresford
tightened his grip round the scientist’s neck, staring deep into lifeless eyes. Between
them sweat’s rank scent mingled with the whisky fumes. Ward spoke, a dry, rasping
whisper. Forcing his words out between clenched teeth.
“ They’re all right. Nick. Relax. Stephanie, the twins. OK.”
Eyes blazing Beresford screamed abruptly, venting his desperation.
“ Bastaaaard.!”
Ward yelled back, lips inches from the other mans face. Struggling to override the
shock.
“ Nick. Fuck you. Relax. They’re OK. Damn you , let go.”
Beresford released him. Came slowly, unsteadily,
to his feet. Head shaking in
disbelief.
“ What do you mean ’they’re OK’. Just what the fuck do you mean Ciaran. Be quick, I
can start again.”
16
Ward looked up, loosened the over tightened
knot in his tie, clearing his bruised
throat.
“ Hmm...hmm. They weren’t there. Before you ask, I had them stopped at the gate.
They never saw the show.”
Fury remained, undispersed, crackling in the air.
“ Where?”
“ They’re safe. We’re holding them at Police Headquarters in Middlesborough. The
Police think it’s a security job. Once they’ve heard about that,” he nodded towards the
television, “ someone may start to add things up. We need them away from there as
soon as possible. I’d like you to arrange for their collection. The Police won’t question
your authority. We have to move fast now.”
“ Explanations Ciaran...”
“ Can wait. I can’t tell you how difficult things are.”
One question begged for an answer.
“ How did you know?”
Ward, recognising the inevitability of the question was, at last, relieved. Reaching into
the Crombie’s inside pocket, he pulled out a single sheet of folded computer print.
Handed it to Beresford, eyes averted.
“ Read this. We’ve had it for three days now.”
Beresford opened the paper, devouring the faint print hungrily at first, then more
slowly. Around him the room seemed to melt away as he read on. On the flimsy paper
a calendar unfolded before him...
..... 4/6/05 Westmouth
..... 4/6/05 Isle of Man
18th Century Warship
Spatio-Temporal Occlusion
......5/6/05 RAF Leeming Paris Air Show interface.......
17
.......the list continued, Beresford had stopped reading.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned to Ward.
“ Be careful Ciaran, be very careful, but tell me where this came from.”
“ We were sent it.” He inclined his head towards the IBM mainframe, humming
opaquely behind the desk.
“ By who, Ciaran. Who sent it?”
Beresford was working very hard; control barely keeping the ragged edge out of his
voice.
“ Remember what we talked about earlier, Time and it’s properties. Well......”
“ Don’t mess about Ciaran. I warned you. Who sent the goddamn thing?”
Ward, white faced, voice still brittle, took a deep breath, exhaling slowly... .
“ The Librarian, Nick. The Librarian sent it.”
Without a word, Beresford picked up the phone.
Nick’s call reached Police Headquarters in
Inspector
Middlesborough just in time. Chief
Kenneth Priest was in the middle of deflecting another of Stephanie
Beresford’s persistent enquiries, when the phone rang. Stealing the show, it’s harsh
tones shattered the stuffy silence of the Inspector’s office.
Stephanie forgot herself, reaching for the receiver. Smiled in confusion, withdrew her
hand, fielding the twins who had both dived for the phone. Priest grinned, dismissing
the apology before it formed. The call was brief, though it seemed agonisingly long to
Stephanie, desperate for news of her husband. From the look on Priest’s face she
knew it wasn’t bad news, nevertheless her heart raced as she waited for him to speak.
For once the twins managed to remain silent.
18
“ Message from Mr Beresford ma’am. He’s unavoidably detained on Ministry business.
Arrangements have been made for you to meet him at the Mallyann Spout Hotel,
Goathland. We’re to take you there ma’am. If you’re ready....”
Priest extended his arm towards the door, but Stephanie Beresford was not so easily
fobbed off.
“ Message, Inspector Priest? Message. Exactly who was that on the phone just now.?”
“ I think ma’am it might be better if......”
“ If that was my husband, Inspector, and you didn’t let me speak to him......”
Stephanie’s voice rose as the implied threat sank in, but Ken Priest was equal to the
task. He nodded in the twins direction, eyebrows slightly raised. Nathan and Sally
were, for once, attentive, gazing at the adults as they recognised the signs of an
argument breaking out.
“ Perhaps Mr Beresford will be able to explain more clearly ma’am. I’m sure he had his
reasons. Would you like to come this way. You’ll be well served at the Mallyann Spout;
Goathland’s such a pretty place this time of year.”
Later, as the police car hurried along the
A171 across the moors to Whitby,
Stephanie’s fear broke. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she realised how frightened
she’d been. She turned her face to the window, staring out of the car at the bleak
moorland flashing by. Her tears went unnoticed. The twins were far too busy playing
cops and robbers; a ride in a real police car was not to be wasted.
!
A shaft of sunlight pierced dark, rolling clouds smothering the moors around Goathland.
Spilling across the village green, glistening on damp grass, it flashed from the
mullioned windows of the
Mallyann Spout Hotel. A beautiful village, in the midst of
bleak, uncompromising moorland, Goathland had a special place in Stephanie’s heart.
19
Twelve years ago, after a walk down to the waterfall, Nick had proposed to her in the
hotel lounge.
As the police car crunched to a halt in the car park, Stephanie saw Nick framed in the
hotel’s doorway.
“ Mum...mum...there’s Dad. Are we stopping here. Is it a holiday. ?”
Sally had more interest in the significance of the Mallyann Spout than her brother,
whose immediate concern was the police car’s performance.
“ Is that the fastest it will go ?”
Stephanie knew instinctively something was very wrong.
“ Sally, Nathan...wait here a minute...”
“ But Mum...”
“...but nothing. Wait here.”
It was an order, and the twins obeyed reluctantly.
Stephanie walked up the steps as nonchalantly as she could, fighting for control. As
they met, Nick reached out and took her in his arms. They clung together, Stephanie
shocked by the fierceness of his embrace. Without a word, Nick turned and led her into
the hotel, stopping in a deserted corner of the lounge bar. For a few moments, neither
could speak.
“ Nick...oh for god’s sake Nick, what’s happening ? What’s wrong ?”
Beresford ran his hand through her hair, gently cupping the nape of her neck.
“ My darling Steph...I don’t have much time. Something’s happened; I can’t tell you
what, not yet. We’re not even sure ourselves. But the Service needs me. I’ve been with
Ciaran most of the day.”
At the mention of their best man, Stephanie frowned; she’d never seen eye to eye with
the scientist.
20
“ What do you mean Nick, why can’t you tell me. ?”
Beresford massaged his temples, easing the tension.
“ You must trust me Steph...I’ve got a couple of minutes, no more. Now listen, I want
you to take the twins and stay at Ugthorpe House. Alice and John will look after all
three of you. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. But don’t move from there. Keep the
twins out of school, it won’t matter for a couple of weeks. And don’t worry.”
Stephanie sensed a third person in the bar.
“ Nick I can’t...tell me...just bloody well tell me...”
As her voice rose in frustration, Ciaran Ward stepped out of the shadows.
“ Nick. We’ve got to go. Now.”
Beresford rounded on the scientist...
“ For Christ’s sake Ciaran, can’t you...”
“ Now, Nick. Please. I’m sorry Stephanie. He’ll be alright.”
Beresford took his wife into his arms, holding her desperately.
“ I love you Steph. Don’t ever forget that. I love you . Take care of the twins.”
He kissed her once, fiercely, then broke away. Before she could speak he was gone.
Stephanie had barely time to straighten her face, before Inspector Priest escorted the
twins into the lounge.
“ Everything alright mam ?”
It was the best he could do. Ken Priest sensed the beginning of a disaster.
!
“ Ciaran...I need to tell you something.”
Beresford’s first words since leaving Goathland shocked Ward, gently breaking the
festering silence in the car. They had returned to Fylingdales.
21
“ Nick, don’t punish yourself. Stephanie and the twins will be OK. There’s so much
we’ve got to talk about.”
Ward skilfully spun the Saab 95 through the main gates, waving nonchalantly at
security. As they plunged down a ramp into the underground park, Nick Beresford
spoke again.
“ I’ll say this once Ciaran. Just once. And it stands. Afterwards, yes...we’ll talk. And I’ll
help...as much as I can. For now, I’m with you. But if this goes wrong, if any harm
comes to Steph, or the kids, for whatever reason...” Beresford turned, eyes cold, grim
faced, “I’ll kill you. That’s all. I’ll kill you.”
Emotionless, Ward parked the car. Both men got out, facing each other across the
Saab’s roof.
“ Nick, we are friends. You know that. Hate me now, all you want, but I need your help.
And believe me, if this does ’go wrong’, you won’t need to kill me.”
With a huge effort, Beresford slammed the door on family thoughts.
“ Where now Ciaran ? Back to the bunker? More computer games?”
Ward lifted two cases from the Saab’s boot.
“Follow me Nick. Our position’s compromised here. We’re going to Gruinard. JITS has
an extended research facility there. A few days ago, I took the liberty of inviting some
JITS colleagues. Let’s hope they all made it.”
Beresford raised eyebrows.
“ Anthrax island. Cute cover. But why there.”
Ward hustled him down a dank corridor leading from the car park.
“ Later Nick. I promise. Everything, later.”
!
22
Bob Tucker crept low through the dense heather fringing the MOD boundary fence, in
his pack two fine cock pheasants ’liberated’ from the Newton House plantation. It
wasn’t his preferred route home, but there were police about, and Bob was
uncomfortably well known. Legs tired from dragging through the heather, he stopped
for a breather. The hip flask was quick to his lips, raw spirit snatching his breath.
Suddenly, he heard thunder; a persistent beating roar. Around him, peat and heather
shook. Bob readied himself for flight. Without warning, a few yards inboard of the
boundary fence, a section of the moor slid back. Seconds later, a Sea King helicopter
rose savagely into the late afternoon sky, heading away north.
!
!
Chapter 3
!
Catherine Lebrun, Head of Research JITS France, leant forward, elbows resting on her
dressing table and looked deep into the mirror. Piercing violet eyes gazed steadily back
at her.
At fifty five, her face retained much of it’s youth. But there were signs, extra lines, a
touch of puffiness, that she was losing the battle against time; thick hair cascaded
across her forehead, slashed here and there with streaks of grey.
Time, her obsession and consort for many years, granted no favours. She must act
now, before it was too late.
A rectangular pewter frame stood left of the dressing table mirror; in it’s fading photo
Catherine held the hand of a young girl, her daughter Dominique; a jagged tear edged
the picture next to Catherine’s opposite hand.
23
An oval silver picture frame lay right of the mirror. It’s picture showed an athletic, blond
haired man, early forties, sitting surrounded by climbing gear at the foot of a limestone
crag. Blue eyes shone from the tanned face. Catherine reached out, fingertips tracing
the features of her dead husband.
“ Soon, my darling.”
The phone rang, sudden and brutal in the silence of Catherine’s Grenoble apartment.
Her hands shook slightly, as she lifted the receiver.
“ Lebrun.”
“ Catherine, it’s Ciaran. We need you. Now.”
“ Where ?”
“ Gruinard. Fly to Glasgow. You’ll be met and brought on by helicopter.”
“ Anyone else.”
“Trip Coffin from the States, oh and Yevgeni Berzins from Russia. I’ve got Nick
Beresford here too.”
Catherine was cautious.
“ Why, he’s not with the Institute.”
“ No. He’s Army. Sooner or later we’re going to need them Catherine. How soon can
you leave ?”
“ One hour.”
“ Good. We’ve got a big problem. See you soon.”
’ Yes’ thought Catherine ’ I do believe you have.’
Before she left the apartment, Catherine sent an encrypted e-mail to a Hotmail address
and phoned her daughter, Dominique, at her home in Provence.
Forty minutes later she was on the A48, half way to Lyon airport.
!
24
Far away, beneath mountains rising southwards from the Mediterranean, two men
discussed futures; they spoke in French. Olive Skin turned to his stocky enforcer.
“ Has she provided the next sequence of figures. ?”
“ No. She refuses to supply the necessary information to initiate the next stage, until
she is absolutely certain that what she desires is possible.”
“ And is it ?”
An uncomfortable silence echoed round the tiled room.
“ It may be. No-one is sure.”
It was some time before Olive Skin spoke. When he did, there was no doubting the
menace in his tones.
“ You must understand...we cannot permit the outcome to rest in the hands of a
woman. Quite unthinkable.”
“ No sir.”
“ Can none of your men make further progress. ?”
“ Regrettably no. She has been a leader in her field for many years. And she has
access to some of the finest minds and equipment in the Western world. We must take
what she is prepared to give. But she is desperate. I am confident she will continue to
co-operate.”
“ Let us hope so. I doubt our generous investors will remain patient for much longer. In
the meantime, perhaps another demonstration is called for. See to it immediately.”
“Yes sir.”
“ If that doesn’t persuade her, then we’ll take the woman and whatever lies inside her
head.”
!
25
Late in the evening of June 5th, Nick Beresford and Ciaran Ward stood at the entrance
of the JITS compound on Gruinard, the anthrax island. To the north, beyond the rocky
specks of Priest Island and Eilean Dubh, past the Summer Isles, Northern Lights
cascaded in pyrotechnic display across the night sky. It was an unusually active
display.
“ Beginning or end Ciaran ? Are we meddling with something we can’t control ?”
Ward shook his head, reluctant to drag his eyes away from the Aurora Borealis.
“ Nick, believe me, we have...we had control. Our situation has changed. Something
has cropped up. We don’t as yet, know what. Call it...Factor X. It’s an unknown. But we
can, we will solve the problem. Trust me.”
Nick shook his head sadly.
“ You really don’t understand, do you. You just can’t see the monumental conceit of it
all. Are scientists all the bloody same ?”
Beresford’s voice rose with anger.
“ I mean, from the little I know, we’re dealing here with something that at best might
mean death and suffering for God knows how many people. And worst case?
Wholesale destruction of the planet. Who knows? And to you, stuck in your ivory tower
with your head up your arse...it’s just another fucking problem!! Well...I’m...”
Ward spoke, softly.
“ Nick, we’re all scared. But being scared won’t get us out of this. Using our brains just
might. Wait till we talk to the others tomorrow. We’ll go into more detail then. It won’t
seem as bad. Come on, I need a drink. We’ve got Laphroaig here too.”
Turning their backs on the cosmos, the two men re-entered the compound.
!
26
!
!
!
!
Chapter 4
!
June 6th dawned hot. In Sennen Cove, just north of Land’s End, the day began very
slowly; here the sea lay passive, lapping sluggishly against the coastline. The previous
day, Sennen had hosted the British National Surf Championships. A stiff breeze and
good tides gave excellent surf. Excellent surf meant a good competition. Good
competition meant a fantastic party, and Sennen partied until the sun rose. It woke with
a collective hangover.
Rick Gordon stood on the doorstep of the bunkhouse opposite the Old Success Inn
and felt ill. Third place in the Championship had exceeded his wildest hopes and he’d
celebrated accordingly. Upstairs, a girl, blonde, blue eyed and tanned, still slept in his
bed. Turned down by the winner, she’d settled for third place too. They’d fucked to a
standstill; Rick hadn’t noticed the needle marks on her ankles till daylight. Looking out
at the ocean, he felt dirty.
Scrambling unsteadily down the gully by the Coastguard station, Rick emerged onto a
rock platform below the Hayloft, and sat down, legs dangling in the sea. Though only
mid-morning, hot sun burned his back and neck. He’d never seen such a flat calm sea;
normally he’d have been furious, anxious to surf, but today...he splashed water on his
face, decided to swim.
27
Like most surfers, Rick was an accomplished swimmer, completely at home in the
water. After a few minutes, floating near the platform, he turned over and began a
powerful, methodical crawl out to sea.
Soon his hangover vanished, smoothed away by the warm crystal waters. Occasionally
he dived, spending a few magic moments beneath the surface. On one dive he was
joined by two seals, inquisitive and playful, pleased to find this curious angular
mammal under the sea.
Eventually he tired, turning on his back again to rest before the swim back. As he lay
motionless in the flat calm, a faint vibration began to ripple the surface. It grew until, for
a few seconds, the whole sea around him shook and rippled. It stopped suddenly; Rick
trod water and looked around. A boat perhaps ? There was nothing in sight.
Unconcerned, he headed for the shore.
The competition, partying and frantic sex had tired him more than he realised. Less
than half way back, he rested again, treading water, legs kicking gently beneath him.
Away to his right, he saw a young cormorant bobbing on the surface. Suddenly, in a
flurry of splashing feathers, it vanished. Rick assumed it was one of the seals, after all,
they had to eat. He leant into the water and continued home.
With less than thirty yards to the platform, a jarring impact knocked him sideways in the
water. Ridiculous, surely the seal wouldn’t attack humans. He kicked hard, but there
was no response. He tried again, nothing. Fear knotted in his stomach. He took a deep
breath, submerging his head. Dark clouds billowed out behind him, his right leg was
missing from above the knee. Far below a massive undulating shadow moved towards
him. On a bright hot morning in June, tears welling, Rick Gordon swam for his life.
28
Ten yards from the shore the plesiosaurus hit him again. This time it’s jaws closed
across his chest, crushing, mangling. Rick died instantly, first human victim of the most
successful marine dinosaur of the Triassic era.
!
Sacha McNeish looked out across Manchester from the Piccadilly penthouse suite of
the Northern Press Association; at ten thirty in the morning it felt hot, despite the air
conditioning. Away in the distance, heat haze blurred the city’s edges as it stretched
out towards the coastal plain. Sacha’s anger erupted.
“ For Christ’s sake Alan you bastard, let me have it. Whilst the big boys are brown
nosing the Government I can give you this on a plate.”
Alan Topalian, head of Northern PA, sat back in his chair running fingers through thick
curled brown hair, lit a Sullivan Powell cigarette and blew smoke towards the window.
He waited till Sacha was about to explode again.
“ Sacha, my Sacha, so strong, so much anger...for a woman. Tell me, what have we
got, what have you got that’s so good. All I hear is gossip. Need much more than fairy
tales to stick my neck out on this one, believe me. Every major editor and press agency
in the country has been warned off. Now why do you think that is? What does it tell
us?”
Sacha turned from the window, spoke slowly, disliking Topalian intensely.
“ You’re going soft Alan, how much more do you need. Six dead at Westmouth from an
eighteenth century cannon; one dead at the TT, avoiding a phantom sidecar; thirteen
killed and over a hundred injured at Leeming and you don’t want to know?”
She cupped her hand at crutch level.
“ Someone got your balls Alan?”
Topalian seemed to ignore the taunt.
29
“ Everything works just fine, Sacha. But all we’ve really got is another dead biker on the
Isle of Man, an unexploded bomb going off at a third rate seaside resort and some
Yankee fly boys cocking up their dance routine. That’s what we’ve got. Officially.”
Sacha stared at the agency man, searching for a hint, found nothing behind the deep
brown eyes. Waited.
“ They must want to keep this very quiet if you won’t run the story Alan. Think they can
cover up an air show disaster in front of cameras?”
“ Sacha, Sacha, there’s no evidence; all the cameras were focussed on our American
top gun boys. Not even a blip on the radar. They will hold it down. For now.”
“ So where does that leave you when the lid comes off, which it will. Playing catch up
behind the majors. Get real Alan, do you really think everybody else will just let it go
like that?”
Topalian blew out smoke, Sacha almost gagged on the bitter stink of Turkish tobacco.
“What do you know about Gruinard?”
Sacha smiled, shook her head. Topalian kicked away from his desk, stood up.
“ Get out; do it. If it goes wrong, I’ve never seen you before.”
Sacha brushed her fingers across his cheek on her way to the door.
“ Alan, you won’t regret this, it’ll be good for both of us.”
Topalian waited for a few moments until Sacha had cleared the door, then picked up
the phone and dialled a London number. After a couple of rings a cultured Leeds
accent answered...
“ Desroy, who’s calling...”
!
Breakfast on Gruinard was a quiet, subdued affair. Of the group, only Yevgeni Berzins
the Russian technical officer, did justice to the hot table. For the rest, coffee and
30
croissant seemed to be the order of the day. The Russian’s hearty appetite didn’t go
unnoticed.
“ Hey Yevgeni, we get lunch and dinner too here. Leave room. There’ll be food later for
sure.”
Trip Coffin from the American Institute winked at Nick Beresford, who grinned
uncomfortably, uncertain yet in the company and unsure how the Russian would react.
There was no need for concern.
“ Trip...you are so blooody thin. I’ll eat all this, lunch and dinner too. Look ahead my
friend, one day you might wish you’d eaten more.”
Laughter was spontaneous and welcome. It was a good riposte; thereafter the
atmosphere was a lot easier.
When it seemed that further tea or coffee was unnecessary, Ciaran stood up.
“ OK, I guess we need to talk. It’s too close to home comforts for us to concentrate in
here. We’ll use the small lecture suite. It may sound a bit formal, but the facilities will be
useful for the more technical details. As relative newcomers, Trip and Nick may be a
shade off the pace and it’s vital that we all grasp the full extent of the problem.”
He moved to the door.
“ If you’ll follow me.”
Lecture suite one, a windowless air-conditioned cell, lay far beneath Gruinard’s barren
surface. When they were settled, Ciaran stood once more.
“ This will not be easy. Frankly, there’s much here we don’t completely understand, but
we’re going to have to work through it. That’s certain.
My first job is to give a broad outline of the position. After that, our real work begins. I
can’t emphasise too strongly...this must be teamwork. Ask questions, put your own
points forward. There are no absolutes yet. It will be a long day.”
31
“ Lunch, Ciaran. ?”
Yevgeni’s crack, well made, enhanced the seriousness of Ciaran’s opening remarks.
“ Later Yevgeni. Now, let’s get on.”
Ward took a marker and moved to the white board.
“ Hard facts first. This...” he drew a rough circle on the board, “ is Chronos.”
No comment. Ward continued.
“ Chronos is a Black Hole. At least, we think it’s a Black Hole; that’s the closest we can
get. It has a number of unusual features.”
Nick interrupted...
“ I thought Black Holes were unusual by definition. What makes this one so different ?”
“ Well, for a start, it’s behaving rather badly.”
Catherine Lebrun laughed...
“ Ciaran... you make it sound like... a spoilt child.”
“ Sorry Catherine, I knew this was going to be difficult. You see Nick, Chronos isn’t
playing according to the rules.”
Now it was Trip’s turn.
“ You guys, always worried about the goddamn rules.”
“ Thanks for reminding us Trip, but it’s true. I’ll explain. Chronos exhibits the sort of
Doppler shift we’d expect, given it’s position.”
Despite himself, Nick’s interest was growing.
“Which is?”
“ Almost at the centre of our Galaxy.”
Ciaran paused, to allow Nick’s response.
“ But that’s impossible. How long have you known about it. ?”
Yevgeni cleared his throat...
32
“ Four years Nick. And we know that’s impossible. But the bastard’s there.”
“ You mentioned Doppler shift, just remind me...”
Ward returned to the board, drew a second, much smaller circle, distant from the first.
“ That’s us. Earth. Chronos, like everything else outside the Solar System, shows
relative motion away from us. Expansion of the universe. The Doppler shift confirms it,
correct predicted velocity, the lot. There’s only one problem. Chronos isn’t moving.”
Nick leant forward, ran fingers through his hair.
“ Whoa...hold on a moment. Two things, I think. I was under the impression that nothing
could pass beyond a Black Hole’s event horizon. In that case how do you measure
Doppler shift ?”
Returning to the board, Ciaran continued.
“ Chronos is pumping out radio waves from the region immediately surrounding what
ought to be it’s event horizon.”
“ I’m still not getting this,” said Nick, “what do you mean... ’ought to be’ ?”
Ward looked around in frustration.
“ I said it was behaving badly. I think the point I’m trying to make is that Chronos
exhibits some characteristics of a Black Hole, but not others. Radio waves give us it’s
Doppler shift, which suggests normal relative motion, that is away from us. But there’s
an irregularity.”
“ Damn right,” Yevgeni broke in, “ bastard’s got the brakes on.”
Ciaran smiled.
“ Thanks Yevgeni. That’s right. Chronos isn’t moving. Radio astronomy results from the
VLA (Very Large Array) at Socorro in New Mexico, indicate that Chronos hasn’t moved
since it’s detection four years ago.”
“ But a Black Hole can’t just suddenly appear in the middle of the galaxy...can it ?”
33
“ Merdre !” Catherine Lebrun’s guttural expletive exploded in the confines of the lecture
room.
“ Round and round, forever in circles. Men and their neat little problems. Get to the
point Ciaran. Or have you forgotten ? Time is what we don’t have. Of course it might be
a Black Hole. Or it might not. Can’t you see, what it’s doing is important, not what it is.”
A stunned silence followed, then Ciaran spoke again.
“ Catherine, thank you. You’re right of course. I’ll make it quick, mainly for Nick and
Trip’s benefit.”
Ward took a drink from the bottle of Evian on the table in front of him.
“ For some time, leads in Temporal research have been hard to come by. Chronos
seemed sufficiently unusual to be worth a look. It’s behaviour had already defied most
normal conventions. As Yevgeni would doubtless put it... ‘ bastard inside playing tricks’.
Catherine suggested that, since Chronos was behaving outside accepted scientific
doctrines, it might exhibit special temporal properties. And she was right.”
Ward gestured to the board...
“ Catherine...”
The ‘grande dame’ of French physics stood, and moved to join Ciaran.
“ I won’t bore you with history. Our funding was up for review. Without results of some
sort, it would have been taken away. We played a long shot. It worked. It was a lucky
guess.”
Nick’s exasperation broke...
“ But what the hell did you do ?”
“ I’m sorry Nick. Quickly now...OK. We directed a radio signal at Chronos. The results
were extraordinary.”
Ciaran moved swiftly, anticipating Nick’s next problem.
34
“ Catherine’s right. And I know what you were going to say Nick; I’d have said it myself.
We shouldn’t have had any results. Chronos is over twenty four thousand light years
away.”
The big Russian grunted.
“ Damn clever bastard.”
Trip shook his head.
“ I’m with Nick on this. You can’t have had results from an object that distant;
impossible. Just no way.”
Nick Beresford took up the challenge.
“ But supposing, just supposing you had. What sort of results did you get? What sort of
signal was sent? For Christ’s sake Ciaran, none of this works. My wife and children are
nearly killed. People die in freak conditions all over Britain, and, I assume, the rest of
the world. For fuck’s sake...what’s happening?”
Catherine Lebrun moved to Nick’s side, hunched down till their eyes were level, took
his hand.
“ Nick, they will be fine.” She stood. “The signal contained a standard ETI contact
message. So...some maths, mostly binary...wave forms...a selection of musical
excerpts...and speech patterns. A sort of intergalactic e-mail welcome.”
“Isn’t this sort of thing sent out all the time,” Trip asked “ what was so different with
Chronos?”
Inevitably, Yevgeni supplied the answer.
“ Bastard answered back.”
Silence.
Ciaran set on the table, legs swinging, looking at the faces in front of him.
Nick
Beresford and Trip Coffin hovered on the verge of shock. The big Russian sat back,
35
stone faced, black eyes glinting. Catherine Lebrun hovered impatiently, passing time
reluctantly. Finally Nick spoke.
“ Anyone else, Yevgeni, I’d say they were joking. You’re not, are you?”
An implacable shake of the head spurred Nick on, but he was too slow.
“ Merdre, encore une fois! Nick, we’ve been communicating with Chronos for eighteen
months. Chronos is the reason Stephanie and the twins are still alive; it sent the
information about the Leeming disaster.”
Beresford’s hoarse, faltering tones grated in the confines of the lecture suite.
“ Chronos...Chronos...what is it? What does it do?”
Ciaran looked directly at his friend.
“ Time, Nick. Chronos is Time. Chronos does Time.”
!
Thirteen hundred miles to the south, in Haute Provence, remorseless blinding sunlight
seared the market square in Castellane. Beneath plane trees lining the town centre,
locals and the more adventurous tourists took refuge from the heat. Hot cats skulked in
gutters, splashing occasionally in the trickle of water from the fountain. Dogs had long
since stopped barking.
Outside the bar L’Etape, comfortable in the shade, Dominique Lebrun, Catherine’s
daughter, sat nursing an iced pastis.
Her mother’s phone call from the previous evening had disturbed her. She’d sounded
worried, pre-occupied, far from her usual calm, methodical self. So many things she’d
asked Dominique to do, small family matters. As if she was going away, uncertain of
the future. Dominique called to Benoit, the bar owner and her occasional lover, for a
second pastis.
36
Across the square, sunlight flared on the white limestone of the Roc du Dame, rising
abruptly over four hundred feet from the centre of the town. She remembered her
father, on Bastille day, climbing the Roc in full glare of the gendarmerie searchlights;
felt her mother’s grip tighten as he neared the top. Close by her seat on the pavement,
traffic rumbled by on the N85.
“ Benoit...une salade nicoise...merçi.”
The salad was simple, delicious in the heat of the day. Dominique contemplated a third
pastis, deciding, after some thought, against it. A third, she knew, would make her
horny; she was too busy to spend the afternoon in bed with Benoit.
As she finished the remains of the pastis, a distant, unfamiliar roar caught her
attention. It wasn’t traffic noise; heavy lorries following the Route Napoleon down to the
coast gave a more laboured, irregular call. Leaning out, she scanned the skies,
shading her eyes against the glare.
The thunder grew, sharper, beating. Suddenly there was commotion in the square.
Dominique recognised her uncle, Alain a sprightly seventy year old, waving furiously
from across the road.
“Dominique...run...run...to the river. Get under the bridge.”
The square was in uproar; scattered knots of people stood transfixed, others ran
mindlessly here and there. Dominique smelled fear, rank, obscene, rising from the
flock. She reached her uncle...
“ Alain...what is it? What’s wrong?”
...taking him by the arm as terror drained the colour from his face.
“ Dominique, come...run, quickly. Leave me, I’ll follow on. Head for the bridge.”
She held him close.
“ Tell me, Alain, tell me...what is it?”
37
Heart failing fast he couldn’t speak, but raised his head to the west, eyes bright with
fear.
At first Dominique saw nothing. Then, as the thunder rose to a beating crescendo,
echoing between the walls of the Verdon Gorge, she spotted four planes, line abreast,
approaching the town. And she knew. Finally her uncle spoke...
“ Stuka...run...”
It was far too late. Four Junkers 87B dropped into position to begin a classic Stuka
bombing run. A hideous, banshee wail filled the town as the Stukas swooped to attack.
Dominique stumbled, pulling her uncle towards the crypt, beneath the chapel at the
base of the rock. To her amazement, and relief, most of the crowd followed Alain’s
advice, heading to the bridge for shelter. She remembered why; the crypt hadn’t been
re-opened till after the war. Racial memory was long and persistent.
All around, World War Two bullets ripped into late twentieth century flesh. Blood spread
in stark red ribbons across the square. Bodies jerked and spun, torn by the fighterbomber’s machine cannon. Alain tore free.
“ Leave me girl...go...run...you can...”
He got no further. Dominique screamed as a bullet hit him in the throat, drenching her
in blood and flesh. Terrified by inexplicable carnage, she sprinted towards the crypt.
Behind her, bombs began to fall.
She reached the door, turning in defiance, listened as screams from the dead and
dying rose above the Stuka’s wail. Heard a voice, familiar, anguished, from across the
square.
“ Dominique...wait for me...stay there...I can reach you...”
It was Benoit. Stooped low, running, weaving towards her. Powerless, she willed him
on.
38
“ Faster, Benoit...faster. Here. To me.”
The bar owner stumbled, righting himself, barely thirty yards to go. Bullets stitched the
ground as the final Stuka began it’s run.
Arms flailing, Benoit side-stepped, dreams of glory in the Parc des Princes, the bullets
flew by.
Twenty yards; Dominique felt herself reaching out to him...
“ Come Benoit, come!”
A second side-step was too late. Two bombs landed astride the running man.
Disbelieving, Dominique saw her lover disintegrate, blown apart. Dead. With a howl of
anguish, she ran out into a hail of bullets. Dying as she ran, jerking like a marionette,
as the cannon fire ripped her apart.
Till she lay, torn and bloody. Dying, mystified, as a great quiet descended on the
square. Broken only by sobbing. In Castellane. In Provence.
!
A telephone rang, shattering the silence of lecture suite one. For a few moments, noone moved. It’s muted trill persistent, irritating, refused to be ignored. Finally Yevgeni
lifted the receiver. As he listened, his face darkened. Reluctantly, he handed the phone
to Catherine.
“ For you, my friend...”
Nick watched as she took the handset, her face suddenly, shockingly lined with what
seemed to be grim resignation. He looked around, uncomfortably; everyone felt the
same. Uneasy that they were about to intrude on some private grief. But how?
Catherine listened, without speaking, for almost a minute. Shakily, she handed the
receiver back to the Russian. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she leant on the table,
arms trembling.
39
“ That was Henri in Grenoble. There has been another incursion. In Provence...in
Castellane.”
Ciaran felt his stomach churn; somehow he knew what was coming next. He forced
himself to speak...
“ Catherine...”
She held herself tight, control slipping away.
“ Forty five people are dead. Amongst them, my daughter, Dominique. God help us.”
!
!
Chapter 5
!
Still in shock, Catherine wanted to continue the discussion. Ciaran insisted on a break.
Yevgeni insisted on lunch.
The doyenne of temporal research took to her room. Already, an RAF helicopter had
lifted off to fly her to the mainland. A scheduled flight to Lyon would see Catherine in
Castellane before nightfall. Detached, strangely unemotional, she booked a room in the
Hotel du Levant, Castellane. Dominique’s single apartment would be no place to sleep.
A subdued group, Trip, Yevgeni, Nick and Ciaran, returned to the surface; desperate for
fresh air, aching for some contact with reality.
Far from the scorched killing ground in Provence, Gruinard lay shrouded in drenching
mist. A clinging, grey blanket smothered the island as they walked disconsolately along
the shore. Silence boiled off the gently lapping tide.
Ciaran explained...
“ We received a reply to the first signal in six hours. Impossible, by all accounts. It
happened. The longest it’s taken is ten hours; shortest, four. The best explanation
40
we’ve come up with is that Chronos detects the signal and somehow accelerates it,
reversing the process to reply.”
Trip skimmed a stone across the sea.
“ A lens. Maybe it activates a sort of time lens. Focusing the signal beyond the speed of
light.”
Yevgeni couldn’t resist.
“ Damn clever bastard, that’s all.”
Nick was still uneasy, the news of Catherine’s loss made him acutely aware of his own
separation from Stephanie and the twins.
“ I suppose, I’ve just got to accept. Not worry about how it works. But it’s hard. Just
what does Chronos do?”
Ciaran continued...
“ Remember we talked about the Librarian, the whole of Time available on request.
Sub-atomic transitions to cosmic change. Yes...?”
Nick nodded. Trip clapped Yevgeni on the shoulder.
“ Sure thing. The bear filled me in earlier. I didn’t believe him, but I guess we got to run
with this.”
Ciaran smiled.
“ Thanks Trip. We know it’s unlikely, but it’s the best we’ve got. Well, it seems Chronos
is...let’s say...a branch library. Not the main hall, no. More your local branch. It
specialises in our Universe; our Galaxy. Sort of a sub librarian. And, there are many
others like Chronos, other universes, other galaxies.”
Trip shook his head.
“ Jeeesus...that’s some big library. Just how do we get to take...books...no...not books.
Oh, this is crazy...Time, Time...how do we take Time out?”
41
For once Yevgeni beat Ciaran to the draw.
“ Just ask bastard. Just ask.”
Nick shook his head.
“ Can’t believe I’m hearing this. So we’ve been asking for action replays. All our bloody
yesterdays. For fuck’s sake Ciaran, it’s killing people. We’re killing people.”
Ward hunched down by the water’s edge, his back to the others. From far away, the
barking of a seal carried through the mist.
“ It’s not us Nick. We stopped after two experimental requests. We knew more control
was needed. And that’s the problem. These others, Leeming, the Isle of Man,
Castellane, the plane crash in Kiev, they’re not our work. You see...someone else has
found out how to ask. And we’ve got to stop them. Now.”
The Army man refused to let go.
“ I never understood...didn’t ask why...why for heaven’s sake, you’d had a warning from
Chronos, you showed me a list with dates...Ciaran why didn’t you tell anyone. Close
the seafront at Westmouth; stop the TT races; cancel the air show. For god’s sake
why?”
Ward remained facing seawards, shrugged.
“ Nick, it wasn’t that simple. Oh, we knew dates and locations for sure, but certainly not
what was going to happen. And how would we have explained our actions. For all we
knew the explanation might have been more dangerous than the Incursion. If you’re
thinking cover up, don’t; we’d nothing to cover up. That’s us now; we’re on our own.”
Yevgeni bent suddenly, picked a flat stone from the beach and sent it skimming across
the water. The big Russian laughed like child, the sound from his barrel chest booming
over the water. It was a bright moment they all needed.
42
“ Ciaran’s right Nick. Bastard’s helped us once. Not again. Up to us now. We got real
work to do.”
Nick shook his head.
“OK, this is absolute bloody madness, not sure I even believe it, but just how does it
work. How long do these incursions last; seconds, minutes, how long for fucks sake; do
we get a choice?”
Ciaran stood, turning to face the others, it seemed an effort to speak.
“ It appears, from our communications with Chronos, that there may be two
alternatives. We are not one hundred per cent sure; believe me this is very difficult. We
have one coded request form that Chronos answers with the type of short lived, though
potentially punishing Incursion we have seen so far.”
Ward paused...
“ A second code string exists. It seems likely that this would result in a fully stabilised
Incursion, which would become co-existent with current Time. I leave you to imagine
what that might cause. The implications are horrific.”
Trip arced a rounded, grenade shaped pebble high into the air. Seconds later, it
entered the water with a dull, depth charge whoosh.
“ I guess I’m a bit off the pace here guys, but why would anyone want to whistle up
potentially dangerous time bytes. Couldn’t they be affected too?”
In the silence that followed, Nick Beresford watched Ciaran and Yevgeni and his fears
were confirmed.
“ Had much to do with the military, Trip?”
The young American shook his head...
“ Nah, I’m just a college jock Nick.”
There was anger in Beresford’s voice as he spoke again.
43
“ Well look at those two,” he nodded towards Ciaran and the Russian, “they have. And
they could answer your question, but I’ll save them the trouble. It’s a weapon, isn’t it
Ciaran.”
There was no reply. Beresford carried on.
“ Another bloody scientist’s toy. And it’s gone wrong again. Only this time, it could make
the hydrogen bomb look like a Chinese firecracker. End of the bloody world. Isn’t that
right Ciaran? Well...tell him.”
Doubt crept across Trip’s face as Ciaran and the Russian exchanged glances.
Maddened, Nick raised a boulder above his head and smashed it into the placid waters
of the bay.
“ Tell him Ciaran, tell the lad. This isn’t some bloody quadrangle prank gone wrong,
Trip’s here, he deserves to know.”
Ward shrugged.
“ Nick’s right. There are security implications. We must accept the possibility that an
unknown agent is intending to use Temporal Incursions as a threat to world peace.”
Trip shuddered as a cold fret rose up from the sea.
“ Who?”
Yevgeni growled...
“ Bastard knows.”
Ciaran turned back towards the compound.
“ I wish to god we did.”
Overhead the savage beat of an RAF helicopter, flying Catherine Lebrun home,
shattered the silence.
!
!
44
“ Lots of activity on the Island, Davie. What do you make of it?”
Maread Haston sat on the front step of the site office of the caravan site at Laide.
Across the water an RAF helicopter, the second of the day, lifted away from the mist
clinging to Gruinard.
Inside the office her uncle, Davie Haston, wrestled with empty Calor gas cylinders.
“ I don’t make anything of it, Maread and you’d be wise not to either. I tell you, no good
ever came from that island.”
Maread, two and a half years into a photo-journalism course at Leeds University,
laughed at the highlander’s racial mistrust of all things English and modern.
“ Away Davie, there’s no monsters out there; the Island’s clean now. Just a research
lab, and, at the moment, lots of helicopters. Something’s going on, that’s for sure.
Maybe I’ll find out.”
Red faced with exertion, Davie Haston sat down on the front step, next to his niece.
“ I’m not meaning to nag, Maread, but I promised your father I’d keep an eye on you.
He cares for you a great deal.”
“ Oh aye, that’s why he walked out on us, the best part of ten years ago. Some father.”
Davie shook his head.
“ Oh I’m sorry Davie,” Maread took his hand, “I know he’s your brother. Shame he
wasn’t like you. Always around to pick up the pieces. Look, if it’ll make you feel better,
I’ll not dig too deep. Just a look around, maybe a few questions, the odd picture. It is
part of my course you know, and you do want me to do well, don’t you?”
Davie Haston laughed.
“ Go on girl, you’re worse than your mother. Could charm a snake out of a tree. Just be
careful, mark my words, that island’s not finished with trouble.”
“ You’re a good man Davie, there’s a woman will come for you yet.”
45
Reddening with embarrassment, Davie pushed his niece off the step.
“Away with you girl, leave me in peace. And take care, I’ve enough to be thinking
about, without worrying what you’re up to.”
“ I’ll be alright, for sure. There’s a ceilidh at the hotel tonight, maybe I’ll just ask a few
questions.”
!
In a disused committee room in the House of Commons, Ralph Baker, the Prime
Minister faced his Foreign Secretary across an age-worn oak table.
“ You’re adamant. All three foreign ministers are convinced there’s a link between
these...flashbacks and the JITS work.”
“ Prime Minister, the body of evidence suggests a solid causal link. Already the press
are baying at the door. More flashbacks and public pressure will become intolerable.
Fortunately, the latest incident at Castellane is sufficiently remote to arouse too much
interest here. The French Government have hinted at the spread of drug crime into the
interior .”
Ralph Baker frowned...
“ And the planes Jack; the report says people saw Stukas. Hardly drug baron style
you’ll agree.”
“ The French are claiming hysteria sir. I know, it’s a bit weak. I think we’d have to do
better here, god forbid.”
“ And you suggest?”
The Foreign Secretary took a deep breath.
“ We must have information and total control. Immediately.”
Distracted, the Prime Minister ran both hands through thinning waves on his forehead.
“ How?”
46
“ The main JITS representatives are gathered on Gruinard. They must be kept there.
Official communication with the outside world will be through ourselves only. Of course,
we’ll let them think they have the upper hand; if they don’t feel in control, we’ll get no
co-operation.”
“ Just boffins, or do we have anybody on the inside?”
“ Nick Beresford. Special Services senior liaison officer. He’s good; a friend of Ciaran
Ward’s too. I know Nick; he’ll work with us.”
The Prime Minister stood, walked to beneath the high window. Afternoon sun beamed
through ancient Westminster dust.
“ Give them what they need. Feather the nest. Make it secure. We have to take the
lead on this. Now. Do it.”
“ Yes Prime Minister.”
!
The phone was ringing again as they returned to the lecture room. No one moved to
answer the shrill, intrusive clamour. Nick, dreading a repeat of the last call, thought of
Stephanie and the twins.
After almost a minute, Ciaran shrugged....
“ It can’t have happened again so soon...”
....and lifted the receiver.
He frowned, then, gradually, the lines on his face eased. Finally, he replaced the
phone.
“ That was Harris, the Foreign Secretary. They’ve sprung the trap. We’re cut off from
the outside world.”
Yevgeni raised an eyebrow by way of interrogation.
“Communications?”
47
Ciaran nodded.
“You guessed it comrade. Solely through the government. We’re to have no
unauthorised contact of any description. As much equipment as we need, but only the
politicians are to know what it’s for. Heaven knows, they’ll never be able to understand
it.”
“Ciaran...? You set this up, didn’t you? You’ve known all along. You cold blooded
manipulative bastard.”
Tension grated in Beresford’s voice.
“ Nick, believe me, I didn’t have a choice. I...we...needed people here we could depend
on. This is one problem we’ve got to solve and the only way to do it is here, together.
No politicians interfering. No committees. No reports. Just a solution. There has to be a
solution. And we’ve got to find it.”
“ Either way, final solution,” growled Yevgeni.
!
“A penny for them?”
Maread started, turning her head as the voice took her by surprise. To the left of the
bench where she sat gazing out at Gruinard’s outline softening as night fell, a slim
blonde figure stood framed in the hotel doorway.
“ I’m sorry...I don’t know...”
A hint of CK One reached Maread, as the blonde brushed elegantly past to sit beside
her on the bench. Maread started again as a slender hand touched her knee.
“ No. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to startle you. But it has that effect on me too;
hypnotic. Everyone says it’s just an island now...but I’m not sure. There’s something
there. You’re Maread.”
“ Aye, and you are...?”
48
“ Maread Haston, Davie’s niece. He really is quite proud of you, you know.”
Maread looked down at the hand, which withdrew, reluctantly. It was strange, the
feeling had been...comforting?
“It’s Alexandra, Alexandra McNeish. I usually get...”
Maread laughed...
“ I know, Sacha. I would have loved to have been called Sacha, Maread’s so hard,
so...bloody Gaelic.”
For the first time, they looked at each other. Maread saw blue eyes, delicate, slightly
angular features, just off beautiful, a slender worked out body.
Sacha felt drawn into deep brown, sparkling eyes, a wicked grin topping a solid
highland frame, stocky but well muscled.
“ Well Maread, who’d like to be called Sacha, what were you thinking about?”
Maread thought of her uncle’s warning, dismissed it, swayed by a warm June evening,
Calvin Klein and just a hint of mystery.
“ Gruinard. It fascinates me. I can feel...no, I know there’s something going on there.
The more people tell me to steer clear, the more I’m drawn to it. Make a good subject
for my course work too.”
Sacha leant back on the bench.
“ Leeds, isn’t it. Photojournalism. Very good course.”
Maread turned to face her, surprised by her knowledge, more surprised by the smile
she saw.
“ You seem to know an awful lot about me, but I don’t know you at all.”
“ Sorry, that’s me again, unfair. Gordon, who runs the hotel, is my brother. I stay here
from time to time. An escape from work I suppose. He fills me in on all the local gossip.
Some things I remember.”
49
“ And work is?”
“ Something we have in common. I’m a journalist. Freelance. And I think there’s trouble
on Gruinard too.”
Sacha leant forwards, again her hand rested on Maread’s knee. Distracted, Maread
lowered her gaze, caught a glimpse of Sacha’s firm tanned breasts, naked beneath her
shirt. Their faces were barely a foot apart, Calvin Klein filled the air.
“ Maread, how badly do you want to know about Gruinard?”
“ I...well...I’m...oh hell, I’m dying to know.”
“ Enough to go ashore tonight.”
Time spun by.
“ Ye...yes. Damn, I’ll do it. Oh...how can we...”
“ Gordon has a boat. At the jetty, north of the ruined chapel. If we catch the night tide,
we can be back by morning. No one will know. Well?”
Something on this mad night drew them closer still.
“ Aye, I’ll come with you Sacha... please.”
Without a word, Sacha took Maread by the hand and the two women left the hotel.
!
Across Gruinard Bay, beneath the Island’s bleak surface, tension had dragged the
discussions to a halt.
Catherine Lebrun’s departure, the gradual revelation of the political and military
implications of the crisis, the day itself, finally dampened the urge to fight, to find a
solution to the problem that faced them.
The group ate together, in silence, even Yevgeni’s banter dried up. One by one, they
split, returning to their own rooms. Sleep was a late arrival for them all.
50
Alone in his room, Ciaran Ward half-heartedly finished a night-cap of Laphroaig. It
hadn’t helped; he felt no inclination to sleep. He closed his eyes, thoughts crowded in,
clamouring for attention. One finally dominated; Chronos, the Librarian.
!
A thousand miles to the south, Catherine Lebrun had finally fallen asleep; at her
bedside a three quarter empty bottle of Ricard. She lay on top of the covers, fully
clothed, a crumpled photo of her late husband clutched in her left hand.
Outside her window, Castellane lay shocked, in a deep silence broken only by the
mindless chirrup of the cicadas.
!
!
!
Chapter 6
!
It was seven thirty; the phone at Ciaran’s bedside tore brutally into sleep. Struggling
upright, he fumbled for the handset.
“ Ward.”
“ Head Warden Barraclough, Mr Ward. One of our patrols has compromised two
intruders attempting to breach the inner fence. I can...”
“ Secure them. Do nothing else Barraclough. I’ll be with you in five minutes.”
Ward re-dialled, waited impatiently for Nick Beresford to answer.
“ Nick. Emergency. Intruders. Collect you in three minutes.”
Without waiting for a reply, Ciaran dressed, drank a pint of water and left the room.
!
51
In a cool, tiled room beneath mountains, two men faced each other across a drab
table.
The younger man, olive skinned, dark basilisk eyes, wore a sweat stained linen shirt
and lightweight travel pants. Despite air conditioning, sweat glistened on his
companions bald head, forming rivulets, coursing down florid cheeks to tangle in a full
salt and pepper moustache.
Olive Skin closed a copy of the Bible, placed it on the table, spoke gently, head raised
as if listening to voices from afar.
“ She is at her daughter’s funeral.”
“ I can assure you sir, our information is correct. She arrived in Castellane last night
from Gruinard.”
Quieter now, chilling above the relentless machine noise.
“ Yes, of course. You have assured me before, wrongly. This time, you must...be right.”
“ I assure you...”
“ Yes, yes...of course you do. So many times. You will be right, understand. Have the
woman taken. Bring her here. It’s time she was put to work.”
“A question sir?”
“ Well? Oh...I see. Simple; rejection by one’s country is...yes...intolerable; rejection, not
once, but twice by one’s mother...unforgivable.”
“ Forgive me sir; the woman will be brought here. You have my word.”
Olive Skin raised his head again, absently.
“ Oh I know, and much else besides. If your assurances fail this time, we will not speak
again. One of us will not speak again...ever. Go.”
!
52
Catherine Lebrun endured her daughter’s funeral in the chapel at the foot of the Roc.
Castellane was awash with grief. Her own, deep as it was, paled before the agony of a
proud town that had had it’s heart torn out. Everywhere, tears flowed in the sun. Traffic
stopped on the main road, truckers wept by the roadside. It would have been an insult
not to.
None of it helped.
After the ceremony, afraid of company, Catherine turned away from the square.
Covering her head, in grief, against the sun, she took the steep, twisting path, past the
Stations of the Cross, to the chapel of Notre Dame du Roc, perched high above the
town.
Some thirty minutes later, she leant over the parapet, four hundred feet above the
square, alone on the summit. Below, oblivion beckoned; it would be so easy, one brief
moment of agony and the agony would be gone.
She turned away. In her future lay the possibility of a less painful re-union.
As she turned towards the descent, a lumbering cicada distracted her. It flew close by
and she raised a hand to brush it aside. A second noise, harsh, explosive surprised
her. Suddenly she felt strong hands pinning her arms. Darkness followed as a rough
sack covered her head. As if she knew what was coming, Catherine refused to scream.
Without visual warning, she scarcely felt the needle enter the side of her neck, just a
numbing pressure as the piston delivered it’s load.
Fully aware of what was happening, Catherine yearned for oblivion, for a brief respite
from the pain in her heart. In less than a minute, she slumped unconscious into the
arms of her two attackers. Seconds later, the balcony was clear, no sign of the struggle
remained. Recovered after it’s brush with humanity, the cicada rose from the parapet
and continued it’s ungainly flight around Hautes Provence.
53
Drivers entering Castellane from the south, puzzled by the stretcher lowering down the
south east face, assumed the local rescue team was practising. No one thought to
question them as they loaded the stretcher into a Renault Espace. Unacknowledged,
Catherine left Castellane for the last time.
!
Ciaran entered Nick Beresford’s room without knocking, forestalling his
questions
before the Ministry man could speak.
“ I don’t know Nick. Who, what, why, I’ve no bloody idea. But this we can do without.
We’re looking to you here. I know you think I’ve sold my soul, but I am only a scientist.
For us, you’re the security expert.”
“ Look Ciaran, I’m not one of your tame boffins, ‘Yes Ciaran, no Ciaran, three bags
bloody full Ciaran’. Just in case you’d forgotten, I outrank you.”
Ward looked at his watch.
“ Jesus Nick, this isn’t a competition. Me and you, we’re not fighting against each other,
for fuck’s sake I need your help.”
Ward ripped the watch from his wrist.
“ See this Nick.” He shoved the cheap digital in front of his friend. “Know what it does. It
tells the time. If we don’t find a way to solve this...soon...there won’t be any time to tell.
Not for me, you, Stephanie, the twins anybody. It’s that bad. You must have realised it
by now.”
Beresford’s face darkened at the mention of his family. Ciaran shrugged an apology.
“ I’m sorry Nick. That was a cheap shot. But it’s true. Yes, of course it was JITS who let
the genie out of the bottle in the first place, but please can we all try and get it back in.”
Beresford said nothing. In frustration, Ciaran turned to the door.
“ Ciaran...”
54
Beresford’s voice was taught with anger. Ward looked back over his shoulder.
“ I know. You’ll kill me.”
Scientist and Ministry man, long term friends, temporary enemies, left the room, door
ajar.
!
“ You can’t keep us here. It’s illegal. I know my rights. Damn you, will you listen.”
Sacha McNeish howled in anger at the solid steel security door. Behind her, Maread
sat dejectedly on an iron framed bed, already thinking of the trouble this would cause
her Uncle Davie. The previous night’s excitement had disappeared as swiftly as the
mist clinging to Gruinard’s bleak shores.
“ Come on Maread, off your arse, don’t go soft on me. Twice the noise, twice the
attention. The bastards can’t ignore us for ever. At least this proves there is something
going on here.”
Sacha continued hammering the door. Outside, Warden Barraclough wrestled with the
Daily Mirror crossword, oblivious of the racket.
Close by, a door burst open, footsteps hurried towards Barraclough’s desk. He
snapped upright.
“ Mr Ward sir...”
Ciaran raised an eyebrow towards the security door.
“...yes sir, straight away sir.”
Barraclough fumbled with keys, finally the door swung inwards. Nick Beresford brushed
past Ciaran into the room, Sacha stepped back off balance, ending up on the bed
beside Maread. Beresford spoke immediately.
“ You are?”
There was no question of refusing to reply.
55
“ Sacha McNeish.”
“ Maread Haston.”
Beresford half turned, saw Ciaran nod assent.
“ Right, before you get any romantic ideas about your rights, listen.”
Sacha opened her mouth to speak, saw Beresford’s eyes, Ciaran’s casual indifference,
knew it wouldn’t help to get the girl into more trouble.
“ You have illegally entered a restricted Government property, and can be held, at our
convenience, for at least forty eight hours, or...until we decide what to do with you.”
Ciaran opened the door.
“ Come on Nick, we need to talk. Meanwhile ladies, try not to make so much noise. The
door’s awful hard, your hands, I guess, are not.”
Seconds later, Sacha and Maread were alone.
!
As the door opened, Barraclough wisely sided the crossword under his desk.
Nick Beresford no longer hesitated.
“ Barraclough, our two jailbirds are Sacha...probably Alexandra...McNeish and Maread
Haston. Run a full security check and patch the results through to lecture suite one.
Now.”
“ Mr Beresford sir, the young girl’s a local, still a teenager at college. I can’t believe
she’d be out to cause trouble, hers is a good family.”
Beresford shook his head.
“I didn’t want a character reference Barraclough, they’re all good at some stage. Just
do it.”
“ Sir!”
“ And Barraclough...”
56
“ Sir?”
“ Forget the crossword.”
!
On the mainland, a very worried Davie Haston searched for his niece. None of her
usual friends had seen her since the previous afternoon. In desperation he rang
Gordon McNeish at the hotel.
“ Hello...”
“ Gordon...is that you. It’s Davie Haston here from the campsite.”
“ How’s yourself Davie? What can we do for you?”
“ Ahm fair worried Gordon, Maread’s not been home last night. Did you see her at all,
she was talking of coming up to the ceilidh at yours.”
“ Oh I saw her Davie, but just a glimpse, now and then, d’ye ken? It was a mad night
here, well you know what it’s like. One thing I am sure though, she wasn’t around at the
close. And neither was our Sacha, though that’ll not be connected.”
“ That settles it Gordon, I’m calling the police in Ullapool. Will I mention Sacha for you?”
“ No need Davie. Sacha’s a free woman, wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone off for a
while. I’d get the sharp edge of her tongue if I got the police searching for her and she
was with friends. Mind you, she usually leaves a message of some sort. Maybe you
could let it drop in a round about sort of way, keep my name out of it...eh?”
“ Aye, as you will Gordon, that’ll be no problem. Keep your eyes open for Maread now,
please.”
“ Course I will, good luck Davie. Let me know how you go on.”
Davie replaced the phone and dialled the local police in Ullapool.
!
57
Jack Harris, Foreign Secretary, travelled the short distance from Festival Pier to
Westminster Pier by police launch. Since springing the trap around Gruinard,
information on activity in the area had been high priority. First reports concerning the
two women reached him during an appearance at the National Film Theatre. After two
phone calls, one to the PM, one to Gruinard, he made his apologies and left.
On the river, briefly away from the suffocating heat, building in the city, Harris let his
thoughts roam. As the launch approached it’s landing, something caught Harris’ eye.
Events were starting to move too fast; a hundred foot long banner flapped and billowed
against the side of Westminster bridge, dark lettering on a white background burned
into his brain.....
......WHAT HAPPENED AT LEEMING ?...
The Prime Minister was not going to be amused.
!
!
Trip, Yevgeni, Nick and Ciaran sat round the conference table in lecture suite one. On
the table a PC monitor displayed personnel files on Gruinard’s two new arrivals. Nick
Beresford was the first to speak.
“ There’s your answer Ciaran. Even I couldn’t make that innocent coincidence. The
woman’s a freelance and the girl’s studying journalism. Couldn’t have been much less
damaging if we’d installed a television crew.”
Yevgeni swallowed the remains of a bacon sandwich he’d brought from the canteen.
“ Don’t see problem Nick. They here. Can’t talk. We got ’em. Can’t go far. Do nothing.”
Ciaran laughed.
“ The problem is Yevgeni, this isn’t Russia. We can’t just disappear people.”
58
“ Ciaran’s right,” said Nick, “they’ll have been reported missing already. If we can’t
defuse this in the next few hours, Gruinard Bay will have boat loads of press bobbing
up and down like ducks on a pond.”
“ Still not sure what the deal is guys,” Trip shrugged, “it’s not like they know anything.
So they’ve seen us, a few wire fences, maybe a chopper or two, doesn’t mean we’re
compromised. What could they tell? Secret government installation? For chrissakes the
country’s full of them. Just let them go, spin the story, get to the press before them. No
worries. Well?”
Beresford and Ward looked at each other across the table. Ciaran spoke first.
“ I’m not so sure Trip. It’d be easy that’s for sure. And if we really could blanket the
story first...what do you think Nick?”
“ It’s something we have to consider, if only because the alternatives are worse.
Prolonged internment would eventually re-focus attention here. Execution...no, we
don’t even discuss that. Yet. Just turn them lose? Again too dangerous, the woman in
particular would stand to make big gains from a story.”
In the silence that followed, Ciaran looked round the table.
“ There is another possibility. I haven’t really had time to think it through yet, but...”
Once again, the phone rang, bursting into the subdued atmosphere of the lecture suite.
Ciaran answered it. There was little in the way of conversation, finally he replaced the
receiver.
“ That was Harris, the Foreign Secretary again, he’s on his way to meet with the Prime
Minister at Westminster. Seems we’ve been a bit slow. The younger girl’s already been
reported missing; police from Ullapool are making enquiries about the woman too. As
you heard, I forgot to tell Harris that we already had them in custody. We’ll save that
particular gem for later.”
59
Nick Beresford shook his head.
“ Just a scientist Ciaran? I don’t think so. Sorry Trip, looks like the spin story’s too late.”
“ I guess...what was your idea Ciaran? Might be our last chance.”
Ward took a deep breath, paused.
“ It’s simple. We use them as our press department; our contact with the outside world.
Everything we want to say, controlled of course, goes through them. They’ll be our
human face. Don’t all say no at once.”
Silence. At last Beresford spoke.
“ You bastard Ciaran, it’s brilliant.”
He paused, looked at the other two. Trip grinned, Yevgeni slapped Ward on the back,
knocking the breath out of him.
“ I’ll tell Harris.”
!
The Prime Minister wasn’t amused.
“ It’s not good Jack. I really don’t like this, feels like things are slipping away and that I
will not have.”
Harris, acutely aware that it wasn’t his fault, bit his tongue.
“ Would it be appropriate to involve the Home Secretary at this point, Sir?”
The Prime Minister raised his eyebrows.
“He could hardly not be involved Jack. Multiple, apparently inexplicable fatalities, are
not the sort of thing we can sweep under the carpet. Adnam is on his way.”
Home and Foreign Secretaries enjoyed a comfortable mutual enmity; Harris wondered
who, if anyone, would be left standing at the end of the current crisis.
“ Is he aware of Gruinard, the JITS problems, the possible cause of these disasters?”
60
“ Jack, he’s Home Secretary for Christ’s sake, of course he knows about them. Not as
much as you, admittedly, but enough. For now, his will be the harder task; any more
flashbacks and we could be looking at civil unrest on a massive scale.”
Harris nodded.
“ Absolutely Sir, it’s just that...”
“ Jack...we’re the Government. We will be seen working together to get out of this
mess. Understand? It’s as simple as that.”
!
In lecture suite one, the phone had become a fixation. A tenuous link with the outside
world, it’s persistent, damaging intrusions had made it a focal point. It was eyed, warily,
expected to ring at any moment. Before Ciaran could re-establish contact with
Westminster, it rang again.
Ciaran lifted the handset...
“ Ward...ah...Henri, how about you. You’re positive. That’s bad. Get someone down
there straight away. Call me later. Bye.”
Somehow, Nick sensed what had happened.
“ Ciaran, it’s Catherine isn’t it.”
Ward took some time over the words.
“ That was Henri Tribout, in Grenoble. Catherine’s disappeared. She was seen at the
funeral; there’s been no sign of her since. They’re searching now.”
A minute or so later, Yevgeni broke into the silence that followed.
“ Might not be bad. Catherine hurt, lost daughter. Would you come back here? I’d go up
into hills. Lick wounds.”
Nick leant forward onto the table.
“ Well Ciaran, where’s your money, grieving mother or...”
61
Trip interrupted.
“ Aw come on Nick, that’s fierce. I’m with Yevgeni. What would you do if you’d lost your
daughter?”
Still Ward remained silent. Nick tried again.
“ Ciaran? This stinks. Four of the most powerful countries on Earth, with unlimited
resources, discover how to rewind time; play with fire, get burnt and sensibly
discontinue. An unknown independently discovers the same secret, and starts causing
havoc. I don’t think so. She’s sold out. Believe me, we’ll be hearing from her, and her
paymasters, all too soon.”
Russian and American turned to Ciaran for his rebuttal. It never came.
“ Sorry Trip, Yevgeni. I hate to say this, but I think Nick’s right. It would have been
beyond any one country to contact Chronos. Somebody leaked. We’re all here. I don’t
think we’ll hear from Catherine again as a colleague.”
Nick shook his head.
“ I’m sorry Ciaran, that gave me no pleasure. I know you thought highly of her. Any
ideas?”
Ward’s reply was scarcely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.
“ Catherine taught me a great deal. Some years ago, when we first started, she joked
that, if successful, she could see her dead husband again. We laughed...dismissed it
as a wild scheme. I don’t think Catherine ever forgot. I’d better tell Harris.”
!
The Prime Minister rapidly tired of placating his feuding Secretaries. When Ciaran
Ward’s call finally reached Westminster, it provided temporary relief.
62
Harris took the call. Once again, it was mostly a transfer of information. Glad to act as
a filter, Harris deliberately agreed to Ward’s suggestions. As Ciaran hung up, Harris
replaced the receiver with just a hint of smugness. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“ Well Jack? Good news so soon?” asked the Prime Minister.
Harris enjoyed his moment to the full.
“ Some good news Sir. Both women are in custody on Gruinard. Seems they were
doing a little private investigating. Ward has a plan, thinks we should use the women as
our press liaison, a sort of human face of the Government. I agree. It seems a bit wild,
but if we can feed Fleet Street, it’ll stop them foraging for scraps.”
“ And the other news?”
“ Catherine Lebrun Sir, the French JITS Head, she’s gone missing. The feeling is that it
may be connected with these rogue Temporal Incursions.”
“ If that’s the case Jack, then we do have problems.”
It gave Harris considerable pleasure that his rival, hadn’t even spoken.
!
!
Chapter 7
!
Next day Ciaran and Nick rose early in anticipation of almost continuous Government
pressure until a solution was in sight, their first task to brief Sacha and Maread on their
new responsibilities. Breakfast was a hurried, light-hearted affair; there was much work
to be done.
“ Trip, would you and Yevgeni go over the original signal tapes? It’s a monster long
shot, but there might just be something...a hint...God knows what, anything in the way
Chronos responded that might help.”
63
The young American nodded eagerly.
“ Sure Ciaran. What d’you say big fella? We gonna pick his brains?”
Yevgeni flushed toast down his mouth with a mug of scalding coffee.
“ Bastard helped once Trip. Wont help again. Thinks we’ve had our chance and
messed up.”
Occasionally the Russian’s pragmatism got to Nick.
“ For Christ’s sake Yevgeni, we’ve got to try. It’s like Ciaran says, the smallest sign
could be important. This is a big game.”
Trip grinned.
“ Leave him with me Nick. The Bear and me, well we gonna go through old Chronos
with a fine tooth comb. He can run, but he can’t hide.”
Even as they laughed at the youngster’s optimism, Ciaran felt cold, shivering in the
soul-less atmosphere of the bunker.
!
For Sacha and Maread, the novelty of internment had long since worn off. Inside the
‘cell’, warm, well fed, largely ignored and with only each other for company, tension
began to wind up by the hour; the magic of their first meeting long gone.
Sacha lay on her back, staring at the ceiling; eyes closed, she hummed an Island folk
tune. Maread sat at the table, clutching an empty coffee cup, picking at the remains of
some cold toast.
Suddenly she flung her cup against the door.
“ For Christ’s sake woman, will ye stop your keening; it’s worse than a chanter’s wail.”
Sacha fell silent, lying very still on the iron framed bed. Maread was immediately sorry.
“ Sacha...look, ignore me. I didn’t mean tae snap, this place gives me the creeps. I’ve
never been...how do you say...banged up...before.”
64
Presently the older woman swung her legs off the bed and sat upright. She smiled.
“ They’ll have been waiting for that. Relax Maread, they’ll come when they’re ready. Till
then, it’s watch and wait, while we get more and more screwed up. Stay cool; we’ve
done nothing wrong.”
“Jesus Sacha, how can you say that. We were caught in a restricted area, they’ll throw
the book at us. I can’t do this; my Uncle Davie will kill me. I’ve got to get out .”
Maread made to rise, but Sacha was across the room, hands on her shoulders, forcing
her back into the chair. The Scots girl struggled again...
“ Sacha I can’t...”
In one movement, Sacha leant forward and kissed her young companion full on the
lips.
Almost at once, a key rattled in the lock, the door swung open allowing Ciaran and Nick
into the room. Ward spoke first, as Beresford followed him in.
“Ladies, hope the night wasn’t too unpleasant, better than the breakfast, which I’m only
too aware was poor. Mr Beresford here,” he nodded at Nick, “has a proposition to put
to you. Will you listen please.”
Ward fell back in front of the door, Nick sat by the table as the two women retreated to
the bed; both were unprepared for his first words.
“ Sacha, Maread...sorry you’ve been inconvenienced. The thing is, we’d like your help.”
!
Just before dawn, a sinuous queue of cars, trucks and vans began to form outside a
security fence in the southern New Mexico desert. Mostly the occupants remained in
their vehicles, alone with their own thoughts. Some, keen to stretch legs after a long
journey, got out, standing quietly in the chill morning air. About them, the desert rang
with silence.
65
By nine o’ clock, almost three thousand people had made their way from the dirt
parking lot towards the centre of the site, their mood, neither festive nor dour, merely
curious.
A barbecue, grilling burgers, flooded the desert air with mouth-watering smells. Just
inside the fence, the National Park Service erected a temporary stall selling books.
Nearby, an Episcopalian community performed a consecration ceremony on the barren
ground.
Michael Devlin, his wife Rose, their two children, Pat and Shireen, had travelled from
Boston for the visit. After a long, exhausting trip, they’d spent the previous night in a
motel on the outskirts of Alamagordo.
Michael couldn’t have given an explanation for the journey, though it felt like a
pilgrimage. Rose was recently cured of a malignant brain tumour by radiation therapy;
without the treatment, she would have died. For some reason, Michael wanted the
children to see the origin of the force that had cured their mother, to remind them that it
had a darker side.
Stomachs rumbling from the hamburger smells, they mingled with the steady flow of
visitors to Trinity, Ground Zero, site of the world’s first atomic explosion.
Overhead, the sun rose into a vast blue sky dotted with cotton wool clouds.
“ Dad, can we get a burger now. I’m hungry....”
Shireen had passed on breakfast, it was too early and the cereal had been wrong.
Michael was tense, uneasy about what he was doing. For some reason, he no longer
felt so sure about the visit. Why was he making his family do this? He snapped.
“ Ye’ll wait for now. That was good food you left behind in the motel.”
Shireen looked pleadingly at her mother for a second opinion. Rose winked,
whispering...
66
“ On the way back...shhh.”
Pat walked a few feet behind, having caught the eye of a pretty blonde girl also trying
to ignore her parents.
The granite obelisk marking the site of Ground Zero reared up from the desert fifty
yards away. Visitors, uncertain, surrounded it; some close, almost touching, many
halting a comfortable distance from the dark stone. Occasionally, cameras clicked;
there was little or no talking.
Michael drew his family to him. Despite the sun’s warmth, he felt cold. At this dark
centre of the world’s conscience there were no answers.
Beneath his feet, desert sands seemed to tingle and Michael looked around for signs of
activity at nearby Holloman Air Force Base. He saw nothing, though now the monolith’s
outline shimmered slightly.
Overhead, the sun burst from behind a cloud and fell to earth.
Almost sixty years to the day, inexplicably, Fat Man, the world’s first atomic device,
exploded once again at Ground Zero.
In nearby Alamagordo, one or two elders remembered, briefly, as colour and shade
vanished and destruction howled through the town.
!
On a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean, Olive Skin raised the Waterford crystal
glass in his right hand, early afternoon sun striking fire from the facets.
“ My Muscadet, now. You will have good news for me.”
It was a statement. An Arab boy ghosted from the shadows, filling the glass quickly,
carefully. He spoke unhurriedly, dark eyes gazing at his master.
“ Master, sir...the bald master said to tell you...Fat Man has popped...yes, that was it.
Fat Man has popped.”
67
Olive Skin stretched sensuously, flicked through a leather bound Bible lying on the
table by his side.
“ Good news Youssuf, very good news. I am pleased. Leave me now, return in one
hour, we will watch the World ring it’s hands, together. Who knows, perhaps the good
book here will guide our next steps. Go. And Youssuf, perhaps the woman will talk to
us now.”
Wraith-like, the boy melted into shadow.
!
!
It was almost three thirty when the four met for a late lunch. It had been a long
morning; Yevgeni was in no doubt as to how long.
“ Please slow him down Ciaran. My head buzzes, please show him how to eat, when to
eat. Yevgeni faint.”
The big Russian feigned collapse, sinking dramatically onto a chair, clutching his
stomach. Before they had time to discuss their respective morning’s work, two phones
rang in the canteen. Nick and Ciaran took one each. Both calls were brief, both
serious. Ciaran spoke first.
“ Trip...I’m sorry...that was Ethan Blake in Boulder. I don’t know how to say this, even
though I know it’s possible, I...can’t quite believe it. I’m sorry...bear with me a minute.”
Ward looked across at Nick Beresford, who nodded imperceptibly. Trip glanced from
one to the other...
“ Nick...Ciaran...?”
Finally Ciaran broke the jam...
“ Trip...I’m so sorry. Fat Man exploded at Trinity again this morning...while we were
eating, over three thousand people died. They’ve brought back the bomb.”
68
Trip looked at Nick Beresford.
“ Nick?”
“ The same I’m afraid Trip. That was Harris on the phone; offers his condolences, he’s
a real gent. Look, er...I know it’s no consolation but, well...welcome to the club.”
Trip leant forward, head in hands, staring blindly across the room; he remained so for a
few minutes before speaking.
“ Ciaran, Nick...Yevgeni...I don’t know about all of this, the spins and turns, big theories
I really can’t get a hold of. But I can understand three thousand people dead; mothers,
fathers...sons, daughters, visiting the site of an evil we’d finally controlled. And that’s
bad, so bad I can’t even get angry...yet, at least till we find some one to get angry at.”
“ Trip, we’ll understand if...”
Ciaran never got to finish.
“ No...not like that Ciaran. I feel sick, disgusted; sorry Yevgeni, guess I can’t eat right
now. You eat, I’ll just carry on. Join me when you’re ready.”
The big Russian put an arm around his new friends shoulder...
“ Trip, maybe a little rest...eh. We both rest, hard day today. Bastard hard day.”
“ No way man, am I gonna sit here and wait for the bastards to hit again. Screw that. I
can’t help those dead people no more, but I sure can help the ones left alive . Just let’s
get to it.”
!
Catherine Lebrun felt pain before she heard distant voices, whispering, echoing
somewhere behind her in the room. Movement was impossible; arm and leg restraints
cut deep into her flesh, a broad leather strap held her head down. That alone would
have been enough, but she knew the butterfly valve leaching pethidine into her veins
had already robbed her of the ability to move.
69
At the foot of the bed, an Arab boy swam into view through the mist blurring her vision.
He smiled, fastidiously picking his teeth with a cocktail stick. Seconds later, deep,
sickening pain arced Catherine’s body as he drove the stick under her big toenail.
Another smile, and he repeated the punishment on her other foot.
Despite the pethidine, Catherine tried to scream, failed. As the pain rose again, she lost
control of her bladder, biting back bitter tears.
A second, olive skinned, face joined the Arab.
“ Catherine...don’t cry so. Youssuf will leave us now.”
The boy vanished, the pain remained.
“ Fat Man popped today Catherine. You know what that means don’t you? Oh so
bright...oh so pretty...oh so many dead. And all your fault Catherine. Do tell us what we
need to know, and the killing stops.
No more dead; no more pain for Catherine. For us...well of course, for us...everything
we want. That’s not so bad surely Catherine. And your husband, ah yes, poor JeanBaptiste, will you see him again? Think Catherine, please think, there’s so much pain
you see...and Youssuf likes you. A bientot.”
Alone once more, hovering on the edge of delirium, broken by pain and pethidine,
Catherine desperately sought oblivion.
!
In Westminster, Harris, Adnam and the Prime Minister had already experienced the
rage felt by Earl Wyatt, the American President.
Once the situation had been explained, JITS and it’s members figured only slightly
behind the ’hostile’ on the list of targets for the fury seething across the Atlantic.
Harris was succinct as ever.
70
“ That’s it Prime Minister, our work load’s at least doubled now. Earl’s going to want to
attack someone pretty soon over this.”
The Prime Minister nodded...
“ Mmm...I’m afraid you’re right Jack. Somehow we have to smooth this over...but three
thousand dead? How in god’s name do we do that?”
For once Adnam was able to get his retaliation in early.
“ Guess your news girls are going to have their work cut out on this one Jack. Hope
they can manage. Things will be hotting up out there when this leaks.”
!
After Trip returned, grim faced, to the Chronos signal tapes, Yevgeni shuffling like a
grizzly bear behind him, stomach growling, Ciaran and Nick had to break the news
again. Neither envied the task.
“ Don’t know about you Nick, but I wouldn’t wish this baptism of fire on anyone.”
Even so, they weren’t prepared for the reaction.
The news girls stared in disbelief at Ciaran Ward. Sacha spoke first, halting, uncertain.
“ I don’t know...how...to believe you.”
Maread was more direct.
“ It’s madness. You, expecting us to believe this...madness. Your world’s turned foul,
evil and you want us to spread the news. What kind of world have you made, a world
where three thousand people are killed by a sixty year old atom bomb. My Uncle Davie
said there was still a sickness on this island; now I know it for sure.”
Beresford and Ward remained silent. Sacha leant forward, gently massaging her
temples.
“ I didn’t really understand what you told us. Of course, I thought I did, naturally; quite
the clever newshound, nodding wisely here and there...”
71
Ciaran broke in...
“ Look, I’m sorry Sacha; there isn’t an easy way round this; we’re all out of our depth. It
wont be any consolation, but think how we feel, after all, it was our monstrous,
egotistical, bloody cleverness that started it in the first place. And if you think that
makes us as guilty as the maniacs wreaking this havoc, then,” he nodded towards
Nick, “you’re not alone.”
Sacha looked over at the Ministry man; Beresford shook his head.
“He’s right, but time for agonising is one commodity we do not have. You came here for
a story, well, you’ve got it and you’ll never get a bigger one. This just might be the last
story of all.”
“ So calm, so mad,” Maread swayed from side to side, “will you tell us now, how the
fuck do we explain a sixty year old bomb blast.”
“ Simple,” said Nick, “a test missile launch from Holloman Air Base went wrong.
Someone had installed a live nuclear warhead; the test was aborted by destroying the
missile. Unfortunately, there was some substantial collateral damage.”
“ Jesus,” whispered Sacha, “so bloody cool. Can we sell that? Would you buy it?”
Ciaran Ward turned towards the door.
“ We go live at five o’clock. Gives you about an hour or so to make it convincing.
Oh...and if you think that’s difficult, try imagining what telling the real truth would be
like.”
Nick had the final word.
“ Two hours; your name in lights. Go for it.”
!
Barraclough snapped upright as they emerged...
“ Everything in order Mr Ward, Mr Beresford..?”
72
Ciaran nodded...
“ Give them everything they need, Barraclough...apart from the keys...they’ve got work
to do.”
Nick waited until they were out of earshot.
“ Don’t you trust them?”
Ward laughed.
“ For heavens sake Nick, if someone had just told you they were partly responsible for
a sixty year old atom bomb exploding, would you want to stick around?”
“ Well, if you put it like that, no. Oh this is crazy, what’s going to happen now. I can’t get
a hold of any of this; where do we go from here...Ciaran?”
Ward fell silent until they emerged from the compound, heading with unspoken
agreement, drawn to the beach.
“ America; that’s our main problem now. Harris and the Prime Minister are going to
have their work cut out to restrain Earl Wyatt from attacking someone.”
“ But attack who? Why?”
“ Nick, of course they want to attack someone; it’s what America does...”
“ Why, they know the problem, what’s involved, why do they always have to shoot
something...”
“ It’s a teenage thing Nick, they’re a teenage nation...the gun’s just a prick waiting to go
off...automatic reaction...somebody does something you don’t like...shoot ’em.”
“ So you lose over three thousand people in a sixty year old explosion...and you want
to attack someone...anyone...is there some sense in that...fucked if I can see it.”
“ Simple solution Nick, they’re an action nation...yeah...don’t just sit there and think...do
something.”
“ We can’t let them Ciaran; Jesus, we don’t even know who to attack.”
73
Ciaran Ward turned south, felt warm sun on his face, saw distantly, light flashing from
buildings on the Sand Coast, away across Gruinard Bay.
“ No, we can’t Nick. This time they’re just going to have to tie a knot in it.”
!
Though the afternoon sun had moved behind elms towering above the house, warmth
still lingered in the paddock at Ugthorpe House; June was kind to the Cleveland coast.
From the end of the garden, ripening fields swept down towards the vast gun-metal
expanse of the North Sea; close by, at the mouth of the Esk, Whitby bustled with
trippers, merry in the sun.
Stephanie Beresford sat on the front steps of the House watching the twins play, guiltily
sipping a very strong gin and tonic. Life without Nick was proving far more difficult than
she’d imagined. She looked at her watch, it was almost five o’ clock...
“ Nathan...Sally, I’m going in to watch the news. Half an hour, no longer, then in for
dinner. And clear this place up before you come in.”
Both children waved agreement from the end of the paddock; discarded toys lay strewn
about the grass.
“ OK mum...half an hour...OK.”
Nathan sounded far from convinced.
“ It’s alright mum, I’ll make sure he’s in.”
Sally got a black look from her brother for the assurance.
From beyond the mullioned windows to her left, Stephanie heard the television crackle
into life, pulsating intro music heralding the early evening news. With no great
expectations, she rose and went indoors; neither of the twins followed, news just
wasn’t that interesting yet.
74
Much of the broadcast was routine; normal summer problems, ferry queues, air traffic
controller strikes, Test match scores. It was too routine. Stephanie knew something
was seriously wrong, but there was no mention, no hint of anything amiss. Whatever
had taken Nick away, the Government had clamped down hard. Until...
“ And now, a special report from our freelance correspondents at the Joint Institute for
Temporal Studies, on the island of Gruinard. You may find certain aspects of this report
disturbing.”
The newsreader, a young Sloane blonde, settled back in her chair, apparently glad not
to be involved in the story. Stephanie waited.
The screen cleared to reveal her husband, seated alongside an attractive, though
apprehensive looking blonde. Stephanie froze, panic stricken in case the twins grew
tired of playing; she’d been unable to answer her own questions, let alone theirs.
Nick’s introduction was brief, his words calm, authoritative. Steph's stomach lurched;
her husband looked drawn, pain lay deep behind his eyes.
“ This special report comes tonight from the Joint Institute for Temporal Studies here on
Gruinard. We present the report because of similarities with alleged incidents of
Temporal Distortion in this country. There is however, I stress, no connection.”
Here Nick turned to the woman at his side...
“ Sacha McNeish has the details. Sacha...”
“ Thank you Nick. This afternoon at approximately nine thirty local time, a nuclear
explosion killed three thousand people in the southern New Mexico desert.”
!
“ Jeeesus!!! Gordon, come here man. Good God, will ye look at this.”
75
Davie Haston leapt from his stool in the back bar of Gordon McNeish’s Badlaurach
Lodge Hotel, clutching a half of Grouse; the half of eighty shilling he’d been drinking
with it flooded the bar-top.
Gordon wandered in from the cocktail lounge, where he’d been serving the other
customer.
“ Davie, Davie boy, will ye keep yer voice down. There’s nae need...Jeeesus Christ
man. Why didn’t ye tell me?”
Gordon’s jaw dropped as he realised his sister was speaking from the television
screen.
Sacha continued...
“ The faulty warhead, launched on a test flight from nearby Holloman Air Force Base,
exploded at Trinity, Ground Zero, almost sixty years since the first atomic bomb was
fired at the same spot.”
Without his eyes leaving the screen, Gordon McNeish reached down a bottle of
Talisker and two glasses. Neither man spoke; Sacha continued.
“ No trace remains of the victims, tragic visitors to Trinity, site of the worlds first atomic
explosion. Once more the desert plain is fused into Trinitite.
Earl Wyatt, United States President, has declared a State of Emergency and as much
Federal aid as is required. A Senate enquiry is expected to begin immediately.”
Davie Haston swallowed half a glass of the fiery island malt before speaking.
“ There’s evil over there Gordon, and yer kin’s mixed up in it now. But oh God where’s
ma niece, where in heaven’s name is Maread.”
Gordon took some more malt.
“ She’s with Sacha, I’m sure of that Davie. She’s away on the Island there, that’s for
sure.”
76
So with an evening scarcely begun, oblivious now to the flickering screen over the bar,
the two men drank on.
!
Tension sparked from wall to wall in the Oval Room. Earl Wyatt, America’s first black
President, a six foot four ex college linebacker, was mad. He strode about the room,
phone crushed in his right hand, bellowing into the receiver.
“ Goddamn Ralph, I’m about through on this one already. Seventy two hours tops and
I’m gonna need something...someone to go for. Make it happen Ralph, can’t sit on this
for ever.”
The tortured phone slammed onto a walnut desk. Milt Drover, Vice President, had
weathered the storm.
“ Due on air in fifteen minutes Earl. Holloman’s all sealed off. We can hold this for a
while; give Ralph some time.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“ Jesus Milt...how much Time do you think we need. It’s Time got us into this goddamn
mess in the first place. You got the press organised?”
“ My first job Earl, soon as we heard the news; that faulty warhead story will run for at
least seventy two hours. Buy us some time.”
“ Well make double sure it does Milt, or we gonna have every buck toothed ‘X Files’
groupie in the country seeing spaceships and building welcome signs out there in the
desert. Just do it.”
!
Ralph Baker gingerly replaced the phone on his desk. Harris and Adnam, united for
once in sympathy, looked on. Harris raised an eyebrow.
“ Tough Prime Minister?”
77
Baker shook his head.
“ Be sensible Jack. What do you think. Feels like I’ve done four rounds in the ring with
Earl, not talked to him. Of course it was bloody tough.”
“ How long?” asked Adnam.
“ We’ve got seventy two hours to quieten Earl down or give him something to aim at.
Jack, onto Ward and Beresford first thing tomorrow. This has got to start moving now.”
For once, Adnam had the last word.
“ You know, I can’t help feeling we’ve been lucky so far. Let’s hope Gerard and Valeri
don’t jump on Earl’s bandwagon.”
Harris left his rival’s comment hang in the air; the reaction from France and Russia
would come soon enough.
!
!
!
Chapter 8
!
Olive Skin stood, arms resting on the cool marble parapet of his balcony, looking out
over the Mediterranean. Early morning sun warmed the air; distant work noises rose
from the port below; a pungent blend of diesel and fresh fish reached his nose. He
thought about torturing his mother.
Sensing a presence at his back, he spoke without turning.
“ Youssuf?”
“ Benazi, master. Youssuf is with the woman; she is very weak; he thinks she may talk.”
“ There must be no more violence...yet. Be sure she is kept alive.”
Then a pause.
78
“ You wanted...?”
“ Master, a message. The bald master would speak with you.”
Slowly...
“ Oh yes...yes I’m sure he would. And yet he has done well. Bring him to me.”
The Arab boy bowed...
“ Master.”
....half turning.
“Benazi, prepare a girl in the bald master’s room; a reward for his service to come.”
!
“ Os, a salute. To a task, so nearly complete.”
Olive Skin and the bald master, Os van Rindt, touched glasses; Muscadet sur Lie for
Olive Skin, whisky for the stocky Afrikaner, already his third or fourth of the day.
“ I’ve seen the woman.”
Olive Skin replaced his glass without drinking.
“ Now Os, don’t spoil this with a plea for mercy. I really was quite pleased you know.”
“ Will she live? The woman I saw in the vault was trying to die; no use to you then. She
hasn’t given the final code string yet, has she?”
Something slipped; a muscle twitched in Olive skin’s right arm and the Waterford
crystal was seconds away from smashing into the balcony wall.
“ Os...dear considerate Os. Of course she won’t die; Youssuf is also a skilled healer.
And be assured, we will have the code. A fully stabilised TI is essential for our final
work.”
The Afrikaner shook his head.
“ Forgive my impertinence. I lack...understanding. She is your...”
79
“ Mother. Quite so. A mother who discarded me without a second thought; a clean swift
severance; clinical. Keeping the family that suited her designs, unmaking me, purging
her mind for ever.”
“ And she doesn’t know? Didn’t even suspect when you showed her the photo?”
Olive Skin sipped wine from his glass.
“ No. My appearance has, shall we say, changed a little. And she will not know. From
anyone. That knowledge would give her far too much strength; a pure focus for her
hatred, her will to resist. If she were to find out Os...”
The balcony fell silent, cold despite the mid morning warmth.
!
They had moved indoors, stood side by side before a wide screen monitor. Olive Skin
spoke into the gloom.
“ Display all potential TI.”
The monitor flickered into life; a computer generated globe spun, suspended in
darkness; pinpoints of ultra violet light pocked the planet’s surface. Os van Rindt
watched as the lights spread like a cancer through the four JITS countries, each one a
beacon of death and destruction. Olive Skin smiled.
“ So pretty Os...so pretty don’t you think.”
“ I think maybe it’s enough. For sure they would agree to your terms now.”
Olive Skin waved a hand at the screen, dismissive.
“ These? Sideshows Os, warming up for the main attraction. Hors d’oeuvres before our
bloody feast. And we will feast Os...oh how we will feast.”
The Afrikaner shook his head.
“ And just what is it you really want? What shall we take to this feast?”
Olive Skin half smiled at the globe.
80
“ But Os...you know. I want them to know me. Recognition Os, they will come to know
me.”
“ Of course, but what exactly will you demand of them; what is your price?”
Olive skin’s patience snapped...
“ Enough Os, don’t you push your latest brief success. I will not be questioned; not by
you, not by anyone.”
....then softly once more...
“ Though...yes, perhaps you could know now. First some more creative work with Time,
our good friend Chronos seems ever eager to please, so many interesting ways for
innocents to die now; it quite brings out the artist in me Os. Finally...”
Olive Skin paused and turned towards the Afrikaner, eyes fever bright, a tic working at
the corner of his eye.
“...finally...oh yes...ultimatum. Relinquish control of this miserable planet, or I will
destroy it.”
‘Yes’ thought Os, ‘ suit your diseased mind perfectly that. I do think you would prefer
destruction rather than control.’
Wisely the South African kept his thoughts to himself.
“ I must go now. I leave for Marseilles at one; there are still tracks to be covered. Her
assistant has got too close.”
“ Good Os, very good. Before you go, there is a girl in your room, a virgin for our South
African bull. Do as you wish; Youssuf will clear up after you leave.”
The Afrikaner left, Olive Skin remained, gazing at the spinning globe.
!
81
Chapter 9
!
Early morning June 9th, neither Ward nor Beresford had slept well, lying awake, dozing
fitfully. They hadn’t been alone.
Alone in the half light of the communications centre, Trip sat, hunched in front of a
monitor; a constant stream of data flickered across the screen. Unnoticed, just inside
the door, Ciaran and Nick watched the young American.
Ciaran raised an eyebrow.
“ Well?”
Nick shook his head.
“ No, leave him. There’s nothing we can do he isn’t doing for himself right now.”
Ward and Beresford left the room; Trip worked on, oblivious of the door closing behind
them.
As half expected, they came across Yevgeni on the beach. The Russian stood, hands
in pockets, an ominous monolithic figure, looming out of the morning mist. Both men
clattered noisily along the shore; anxious to announce their presence without
burdening the Russian with conversation. There was no need.
“ Nick. Ciaran. I hear you coming. I’m not here long. Boy can’t stop; me, no more ideas.
Too much work; no ideas. Once I could work two, three day without stop. Not now. I let
you down.”
Ciaran shook his head...
“ Yevgeni that’s not...”
“ Yevgeni that’s utter crap, is what Ciaran’s actually trying to say,” Nick broke in,
“nobody here has let anyone down. If Trip’s still working it’s because he’s afraid to stop.
Got to work it out of his system.”
82
Ciaran nodded gratefully.
“ Nick’s right. You’ve guided us all along. Can’t stop now; we need you, we want you
here. But, and this applies to Trip as well, we will understand if either of you feels
obliged to return home. Put yourself first for once Yevgeni.”
Across the water a seal barked, melancholy in early morning. It was some moments
before Yevgeni spoke.
“ I thank you Ciaran. Despite past troubles, it is my country, my people. But I stay. Here
is only place can help them.”
“ Any ideas Yevgeni, anything at all from what you and Trip have seen?”
“ Oh I wish so Ciaran. But so far, nothing. I think maybe we just ask Chronos for help.”
“ Well, could it be that simple?” asked Nick.
“ Bastard say no. Helped once. Our problem now.”
Ciaran broke in...
“ Maybe so Yevgeni, I agree, but we haven’t actually tried have we? I mean, how could
we not try something that might save the world.”
In the freshness of the morning, it seemed so obvious; it had to be tried. Without a
word Yevgeni, Ciaran and Nick turned their backs on the bay and returned to the
compound.
!
Henri Tribout drank espresso at the Bar Ugolin, small, bleak and anonymous, close by
the dock entrance in Marseilles. It was mid-morning and he was stuck. The Renault
Espace that had spirited Catherine Lebrun away from Castellane had disappeared.
He’d managed to follow it this far, but now...he looked over at the dock gates.
Hundreds of vessels capable of carrying an Espace; it wasn’t a one man problem.
83
Ugolin’s regulars came and went, Henri remained alone, drinking espresso, smoking;
the Bar Ugolin wasn’t a place to ask questions. In the back room, a pock-faced Arab
watched him from behind beaded curtains.
The sudden blast of a siren signalled a mid-morning break; Henri rose to leave as the
bar began to fill up. In the crush he felt something pressed into his hand, turned but it
was too late, all eyes were averted, intent on the bar. Outside, he walked a few
hundred yards before examining the note in his hand.
‘...Bar Dauphin, rue des Moulins, quinze minutes...’
Luckily Henri knew the Bar.
!
“ Bastaard!!”
Ciaran Ward smashed his fist into a monitor casing in frustration, the screen flickered.
Around him, Trip, Yevgeni and Nick stood in silence; the message hadn’t got through.
Chronos had kept it’s defences up, high radiation levels acting as an effective barrier to
the plea for help.
“ But why wouldn’t it listen,” said Nick, “ we might have been asking for another recall,
some more TIs to watch.”
Nobody spoke.
“ Oh Jesus Christ, thick Nick again. I’m sorry. Of course, Chronos would know exactly
what we wanted.”
Yevgeni laid a giant hand on the military man’s shoulder.
“ Don’t bother Nick. Time funny business. Take some getting used to. Bastard say no,
last chance, we got to do it now. But don’t know how.”
The Russian’s last phrase hung in the air; nobody knew how.
!
84
Ralph Baker turned to his Foreign Secretary.
“ Well Jack, have we got anything yet, anything at all?”
Jack Harris saw worry lines etched into his leader’s face; there was real concern here,
the man was genuinely worried for his people’s future.
“ I’m sorry Prime Minister. Nothing positive to go on since Catherine Lebrun’s
disappearance.”
“ Suggestions Jack?”
“ I think we should talk to Ciaran Ward. Anything they’ve got from a technical point of
view would be much better direct from him. Take me a few minutes to set up a video
link.”
The Prime Minister nodded.
“ Do it.”
!
Substantially less than seventy two hours after his last conversation with Ralph Baker,
Earl Wyatt’s patience reached breaking point.
“ Goddamn Milt this can’t go on. Now I know I said seventy two hours, but hell, this is
no goddamn use. Ralph’s turned up jack shit; we got to play some cards of our own.”
Drover knew his President, knew exactly what was expected of him.
“Unofficially Sir, very unofficially, one of our CIA analysts has forwarded some
interesting work based on satellite reconnaissance.”
Wyatt stopped pacing.
“ How unofficial would that be Milt?”
“ Seems he completely forgot to submit the work to his superiors; it found it’s way
straight here. Clearly a man to watch Sir.”
85
Wyatt walked to the window, turning his back on the Vice President. He looked out over
the city; suddenly it seemed vulnerable; at the mercy of...who? Inactivity wasn’t a long
suit for Earl Wyatt.
“ A name Milt, I guess this forgetful analyst would have a name.”
“ Aidan McGuire sir.”
“ Get him here. Now.”
Drover nodded.
“ Two minutes Sir. He’s waiting down the corridor.”
Wyatt turned back from the window.
“ Good Milt, very good. Let’s see him.”
!
Ciaran Ward saw worry lining the once youthful face of the Prime Minister, wondered
how he looked himself; felt tired.
“ Prime Minister.”
“ Mr Ward, good of you to spare me some time. And do we have it to spare? Others are
involved with...shall we say...less patient natures.”
The oblique reference to America was scarcely necessary.
Behind the camera, Jack Harris raised an eyebrow and Ralph Baker remembered his
prompt...always ask the scientist for his opinion, make him feel he’s of use to you.
“ Your thoughts on the matter Mr Ward. How do we stand?”
Ciaran contemplated severing the link; cosy chats with the PM hadn’t figured during his
dealings with Harris, he decided to play on.
“ Prime Minister our efforts so far have produced no tangible results. Despite extensive
analysis of our communications with Chronos, we have been unable to find anything
that might help.”
86
“ And your erstwhile colleague, Catherine Lebrun, what of her?”
Ward hesitated momentarily, held back by old allegiances, then dismissed them.
“ Traced as far as Marseilles by Henri Tribout, her assistant. We are waiting for his next
report. You’ll be informed directly we have contact.”
It wasn’t enough.
“ Mr Ward...there are suggestions...”
“ Of course there are bloody suggestions, rumours, whatever. Be no different if you or I
disappeared. And yes, if you must know, I strongly suspect Catherine is now working
alongside the hostile responsible for these rogue TIs.
Believe me, we know exactly what we have to do, and quite frankly, the sooner we are
allowed to continue, the better. Thank you Prime Minister.”
The screen went blank. Harris hook his head.
“ I’m sorry Prime Minister, Ciaran can be a touch volatile. But if there is a solution, my
money’s on him to find it.”
The Prime Minister’s displeasure was tangible.
“ What are you doing this evening Jack?”
“ Official engagement Sir. Pre-season Promenade concert at the Albert Hall, in aid of
the Diana Trust.”
“ Cancel it Jack. No...better still, Adnam will go in your place. I want you on Gruinard
tonight. Ward may be as good as you say, but I want someone standing guard. Contact
me as soon you get there.”
Before Harris could reply, the Prime Minister had gone.
!
87
In Marseilles, Henri Tribout stood alone at the counter of Bar Dauphin exactly fifteen
minutes after receiving the note, ordered a glass of marc to drink with the bar’s strong,
bitter espresso; the waiter fussed, overeager to please.
Henri looked around; Bar Dauphin was deserted, the rendezvous failed. He felt tired,
despite the caffeine lift, even the fiery Provençal marc couldn’t pep him up. He began
to leaver himself onto a stool for a moment’s rest when the room slid sideways. Legs
betrayed him, rubbery and uncoordinated, as he tried to make for the door; the room
spun savagely again, as Henry realised far too late that the rendezvous hadn’t failed.
Darkness closed in as he hit the floor; Henry never felt the two pairs of arms close
under his shoulders and drag him into the back bar.
!
“ Jesus Christ Ciaran, that was the Prime Minister you just cut off.”
Nick’s frustration exploded in anger. Ward shrugged...
“ Oh well spotted Nick, it’s a fair cop. Just what the hell did you expect me to do, spend
the rest of the day making political chit chat? Not my scene I’m afraid Nick, and you of
all people should know that.”
“ There was no need to be so bloody rude. The man’s got a job to do and he needs
information to do it. How’s he supposed to get it? Ask those political colleagues you
despise so much? No, he decides, very reasonably, to ask an ‘expert’ and what does
the ‘expert’ do? Blow him out of the bloody water.
No, not very clever that time Ciaran; oh satisfying I’m sure, giving the PM a flea in his
ear, but clever...no, not your best shot. We’ll be hearing from them soon. Ralph Baker
may not play the hard man like Earl Wyatt, but he’ll not let this ride.”
The Russian grinned.
88
“ I teach you be Russian diplomat Ciaran. Agree everything, then please yourself.
Learn to be...how you say...yes man...don’t be so bloody honest.”
Ward took the hip flask from his inside pocket, offered it up.
“ Was I really that bad? Maybe Jack
will be able to calm him down. No?
It’s
frustration; don’t you see, I haven’t got any neat political answers. For Christ’s sake I
feel responsible for this fuck up and right now, I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”
“ Ciaran, we’ve known each other a long time,” Nick passed the flask on to Yevgeni
“you can’t do this alone. No one person was responsible. All got to beat bastard now,
eh Yevgeni?”
The phone rang. Reluctantly, afraid of further disaster, Nick picked up the handset; the
message was brief, his face set.
“ Well, you managed it Ciaran. That was Barraclough. Harris’ helicopter has filed a
flight plan to land here this evening. The Foreign Secretary is coming to tea.”
!
!
Chapter 10
Jack Harris took the afternoon shuttle up to Glasgow. The flight, though short, was a
welcome respite from the pressures of Westminster. Relaxed, he sat alone, ate
nothing, drank mineral water and let his mind roam.
Virtual expulsion from London had, at first, angered him. An hour or so’s deliberation on
the BA 737 enabled him to take a slightly different view; if, and when the situation did
deteriorate, JITS Gruinard would be better informed, and thus safer, than anywhere
else in the world. It was a thought that comforted Jack Harris, Party loyalty began to
fade as his distance from the capital increased; why shouldn’t he think of himself for
89
once. Being away from Westminster might not be so bad after all; he doubted that
Adnam would be able to handle what lay in store. That thought pleased him too.
Above him, seat belt warning lights flashed.
“ Fasten your seat belts ladies and gentlemen. We are preparing for our descent to
Glasgow airport.”
After a bumpy turn into the wind, the 737 levelled out for it’s approach. As they came in
to land, Harris spotted an elderly Sea King helicopter on the fringe of the runway; his
transport to Gruinard, it was going to be a rough ride.
!
Harris had been right; Francis Adnam was heartily unimpressed by the change of plan
forced upon him by a Prime Minister still smarting from Ciaran Ward’s snub.
“ Francis, it’s Ralph. Cancel whatever you had planned for this evening, we need you at
the Albert Hall. I’ve sent Jack to Gruinard to ride shotgun on Ward’s JITS group; he had
an engagement for the Diana Trust, pre-season Promenade sort of thing, you’ll fill in
for him. Seven thirty for eight, transport’s arranged; it’s classical, you’ll like it. Don’t let
me down.”
“ But Prime Minister, I’ve a long standing family affair tonight. Couldn’t Harris have
gone tomorrow morning. I can’t see what difference a few hours would make.”
“ No, that’s just the problem Francis, you can’t. Give my apologies to Betty. Transport
will be with you at seven. We’re on show tonight Francis, must be seen to be at ease.
And for heaven’s sake be careful if you’re questioned, the Press are bound to be there.
So far as they’re concerned, everything is just fine.”
Adnam gritted his teeth.
“ Yes Prime Minister.”
!
90
The Home Secretary’s ill humour simmered beneath the surface all evening; the main
object of his displeasure, as usual, Jack Harris; Adnam felt betrayed by the Foreign
Secretary’s flight to Gruinard.
It was seven thirty exactly when he arrived at the Royal Albert Hall. His tetchiness
surfaced immediately, sparked by clamouring press, and to the obvious dismay of
Lionel Tummel, the Hall’s Director of Culture for the season.
“ Good evening Home Secretary. The Diana Trust welcomes you to the Royal Albert
Hall. We have a fine program tonight.”
“ Indeed ,” grunted Adnam, “ I feel sure my colleague Harris would have found the
evening more to his liking.”
Eleanor Rees, Tummel’s assistant, tried to recover the situation. Eleanor, a handsome,
forceful woman, was quite prepared to use whatever means necessary in the service of
the Hall.
Eye to eye, she smiled at Adnam. It was a very attractive smile.
“ We have a private box reserved, Home Secretary. Lionel must leave us now, he’s
needed on stage for the opening. If you’d follow me, I will take care of you.”
Adnam saw a bold, confident smile, strong features, a good figure, and the politician in
him regained control.
“ Mr Tummel, Miss Rees...do forgive me. This has been an unexpected surprise; my
gain is Jack Harris’ undoubted loss. Of course, I shall be glad to place myself in your
care. Please...lead on.”
Tummel escaped gratefully back to the auditorium; Eleanor Rees led Francis Adnam
away to the official box, high in the Albert Hall. Quite deliberately she placed herself
ahead of the Home Secretary, making sure he had something good looking to follow.
!
91
Jack Harris disembarked reluctantly from the shuttle; the prospect of a helicopter flight
to Gruinard left him cold. Around him the air seemed harsh, much cooler than when
he’d left London. An RAF Land Rover ferried him across the tarmac to the waiting Sea
King. Far, far too quickly he was strapped in, the savage beat of the rotors battered his
ears and his stomach lurched as the chopper lifted off. He’d been on the ground less
than five minutes.
At any other time, Jack Harris would have enjoyed the flight’s visual experience if
nothing else. One hundred and fifty miles north of Glasgow, Gruinard basked
innocently in the evening sun. Cruising at just below it’s maximum one hundred and
forty miles an hour, the Sea King covered the distance in about eighty minutes.
One hour twenty minutes of stunning scenery; mountains, lochs, islands clipped with
gold, unravelling beneath. Jack Harris hated every minute of it.
His stomach lurched as the Sea King dipped, turning south west into the wind over
Stattic Point. Gruinard lay below, bleak and insignificant; an island with chequered past
and uncertain future. Minutes later they hovered above the helicopter landing pad
outside the compound; Harris could see no-one; if there was a welcoming committee, it
was well hidden.
‘Then again,’ he thought ‘ it’s highly unlikely I’ll be welcome at all.’
He wasn’t wrong.
!
Francis Adnam was no music lover; the proximity of Eleanor Rees his sole source of
pleasure during the pre-Promenade concert. They were alone in the box, outside it’s
doors two of Adnam’s security guards waited patiently, disinterestedly; classical music
was a closed book to them too.
For a while, Eleanor attempted polite conversation.
92
“ I understand Mr Harris was called away at short notice, Home Secretary; something
quite unforeseen, I’m sure. I know he was looking forward to the concert tonight.”
“ Yes indeed Miss Rees, I do believe he was. However as I said before, Jack Harris’s
loss is my pleasure.”
“ I can’t imagine what could have kept him away.”
It was too much.
“ Miss Rees, is Mr Tummel, your superior, a good boss?”
“ Well I...”
“ Of course; he tells you what to do, you do it. A simple and very workable
arrangement; also a good basis for a system of Government. We have a Prime Minister
who does the same; Jack...go to...well anywhere really...Jack goes. I come here. That’s
all you need to know really.”
“ Home Secretary, please forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry.”
Francis Adnam leant closer to the Assistant Director.
“ Eleanor, I may call you Eleanor?”
Adnam took silence for assent.
“Tonight I need a female companion. Not an Assistant Director, but a woman. I’m a
powerful man Eleanor, you’re an ambitious woman. Do I make myself clear?”
Eleanor Rees dismissed the negative thoughts crowding her mind, she was ambitious
and prepared to use anyone she could.
“ Oh very clear Francis,” she moved closer, resting a hand on his thigh, “ very clear
indeed.”
!
They were waiting for Harris in the entrance hall; Barraclough discreetly found work
elsewhere.
93
“ Sorry Jack, but we really don’t fucking need this.”
“ Quite frankly Ciaran, it wasn’t my idea of a good time either.”
Nick Beresford was slightly less abrasive.
“ Promotion or punishment Foreign Secretary? Ciaran tells me politicians are quite rare
birds here on Gruinard.”
Jack Harris still enjoyed dealing with hecklers; he lit one of his cigars, savouring the
expression of disgust it produced.
“ Well actually Mr Beresford,” a smoke ring drifted towards the Ministry man, “if it hadn’t
been for your friend’s questionable people skills, I might not be here at all. And that,
you will understand, would suit me just fine.”
“ Well actually Mr Harris, it’s Captain Beresford, not that the rank bothers me you
understand, just like to have things right. So if you two can stop sniping, maybe, just
maybe we can find a solution to what Ciaran delicately referred to as a ‘slight
problem’.”
Harris and Ward stared at each other. Finally the scientist grinned.
“ OK, OK, hiya Jack. Welcome to Gruinard, information centre of the Universe and all
round hot spot. And yes, I know, I was bit abrupt, but we’re trying Jack, we’ve nothing
to go on, don’t know where to look, who to ask, but we are trying. This isn’t your run of
the mill diplomatic hiccup you know.”
Harris shook his head.
“ Christ you’re touchy Ciaran. Are all scientists this highly strung Captain Beresford?”
It worked; laughter followed, brushing aside the earlier friction.
“ Right, business,” Harris moved on, “ if I’m stuck in the middle with you, I need to know
exactly what’s going on. Bring me on line fast. Now.”
94
“ Got your thinking head on Jack? Nick will you sit in? Might help to have an informed
layman’s view for the technical bits.”
“ Sure, but what about the others. Trip must be pretty strung out by now.”
“ No worries, Yevgeni will stay with him. He’s good for the lad. Now, Jack, still like
Laphroaig? It’s the best entertainment we’ve got round here.”
Harris smiled.
“ Things are looking up already; maybe it won’t be so bad here after all. Do hope that
bastard Adnam isn’t enjoying himself to much. Lead on Ciaran.”
!
Musically, Adnam’s was a simple soul. Popular ’Last Night of the Proms’, classical
music he might have found tolerable; Stockhausen’s Kontakte became an unendurable
misery; ironically, Eleanor Rees’ presence made matters worse. Her physical presence,
and clear willingness to take advantage of Adnam’s offer, raised the sexual tension in
the box to the stage where, had they not been in full view of the audience, Adnam
would have taken her there and then.
For her part, Eleanor would have been more than willing; her first brush with real power
had proved a powerful aphrodisiac.
Yet they couldn’t leave. Sufficient loyal party blood still ran in Adnam’s veins to make
him heed the Prime Minister’s warning. Nothing out of the ordinary; preserve the
facade of normality. In any case, the woman would be his before the night was out.
!
The concert finished at ten o’clock; relieved finally, Adnam saluted the audience and
turned his back before the encores could start.
“ A less public way out Eleanor?”
Both knew the inevitable outcome to follow.
95
“ A service exit, to the rear. Follow me.”
They left the box; Adnam’s security radioed his driver to relocate to the rear exit and
they began the labyrinthine escape from the Royal Albert Hall. As they threaded it’s
corridors and stairs, Adnam felt the floor lurch, a faint vibration, Eleanor Rees moved to
his side.
“ Francis?”
“ Hmm...strange, maybe a plane, the underground perhaps. Don’t worry, we’ll be at my
apartment soon.”
From beyond the walls, irregular dull thuds began to shake the building. Distantly,
perhaps from within the auditorium itself, faint screams pierced the night. Elsewhere a
siren wail rose sharply above deeper sounds. Once again the building shook, Eleanor
stumbled and Adnam took her arm, bringing her close. As they passed an emergency
fire escape, Adnam stopped, unaware, his security guards ploughed on.
“ Wait, let’s try this.”
He was beginning to think Harris had got a very good deal indeed.
Adnam slammed the panic bar and the door burst open, taking them out onto a tiny
landing.
“ Jesus Christ. Oh you bastard Harris...you knew...”
Eleanor Rees clung to her would be sponsor, white with fear.
All around them the night sky was shot with flame; London was burning. Explosions
moved relentlessly across the city as sticks of Luftwaffe bombs fell from the sky.
Adnam watched a searchlight sweep the cloudbase, saw the outline of a Heinkel
bomber wheeling away from it’s run. A bomb landed nearby, Adnam felt the blast tear at
them as they huddled on the fire escape, watching the Blitz reprise.
96
Then suddenly it stopped; the sky cleared of German planes, searchlights dimmed.
Time returned to normal.
But the fires remained; real sirens tore the warm summer’s night apart; real screams,
anguished, begging for help, rose into the sky.
Panting with exertion, Adnam released the lower section of the fire escape.
“ Come on, Eleanor, quick woman.”
“ But Francis, the Hall...where are we going?”
“ Bugger the Hall woman, we’re going to Downing Street.”
!
Jack Harris was no scientist, but his mind was sharp; like most politicians he could
grasp the broad picture with ease when necessary. For two hours he sat and listened
whilst Ciaran re-capped the situation. In some ways the scientific details were
unimportant; after a lifetime in politics, Jack Harris could recognise a catalogue of
disasters, and the current mess had ‘DISASTER’ written large across it.
Ward made no attempt to apologise, no promise of easy solutions. Finally he poured
two inches of malt into a glass, sat back and waited.
The Foreign Secretary was in no rush, he too re-filled his glass with malt and relaxed,
looking first at Ciaran, then at Nick. Only the air conditioning’s mindless rustle broke the
silence.
“ Well, I’ve got to hand it to you Ciaran, when you fuck up, you do it big style. Is it any
wonder that us simple politicians worry when you guys decide to play God? Shiiiit!”
“ Now hang on a minute Jack, I thought we said no...”
Harris laughed.
“ Oh keep your bloody hair on Ciaran. That’s it; I’ve said it now. It’s as much our fault
anyway.”
97
“ Odd thing to say, Jack,” Nick broke in “ just how would it be your fault?”
Harris was quiet for a few moments.
“ Mmm...bit embarrassing this, actually. You see, er...we’d been warned about
Catherine Lebrun by the French government when JITS was first established. Oh
nothing concrete, just that she was...well, unreliable...Gallic unpredictability, you know.
Could have been professional jealousy for all we knew.”
Nick shook his head.
“ So you did nothing about it, just let this lot blunder on tinkering with the cosmos.
Christ, I thought the Army was dangerous; piss poor third place to you guys.”
“ Anyway,” said Harris “ all the reports suggested there hadn’t been any concrete
breakthroughs; she was considered low risk.”
Ward was about to speak when the phone rang. He lifted the handset.
“ Ward.”
The conversation was brief.
“ That was Barraclough; the Prime Minister wants a video link, now.”
“ Christ he’s keen,” said Harris, “I thought I might have got a night out of it.”
Nick adjusted the camera, flicked a couple of switches and the screen formed; as the
image cleared horror spilled into the lecture suite.
Ralph Baker sat, ashen faced at his desk. Behind him stood Francis Adnam, smoke
stained, dishevelled; next to him a woman similarly distraught, clothes torn. Through
the window behind them, the unmistakable glow of fire coloured the night sky. Sirens
wailed in the distance. There was little to say.
Struggling for control, Ralph Baker spoke to Gruinard for the second time that day.
“ Jack, Ciaran...things are very bad here. About ten o’clock tonight we had a Temporal
Incursion, a night bombing raid from the Blitz. There is massive devastation; we think
98
five, maybe six thousand dead so far. Communications are affected. You’ll have to
prepare another Press release; we can’t sit on this any longer. You must find a solution.
Now.”
The screen flickered, stabilised then flickered again. Before it finally dissolved, Jack
Harris saw the look of blinding hatred on Francis Adnam’s face.
!
!
!
!
!
!
Chapter 11
!
It was a while before anyone could speak; finally Harris broke the silence.
“ Suddenly this all feels very, very close. It does occur to me Ciaran, that if you hadn’t
played the prima bloody donna and cut off the PM, I’d still be in London. In the middle
of that.” He nodded towards the screen. “ Might just have saved my life. Do I thank
you? Or don’t we work like that up here?”
“ Don’t know Jack, and right now it doesn’t matter. Time matters; Chronos matters; the
bastard that’s fucking us about matters; people dying matters. Somehow we’ve got to
break this. Fast.”
Ward carried on without interruption.
“ Nick, sorry, but can you prime the girls again. Sounds like our twenty first century
broadcasting house came second best to some good old twentieth century bombs.
99
Sacha will probably be OK, but try and get Maread a bit more involved. She needs
something to do.”
“ Oh marvellous, thanks Ciaran. I will do my best, but don’t be surprised if Maread
refuses; she hates this whole set up you know. Sacha should be alright, appeals to her
journalistic instinct.”
They had so much to do that couldn’t help, and that feeling of helplessness lay heavy
around them. With no concrete plan to channel their thoughts, there was much
concentration on the mundane. The three scientists, acutely aware of their own
shortcomings, took refuge in the comfort of numbers. Almost in desperation, Yevgeni
returned with Trip to the Chronos tapes. Nick hung back, dissatisfied with his
stormcrow role.
“ Ciaran, we run transmission tapes again. Maybe bastard slip up. Trip not ready to
give up yet...eh?”
With less than six hours sleep in the previous forty eight, the young American looked
drained, but his eyes sparked as he answered .
“ Let’s go big daddy, we’re gonna wear that old Chronos down.”
It was a brave call. Before they left the room, the phone rang.
Ward shrugged, offering Harris the chance to answer it; the ringing continued. Harris
answered the call.
“ Jesus Ciaran, what did you do before I got here?”
For a couple of minutes the conversation was one way. Finally Harris got a chance to
speak.
“ Look Earl, dammit man, how do you think we feel. We’re looking at five to six
thousand dead already; you think we’re not working on this. I have to tell you, we’re
close to a breakthrough here. Inside the seventy two hours no problem. Got our best
100
men on it. Believe me, we’re looking at results within twenty four hours. So just hold off
now Earl. You will. Good man. We’ll get back to you the minute we have a clear target.”
Harris put the phone down, paused.
“ Earl wants to know who to attack; that’s probably no surprise to anyone here. Well,
what do we do now Ciaran?”
Ward shook his head.
“Christ Jack, how the hell should I know. If I get an answer, promise I won’t keep it to
myself. Believe me, if I knew, I’d tell you. Until then...well, think I guess; there’s not a
right lot else we can do. Unless you’d prefer the all American action plan; shoot first
think later.”
Nick moved towards the door.
“ Look we’re getting nowhere. I’ll go and see the girls. Just a thought, but what are we
going to tell them this time?”
Ward looked across at the Foreign Secretary.
“ Well Jack, any ideas?”
“ Once in a while, even an old soldier’s got to play it straight.” Harris laughed “ Shit or
bust now Nick. Tell them the truth.”
Nick Beresford turned on his heels, left the room in disgust. Trip and Yevgeni followed
in silence.
!
Nick approached the women’s room reluctantly. Although technically still under house
arrest, Sacha and Maread had moved from the cell to a secure suite; much more
comfortable, still under lock and key; the guard outside the suite looked far too alert. As
Nick nodded, he released the three deadlocks
o’clock.
on the door. It was almost eleven
101
Both women were watching television, a foreign channel game show mindless in it’s
absurdity, as Nick opened the door.
“ Captain Beresford, bit late for a social call,” Sacha teased, “ I thought we said drinks
at eight. See Maread wouldn’t have happened in the old days, military men were so
punctual then. Do we have a drink for the Captain?”
Nick hesitated...
“ Actually...”
“ Couldn’t you at least get us a decent telly if we’re going to be stuck in here,” said
Maread, “ can’t get a picture of any sort from London.”
“ Oh no,” Sacha looked directly at Nick, “ this is another of those visits. I can tell; god
you’d make an awful liar Captain, don’t ever try to cheat on your wife.”
The mention of Stephanie stopped Nick in his tracks, he’d almost managed to avoid
the distraction of thinking of her.
“ I...dammit Sacha,” for a second his anger flared, “ would never cheat on my wife,
though I dare say you might not understand that.”
Happy with her small success, Sacha asked again.
“ Well then, it is a bit late for a social call.”
“ The reason there’s no picture from London is simple. The broadcasting centre was
destroyed in a bombing raid on London earlier this evening.”
Maread turned away, dismissive.
“ Yer mad, again. Bombing raid? Makes it sound like the Blitz for heaven’s sake.”
Sacha stayed silent as Nick continued.
“ I’m sorry. That’s precisely what it was. We know there were already five or six
thousand dead; there will be more. We broadcast from here in half an hour. Now
listen.”
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!
In lecture suite one, Jack Harris and Ciaran Ward looked at each other across the
table.
“ Just you and me then Ciaran. Have you any ideas?”
“ Not a fucking clue Jack, and that is the truth. Why did you lie to Earl? You know we’re
nowhere near a solution.”
“ Usual reason; he want’s to attack someone. Earl’s good and mad; bit of a shoot out
somewhere would be good for him politically. The ‘good ole boys’ back home aren’t
right keen on thoughtful inactivity. Firing off a few rockets will buy Earl some more
time.”
“ Seemed to me he agreed a bit too easily. How did you see that?”
Harris stood, moved to the table and poured two glasses of malt.
“ Oh, he’s up to something, no doubt about it. I don’t know Earl all that well, but he was
lying through his teeth. Bit like us really.”
Ciaran reached for the whisky, savouring the smoky aroma of the malt.
“ Then who can we trust.”
“ Right now? Ourselves. The five of us here. No one else. Trust me.”
It was an odd statement from a man who only recently had been lying to the most
powerful man on earth. It brought silence to the lecture suite; only the air conditioning’s
irritable rustle filled the room. Finally Harris spoke quietly, unsure and reflective.
“ What about Chronos. What could it do, the very worst say. How bad could it get
Ciaran. It’s not easy for a political dinosaur to understand that sort of thing.”
“ Straight? How straight Jack?”
“ As it comes. Seems we don’t have the luxury of elaboration now.”
Ward paused for a moment, thinking.
103
“ The real answer Jack, is that I don’t know. Don’t actually think anyone knows. But,
you need an answer. My best guess is that we should prepare, if that’s possible, for
everything from continued incursions of the sort we have been experiencing so far,
to...well, the total destruction of the planet.”
Harris gulped Laphroaig, the fiery malt had no effect as he swallowed.
“ And can Chronos do that. Total destruction? That’s a big phrase Ciaran.”
“ It’s a big game Jack, Chronos is something we don’t understand. We’ve only a rough
idea what it does; can’t even begin to guess it’s origins. It must pre-date the Big Bang,
somehow it’s existed outside the framework of the Universe, outside Time; it is Time.
How the hell do you expect us to understand that. It would be like a Viking trying to
fathom the hydrogen bomb. Like I said Jack, we’re playing in a very big game here,
and we don’t even know the rules.”
Harris rose and moved towards the door.
“ Ciaran, you tell the lousiest bedtime stories. Good night.”
!
On the mainland, Gordon McNeish had closed the bar early and gone to bed drunk.
Normally a good drinker, good had turned to heavy since Sacha had gone to Gruinard.
Davie Haston had gone home drunk too, for similar reasons, his thoughts on Maread.
Both men were sound asleep by ten thirty. Neither saw Nick and Sacha’s second
broadcast revealing the horrors of London in the Blitz, 2005.
!
In Manchester, Alan Topalian watched the broadcast with mixed emotions; admiration
for the Government’s skilful handling of the disaster and irritation at the feeling that
Sacha was directing the broadcast at him. The bulletin was brutally honest, making no
attempt to cover up the results of the Incursion, but clever, very clever.
104
Details of casualties were minimised, much emphasis placed on the resumption of
normal services as soon as possible. Unlimited Government funds were promised for
re-building and compensation, and a public enquiry scheduled for the near future. All
predictable, all expected.
What shocked Topalian was that the reasons for the Incursion were explained in some
detail. Too much detail for any normal person to understand; there could be no
question of the Government suppressing information, quite the reverse. The nation was
bombarded with concepts it could not possibly comprehend, and that itself would buy
time. It was a master stroke. As it finished he reached for the phone.
!
!
Across the Atlantic, as Harris and Ward made their way to bed, Earl Wyatt spoke with
his Vice President.
“ He’s a shrewd cookie Milt. Jack Harris was stringing me a line. Ah can tell a man’s
lying, even over the phone. They ain’t got jack shit over there.”
“ With respect Mr President, Jack Harris is a well respected politician. The latest
Incursion will have hurt them a great deal; it’s only a small country you know. And they
do have another thirty six hours.”
“ Why thank you for reminding me Milt. Pass me that report of Aidan McGuire’s. Time
we
got a little action going. I’m dammed if I’m going to sit her and watch votes
disappear because our lily-white British friends can’t stand a bit of a battle.”
!
!
105
June 10th, morning. In the windowless darkness of the compound, less than eighteen
inches from Ciaran’s pillow, a phone rang, shattering in the confines of the room.
Ward jerked from deep sleep, heart thumping, fumbled for the handset.
“ Ward...who...”
“ Ciaran, it’s Trip. I’ve got something.”
Ward sank back against his pillow.
“ Jesus...Trip it’s...never mind. Suite one, ten minutes, wake Yevgeni. I’ll get the
others.”
It was seven thirty.
!
!
!
Chapter 12
!
In the cold light of the lecture suite four faces, pale with fatigue, looked to the young
American.
Trip apologised first.
“ Sorry to drag you out of bed. I couldn’t sleep, though I guess most of you could.”
Yevgeni grunted.
“ Trip...eat, sleep...gotta learn how. Come to Russia when all over. I show you how.”
Harris stood quietly, slow with sleep, nursing a glass of water; Ciaran came swiftly to
the point.
“ Let’s hear it Trip.”
The young American looked around, took a deep breath.
“ OK. I went back again over the Chronos emission tapes. Something strange shows
up.”
106
“ Whole goddamn thing strange.”
“ Thanks buddy. Anyway, flicking back through the transmission log, I noticed an
anomaly in Chronos’ behaviour.”
Ciaran looked at Nick, raised an eyebrow.
Trip shook his head.
“ I know, I know...it’s all one big anomaly. But this is different. Immediately before every
outward transmission from JITS, radiation levels surrounding Chronos drop
dramatically, returning to normal as soon as the transmission is over.”
Ward and the Russian remained silent; Nick spoke first.
“ Coincidence? Maybe just a routine fluctuation. Is this really early morning stuff Trip?”
“ Every transmission? Right back to day one?”
Ciaran carried on without waiting for a reply...
“ But why didn’t we spot it? How come we missed something that obvious?”
Trip allowed himself a faint grin.
“ It’s simple old boy; you weren’t looking.”
Still Yevgeni stayed silent, Nick asked the obvious question.
“ OK, so what does it mean. Why do the levels drop?”
Now the Russian was ready.
“ Bastard opening door. Let us in.”
For the first time in many days, Ciaran saw a barrier crash aside.
“ Trip that’s brilliant.”.
“ But hold on a minute,” Nick broke in, “ how does Chronos know when we’re about to
transmit? Oh bloody hell, of course; pardon me all over the place. It’s Time; how could
he not know.”
“ Bastard help after all.”
107
This time Ciaran grinned.
“ I think what Yevgeni’s trying to say is this. Chronos deliberately lowers it’s surrounding
radiation levels, prior to our transmissions, to allow the message to penetrate. Normal
energy levels on the event horizon must be so high that incoming information just can’t
get in. And of course, as Nick pointed out, it’s expecting us anyway.”
“ Guess that gives us a way in,” Trip said, “ if we notice a drop in radiation levels from
Chronos, and we’re not transmitting...then someone is.”
“ Could we pick up an outgoing signal and trace it back?”
“Spot on Nick,” Ward replied, “ if we used Intersat’s grid to monitor outward messages,
we might just be able to trace back to the source.”
Nick Beresford’s eyes sharpened, at last a potential enemy was in sight.
“ And with a source, we’ve got...”
Trip finished the job...
“ A target.”
Harris shook his head, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“ Hang on, you’ve lost me. I like the sound of target, Ralph will like it too, but I think I’m
missing some of the physics. Can we monitor radiation levels from Chronos quickly
enough to mount an effective scan, I mean by the time we notice a change in level, a
short transmission might already have been completed. We’d have missed it.”
“ Must you be so bloody practical Jack,” disappointment rang in Nick’s voice, “ that’s
the first break we’ve had.”
“ Sorry to spoil it Nick; it’s that dumb politician sort of question. No complaints about the
technical briefing Ciaran, but I never really understood how you could have such rapid
communication with so distant an object.”
108
“ It would be a good point normally Jack, but Chronos observes it’s own rules. My best
guess is that we will have time. The code string is complex enough, but we’ve had our
best results by ’wrapping’ the code in an inert carrier. There’s a lot of signal degradation
over twenty four thousand light years, by the time our message reaches Chronos, most
of the carrier is gone, leaving pure code. We have to assume our ‘hostile’ is using the
same technique, after all, Catherine helped develop it. I hope we’ll have time, anyway,
we don’t have much choice, at the moment this is our only shot.”
“ Need Intersat on continuous scan. Now. Wait for other bastard.”
There was no doubting Yevgeni’s intentions. Ciaran turned to Harris.
“ Well Jack, fancy another chat with Earl. See if we can play with his satellites; let’s just
hope he hasn’t found himself a target already.”
Harris nodded...
“ Oh I’d love to. There was one other thing though, more of a fantasy really, too many
science fiction books, I suppose. It did occur to me that the rogue TIs might not
necessarily be of Earthly origin. I mean, presumably Chronos, like a good public
servant, will accept requests from any bona fide customer. Perhaps we really aren’t
alone. Sorry.”
Nick groaned...
“ Now that’s all we need. Little green men.”
!
Milt Drover took Harris’ call first, shielding his President from a rude awakening.
“Jack it’s four thirty in the morning, is there no way this can wait?”
Harris admired the Vice President’s loyalty.
“ Not at all Milt. I told Earl that a breakthrough was imminent; well it’s happened, we
need a little help from yourselves. I’ll speak to the President now Milt, thank you.”
109
Years of battleground grass roots politics had
ingrained considerable authority in
Harris; Drover transferred the call without hesitation. Earl Wyatt, President of the
United States, came quickly awake.
“ Better be good Jack, we do like to get some sleep here. What d’you have?”
“ Wouldn’t wake you if it wasn’t necessary Earl, you know that. We have a lead. One of
your boys out of Boulder, Trip Coffin, has handed us a way of detecting transmissions
to Chronos. It’s a long shot, but our best. We need Intersat re-programming to monitor
all transmissions in the Black Hole’s direction. If we pick something up, reversing the
co-ordinates should lead us to the hostile. How soon.”
Earl Wyatt, heard the door open, saw his Vice President framed in the doorway,
carrying two cups of coffee, thought briefly about Aidan McGuire.
“ Sounds sketchy to me Jack, but if you’re sure...we’ll go ahead.”
“ It’s our first break Earl, feelings good over here, despite the London incursion. I’ll get
our trackers onto Intersat’s frequency right away.”
“ Well slow down a minute Jack, get yourself some breakfast, it takes six hours to reset
Intersat.”
From the far side of the room, Milt Drover heard Harris’ frustrated protest.
“ Six hours? What do you have to do Earl, rebuild the bloody thing?”
“ Security Jack. It’s not just a question of hitting a switch, or every goddamn hacker in
the country would be into it; Intersat would tie itself in knots. The code has to be rewritten completely. Leave it with us, six hours you’ll have it, say I guess...no later than
three thirty your time. Best we can do, g’night Jack.”
!
Catherine Lebrun came slowly awake, tensed, waiting for inevitable pain; it never
came. As her eyes struggled to focus, she became aware of three figures at the foot of
110
her bed. Two faces she associated immediately with further pain, Olive Skin and the
Arab boy Youssuf; recognition of the third figure came slowly, bringing gut churning
fear. Slumped between his two captors, face a broken mass of swollen open wounds,
Henri Tribout gazed uncomprehendingly at the object of his search.
“ Catherine, dearest Catherine,” Olive Skin stared distantly around the room, head
arcing from side to side, “ I believe you know our poor friend. His quest is over now,
though I do regret our Afrikaner may have been a little over zealous. Youssuf will care
for him now.”
Catherine fought against her restraints, was shocked to find herself free to move,
raised her head slowly, fighting to speak...
“ H...henri...mon Dieu ...Henri...what...”
Olive Skin smiled...
“ Ah, of course. Faithful Henri, a true servant.”
...and as quickly the smile vanished.
“ Take him Youssuf, Os has had his sport, but no more marks. Be clever. I think
Catherine knows what we want.”
Catherine struggled half upright.
“ Bastard...I’ll give you the code...it’s yours. Just don’t harm him any more. I beg you.”
Again, the half smile.
“ Beg...oh yes...beg. Such a nice word. Take him Youssuf, be patient. If Catherine
betrays our trust , you’ll have your fun. Now Catherine, Henri is safe, Jean-Baptiste
waits for you, tell me ...everything.”
!
Breakfast on Gruinard was a subdued affair; the delay in re-programming Intersat had
taken everybody by surprise, anger and frustration erupting in the canteen.
111
“ Jack you were too bloody easy on him,” Ciaran practically bellowed at the Foreign
Secretary, “ only the Yanks could come up with an eighteenth century driver for twenty
first century technology.”
“ Be fair Ciaran, his point about hackers was a valid one, a satellite with a constantly
changing path wouldn’t be much use to anyone.”
Harris remained silent.
“ Quite agree Nick, the security aspect’s vital, but half a dozen pre-coded memory
modules would have done the job in a quarter the time; just need Earl to select one
and away we go.”
Finally Harris spoke, quietly and the atmosphere calmed.
“ Ciaran...it’s done. That’s the way it is; Earl can’t do it any faster just because you
thought of a better way. What we do now, thoroughly, effectively, accurately, is make
sure we’re ready for the re-alignment. And we will be, because it’s my job to ensure we
are.”
Ward began to speak.
“ But...”
Harris continued...
“ Trip, Yevgeni make sure our tracking systems are ready to lock on to Intersat. Nick,
more PR please. Ciaran, come with me, we’ve got a Prime Minister to keep informed. I
wonder how Adnam’s getting on with that new woman he had?”
In seconds the canteen was empty.
!
The third video link between Gruinard and Westminster was the most successful so far
and though short lived, finished naturally. Ciaran began to enjoy his supporting role
more, now that Harris had the organisational bit between his teeth.
112
Ralph Baker looked to have made a good recovery from the horrors of the previous
night and sounded more relaxed.
“ Jack, Mr Ward, what have you got?”
Harris paused for a moment or two.
‘You bastard’ thought Ward, beginning to see Harris in a new light ‘ you really are very
good at this’
“ We have some good news, a breakthrough. One of Ciaran’s team has come up with a
possible means to trace the hostile. I emphasise possible, at this stage. It’s operation is
dependent on the American’s re-aligning Intersat, which should be done by three thirty,
GMT. After that, any further attempts to generate Incursions should allow us to trace
the signal to a target. How are things with you?”
The Prime Minister stared straight at the camera, unmoved
“ Much better Jack. We think between four and five thousand casualties now, estimates
were too high in the initial confusion. Access is restricted below the flight path and
work is continuous securing damaged buildings.
Actually...”
Ralph Baker paused, cleared his throat.
“...it’s quite amazing. We’ve had not a word of criticism from the people, our people.
It’s as if they know we can’t do anything just yet; it’s like they’ve been waiting for
another blitz to prove how resilient they are. Astonishing.”
Harris raised an eyebrow.
“ The Press?”
This time Ralph Baker smiled.
“ Oh them. Well, most supportive given the story. Handing them all the information on a
plate certainly defused the situation, so far. If nothing else happens before you target
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the hostile we should be alright. The big boys are playing very straight, thank god, but
obviously it can’t last for ever. We need everything that breaks just as soon as you get
it.
And keep an eye on Earl, he’s been too quiet for my liking.”
It was enough for the time being, there was no more to be said, for once the link
dissolved without trauma.
!
Midday’s sun had moved off one corner of the balcony. Olive Skin and Os van Rindt
leant against the parapet, side by side, glass in hand, grateful for shade. Below them
the port slowed in the sun; at their backs the dessert baked.
“ It’s time Os, something tells me our time is very near.”
Olive Skin tilted his head to one side, eyes half shut, sniffing in scents from the port
below.
“ The woman has agreed to release the final code string; we shall have it today and our
grand design will be complete. Be excited Os, there are big days ahead; days of plenty
for your particular tastes.”
Os van Rindt drank, rolling whisky round his tongue.
“ I don’t doubt you, but are you sure nothing can go wrong now?”
“ Nothing at all Os. Our ultimatum will arrive with them today, but first, I think, a final
demonstration,” Olive Skin nodded downwards, “ let’s go inside and choose one last
playground.”
!
Breakfast in America, June 10th, Earl Wyatt faced Milt Drover and Aidan McGuire
across the table. McGuire was impressed but not overawed.
114
“ Mr President, this is a great honour. I am fully aware of the importance of the situation
and want you to know my undivided loyalty is yours.”
Earl Wyatt finished chewing a mouthful of Grape Nuts. Drover sipped fresh juice.
“ McGuire, I truly don’t give a rat’s ass where your loyalty lies, and nor should you.
What I need is results, not schoolboy allegiance. Is this picture you paint clear and
correct?”
McGuire replied without hesitation.
“ Why yes Sir!”
“ Good, because right now we’re having Intersat re-aligned to help our British pals on
Gruinard, who are convinced they are on the verge of a breakthrough. Now I’m not so
goddamn sure, and currently you are my best option. Congress wants action, the Press
want action, every half baked, shadow chasing John Doe in the country wants some
action and I want to be able to deliver it. Not in my nature to wait around to get shafted.
Now, can we do it?”
The President nodded at his second in command; Drover took the prompt.
“ One more time Aidan. Just what do we have here?”
Unfazed, McGuire stood and moved back from the table, finishing a glass of fresh
orange juice before speaking. He thumbed the switch on a remote, bringing a panel set
into the wall of the breakfast room crackling into life. Slowly a satellite reconnaissance
picture took shape on the screen.
“ This Mr President is your hostile.”
As magnification increased, zooming and re-focussing step by step, a clearer picture
began to emerge; President and Vice President watched in silence.
“ As you can see Sir, the facility is underground. A ramp...there,” McGuire pointed with
a light pen, “ leads down beneath the escarpment. Whatever is below the surface is
115
big, very big Sir. We have tallies in excess of one hundred heavy goods type vehicles
entering the unit without egress.”
Earl Wyatt sipped coffee.
“ How long has this build up been taking place Aidan?”
“ First noticed it three months ago. Probably gone on longer, but the initial traffic will not
have been as heavy, so we didn’t pick it up.”
In between mouthfuls of hot buttered toast, Milt Drover probed deeper.
“ Estimate the size Aidan. Must be quite some place.”
“ Indeed sir. Must be Candlestick Park and the Mile High Stadium rolled into one. And
heavily fortified, this guy doesn’t aim to be disturbed.”
Earl Wyatt turned his spoon over in the cereal bowl.
“ Hostile...hmm. Now what does tell me...Aidan...that this isn’t just some glorified
mining camp. I can’t mobilise half an army to mop up a legitimate mineral operation.
Congress sure does want some action, but shutting down some innocent third world
industry will do us no favours at all. Do I make myself clear?”
McGuire thumbed the remote, face set. Another close up emerged, more transports
shuddering down the ramp beneath a cold moon. Alternate vehicles carried missiles
and missile launchers; it was a long line. McGuire resisted the temptation to gloat.
“ Continuous for almost twelve hours. A very well armed mining operation Sir. These
next shots may settle your mind a little.”
Once again the picture dissolved, reforming slowly, grainy and less distinct. This time
McGuire smiled.
“ Watch closely now Mr President. I think you will find this interesting.”
116
Step by step the camera focussed in on a narrow, steep sided wadi; it was a barren
scene etched by moonlight. Nothing moved in the dark confines of the gorge. McGuire
sensed impatience...
“ Wait...just wait...”
Almost immediately, shadows flowed along one wall of the wadi, angles receded, rock
moved and a section of the wadi slid back to reveal a battery of radio telescopes rising
improbably from beneath the ground.
“ Mr President, whoever’s running this needs some damn good long distance, and I
mean long distance communications; this ain’t no mining operation Sir.”
For the first time, Earl Wyatt smiled.
“ You sold it Aidan. Now tell me, where is this place?”
!
Across the Atlantic, on another beautiful June day, high noon passed uneventfully; less
than three hours remained until Intersat’s re-alignment would be complete and a trace
possible. JITS Gruinard held it’s breath for the World and the island practically
screamed with tension. Final tracking preparations were made, tests run, more PR
bulletins prepared, nerves shredded and at last there was nothing to do but wait.
Nobody could stay indoors; beneath a hot sun little anxious knots of humanity dotted
the beach. Sea smells breezed along the shore, rippling the water in slow motion;
summer waited.
Sacha stood close by Ciaran as he faced out across the bay.
“ It will work, wont it? Oh hell, it’s got to work, hasn’t it?”
Ward sensed her perfume in the air, thoughts jolted by a hint of musk, and was puzzled
for a while as his mind wandered, then he stopped, caught himself, laughed...
117
“ Well now, to be honest...don’t know. At the moment there’s nothing else we can do, so
if this doesn’t work...”
Jack Harris wandered over to join them, preceded by a pungent wreath of cigar smoke.
“ Pay him no heed Miss McNeish. Trouble with scientists, they think too bloody much,
makes them depressing to listen to. What you need is some good old fashioned
political flannel; of course it’ll work.”
“ That’s my problem Jack,” Ciaran shrugged “ too fond of the truth.”
Sacha looked at her watch.
“ Just over two and a half hours, we’re almost there; Time must be on our side now.”
Harris put his arm round the girl’s shoulder.
“ Ciaran’s right in a way though, this is only a first step. It’ll get us a target, once we’ve
got that, then we can act. None of these people,” he motioned to the others on the
beach, “ are going to let it fail. It must work.”
!
!
!
Chapter 13
!
Ralph Baker left Downing Street after the conference feeling optimistic. No reason why;
a broad swathe of destruction cut through his capital city; four thousand people were
dead; treasured buildings lost; the nations Press, quiet for the time being, gathered
round the fire for scraps; twenty four thousand light years away a physical anomaly
rained down chaos at the hands of an unknown hostile. But Ralph Baker was
optimistic.
118
People in the streets, rescue workers shoring up damaged buildings, searching for
survivors amongst the dust and rubble, still bewildered and afraid, greeted him without
reproach; for the time being, the message was universal and simple ‘ we know it wasn’t
your fault, do what you have to do’.
Before a baying pack of photographers, Baker and Adnam paid a flag waving visit to
the
Imperial College of Science and Technology, badly damaged in the attack.
Afterwards they walked through the dull, dusty heat of early afternoon, still trailed by
the Press, to the Royal Albert Hall. Adnam felt his palms moisten as they stood before
the nation’s cultural heart. Above the city, thunderheads began to mushroom into the
sky.
“ Well Francis, how does it feel now?”
Francis Adnam was exhausted; official duties had kept him up till well past three in the
morning; Eleanor Rees had taken his offer very seriously and kept him awake for a
good two hours after that. A seven thirty breakfast with his Prime Minister hadn’t
helped; he heartily envied the woman asleep in his bed.
“ I wish...no...I’m glad that I wasn’t in the War. You know Ralph, when I stood on the fire
escape last night, watching London burning, hearing screams rising into the air, two
thoughts occurred to me.”
Ralph Baker took his Home Secretary by the arm, moving away from the Press pack.
“ I imagine Francis, that Jack Harris figured in one of those thoughts.”
A dull rumble at their backs startled both men, Adnam looked round nervously to see a
pillar of dust billowing skywards as the roof of the Royal Geographical Society
collapsed.
“Christ I’m jumpy Ralph. And yes, you’re right; I hate the bastard, it’s as simple as that.
The other thought I’m less proud of, you see, I couldn’t handle all this,” he waved his
119
arm towards the destruction, “ I watched bombs falling last night and it seemed so
bloody personal. Like...like the bombs were hunting you as you ran. How on earth did a
whole city live with that for so long. I’d want it over with quick, dead or alive; give me
Hiroshima any day.”
“ God you’re a cheerful bugger Francis, come on, let’s face them again.”
The Press had edged closer. On the fringe of the pack Liam Desroy, the Times Home
Affairs correspondent, finished a call to Alan Topalian and stowed his mobile. He was in
no hurry to ask questions, everybody wanted the same answers, the real interest lay in
how long the Government could carry the people’s support along. He switched on his
recorder and waited for the tabloids to kick off.
“ Les Bowden, Daily Star, Prime Minister,” a call came out from the pack, “ can you tell
us any more about the hunt for the hostile. How confident are you there won’t be a
recurrence?”
Ralph Baker remained optimistic; whilst he had the support of the Press, it wouldn’t do
any harm to play to the crowds.
“ Mr Bowden, thank you for your question. You’ll have your information, just as soon as
I do,” he turned to Adnam, “ Francis, your phone please.”
The Home Secretary handed the Prime Minister a phone from his chest pocket. Ralph
Baker dialled two eight digit codes and seconds later Jack Harris answered the call on
Gruinard.
“ Social call Prime Minister?”
Ralph Baker felt Adnam tense at his side.
“ Update please Jack. Gentleman from The Daily Star would like to know how our
search is progressing.”
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Jack Harris looked at his watch for the umpteenth time that day, Time seemed to have
slowed, tantalisingly; it was two forty.
“ Very confident up here Prime Minister. I’ve just spoken to Earl and the reprogramming will be finished ahead of schedule. Intersat will be available, ready to
track in twenty minutes, three o’clock our time. Next time our hostile shows, we’ll have
ourselves a target...”
Static cracked through the line, breaking the signal up. Ralph Baker could barely make
out Harris’ closing words.
“...good work...wishes from...up here...as soon as...contact...bye.”
The line went dead, but Ralph Baker already had enough to work on.
“ Well Mr Bowden. You won’t have caught that, but things are looking good. In less
than twenty minutes time, we’ll have a way of identifying our aggressor, which, I can
assure you and everyone, will be very bad news indeed for whoever has been
responsible for these terrible disasters.”
Les Bowden wasn’t so easily put off.
“ But could it happen again Prime Minister, we do need to know.”
Midsummer thunder rumbled in the distance, dust devils rose from broken buildings,
spiralling away in the hot shimmering air; to Francis Adnam, it felt as though the whole
city was waiting. He may have had doubts, but his Prime Minister was not prepared to
allow them to surface.
“ Twenty minutes Mr Bowden, we’ll be ready in twenty minutes. You know I can’t
guarantee there’ll be no recurrence, that’s already been explained, and you know we
are grateful for the responsible attitude of the Press. Right now we need your support
more than ever; oh not me, not the Government, but everybody in London, in Britain, in
121
the World, Mr Bowden; attacking each other isn’t going to help. We must come through
this together, we will come through this together.
Now, if you could spare us a few minutes alone, the Home Secretary and I are going
for a short walk.”
!
On Gruinard the Prime Minister’s call did little to ease the tension. Summer outside no
longer tasted the same, gradually the beach was abandoned for the sterile confines of
the technology suite underground as the deadline drew near. At a quarter to three
Ciaran Ward dialled up the tracking stations, his first contact Mervyn Davies, an
Australian radio astronomer from Perth.
“ G’day Ciaran, how you going?”
Merve’s accent flooded the room like sunshine.
“ Sweet Merve, what you got for us.”
Ciaran’s stab at Aussie lingo brought the first laughter for a long time.
“ Jeez...Ciaran, didn’t know you’d changed sides. We’re looking good here; right on
time. Less than twelve minutes now, leave me to it and I’ll get back to you.”
Ward replaced the phone.
“ Under twelve minutes, we’re almost there.”
It was eleven minutes to three.
!
Ralph Baker and Francis Adnam moved steadily away from the trailing Press pack,
across South Carriage Drive by Coalbrookdale Gate onto the fringes of Hyde Park.
Even here, just on the edge of the park, a green oasis in the city, the air felt cleaner,
easier to breathe.
“ Less than ten minutes now Prime Minister.”
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Francis Adnam sweated profusely, unhappy in the heat and disgusted with himself for
being afraid. A few hundred yards into the Park, on the way to Serpentine Bridge,
Prime Minister and Home Secretary stopped, side by side, turned south towards the
Thames. Before them London’s outline blurred in the afternoon heat, clouds darkened
now, towering above the city. A faint, barely discernible tremor ruffled the grass, more
thunder growled in the distance. It was eight minutes to three.
Ralph Baker saw the first plane, high in the south east quarter.
“ Thought we’d cleared this corridor until further notice Francis?”
Adnam followed his gaze; rapidly a second, third and fourth plane joined the stack; to
either side, two other stacks formed.
In the heat of the day, cold fear swilled like
mercury in his guts. Above, the sky shimmered and darkened; the first explosions
began to move relentlessly in their direction; along South Carriage Drive figures fled
towards the Park, driven by the carnage gathering behind them.
Ralph Baker moved first, snapping his frozen Home Secretary into action.
“ Francis, come on, move yourself man. Run for Christ’s sake, towards the lake.”
A stick of bombs scythed through Knightsbridge, showering the fringes of the Park with
debris. Gasping in terror, legs wading in a grotesque parody of slow motion, Francis
Adnam struggled after his Prime Minister. It was too late. In bleak irony, the sky
shimmered again and cleared of planes as the final Heinkel dropped it’s bomb load.
There was nowhere to hide; Prime Minister and Home Secretary threw themselves to
the ground in vain, dying as the bombs caught them, scattering their bodies across the
Park.
Harrowing silence descended; it was five minutes to three.
!
Jack Harris reached the phone first, smiled as he recognised the raw Australian accent.
123
“ Mr Davies, you’ve some news for us I think.”
There was no mistaking Merve’s pleasure...
“ Sure thing Mr Harris, we beat the deadline. You’re all go.”
“ Yessss...Merve, you beaut, this Aussie stuff’s catching, can’t thank you enough.
Speak to you later, got to keep the PM up to date.”
Relief flooded the room, above the door an atomic clock showed two minutes to three.
Harris picked up the phone again.
“ Let’s give London the good news. Ciaran, Ralph will learn to like you if we keep this
up.”
Ward smiled...
“ Go on Jack, your show now.”
Harris dialled the daily code for Adnam’s handset and waited, eager to break the news.
Suddenly the phone gave out a high pitched whine, audible throughout the room,
Harris laughed...
“ Don’t tell me the fat old bastard’s sat on it.”
...and replaced the receiver. Almost immediately the phone rang, seven pairs of eyes
focussed on the noise; the ringing continued. Nick pushed forward, picked up the
phone like a hot coal; the conversation was brief and one sided, the Ministry man never
spoke. Colour drained from his face, fingers trembling, he pushed the phone away in
disgust. Ciaran Ward moved close, squatting down beside his friend, speaking gently...
“ Nick, come on...what is it...not Steph, please not the twins...”
Beresford looked blankly around the room, white face to white face; it felt cold.
“ I...it was London...Prime Minister’s wife, Alison...they’ve had a second Blitz
Incursion...it’s too soon to tell how many casualties.”
There was only one question. Ciaran put an arm round Nick’s shoulders.
124
“ When, Nick. When did it finish.”
Beresford began to shudder uncontrollably, words spilling out.
“ Five to three, five to bastard three. Bastaaaard!!!”
The silence that followed was broken by the mindless chimes heralding the arrival of
new e-mail in Ciaran’s inbox. All eyes turned to the screen, still no-one spoke, chilled
expectation blanketed the room. Three minutes passed before the download was
complete.
“ Open it Ciaran,” Jack Harris’ voice rasped dryly.
Ward approached the screen and brought the message up, felt bodies behind him
pressing for a closer look.
‘ Mr Ward, Mr Harris, you will I think have been expecting this. Did you enjoy our little
history lesson? No? Well, no matter. Your governments have five days to surrender
their control to me. Shall we say by noon GMT on the fifteenth? If they do not, your
next history lesson may well be the last. Ever. As a sign of my goodwill there will be no
more ‘lessons’ until we have concluded our business. Do not doubt me. I will contact
you again.’
Nick shouted at the screen.
“ If this is some kind of sick hoax...”
“ No hoax,” Yevgeni growled, “ check attachment Ciaran.”
Ward opened the attached file, dragging stark horror into the room. Nausea rose in
waves at the sight of Catherine Lebrun, drugged and tortured, clinging desperately to
life or longing for death, it was impossible to tell. There was clearly no hoax.
“ Well, well,” whispered Harris, “now we do know.”
Ciaran Ward stood up, pushing his way out of the room without a backward glance.
Harris picked up the phone.
125
!
!
Chapter 14
!
Ward left lecture suite one and walked alone through the maze of sterile corridors, with
only the echoes of his footsteps for company, till he passed Barraclough’s solitary
figure at the front desk.
“ Open house now Barraclough. Unlock the doors, throw away the keys. It doesn’t
matter any more.”
Barraclough snapped upright, almost saluted.
“ Mr Ward sir?”
“ Dammit man, there’s nothing to secure. We’ve got five days to save the world. Made
in seven, destroyed in five. Locking people away isn’t going to help.”
“ Sir, Mr Ward. Certainly sir. Right away.”
Ward was gone before he’d finished.
!
Outside the compound Ciaran turned away from the shore, climbing steadily inland. A
faint track led through tangled heather and abrasive, half concealed pink granite
boulders. Sweat beaded his forehead. Finally, breathing hard, unused to the sudden
exertion, Ciaran stopped on a shoulder of rock, protruding like a scab through the
dense heather. He sat down.
Around him, sea and mountains stretched away into the distance. In the midst of so
much beauty, fear gnawed at Ward’s heart. How much longer could this world exist?
On the rock beneath him, ants busied themselves, unaware of the struggle overhead.
Was that how it felt he wondered, to be constantly at the mercy of unimaginably greater
126
forces. Ciaran realised with some bitterness that the human race was ill equipped for a
humble role in the universe.
A figure moved on the path below; Ciaran saw blonde hair against tanned skin and
recognised Sacha. Waited.
Ward’s eyes never left the slight figure weaving steadily up through the heather. Four,
maybe five minutes later, Sacha drew level, stood before him, skin glistening, chest
heaving as she gasped for air.
“ I never thought,” she paused, still short of breath, “ that you, of all people, would run
away.”
Ward continued to look at her without comment.
“ It was hardly a run Sacha,” he stopped, unsure, wondering why he’d finally used her
first name, “ meddling with the fabric of the Universe is no preparation for a dash up
here.”
“ Don’t be so bloody cute all the time Ciaran; you know fine well what I meant.”
Again the familiarity sounded odd, surprising them both; something had happened. For
a while, neither spoke; warm winds blew about them, insects fizzed through the air; it
was summer.
“ I thought we could control it. Of course, we all did.”
Once more Ward paused...
“ I don’t think you...anyone...could imagine what it meant when we finally realised just
exactly what we could do. Think of it. Man’s oldest dream. At last we had access to
Time. Any Time. Past, Present or Future. And we, just a handful of us, had done it.
Could you imagine the possibilities, the potential, perhaps even commercial potential,
of that. Could you?”
“ How long?”
127
Ward’s wry laugh vanished on the breeze.
“Mmm...you’re smart Sacha. Not long. Oh sure, for a while we felt like conquerors,
giants amongst men, godlike even. Reality returned after our second trial. Don’t know
how we’d managed to ignore it that long really.”
“ Flying too close to the sun? It’s not exactly original Ciaran.”
“ No, not at all, but how would you feel having made the greatest scientific
breakthrough of all time. We are human you know, despite what Nick thinks; we need
time with our delusions too.”
“ And?”
“ Oh it was obvious. We’d never have been able to keep it pure, you know, scientific.
Sooner or later power and politics would have taken over, and yet another gift from
science would have become a weapon in the politician’s hands, a threat to us all. We
agreed to stop. Or at least, we thought we had.”
Far below, tiny figures milled about the compound. Four were clearly visible on the
shore. Breathing more easily now, Sacha sat down on the rock next to Ciaran.
“ And now? What next, you can’t stay up here for ever...”
“ No...no? Why not? Mmm...why the hell not.”
Ward stood up, turned his back to the sea and folded his arms; remained silent, blonde
hair whipping from side to side in the rising breeze. After a few moments Sacha rose
and stood beside him, leaning close.
“ Well now Ciaran Ward, it’s true I don’t know you so well, but that wasn’t you. Staying
up here amongst the rocks and heather? I don’t think so. You see, you’re not really as
cold a bastard as you think you are; it’s just a convenience, a man thing.”
“ And what makes you so bloody sure, where’s all this come from?”
128
“ It’s simple. I’ve been watching you Ciaran. Now there’s a problem down there, big
problem; something to probe and question, something to solve, to get the better of. And
for you, that’s personal. You can no more walk away from that than fly. And another
thing...”
“ Only one more, go on now you’ve started...”
“ You’re needed. Oh all of you for sure; Trip, Yevgeni, Nick...even Harris. But you most
of all. They need you; as far as I can see, the World needs you. You can’t turn your
back on that because it’s what you need.”
It was true.
“ Sacha, some time soon we have to talk, but for now,” Ciaran took her hand, “ you’re
right. Let’s get back.”
As they turned downhill the gap between them closed and they kissed without
hesitation; it was as if both knew what was coming. Exploration soon gave way to
commitment until they stopped, close to the edge. As they broke apart Sacha raised a
finger to Ciaran’s lips.
“Don’t say it. It’s not ‘end of the world’ fever, you’ve grown on me Ciaran Ward. Though
I must admit, I was a wee bit curious to see what kissing the man responsible for the
end of the world was like!”
Ward had no reply.
Hand in hand for the first time, Ciaran Ward and Sacha McNeish threaded their way
back down to the shore.
!
By ten thirty in the morning Aidan McGuire languished in solitary confinement in a
secure unit beneath the White House, his purpose served. To say that he was pissed
129
would have been an understatement. High above him, Earl Wyatt and Milt Drover
moved the game on a stage.
Vice President at his shoulder, Earl Wyatt faced his Pentagon Chief of Staff across the
Oval Office. He was about to speak when the phone rang.
“ Milt, we’re going to be all tied up here. Take that will you,” Wyatt nodded at the phone,
“ tell whoever it is to call back. I’ll be here till lunch.”
Milt Drover picked up the handset, passing it to his President seconds later like a hot
coal.
“ It’s Jack Harris Mr President.”
Earl Wyatt took the phone...
“ Now Jack, we know the re-alignment went through on...”
....and stopped.
The next few minutes were the longest Milt Drover had ever heard his President listen
without speaking; his respect for Jack Harris deepened. Finally Wyatt handed back the
phone, his expression flat, skin pale. Drover waited.
“ They’ve had another Incursion. A repeat of the Blitz in London. More bombing,
but...Jesus...less casualties, they think...Ralph Baker’s dead...killed with Adnam, the
Home Secretary...almost a direct hit. Whilst we’ve been...”
Drover spoke quietly.
“ Intersat Earl, we re-programmed the satellite, they must have got a trace surely. We
were ahead of schedule.”
Earl Wyatt, President of the United States, shook his head...
“ So was the hostile Milt. The Incursion was over three minutes before re-alignment
completed. We missed the bastard.”
He looked across at his War Chiefs.
130
“ Now we’ve got to make the son of a bitch pay. Let’s do it.”
Milt Drover thumbed the remote and Aidan McGuire’s home movie came up on the
screen once more.
!
Ciaran and Sacha walked hand in hand onto the beach, only Harris and Nick Beresford
remained to meet them. Harris stood in front of them, feet planted firmly, slightly apart,
arms folded.
“ That’s got to be the last time Ciaran.”
There was no doubt what he meant.
“I’m sorry Jack, Nick. And you’re right, it won’t happen again. I just needed to feel in
control of what I was doing; the hill let me do that. Sacha understands.”
It was almost a formal declaration, neither Harris nor Beresford spoke.
“ What about Trip and Yevgeni?”
Harris nodded over his shoulder towards the compound.
“ Checking the transmission log again. Trip can’t let it go; he’s convinced that the
Incursion request must be traceable, even though Intersat re-aligned after the Incursion
had finished. God knows. Yevgeni will stay with the lad until he collapses...and that
can’t be long.”
“ What about London,” Ward asked, “ who’ll take the reins now that Ralph’s gone. Does
this mean you’ll be leaving us Jack?”
Harris grinned.
“ Not so easy Ciaran. I’ve already spoken to Geraldine Trembecki, she’ll take over
down there. You’re stuck with me till this is finished.”
“ Trembecki, the new Health Secretary, can she cut it?”
131
“ Oh I’ll say. Very shrewd and capable woman Geraldine, she will be PM one day
anyway. This will be a good intro for her. She’ll be fine.”
“ Can I ask a question?”
Sacha’s voice stuttered with emotion, Ward was shocked to feel her trembling by his
side. All three men looked at the journalist clinging to Ciaran Ward, her normally up
front manner had gone, confidence draining from her face.
Ward turned, brushing her forehead with his lips...
“ Sacha...shh...it’s OK...”
“ Will someone please for god’s sake tell me what we do now. Please!”
From nowhere a sudden squall whipped along the shore in answer. It was all there
was.
!
The sun had long since moved off the balcony leaving it to cool in the shade, there
Olive Skin and Os van Rindt sat facing each other at the table. As the Afrikaner raised
a tumbler of whisky to his lips, Olive Skin closed the leather bound, hand embossed
Bible he was reading, laying it gently on the table.
“ Such a rich vein of comfort Os. What a level headed, compassionate god, and so
wrong...oh so very wrong. Listen Os, hear what he says, hark to a god making sure his
subjects know he has all the best cards...
’ Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’
....and yet such dull, sterile vengeance; lacking a creative touch. Now my vengeance,
that will be truly inspired Os.”
“ Has she provided the final code yet? She’s still dangerous, don’t let that broken
woman act fool you. Get the code then kill her, it’s not a time for elaboration.”
132
“Warning me again Os,” Olive Skin’s eyes flashed, “your concern is...unnecessary.
Come, I’ll show you, we’ll have that code string now; she’ll be begging to help when
I’ve finished.”
Some minutes later Olive Skin and the Afrikaner bull entered a room deep beneath the
mountain. Catherine Lebrun sat upright in a hospital bed, a wretched broken figure;
there were no restraints, no drip feed drugs, her physical weakness after the torture
held her captive; as a precaution the boy Youssuf sat against a wall reading a Bible, a
wheelchair stood next to the bed. Catherine deliberately lowered her gaze as Olive
Skin spoke, she’d no desire for him to see the fire burning in her eyes.
“ My dearest Catherine, already you look...yes...stronger...you will help us now?”
Hatred spilled into the room as the woman spoke...
“ Bastard...where is Henri...I must see him alive or you will have nothing.”
Olive Skin arched his head towards the Afrikaner.
“ See Os...such spirit...truly a credit to her god. Of course Catherine, the faithful Henri,
naturally you shall see him and alive too, after all, I imagine he’d be no good to me
dead. And for you, a surprise, your very own surprise. Os, a wheelchair for our guest.”
As Os lifted her frail body into the chair Catherine spat on the floor at Olive Skin’s feet.
“ Bastard...somewhere a mother must rue the day she bore such Devil’s work.”
Olive Skin’s face darkened momentarily.
“ My Catherine so weak...yet so...stupid. Os, fetch her.”
!
In Washington, Earl Wyatt had little difficulty convincing his warlords that a punitive
strike was the only option under the circumstances. Gene Bachar and Moses Freeman,
Chief and Assistant Chief of Staff respectively, didn’t exactly drool at the prospect of
some hard action, but their enthusiasm wasn’t too far beneath the surface.
133
“ Now Gene, I have to know that this can’t go belly up. Do we have the necessary to go
in and close this down without kicking off Armageddon?”
Milt Drover hovered in the background...
“ Excuse me Earl are you one hundred percent on this? A failure here would put us in
an untenable position.”
Earl Wyatt rounded on his Vice President...
“ For Christ’s sake Milt, it could be us next time. Alamagordo again, Pearl Harbour any
goddamn thing. I tell you we can not afford to sit back and do jack shit. Do I make
myself clear?”
Milt Drover stayed silent, it was perfectly clear.
“ Mr President,” Gene Bachar broke the silence, “ we can have troops on the ground in
twenty four hours.”
“ With full support Sir,” Moses added.
Earl Wyatt looked at them both across the desk.
“ Location?”
“ Exact co-ordinates from the satellite scan Sir,” Moses took the technical role, “ we can
pinpoint the target to within twenty five metres.”
“ Mr President, you will not regret this Sir,”
Gene Bachar’s blue eyes sparked in his tanned face, the all American California boy
sensed advancement.
“ Then do it. And I will have minimum hourly updates from take off. More if necessary.
This can not go wrong.”
Bachar was in no doubt.
“ Sir, you got it.”
!
134
Whilst Earl Wyatt prepared to ‘let slip the dogs of war’, Olive Skin kept good his
promise to Catherine Lebrun. She was allowed a brief glimpse of her assistant Henri
Tribout and he was indeed alive, though only just; his journey from Marseilles had
taken a dreadful toll. For a moment she considered refusing them the final code string,
then dismissed the option; it would mean more torture for Henri and, finally, both their
deaths.
Away from her broken assistant Catherine was taken to a tiny projection room, she
tensed as the door closed behind her, leaving total darkness.
Olive Skin’s sickening whisper broke the silence, startling her.
“ Don’t worry Catherine, there’s no harm here...just...as we said...a surprise.”
Silence. A projector whirred into life and light spilled onto the wall opposite Catherine.
Again Olive Skin whispered into the gloom.
“ Watch Catherine...someone to see you...”
Images took shape on the wall. A familiar barren scene, but this time in broad daylight,
cut by angular black shadows. Deserted. A slight shimmer blurred the scene for a few
seconds. A figure appeared mid screen, from nowhere.
Catherine strained her eyes, finally her insides melted in recognition. There could be no
mistake. It was her husband, Jean-Baptiste Lebrun. Unseeing he faced the camera,
the same blonde hair, blue eyes and good looks she had loved since they first met.
Emotion tore her ravaged frame. There was no doubting what she had to do.
Suddenly the images flickered and disappeared.
“ Now Catherine, you know what we want.”
She was in no position to refuse.
“ Of course, I’ll give you the final code now. But I must have Jean-Baptiste back. You
promised.”
135
Olive Skin’s obscene whisper came again.
“ And you shall Catherine. With a fully stabilised TI we shall each have what we want.”
!
Much later, as the evening on Gruinard drifted away, Ciaran, Nick and Jack Harris,
drank Laphroaig in lecture suite one. It was a soulless drink.
“ How’s Trip,” Nick stared at his glass, “ he must be about finished by now.”
“ ’Bout an hour ago actually,” said Ciaran, “ he just fell asleep at the monitor. Yevgeni
picked him up and took him to his room. Last time I went past the snoring sounded like
a couple of road drills.”
“ Sacha?” asked Harris.
“ The same,” replied Ciaran, “ but without the snoring.”
“ Will she be alright,” asked Nick.
“ Oh sure, once she’s slept, the old journalist Sacha will be back again and she’ll follow
this story down to the end of the line.”
Harris re-filled his glass...
“ And us? What do you suggest now Ciaran?”
Ward followed Harris’ example with the malt.
“ Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to finish this and go to bed. We’re all
too tired now for any constructive effort.”
“ What do you think Earl will be up to?”
Harris grinned...
“ Not sure Nick. My best guess is that he’ll be preparing to attack something. Ciaran?”
“ Absolutely Jack. God knows what though. But I’ve a feeling we’ll soon find out.”
Ward drained the fiery malt in one.
“ Well, that’s me. See you in the morning. Tomorrow we save the world.”
136
!
!
Chapter 15
!
Early morning June 11th, Olive Skin and Os van Rindt sat once more on the balcony,
high above the mundane racket from the port below. Dead smells from the previous
night’s catch mingled with sweet scents of thyme and genet growing wild beneath the
balcony. Olive Skin read from the Bible, smiling to himself from time to time; the
Afrikaner was far from at ease.
“ They will come for you, you know that don’t you. They have to.”
Olive Skin ignored him, arcing his head once more as he gently closed the Bible.
“ How do you know the code is correct? She hates you as only a mother can now and
yet she has no idea; she is still strong after what she’s been through, deceit will come
naturally to her.”
For a while there was silence, punctuated briefly by the rusted creak of
a derrick
raising nets, then...
“ Once upon a time even you would have suffered for questioning me so, my good
friend. But now, I am become forgiving, perhaps this god,” he laid his hand on the
Bible, “ has something to teach us after all.
The code will be correct; we are her only hope of seeing the late lamented JeanBaptiste again. Ironic...yes...my mother has sold her world for a dead man.”
Os finished his first whisky of the day.
“ The Americans will come. I am sure of it. What shall we do then?”
Olive Skin smiled once more...
“ Welcome them of course Os...we shall welcome them.”
137
!
Geraldine Trembecki sat alone in an empty committee room deep inside the Houses of
Parliament, savouring the last few moments of an old life. Despite her relatively rapid
rise within the ranks of the New Socialist Party, nothing could have prepared her for the
events of the last few days. And that, she realised, was selfish; nothing could have
prepared anyone for the Past’s savage return.
A knock at the door shattered the solitude, embarrassed, she felt her heart jump.
“ Yes...come in.”
Dominic Chard, Geraldine’s Personal Assistant stood in the doorway.
“ Minister, I’m sorry...it’s half past eight; the Press are expecting you at Number 10 in
fifteen minutes. We should be going.”
Without a moments hesitation, Geraldine Trembecki made her first decision as acting
head of the New Socialist Party.
“ Contact the PA Dominic, I shall see the Press here.”
“ But Minister, they’ll be waiting for you. The PM has always spoken from Downing
Street.”
Geraldine brushed dark blonde hair off her forehead, a trademark gesture she often
used when about to make a point.
“ Do well to remember Dominic, I’m not the PM...yet. And I will not put Alison through
the indignity of having her home invaded. Ralph’s death will have hurt her enough.”
“ Admirable sentiments Minister, I shall make sure the Press appreciate them, and...”
“ Dominic, it is not a bloody publicity stunt. Downing Street is the PM’s home and until
we have a new PM, it will stay that way. If we’re to have a seat of power it can be here.
Where better than the cradle of Democracy. Now fix me up a video link to Harris on
Gruinard before you leave.”
138
!
On Gruinard, Harris rang Ward’s room from lecture suite one.
“ Need you here now Ciaran, Geraldine wants a video link before she meets the press.
And play down the irascible scientist angle this time. OK?”
“ Always polite with women Jack, you should know that. Be there in two minutes, I’ll get
Nick.”
Harris was checking the video link as Ciaran and Nick arrived.
“ Just you two? Though we might have had a couple more.”
Ciaran shook his head.
“ Sacha’s sleeping it off and Trip and Yevgeni haven’t stopped snoring yet.”
“ Maread?”
“ Think we’ve lost her Jack,” Nick explained, “ she’s convinced we’re all in league with
the devil. Spends most of her time locked her room.”
“ Nick’s right Jack. Why don’t we just let her go home, after all she can’t do any harm
now.”
“ Fine by me,” said Harris, “ no need to antagonise the locals unnecessarily. Get
Barraclough to arrange it Nick. Right, now let’s see what Geraldine wants.”
!
Somewhere in the Mediterranean, aboard the supercarrier
USS Washington, the
results of Aidan McGuire’s spy in the sky revelations were coming to fruition.
Launched in the third year of the new millennium, Washington was a sci-fi dream come
true. Quite simply she was the biggest non stationary construction ever seen on the
face of the globe. In excess of 1500m long, teardrop shaped, over 600m at her widest
and 350m from deck to bridge, powered by three nuclear reactors she was destined to
remain permanently at sea.
139
The vessel had been America’s worst kept secret for several years prior to launch, and
for a long time the smart money was on her never making it to sea. On this occasion,
however, the pundits were wrong and the USA’s floating State had been lording it over
the oceans ever since. Served by it’s own AWACS squadron, attended by symbiotic
mini-subs attached to the hull, with three landing strips and a colossal cutting edge
arsenal, Washington was the perfect launch pad for a punitive strike.
Deep within Washington’s below water city, Gene Bachar and Moses Freeman gloated
over the prospect of some hard action for America’s floating icon. Ironically they were
probably safer on board than anywhere else in the world.
“ How soon can we fire this thing up Butch, Earl’s breathing so goddamn hard down my
neck I’m getting hot sweats,” Gene Bachar fixed Jack ‘Butch’ Cassidy, Head of
Strategic Operations with a very hard look, “ and I don’t want the official timetable. I
know what you can do. Now let me hear it.”
Cassidy was in a tight spot, Chiefs of Staff had a way of making things happen which
would earn him the wrath of his superiors...later. He looked across to Moses
Freeman...
“ Sorry Butch, but these is big licks, we’re talking world stuff here. Know you got the
gear, so...?”
“ OK...OK, but gimme a job when I’m busted...yeah? We go at midday; got three and
a half hours.”
Bachar grinned, Freeman grinned.
“ Earl gonna love this, put a real smile on his face. Butch...you got a job when you get
back. Now go fuck ’em son.”
Butch Cassidy tried to smile but it didn’t work.
140
“ A pleasure gents, always real nice to know some bastard whose ass isn’t in a sling
has got faith in you. And we will fuck ‘em.”
!
Ciaran Ward was immediately struck by Geraldine Trembecki’s presence during the
video link. Although he’d seen her on television before, her composure on screen
during a time of unimaginable difficulty was most impressive.
“Jack, Mr Ward, I speak to the Press in half an hour and I need to be able to keep them
on our side. So far they have been tolerant to a degree we could not have expected;
for that I am quite sure we have Ralph and Francis to thank. Now it’s our turn. What
have you got?”
Harris stood with fingers crossed behind his back, raised an eyebrow...
“ Ciaran?”
Ward sat before the video camera.
‘ Christ’ thought Harris, ‘ he actually looks nervous for once.’
“ Prime Minister...”
Ward broke off, embarrassed by the blunder.
“ Mr Ward, shall we stick to first names, I’m not Prime Minister yet. Nor shall I be unless
we can resolve this appalling mess.”
“ Yes of course...er..Geraldine. As you know, we now have systems in place to enable
us to trace the earthly origin of any further transmissions to Chronos. In other words...”
“ Excuse me Ciaran, I know we can do that, what exactly are we planning to do if
another opportunity arises?”
For once Ward was caught cold.
“ I..well...of course military action would be an obvious possibility, though quite honestly
that might provoke even more severe reactions. It may be, now bear with me a minute,
141
I’m thinking this through as we talk, the only alternative I can think of at the moment is
that somehow we blanket the target to prevent transmissions getting out to Chronos.
That would certainly buy us more time.”
Harris broke in.
“ Is that possible Ciaran? Really off the top of your head, can we do that.”
Ward looked nonplussed.
“ For Christ’s sake Jack I’m not sure. I told you, we’re up against problems we’ve never
come across before, we were always going to have to make a lot of this up as we went
along.”
“ But at least,” Geraldine Trembecki’s voice was by far the more composed of the three,
“ it’s a start. I didn’t expect a solution gentlemen, but you have given me enough to
settle the Press down again; I think. I assume you and Earl can co-ordinate any
necessary military response from where you are Jack?”
“ Absolutely no problem Geraldine; the main difficulty is going to stopping Earl from
responding.”
“ Quite. Thank you again, both of you. I shall be in regular contact. And keep me
informed of any, absolutely any progress you make; the Press aren’t going to go away
just because we throw them a few scraps.”
The link dissolved.
“ Now that,” said Ciaran to Harris’ great amusement, “ is what I call a politician.”
!
Jack Cassidy was early and it made him mad; his Strategic Operations force left the
Washington at two and one half minutes to twelve. Being early was no comfort to
Cassidy, in fact it gave him a bad feeling, in his experience saving time usually meant
142
that something had been missed, with a penalty to pay further down the line. And the
operation stunk.
Jack’s forte was rapid response undercover strikes; his entire outfit geared to lightning
fast, deadly covert missions. Leading his men into a hole in the ground, in broad
daylight, to encounter unknown opposition, with no real intelligence was his worst
nightmare. But Earl Wyatt wanted some action, Gene Bachar wanted some action and
Moses Freeman wanted a piece too, so Cassidy picked up the tab and prayed.
In diamond stack the gunships flew low over the Mediterranean; high above, an AWAC
controlled perimeter of McDonnell JSF Voodoos protected the strike force. Despite the
heavy men and munitions load carried by the choppers, they were in no danger; even
potential missile attacks would be snuffed out by interdiction from the Washington.
Nevertheless, Cassidy still felt uneasy.
“ ETA Carl?”
Carl Simpson, Cassidy’s 2nd man, punched keys in the control panel.
“ Fifty five minutes Sir. Taking us a while longer to detour west and come in from the
south. That way we won’t be so obvious.”
Cassidy nodded without speaking. The whole situation was bizarre; how could a flight
of twenty gunships not be obvious. Ironically, even with McGuire’s intelligence they’d
no real idea what they were about to face.
Thirty five minutes later they crossed the North African coastline, headed inland before
swinging east to approach the target from the south.
“Five minutes to drop Sir,” Simpson started the countdown automatically, “ satellite
says all quiet below.”
Jack Cassidy nodded...
“ Let’s keep it that way Carl. Get this fucker over with and get out.”
143
“ Suits me fine Sir. All the flock ready to settle down.”
It was uncanny; twenty gunships landed unopposed on flat land two hundred metres
from the entrance to the wadi. Every man emerged from the choppers expecting to be
under punishing fire; that’s how they’d trained; but there was nothing; not a sound; no
birds or animals; no people; no hail of bullets.
The gunships disgorged five heavily armoured personnel carriers, nicknamed crawlers
and three hundred very heavily armed fighting men. And still there was no-one to fight.
“ Move ‘em out Carl, let’s go find something.”
Silence flowed over the desert as they made their way towards the wadi.
!
“ Bastard big blanket; might smother everything.”
“ Well excuse me Yevgeni,” Ciaran sounded just a little bit hacked off, “ I did explain
this was straight off the top of my head. Nobody’s saying it’s the final answer.”
For just a while the atmosphere in lecture suite one crackled. It was well past noon,
ideas had been in short supply and a solution was nowhere in sight.
“ What I think Yevgeni meant,” Harris began, “ is that...”
“ Is OK Jack. Sorry Ciaran, must be time to eat. Empty stomach makes Yevgeni light
headed, thinks bad.”
“Seriously though,” said Nick, “ is it possible? Do we know what’s involved?”
“ That’s better Nick. Let’s have practicalities; don’t have time for the luxury of extended
technical discussion,” Harris sensed action, “ how can we find out what would be
necessary? Ciaran? Yevgeni? Well?”
The two scientists looked at each other.
“ I’ll be honest Jack,” began Ward, “ I’m not...”
And the phone rang. Harris picked up the call.
144
“ Harris.”
The remainder of the exchange was one sided until...
“ Certainly Geraldine, right away.”
Harris frowned.
“ Reports have come in of aircraft movement between USS Washington and the North
African coast. Sounds like Earl has decided to play a blind hand. Jesus he’s an
impatient bastard, I knew he was lying to us. What is his problem?”
“ Premature retaliation I’d say,” Ciaran laughed, “ I know, I know, it’s not funny. For
Christ’s sake Nick, what did I say would happen?”
“ Well you were right, but actually this might help.”
“ Found bastard. Earl shooting, must have some bastard to shoot at.”
“ Exactly Yevgeni,” Harris punched his open palm, “ this might be just the break we’re
looking for. Geraldine want’s us to liaise with Earl so we’re sharing intelligence, he can
have the glory if he wants.”
Ward laughed again.
“ Oh surely not, but there is one thing we should consider most urgently. As I said
earlier, if Earl has got the right target and his force goes in, there’s nothing to stop our
hostile whistling up a real motherfucker of a TI to rap our knuckles. And that my friends
could mean wholesale destruction at the very least.”
Silence, till Nick spoke.
“ But he said no more TIs; it was in the ultimatum.”
“ Oh I think we’ll find that was on the assumption that he wasn’t attacked; Earl’s version
of diplomacy might have changed his mind. If this goes through expect to hear from
him sooner rather than later. Sorry to seem so negative, but I think we’ve got a real
problem here.”
145
Harris picked up the phone.
“ Barraclough, get me Washington.”
Late morning in Washington, Earl Wyatt and Milt Drover took the first news from
Broken Arrow, code name for the pre-emptive strike.
“ Earl, you getting this?”
Gene Bachar’s enthusiasm crackled down the line.
Wyatt looked across at his Vice President, raised his right hand, thumb and index
finger circled.
A light flashed on the desk and Milt Drover picked up a second phone.
“ Earl it’s Harris, not a happy guy. Wants to know what’s going on.”
The Vice President raised his eyebrows in question.
“ Stall him Milt. Break the link and I’ll get back to them.”
“ Sorry for that, yeah...like you were next door Gene. What you got?”
A moments hesitation...
“ They’re on the ground Earl. Zero interference. Moving on the entrance now.”
“ Keep this live Gene. I want to know every step as they go in.”
“ Hang on the line Earl, they’re well into the wadi now.”
A pause, static burned down the line, then...
“ Jesus, what in hell’s name...Butch...c’mon Butch...what you got...”
Earl Wyatt stood up, dragging the phone across the floor.
“ Don’t leave me Gene, what the fuck’s going on?”
“ Butch, come in...damn you Cassidy...sorry Earl...there’s a plane...”
!
146
Jack Cassidy had picked up the noise above the low grumble of the crawlers, out of
place at first then finally irritatingly familiar.
“Carl get the AWACs, there shouldn’t be a mosquito within two hundred miles of here
that we don’t know about. And widen that pattern, c’mon...disperse.”
The drone of a single engined light aircraft began to grow between the wadi’s walls.
Simpson looked at his commander.
“Sir, AWACs report one unidentified aircraft. Action Sir?”
Cassidy strained his eyes in the direction of the engine noise; saw nothing.
“ One only confirmed Carl? Free some SAMs up on one of the crawlers, but don’t fire
on sight, killing the local crop sprayer wouldn’t look too good, and you know how Earl
feels about PR.”.
Suddenly a single Piper Cherokee swung low round the entrance to the wadi. Simpson
turned...
“ Sir?”
“ Wait for it Carl. Our eye in the sky still watching?”
“AWACs confirm one only Sir.”
At two hundred metres the Cherokee’s engine note rose and it began to climb. As it
passed over the Strategic Ops force a side door opened and what seemed like paper
began to spew from the plane.
Breathing slowly Jack Cassidy put a hand on Simpson’ arm.
“ Steady Carl, he knows we can blow him away; we’re strong down here.”
As the Cherokee moved away, five SAMs and three hundred assault rifles stood down
and a rain of paper drifted down like autumn leaves blanketing the ground. Cassidy
picked up the nearest sheet, holding it at arms length as if it might explode. He flipped
147
it over, it was printed both sides and the bizarre message made the hairs on the back
of his neck stand.
COME IN PEACE backed with SHOOT TO KILL.
“ Jesus Carl, I really do not like this. Tighten them up, let’s go in.”
It was a prophetic statement, ahead of them at the end of the wadi, a massive steel
door slid back revealing an all too familiar opening in the canyon walls.
!
A few hundred metres above, Olive Skin and Os van Rindt sat before a huge screen in
the darkened control room. Olive Skin nursed a glass of Muscadet; the Afrikaner drank
whisky from the bottle.
“ Os it’s so beautiful. I never dreamt it could be so ennobling. I love these people; such
a shame to, well let’s see...what shall we do with them?”
In Washington DC, Earl Wyatt and Milt Drover watched the same scene patched
through from the Washington’s control panel, as did Jack Harris, Ciaran Ward, Sacha
and Nick Beresford on Gruinard; aboard USS Washington, Gene Bachar and Moses
Freeman felt they were clinging to the back of one of the crawlers.
Down in the wadi, reluctant to go on, unable to retreat, Jack Cassidy led his Broken
Arrow force into the steel maw in the canyon walls.
And it closed shut behind them.
!
!
!
!
!
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Chapter 16
!
“ Jeeeesus Christ Gene, just what is the fuck going on there. Get that goddam plane
picked up and brought into the Washington. And get me Cassidy, live, now. Make it
happen Gene”
Earl Wyatt bulldozed round the office, hot phone in hand whilst Milt Drover answered
the other line .
“ Milt, this time I really do have to speak to Earl,” there was no doubting Harris’ intent; a
second ‘accidental’ cut off was never a possibility, “ he must be so busy he forgot to tell
us he was jeopardising an entire planet’s safety so he could harvest a few votes.”
Milt Drover offered the phone to his President; one look at Drover’s face was enough.
Earl Wyatt exchanged handsets...
“ Keep this live Milt... don’t let Gene off of that line.”
Then without drawing breath...
“ Jack, sorry about the technical hitch earlier; know exactly what you’re going to say
and you’re right...”
From the other side of the office Drover could practically hear the silence from the
phone. Wyatt stared at the handset as if hypnotised. Finally...
“ Not good Earl, this is not good at all. Piss poor in fact.” Harris paused. “ Do you have
the slightest idea what might happen now, all because you couldn’t wait to play with
that oversize toy out in the Med. You disappoint me Earl, I thought we understood each
other.”
“ Now see here Jack, we’d some good intelligence over here...”
“ Which you should and could have shared; and still kept your voters happy Earl. Know
what we’ve got now?”
149
“ Why Jack, we got some good men on the ground there. ‘Butch’ Cassidy’s the man, he
can do it.”
“ Men you can’t even see Earl. And just supposing you did get it right, that you have
marched right in our hostiles back door; what d’you think he’ll do? Sit back, put the
coffee on. Don’t think so Earl. Our friend doesn’t strike me as the type to turn the other
cheek. Fancy ‘Fat Man’ popping on your front lawn?”
Behind Earl Wyatt’s back the normally clear picture from the Washington began to
break up and then re-compose; Milt Drover watched in mute fascination. A similar
transformation caught the watcher’s attention on Gruinard and in Westminster.
!
Drover was first to react, but that was all he did, his response certainly didn’t advance
the cause any.
“ Oh my, oh sweet Jesus. Earl we got a problem here.”
Earl Wyatt’s conversation with Jack Harris stopped as a similar reaction took place on
Gruinard.
“ Jack now don’t you go quiet on me. Look I’ve apologised, now can we just go with
this? If it goes belly up we’ll try your way.”
Harris’ brief response finally turned the American President round.
“Look at your screen Earl.”
Drover tried again as his President at last turned towards him...
“Earl please, will you look at this...”
Earl Wyatt turned to the screen and froze.
Gone was the familiar view of Washington’s control panel; gone the reassuring
presence of Gene Bachar and Moses Freeman. Far far worse, Aidan McGuire’s
guestimate hadn’t even been close; Candlestick Park and Mile High Stadium rolled into
150
one would have fitted two or three times into the vast underground complex staring
them in the face.
Wyatt snatched at the hot phone again.
“ Gene, dammit you there Gene?”
“ Earl can you see this? Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that? Moses can you reach
Butch?”
It was a difficult time for Gene Bachar; losing an entire Strike Force was one thing,
having your President watch them disappear as well put a hard spin on things.
!
The reaction on Gruinard was much the same, if a little less intense.
“ Well?” Harris inhaled cigar smoke, “Any bright ideas? Ciaran, Nick...Sacha?”
Nick waved an arm at the smoke, launching into a highly theatrical coughing fit, Sacha
stood quietly shaking her head, Ciaran laughed briefly.
“ Easy one this Jack; masterly inactivity. If Earl did fluke the right target, and it’s
beginning to look as though he may have done, our hostile is prepared on a scale we
never even imagined.”
“ Meaning...” said Sacha, “ you’ve thought this through already Ciaran. Have you any
idea how annoying you are sometimes ? Work together; wasn’t that your phrase?”
Ward held his hand up.
“ I know, I know; sorry. No, I hadn’t thought it through; it’s just that whenever things
develop it all seems so clear, so inevitable.”
“ Seeing into the future Ciaran? I thought that was the Librarian’s preserve?”
“ If only I could Nick, maybe I could be of some real help.”
“ And in the meantime,” Harris released more clouds of smoke, “ you suggest?”
151
“ Oh we watch, and we wait. It wont be long before we hear from our hostile friend. I
wouldn’t like to be in Earl’s shoes though. I’ve a feeling that having gift wrapped a set
of hostages for a cosmic madman isn’t about to increase his popularity back home. But
let’s see, for sure this will be interesting.”
“ It’s always bloody interesting for you isn’t it Ciaran, just another little problem to solve;
a technical hitch. Well I know we didn’t think of it before, and I mean doesn’t this get
under your skin just a little bit, but those are real men in there, not symbols; what’s
going to happen to them?”
As Nick finished speaking the screen began to change yet again.
!
!
Chapter 17
Distance shrunk as cameras zoomed in on Jack Cassidy’s Broken Arrow strike force.
The three hundred men and twenty crawlers looked like toys scattered beneath
cavernous walls soaring out of sight into darkness. Here and there floodlights pushed
back the shadow, picking out troops and transport, players on some bizarre stage.
They were not alone.
Then the voice began. A thin mellifluous sound in heavily accented English, part Arab
part French, faceless and chilling out of the dark.
“ Welcome my friends. Mr Wyatt, how kind of you to inspect our little...er...facility. Not
personally of course, but such...fine men. A world outside will be grateful for this
opportunity to see what we do here.
And I do mean world. At least one major television channel on each continent is
currently receiving this exact same transmission.”
152
There was a pause.
“ Naturally the commentary differs slightly. Please confirm this to put your minds at
ease.”
Olive Skin’s welcome speech produced identical reactions in Washington DC, on
Gruinard and in London; dismay as switching on the nearest television did indeed
reveal Broken Arrow caught in the spider’s web. And as promised the voice over
differed slightly. Television viewers learnt how a multi-national force was carrying out a
planned inspection of a North African mining plant.
Jack Cassidy couldn’t have cared less. In the cavern’s still air he smelt fear and
machine oil; cold sweat ran down his back. Abstractly he felt proud of his men; there
wasn’t a sound, not a murmur of dissent; he knew what they were waiting for; wish he
knew when it was coming.
“ Carl do we have any communications out of here.”
Simpson shook his head.
“ Gotta be a call box boss. Radio don’t even crackle. Instructions?”
“ Lock the SAMs; even this place isn’t that big, don’t want no over-enthusiastic asshole
going for gold. Just be ready. Bio masks up; this theatre got a chemical feel about it.”
Simpson nodded above the silence.
‘Butch’ Cassidy strained his eyes to see beyond the light and somewhere in the
shadow relays clicked and a motor spun into life. Slowly, just ahead of them, a giant
screen descended and Cassidy stared fascinated at the sight of his men trapped in
pools of light like rabbits in a car lamp.
!
153
Earl Wyatt felt powerless, not a feeling he’d grown used to as President. Gene Bachar
and Moses Freeman watched and waited for the sucker punch to come; it had to come
and they could do nothing about it; without communications their man might as well
have been on the Moon. It also occurred to them that in the first instance someone was
bound to take the rap for Broken Arrow; it also seemed clear it was unlikely to be their
President.
On Gruinard Harris’ cigar consumption rocketed, to universal disgust. Hardly anyone
spoke, only frustration deepened before Olive Skin spoke again.
“ Be very sure Mr Wyatt, I can kill your troops where they stand; now, later...whenever I
want. I have a variety of methods at my disposal and none, absolutely none of them
are humane. Despite the impressive weaponry your Mr Cassidy brings to visit, he and
his men are dead unless I decide otherwise. Be sure of it.”
In Washington Earl Wyatt teetered on the edge of explosion.
“ Somehow Milt, somehow I’m gonna kill that evil son of a bitch. Don’t know how, but
I’m gonna do it alright. I mean Jesus, how is he doing this. And listen to the bastard on
television.”
As Wyatt raved, Olive Skin’s commentary moved on to the machinery necessary for
deep crust mining. Camera’s panned back and lighting spilled further out into the
cavern, revealing row after row of tunnel borers, immense rock drilling machines, and a
crushing plant.
President and Vice President looked at each other.
“ Was that what we saw going in Milt? Tunnel grubs? Sure looked like armament to
me.”
Drover was less convinced.
154
“ Maybe Earl; oh for Christ’s sake maybe we just needed to see armament. Hell I don’t
know. Can we get those guys out of there? Ever?”
“ Sorry Milt,” Wyatt shook his head, “ know you’re close to Butch, but I think we’re
shafted right now. Let’s see what this bastard has to say next.”
Olive Skin obliged immediately.
“Mr Wyatt...Mr Harris...of course and Mrs Trembecki...finally Mr Ward.” a pause, “ Ah
yes Mr Ward, we have a colleague of yours here, Catherine; she is I’m afraid unwell
but we do have her welfare at heart.
You can see, all of you, that this intrusion cannot be tolerated. Your pathetic expedition
can be dead whilst we speak. And yet, I have learnt much from this Christian god of
yours. He speaks of vengeance and mercy; how shall we decide which he advocates.”
At the mention of vengeance Jack Cassidy looked at his number two, nodded...
“ Could be it Carl. If it goes down turn the crawlers about and launch SAMs at the
door.”
“ Sir? Now sir?”
“ On my call Carl. None of us going to die if it ain't needed.”
Three thousand miles further north Nick’s restraint vanished.
“ Why don’t they fight for God’s sake? How can they just sit there like rats in a trap?”
“ Well Jack,” Ciaran asked, “ why not. What do you reckon?”
Harris reached for another cigar, paused, then put it away.
“ I believe him. Whoever he is. Better armed, better prepared and certainly better
informed than we ever imagined. If he says he can kill them...well if I were Earl I
wouldn’t be making any sudden moves. Maybe not any moves at all just now. He’ll kill
them alright and quite honestly I’d rather not watch.”
Olive Skin continued.
155
“And this time he says...
‘What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy and to walk
humbly with thy God’
...your men live Mr Wyatt. But not of your doing. Remember it. All of you. Naturally any
repetition would be...unpleasant, so as not to lead you into temptation we bring forward
our deadline one day. Till noon on Thursday.
In the meantime, Mr Cassidy and his men shall be your guarantee of good behaviour.”
The screen went blank.
!
!
Chapter 18
!
Within minutes of Olive Skin’s final admonishment, a second video link was underway
between Geraldine Trembecki and Gruinard; it proved to be far less easy going than
the first. In political terms the gloves were off. Earl Wyatt’s gung-ho diplomacy had
almost destroyed whatever slim chance
remained that a solution to the ultimatum
could be found. The acting head of the New Socialist Party was in no doubt that her
JITS team
could, and should have steered America away from it’s potentially
catastrophic strike.
“Jack I can’t believe you let Earl get away with this; you were in contact with him
weren’t you?”
Harris thought briefly of deceit, decided his political career had almost run it’s course
and stuck to the truth.
“ Of course,” he sensed rather than saw Ciaran nodding in agreement behind him, “ but
Earl’s an action man heading an action nation; think first and shoot later? I don’t think
156
so. Could you see him sit patiently whilst we came up with a solution, after losing three
thousand potential voters at Trinity?”
“ And you’re positive he gave no indication of what he was planning. I do find it
disturbing that an attack can be launched so easily without detection.”
“ None whatsoever, though I would say, and I think Ciaran will bear me out here, when
we asked for Intersat’s realignment I got the distinct impression that Earl was lying to
us.”
Geraldine took a drink from the glass beside her.
“ Excuse me. And why was that Jack?”
Harris grinned.
“ Because we were lying too. You see, I bought some time off Earl by convincing him
we were on the verge of a breakthrough here; we weren’t of course, but he wasn’t to
know that. He was all for action then, but then he always is; there was no way of
knowing if he had an actual course in mind.”
“ I still don’t like it Jack, not one bit. Is there a likelihood that Earl might try and pull it
again?”
Harris fired up a cigar, amused at the look of disapproval on Geraldine’s face.
“ I know, I shouldn’t...but at least you can’t smell it. Now, Earl,” smoke drifted across the
screen, temporarily obscuring the Foreign Secretary, “well ordinarily I would have said
yes; would be the only way he could regain face. But now? No, I think he knows he’s
on borrowed time and the threat of another TI in retribution...no just too much. Earl’s on
damage limitation now; ball’s in our court.”
“ Russia and France?”
“ I’ve already spoken to Valeri and he’s quite happy for their contribution to extend
through Yevgeni. Gerard’s obviously deeply embarrassed by this whole business with
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Catherine; again he gave me the impression that they would support anything we had
to do.”
Geraldine paused, unsettled by the inevitability of the next question.
“ And what have we got to do Jack, just what in Heaven’s name have we got to do.
Earl’s Broken Arrow made very good prime viewing thanks to our Arab friend. Did you
get Arab? I thought maybe some French too; an interesting man I think. Fortunately he
made no direct reference to the ultimatum, but the Opposition and the Press are very
close to realising what’s going on. I...we...need a solution; at the very least the
beginnings of one. I’m seeing the Press in forty five minutes. Call me if you throw
anything up. And speak to Earl; keeping his voters sweet is no justification for
Armageddon.”
Ward and Harris looked at each other as the link dissolved.
The scientist spoke first.
“ I think that’s it Jack, seems very clear now. We’ve a little under three days to resolve
this and we’re it,” Ciaran sounded elated, a half smile parting his lips he looked around
the lecture suite, “ the four of us, Yevgeni and Trip.”
“ You bastard, you’re enjoying this aren’t you,” Nick set off round the room, hands in
pockets, “ you’re really no better than that joker on television. It’s just another bloody
game to you isn’t it Ciaran? Intellectual Russian roulette and guess who wants to be
the one who pulls the trigger; of course, Mr Ciaran bloody Ward. Wouldn’t be so bad if
it was just your brains splattering the walls Ciaran, but it’s a whole planet you could
fuck up this time and that’s a lot of people.”
Nick’s outburst stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
“ Whoa, hang about Nick,” Harris turned peacemaker, “ that’s a bit harsh. Ciaran’s right;
it is very much down to us now, and thanks to Earl, we’ve got a day less to do it in.
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Apart from our Arab friend, we’re the only ones with any dealings with Chronos and
Time. Who else is going to solve the problem?”
Ward leant forward, brushing hair away from his face, behind him Sacha moved closer
and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“ It’s alright Jack. In a way Nick’s right. I am enjoying this; be lying if I said I wasn’t. But
I couldn’t solve the problem any quicker by being gloomy and unenthusiastic. It’s just
me I’m afraid and I do feel very responsible for what’s happened, but believe me, I’ve
no intention of seeing anything splattered over the walls; certainly not my brains,
definitely not the planet.”
“ Look, why don’t we take a break, bitching isn’t going to help,” Sacha moved towards
the door, “ let’s get a bite to eat, collect Trip and Yevgeni, then try to brainstorm this out.
I can’t believe we don’t have enough resources to do that. Well? OK, I’ll see you in ten
minutes, just need to update my notes.”
It was a timely intervention; the room was empty in seconds and Sacha was thankful
for the smokescreen. Comfortably inside ten minutes she’d collated her notes and emailed Alan Topalian.
!
Earl Wyatt sat alone with his thoughts at his desk in the White House. Milt Drover, Vice
President and confidant during his term of office stood quietly in one corner of the
room. It was a time for retrospection. Jack Harris’ recent call had been expected, it’s
rebuke implied rather than spoken. Earl Wyatt knew when he’d screwed up, didn’t need
anyone else to tell him. Impeachment was a word already being heard in the corridors
of the White House and Earl wasn’t sure he could stand that.
“ Milt I’m stuck here. Damned if I know which way to jump. I got good men hostage
there ‘cos I couldn’t bide my time and I’m not sure that’s something I can live with. Now
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I do like Jack Harris, but he sure as hell sounded smug down that telephone. Can’t see
a way out of this right now.”
Drover was unsure whether a reply was necessary...
“ Earl, look we went in on the best info we got. We all said yes, and I mean all of us.
Feel sure that won’t help any but it’s the truth and your people will know that.”
In long years working alongside Earl Wyatt, his Vice President had never seen him
drink whilst working; it was a shock to see the President open a desk cabinet and pour
two glasses of bourbon.
“ Take a drink with me now Milt and then leave me alone. I’ve some big thinking to do.”
They touched glasses quickly, drank and then Earl Wyatt was alone.
!
Forty five minutes later, all six were back in the lecture suite; Yevgeni arrived last, still
energetically demolishing bread and Stilton, clutching a bottle of Wolf Blass Shiraz and
a fistful of glasses. Harris opened up as they took their seats.
“ I’ll make this quick, then Ciaran can front the road to salvation. I’ve spoken to Earl
and I’m reasonably sure that there will be no further military action for the time being.”
“ Aye well it’s time the man used his head for once.”
“ I wish it was that simple Sacha,” Harris continued, “ but I doubt it. Right now Earl’s
confused; he can’t understand why having a floating fortress in the Med doesn’t give
him absolute power to do just what he wants. And believe me, he’s taking this badly.
However, the prospect of losing three hundred of America’s finest on prime time
television means that for now, and only for now, he’d rather do nothing than get it
wrong again. Can’t say I know how long it’ll last. That’s it really, maybe we should get
on.”
A tense atmosphere prevailed as Ciaran made his way to the front.
160
“ This is where we began. I wish in some ways that Catherine was here with us, but I
know that cannot be, indeed it seems unlikely that she is still alive. It may help if we
focus our attention initially on what perhaps is the root of the problem, though not the
cause of it; Chronos.”
Harris lit up.
“ Any particular reason Ciaran. Doesn’t the immediate threat come from the hostile?”
“ Well yes and no. My own feeling is that the way Chronos handles requests, and our
use of it, is going to be crucial in finding a solution.”
“ But surely it won’t just respond to any request? What about something that could
destroy an entire planet, or threaten the stability of the universe?”
“Sorry Nick,” Ciaran shrugged, “ but I’m afraid you’re missing the point. Chronos isn’t
god; it isn’t even a god. Minor disturbances on a planetary scale are of no concern at
all when you’ve access to the whole of Time in both directions.”
“ I still find this a little hard to take,” Harris fired up his post lunch cigar, “ doesn’t the
Librarian have any conscience, galactic or otherwise?”
Ward shrugged again.
“ You’ve answered your own question Jack. Chronos is just a Librarian. If you go into
the local branch library and ask to take out ‘American Psycho’, they don’t refuse on the
grounds that you might start inventively cutting up high class hookers.”
Pacing about the lecture suite hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, Nick
was clearly far from satisfied.
“ But surely it can see how much damage it’s causing, how dangerous these TIs can
be?”
161
“ Sorry Nick, it’s the same point again. TIs themselves aren’t intrinsically dangerous, it’s
how and where they’re recalled that causes problems and of course we know how bad
that can be.”
Harris emerged from behind a cloud of smoke.
“ So we’re on the brink of extinction because we have the misfortune to be lumbered
with an unethical Librarian.”
Ward opened his hip flask, filling the room with the smokey aroma of Laphroaig.
“ Sorry again Jack, same argument. Chronos isn’t unethical, it’s without ethics. Let me
give you an example.
Say we make a request to view a particular sub atomic transaction, maybe long sought
after here but we’ve been unable to nail it. Naturally Chronos is only too happy to
oblige. What Chronos is blissfully unconcerned by, is the fact that whilst we might use
knowledge gained from observing the transaction to cure cancer, our hostile friend
might use the same information to devise a weapon of mass destruction.
So, one TI, two totally different results. And those results are the product of our own
ethics.”
Sacha had remained quiet until now.
“ But how would Chronos respond if it knew a particular request could destroy a galaxy,
a universe even, and of course it would know, it would be very aware of the
consequences of any request.”
“ Good point Sacha,” Nick stopped pacing momentarily, “well Ciaran, how about it?
Wouldn’t that amount to suicide for the Librarian?”
Ciaran took a drink from the flask.
“ Mm...no hope there either, or at least I don't think so. My best guess is that Chronos
exists outside whatever locality he’s taking requests from at any given time. So if our
162
galaxy goes bang, well...old Chronos just moves on or carries on working with what’s
left. I think we have to assume that Chronos is so far beyond our understanding that
life or death as a concept does not exist for it. And suicide definitely isn’t an option.”
“ Christ,” said Harris, “ you were right when you said this was a big game Ciaran. Is
there anything we can do?”
“ Maybe use bastard. Can’t be all one way. Drink Ciaran.”
It seemed like days since anyone had heard Yevgeni speak; there was much less malt
left when he handed the flask back. Ward grinned...
“ Go on Yevgeni, what do you mean?”
The Russian washed down the smokey malt with a gulp of red wine, wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand.
“ Stabilise TI. Maybe can influence what happens before deadline. But...what is it...long
shoot?”
“ Oh brilliant,” said Nick, “ how many more dead?”
“ Shot Yevgeni, it’s a long shot,” said Ciaran, “ and it would be. Did you have an idea
just what to ask bastard? Or was it more general?”
“ Either way,” said Sacha, “ it’s the first positive idea we’ve had for a long time. Well,
can we use it?”
Harris now reached for the malt.
“ Have we got an ethics problem here Ciaran, is it too dangerous or just completely
unknown territory?”
“ Can’t be ethics Jack,” Sacha interrupted, “ Ciaran was at pains to point out that
Chronos was without ethics. I must admit, I quite envy it really. No ethics no
conscience; what a peaceful life.”
Ward thought for a few moments before speaking.
163
“ Well thanks Yevgeni, that’s stirred things up a bit. Mmm...I’d a feeling this was going
to be interesting. Some simple answers first; yes dealing with Chronos is
dangerous,we know that already; what I think Yevgeni might have in mind is certainly
unknown territory and only our ethics would be a problem.”
“ Oh if that’s all, we don’t have much to worry about,” Nick’s sarcasm fell flat, “ OK OK,
I’m sorry. Ciaran knows how I feel about this brainstorming approach.”
“ Well I’m with Nick for now,” said Sacha, “ what exactly can we do? Do we nip back in
Time and drown this guy at birth. Or does Ciaran materialise on the deadline to scotch
his evil plans.”
Then more quietly.
“ I’d just like to know. I guess Nick would too.”
“ Mind if I chip in.” Trip sounded exhausted, “ I’m with the big guy. We have to use
Chronos. Just need to find the right way. Say, if I do fall asleep just nudge me, don’t
want to miss anything.”
“ Take it easy Trip,” Ciaran began to pace about the room, “ you’ve done enough
already. First and most importantly Sacha, Chronos isn’t a Time Machine. Forget ‘Back
to the Future’, there’s no zipping backwards and forwards in Time in a rigged up pipe
dream, altering reality to give us a happy ending.”
“ Fine,” said Sacha, “ so it keeps coming back to what can we do? Are we shying away
from something here Ciaran?”
Ward stopped pacing.
“ We...no...yes...I am. As I’ve said, Time travelling isn’t an option, but we can bring Time
here; a bit at a time; we’ve done it; and we all know what the results can be.”
“ Bad of course,” Harris’ voice was barely audible, “ but not as bad as the alternative if
we don’t do anything Ciaran.”
164
“ Too much thinking can be counter-productive too you know,” said Nick, “ if there’s the
slightest chance, anything we can do then let’s hear it. We’re supposed to be working
together here, remember?”
Murmured agreement was just audible as Trip began to snore. Ward looked round the
room and took a deep breath.
“ There is. And it’s what I’ve been avoiding, mainly through cowardice I suspect. You’re
right Nick, I’m fine with theory it’s action that puts me off. It might be possible for us to
use a fully stabilised TI to exert some influence on events leading up to the deadline.
I’m not sure how, or what we can do, but short of agreeing to this maniac’s demands,
or risking mass destruction and loss of life, I agree with Yevgeni...it’s our best long
shoot.”
“ This’ll be the death of me,” Harris lit another cigar, “ carry on then Ciaran. What, when
and how. And please, keep it simple.”
“ It’s only theory, we’ve certainly never tried it before, but a code string exists that
ought, and I emphasise ought, to produce a fully stabilised TI; that is one capable of
complete interaction with current time and space.”
“ And the ones so far Ciaran?”
“ All partial Sacha. Though with devastating results as we know. Even the Blitz bombs
and Nelson’s cannonballs only allowed one way traffic.”
“ Yes yes,” Harris puffed impatiently, “ I understand all that, but details Ciaran. We need
specifics and the beginning of a solution if possible. One to keep Earl quiet and, more
importantly to keep the Press and public off Geraldine’s back. What do you have?”
“ Well, we can’t just magic ourselves in guns blazing but we might be able to influence
matters through someone already in there.”
There was only ever one answer.
165
“ Of course,” said Harris, “ Catherine. How appropriate.”
“ How ironic,” added Nick, “ first she sells us down the river, then we turn to her for
help.”
“ Not so bastard simple,” growled Yevgeni, “ she needs bastard to reunite with JeanBaptiste. Won’t turn against him. Can’t.”
“ Knew she couldn’t be trusted,” Nick slammed his fist into the table, “ she owes us
Ciaran, for Christ’s sake she bloody well owes us.”
Ward shook his head.
“ More than she owes herself? I doubt she sees it that way Nick. Catherine’s only ever
had allegiance to one person and that was Jean-Baptiste; nobody else ever mattered
to her, not even Dominique. I didn’t realise just how much she loved him till fairly
recently; Catherine certainly won’t do anything to jeopardise being reunited with him.
So no, she won’t help us Nick, but Jean-Baptiste might.”
!
June 11th Washington DC, early afternoon.
Earl Wyatt poured himself a second bourbon and drank, relishing it’s smokey
sweetness. He heard voices out in the corridor, subdued, whispering and felt his power
base slipping away. Another attack would see three hundred men killed like rats in a
trap and God knows what atrocities unleashed on the rest of the World. He couldn’t do
it.
At just after midday Earl Wyatt sat at his desk in the Oval Office, took a 45 Magnum out
of the desk drawer put the barrel in his mouth and blew the back of his head off.
Milt Drover heard the safety come off from outside and was half way through the door
in time to see his President’s head explode. Bourbon rose in the back of his throat as
the contents of his stomach spewed onto the Oval Office carpet.
166
!
“ But he’s not there Ciaran. How can he...” Sacha faltered, “ oh this is weird. He’s been
dead for years and we’re talking as if we can ring him up and ask a favour.”
“ One thing we can be sure of; Catherine, if she’s still alive, will use a TI to rejoin JeanBaptiste. If we can use a TI to bring him here, oh Jesus even I think this sounds
ridiculous...”
“ C’mon Ciaran,” Harris made smoke, “ it’s all we’ve got right now.”
“...we might be able to persuade him to act when Catherine recalls him. I don’t know.”
Trip’s snoring roared as the room fell silent.
“ Have you any idea at all what will happen if we go ahead with this.”
“ Sorry Nick...no. And that’s why we must run a trial first. I’ll set it up now.”
Harris stood up.
“ Now hang on a minute Ciaran, that’s a bit swift. Don’t we need to assess the risks
involved, who’s taking part in the trial. Work together eh, that sort of thing.”
Ward moved to the door.
“ Absolutely Jack. You’re quite right. I’ll assess the risks whilst I’m in the trial. It’s
scheduled for tomorrow morning, I’ve some work to go over first. If you’ll all excuse
me.”
The scientist had barely left the room when the phone rang,as usual Harris answered
the call.
“Harris...yes...Milt, oh for fuck’s sake. OK Milt, you tidy things up there and leave it to
us. Think we might have a break here.”
The Foreign Secretary shook his head...
“ We got blood on the tracks. Earl just blew his brains out. I’ll tell Geraldine. Let’s call it
a day for now.”
167
As the others dispersed Sacha went in search of Ciaran, found him as she’d expected
alone on the beach. She moved alongside him, linking arms, rested her head on his
shoulders.
“ Off again Mr Ward?”
She felt him relax.
“ Are you following me Miss McNeish?”
“ And why not, there’s no one else out here.”
Then, more seriously.
“ What are you thinking Ciaran, I need to know too.”
Ward turned and lowered his head slightly, kissing her full on the lips.
“ I’m scared Sacha and I don’t know if I’ll see this again after tomorrow. I’ve found
things here I don’t want to lose.”
A seal barked far away over the water as they moved closer.
!
!
Tuesday 12th June 2005
Chapter 19
!
Ciaran Ward woke at four thirty from the fragments of a sweat soaked, stomach
churning sleep. He dressed automatically, then moved quietly and alone through the
complex to the transmission room. From his previous night’s solitary work it took him
less than an hour and a half to programme and send the stabilised TI code. He was
back in bed by six, wide awake propped up against the pillows, a glass of Laphroaig in
hand. Ciaran could barely taste it.
168
An hour later Nick Beresford found him sat in a tailor’s crouch on the beach, his back to
the morning sun spilling over the mountains behind.
“C’mon Ciaran, I’ll buy you breakfast.”
There was no reply; Ward remained motionless and for a moment Nick felt ice on his
spine.
“ Ciaran...”
“ I heard you Nick,” it was a distant, thready voice, “ pass on the breakfast for this
condemned man.”
“ How soon?”
“ One hour. I’m scared shitless Nick; I wish for once that I could run away, turn my back
on everything and leave this particular problem unsolved. And I can’t.”
“ Any idea what’ll happen?”
“ Not a clue. I think...no I’m not sure...knowing might make it worse. If I knew, perhaps I
would run.”
“ I’ll leave you alone.”
Nick turned back towards the complex.
“ Actually,” Ward looked back to his friend, “ I’d be quite glad if you did stay.”
Fifty minutes later Nick and Ciaran were joined on the beach by the others. On this
beautiful June morning a flat calm sea lapped the pebbled beach; already heat from
the sun burned mist from the shores and valleys on the mainland. It should have been
a good Time to be alive.
Ciaran rose stiffly to his feet, looked from face to face and then at his watch.
“ Thank you for being here; it helps. If Chronos plays it’s part, in roughly,” he paused
glancing to his watch again, “ two minutes a small but stable TI will appear just over,”
Ward pointed to an area of beach some thirty yards away, “ there. I will walk alone into
169
the area occupied by the TI. After that...well...we’ll see. As a matter of interest, I’ve no
idea how long the TI will sustain. Might be a few minutes...could be indefinitely. Please,
if anything looks as though it’s going wrong, no heroics. Don’t follow me. Just watch.”
“ Ciaran you don’t have to do this,” said Harris, “there must be another way. Use one of
Barraclough’s dogs, at least we can see what happens first that way.”
“ Canary in a cage maybe. Cruelty to animals Jack, not my style really. But yes, if I
thought it would do the job I’d try it, I’m not that brave. Unfortunately animals won’t
help, we need the feedback afterwards. Any of you speak fluent Doberman?”
It was enough to generate some laughter faltering into the silence. Unnoticed, away
over the bay, a cormorant headed inland.
Sacha waved her Nikon digital camera...
“ What are we looking for Ciaran, one of us should record this in case,” she hesitated,
“...in case...well for Christ’s sake because we need to have a record.”
“ Purely scientific old chap,” Nick joked, regretting it immediately as the attempt at
humour sank without trace.
“ I’ve tried to play fairly safe,” Ward glanced at his watch again, “ what should occur is a
Future TI of that same beach area, roughly an hour from now. Incidentally we may
need to repeat the process, if this is successful, with a Past TI; we’ll worry about that
later.”
Offshore, still unobserved, the cormorant changed tack, veering away from it’s intercept
course with the group. Along the beach something was happening.
“ Ciaran look,” Harris jabbed his cigar at a section of beach and sky shimmering at it’s
edges, “ I think you’re on.”
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It was true, some sort of discontinuity had formed on the beach and Ciaran Ward set
off towards it before anyone could speak. Almost at once Sacha began filming,
following the scientist. Harris moved forwards, took her gently by the arm.
“ Let him go Sacha, we’ve no idea what that is, you might get drawn in. Shoot from
here love, we can’t afford to lose you as well.”
Ward moved towards the discontinuity without hesitation or a backward glance; as he
crossed it’s event horizon his path joined the cormorant’s and they entered the Future
together.
Silence hammered along the beach. It was eight o’clock.
!
In Westminster, Geraldine Trembecki opened her doors to the Press as Ciaran and the
cormorant shifted Times. A natural early riser she preferred morning meetings; for this
particular confrontation she needed all the advantage she could muster. Dominic Chard
stood alongside her as the National Press Liaison Council entered the committee
room.
Geraldine looked at them without speaking for a few moments, then...
“ Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for being so prompt; as I’m sure you
are aware, these are busy times. I have some remarks before your questions begin.
Firstly I should like to...”
“ Not more flannel Minister,” Les Bowden broke in.
“...thank you,” Geraldine continued brushing the interruption aside, “ for you conduct
over the last week. The Council’s restraint and responsibility has been an enormous
help to both Government and country. For that, be pleased with yourselves.
Now I have to ask you to continue in the same vein for the next few days. It is
absolutely vital for national and global stability that the implications of recent events are
171
minimised. Media in other affected countries are co-operating along similar lines; we
must, I repeat must present a united and consistent picture.”
Geraldine paused to brush hair from her forehead.
“ I will take your questions now.”
It had been a good pre-emptive speech and the usual clamour was slow to begin.
Then, quietly from the back of the room, the first question broke the silence.
“ Liam Desroy, Times Minister. Just what was the ultimatum received by the
Government and when is it’s deadline due?”
!
It took a few seconds for Sacha to realise she was filming an empty beach. Side by
side Harris, Nick, Trip and Yevgeni saw the same empty space within the event
horizon: Ciaran and the cormorant had disappeared.
“ Bloody hell! It’s impossible.” Harris crushed his cigar to pulp. “ Sacha, what did the
camera get, did you see anything?”
“ Bastard vanished; Ciaran vanished. Bastard.”
Yevgeni sounded more terse than usual, whilst Nick walked slowly towards the TI,
muttering.
“ Jesus Christ...oh Jesus Christ Ciaran, what have you done.”
Trip stood, a puzzled look on his face, quietly shaking his head. Suddenly Sacha thrust
the Nikon at Harris and took off along the beach.
“ Nick, get the girl...wake up man...shape yourself.”
Sacha was less than ten feet from the discontinuity when the Ministry man caught her,
taking the two of them crunching to the ground just short of the event horizon.
“ Let me go will you. Get yourself off me...Nick just fuck off will you!”
172
Beresford lay still, pinning her to the ground, for a moment the journalist struggled then
subsided.
“ Sacha...no, remember what Ciaran said...no heroics. We watch and wait. C’mon, get
up.”
Beneath him Sacha shook with emotion.
“ Disappeared, Nick he vanished... people don’t do that...not into thin air...nooooo!”
Harris flopped to the ground next to them.
“ Here try this,” he offered Ward’s flask, “ Ciaran left it. Thought we might have need of
it.”
“ Damn right.”
A giant hand reached down for the flask, Yevgeni drank, handed it to Trip and then
returned the whisky to Harris.
“ We wait for bastard.”
Nick and Sacha took the whisky before passing the near empty flask back to Harris.
“ Well,” the Foreign Secretary drained the malt and lit another cigar, “ can we do
anything but wait?”
There was no answer, so they waited sitting in a half circle in front of the discontinuity,
watching silently. Harris smoked cigars relentlessly. Their legs grew numb with
pressure from the shingle and still no-one spoke or moved as a beautiful June day took
shape around them. Each one of them wanted to reach out and touch the event
horizon; each of them was fascinated by it and paralysed with fear at the prospect; as
the day grew steadily hotter, biting flies stirred from the beach bringing more misery.
And within the TI nothing at all moved.
Some forty five minutes later Ciaran and the cormorant appeared motionless on the
beach in front of them.
173
Harris rose, stumbling as a numbed leg gave way; Sacha threw herself at the
scientist’s body whilst Nick scrabbled for the camera and started filming.
“ Ciaran, wake up you bastard,” Sacha screamed, “ don’t play, this isn’t funny any
more.”
Harris knelt alongside her.
“ Steady Sacha, hang on, give him some space.”
“ Pulse still there. Bastard faint,” Yevgeni joined them, “ feels cold.”
Despite the warmth of the day Ciaran’s exposed skin was icy to the touch.
“ It’s not good folks,” Trip had concentrated elsewhere, “ the bird’s dead.”
In one movement the giant Russian scooped Ciaran into his arms and set off back
along the beach towards the complex, followed closely by the others. Nick continued
filming.
“ Trip, bring bird. Bastard can help.”
Behind them the Future’s first visit to Gruinard had gone, leaving the terminal beach to
biting flies and the gently lapping waters of Gruinard Bay.
!
“ And that Mr Desroy...Council, is the whole situation up to date as we know it. Our
JITS team on Gruinard is working continuously to find a non military solution, which is
currently our preferred option. I don’t have to remind you what happened to the first
misguided attempt.”
Liam Desroy waited whilst a barrage of irrelevant tabloid questions died down.
“ Why Minister, why should we do what you ask. Don’t your people have a right to
know...everything?”
Dominic Chard had taken a profound dislike to Desroy’s measured superiority.
“ I think what the Minister...”
174
“ Thank you Dominic. Mr Desroy’s right; there should be an explanation.”
Geraldine Trembecki paused and looked around the committee room at a sea of
cynicism, where expectation had been completely replaced by resignation. It was time
to utilise some of Chard’s legwork.
“ Mr Desroy...Liam,” somehow the familiarity worked, “ almost sixty years ago your
grandfather found himself in a very similar position. We were fighting a war then, a
bloody and extended conflict that decimated countries across Europe. Your paternal
grandfather, Clifford, freelancing for the Times asked one of my more illustrious
predecessors a similar question and the answer is the same now as it was then. Would
it have done the British people any good to know how close they were to defeat, on the
verge of subjugation by one of the most evil states in recent history.”
“ But this is hardly the same,” Desroy reluctantly abandoned his stand off position, “
we’re not at war here. Or are we?”
“ A moot point Liam, no official declaration of course and yes this isn’t war but,”
Geraldine paused and once again swept hair away from her forehead, “ the
circumstances remain the same.
Do you want widespread public unrest, riots, looting and civilian deaths? Streets
running with blood? All in pursuit of a very dubious goal; is that your raison d’etre Mr
Desroy, truth at any cost? I really do doubt it.
Because that’s what you’ll achieve and not just here, but in every country at risk and,
so far as we can tell, that includes the whole of the planet.
I...we...can’t make you do this Liam...any of you, we can’t, we won’t come in and stop
the presses; in our own way, believe it or not we respect your position. But, and it’s a
big but, do you really want to pick through the ruins of civilisation if we get this right,
satisfied in the knowledge that...well...I imagine you’ve got the idea by now.”
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“ A pretty speech Minister,” Desroy stood, switching off his recorder, “ which leaves your
Government no high ground. And yes we’ll buy it; it’s not as though we have a choice,
after all they’re our people as well. But afterwards you’ll owe us for a long long time
and we’ll collect, never doubt it.”
Geraldine got to her feet, gathering papers without taking her eyes off the room.
“ Oh I don’t doubt it Mr Desroy,” the familiarity had vanished, “ and in a little over two
days from now we’ll know who was right. Thank you ladies and gentlemen, good day.”
When the committee room had emptied the acting head of the New Socialist Party
turned to her personal assistant...
“ Dominic, I think it’s time for our SAS presence in North Africa to stir itself, get me the
Ministry of Defence.”
!
Ciaran Ward lay unconscious in the medicentre deep inside the JITS complex on
Gruinard. A lightweight single crystal mediscan frame covered him from head to toe,
recording vitals without a wire in sight. Close by a similar, smaller frame enclosed the
cormorant’s dead body. A monitor alongside each body displayed results.
Jack Harris leant forward and touched Sacha gently on the shoulder.
“ Come on love, it’s gone three, you’ve been sat here for almost five hours now, you
need a break.”
“ I can’t leave him Jack,” Sacha’s voice was barely audible, “ don’t ask me again. Even
though he’s not with us, right now he needs me. ”
“ I know lass, but you can’t help him here. If anything alters the auto-medic will take the
necessary action, and that includes recussitation. We still need to be strong for him.
Exhausting ourselves in a pointless vigil isn’t going to help Ciaran. He wouldn’t want
that.”
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Sacha leant back in the chair, face flat with fatigue.
“ What if he regains consciousness, someone should be here.”
Harris moved round to the opposite side of the scanner.
“ Mediscan will detect any change in level of consciousness long before Ciaran wakes.
We’ll be here waiting for him.”
“ Oh shit Jack I don’t know, I’m sure you’re right but...where are the others?”
“ Trip and Yevgeni spent an hour going over the incursion site; they’re analysing the
recording you made now. Nick’s gone off alone, quite honestly I think he wants to leave
and rejoin his family. Can’t say as I blame him, I think we should encourage him to
go...you know make him feel less guilty.”
“ You’re a good man Jack Harris,” Sacha rose unsteadily on cramped limbs, “and
you’re right. I’ll take a break, but I hate this, they look so helpless.”
Harris put his arm round the girl’s shoulder.
“ Sacha the bird’s dead, we’re sure of that. But Ciaran’s totally different; his pulse is
normal, blood pressure similar and he’s breathing unaided; the only thing he’s not
doing is responding to external stimuli, it’s as if his brain’s busy, like a hard drive
loading a program. I think he’s going to be alright, now come on,” Harris guided Sacha
towards the door, “ let’s take a break.”
!
Beneath Olive Skin’s redoubt ‘Butch’ Cassidy fought a battle with his own men. Nothing
in their training had equipped them for over twenty four hours enforced inactivity;
especially in the role of captives. Respond; engage; withdraw. Speed and the precise
application of power were their lifelines. Behaving as prisoners with their weaponry still
intact was a bitter pill to swallow.
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They had remained in the vault unmolested, without external contact since the previous
day; the air was fresh, the temperature a uniform 15 degrees. And ‘Butch’ Cassidy’s
men were getting impatient.
“ Sir,” Carl Simpson snapped upright in front of his commander, “ got three hundred
men very restless indeed here. Must be something we can do.”
‘Butch’ Cassidy looked back at his second man.
“ There is Carl...we can wait. This guy says he can kill us and I for one believe him.
Don’t like this any more than you, but my orders weren’t to get three hundred men
killed like rats in a trap. Now if we’re all quiet come ten to noon on Thursday we will,
and I mean will start to fight our way out, cos by then no motherfuckers gonna stop us.
Till then we watch, wait and if the guys want a little action then let’s push the perimeter
a bit, have a real good look round. You know...get nosey. But no guns. Anyone fires
without my say so...better be good in the cooler.”
Simpson flicked a salute.
“ Sir!!”
Before Cassidy’s second man had turned away the staccato bark of a machine pistol
shattered the vaults silence.
“ Jesus fucking Christ Carl, what the fuck...”
As the gunshot echoes cascaded their way around the vast inner space, a pencil thick
ruby beam pulsed silently from above. A single tortured scream ended as it began,
followed by the familiar sickening noises of conflict; voices everywhere raised in
confusion...
“ Man down...!”
“ Yo...medic...”
“ Oh shiiiit...will you look...”
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Even as Jack Cassidy checked his men a single voice carried above the hubbub, it
seemed to come from all sides, soft and menacing.
“ Your foolish man is dead Mr Cassidy, be certain of that. I could grow tired of this
irritation, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Then faintly, as if directed away from a microphone...
“...see how merciful I’ve become Os...”
Jack Cassidy stared down at the scorched remains of a young black soldier, stamping
down hard on the rage burning inside.
“ Carl, ten to noon Thursday we kick off, SAMs the lot. I almost hope we don’t get out
before then. I want to hurt this bastard.”
!
Jack Harris couldn’t locate the source of the fire; the alarm was loud and distinct,
howling remorselessly in his head but no matter where he looked there was no fire.
Slowly the dream faded and his room drifted into focus, but still the alarm siren
shrieked on.
“ Oh shit of course,” Harris struggled upright, staring at the pager on his bedside table,
“ medicentre...Ciaran.”
The ten minute nap had rolled into an hour and a half, but Harris was on his feet and
out of the door in seconds, cigar in hand heading towards the medicentre at a brisk
trot. By the time he’d reached the door Nick and Sacha had joined up.
“ What is it Jack,” Nick sounded wide awake, “ good or bad?”
“ For heaven’s sake Nick it could be either. Let’s get in and find out.”
Sacha was first through the door, practically throwing herself to Ciaran’s bedside. Nick
and Harris pulled up short, the scanner’s single crystal glowed emerald green in the
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half light. Inside the cage Ciaran Ward opened his eyes and spoke the first words back
from the Future.
“ You know, I really could use a cup of tea.”
!
Chapter 20
!
Ciaran Ward finished his second cup of tea before speaking. Initially there was no need
for anyone to ask questions, the scientist just talked when his throat felt ready. Yevgeni
and Trip had joined the others and by the time Ciaran spoke, patience was wearing thin
in the medicentre.
“ I’m not sure how to describe this at all,” Ward paused, “ I don’t even really know what
we’ve done, or worse still whether it will be of any use. It was utterly unlike anything
I’ve ever experienced before.”
“ Is it clear Ciaran,” Harris said, “ can you recall what happened or is it just a blur?”
“ Bastard frightening old friend,” Yevgeni rumbled, “ maybe not do again eh?”
Ward swung his legs off the bed, prompting Sacha’s immediate disapproval.
“ Oh here we go action man, can’t you rest for a while? You scared the shit out of us
whilst you were unconscious, maybe a little recovery time wouldn’t hurt...hmm?”
“ Appreciate that Sacha and I will rest but you know me, for now I can think better on
my feet.”
Ciaran began a slow, slightly unsteady circuit of the medicentre.
“I walked across the event horizon, no big deal there by the way, just a little pressure,
and the first thing I noticed was that bloody cormorant. God they stink! Don’t pick one
as a travelling companion that’s for sure. The discontinuity was...well...very normal. A
180
beach, pebbles, some seaweed, bits of driftwood, nothing out of the ordinary at all and
I could see you. All of you, all the time and everything you did. And that,” Ward paused
in his walk, “ was a particularly stupid stunt Sacha, having two of us stuck in the Future
wouldn’t have helped at all.”
“ Jesus that is scary,” Harris fumbled in his pocket for a cigar and lit up, “ being
watched by an invisible observer.”
A piercing wail shattered the room as the medicentre detected a protocol breach...
‘ The use of major pollutants is not permitted. Desist immediately. The use of major
pollutants is not...’
...the electronic reproach continued until Harris, red faced with embarrassment, ground
the cigar out underfoot.
“ Oh for Christ’s sake, now I’ve a bloody machine telling me not to smoke.”
‘ Thank you for your co-operation. A full list of protocols is available on request.’
“ Say Ciaran,” Trip finished chuckling at Harris, “what did the bird do whilst you were
watching us?”
Ward returned and sat down on the bed.
“ Cormorant things I guess. Flew about until it realised it couldn’t really go anywhere,
then sat on the beach staring out towards the sea.”
“ One thing that does intrigue me, and might be important,” Nick said, “ how big was
it...I mean the size of your Future TI. Surely that’s relevant?”
“Mmm, Nick’s right, that bothered me. All we could see was, well beach and of course
you when you reappeared, but by that time no-one was taking too much notice and the
camera hasn’t been much help so far.”
“ It’s a good point Sacha,” Ward stood again, to Sacha’s disgust, “ and the answer is I
don’t really know. About the size of this room, I think. I did some perimeter walking, but
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defining the TI boundary without actually crossing it was well nigh impossible and
obviously I wanted to remain inside.”
“ Future not so interesting eh?”
Ciaran laughed.
“ Certainly not that bit Yevgeni.”
Harris reached involuntarily for a cigar.
“ Oh bugger. So no shining vortex leading off into the Future, no kaleidoscope of
images, not like the films at all then?”
Ward remained silent.
“ Ciaran?”
Harris retained the cigar in his mouth, unlit; the silence continued. Eventually Ward
rose and began another halting circuit of the room, still in silence. A couple of laps saw
him return to the bed, grey faced.
“ There was something else.”
!
Sacha moved to his side and kissed him on the forehead.
“ When you’re ready Ciaran, take as long as you want.”
“ Well, it appears that Chronos provides a more complete service than we first
imagined.”
“ Come on Ciaran,” said Nick, “ it’s hardly a tour operator.”
“ As the incursion drew to a close,” Ward ignored the interruption, “ I got what can only
be described as the ‘follow-on sales’ routine. The incursions appearance...it’s
appearance to me...began to alter at an incredible rate, like a speeded up film, frames
altering in a fraction of a second.”
“ Bastard hard sell.”
182
“ Quite Yevgeni,” Ciaran continued, “ I think that’s exactly what it was. Each image
showed my particular section of beach at a different Time. It was as though Chronos
was saying ‘ well you’re here now, take our direct option straight to the Time of your
choice without leaving your present incursion’...” then with a glance at Nick, “ no need
to re-book. Eventually the imagery became so overwhelming that I assume my brain
shut down. And that’s how you recovered me.”
“ Wicked, just like sci-fi,” Trip hooted with delight, “ so we can Time travel. Must be
some help.”
Ciaran shook his head.
“ Only if I’d taken a strong fancy to that bit of beach, the options were temporal not
spatial.”
“ Is it any help at all Ciaran?” Harris chewed relentlessly on his cigar stub. “ Chronos
may have plenty of Time, but we don’t. Day after tomorrow could be Doomsday.”
“ Sorry Jack,” Ward massaged his temples, “ I’m having trouble concentrating at the
moment, could you all give me an hour. Some proper sleep and a shower and I’ll be
right. I just feel so shattered.”
“ Right you lot out,” Sacha stood, “ give the man a chance. And get you own heads
working. Ciaran’s not the only one with a brain.”
Ward stretched out on the bed, his face lined, eyelids flickering with fatigue.
“ Sacha, I’m scared. Never thought I’d say that but right now I’m scared. One of the
images I can’t get out of my head.”
“ Tell me later Ciaran, you need rest.”
“ No, no... must tell someone, then I’ll sleep.”
“ OK, that’s fine, was it Past or Future beach?”
183
“ Don’t know love, and that’s what scares me. There wasn’t any beach; there wasn’t
anything at all.”
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Chapter 21
!
“I’ve just spoken to Geraldine,” Harris sat on the table at the front of lecture suite one,
legs dangling, looking quite relaxed, “ apparently we have two SAS cells in North Africa
within thirty miles of the target; they’ve been activated. If it goes to the wire, with Jack
Cassidy on the inside and our lads outside, well, the bastard that started all this is in for
a rough time.”
“ Now that I can understand,” Nick smiled, “ I certainly wouldn’t like to be on the
receiving end of the kind of punishment those guys can dish out.”
“ Is that realistic Nick?” said Trip, “ I mean he swallowed Cassidy’s men up without a
hiccup. What makes you think your lot will do any better?”
“You’ve asked the wrong man that question Trip,” Ward laughed, “ unless you want a
couple of hours on the history and achievements of the SAS. Let’s keep it quick and
simple; they’re very good. There could be a whole bunch on this little island and we’d
never know. If they do get involved our Arab friend won’t know they’re there until he’s
staring down the barrel of a gun. Close Nick?”
“ Very close Ciaran; I certainly wouldn’t want them looking for me. Actually...oh what the
hell, I’ll lay my cards on the table first. I think we should take a full military option,
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including strategic ops if necessary. I’m sorry, when it comes down to it I can’t go along
with the sci fi approach; so far as I can see it’s taking us nowhere.”
Even though Nick had never concealed his feelings about the JITS programme, the
abruptness of his remarks shocked everyone. An uneasy silence lasted for almost a
minute until Harris stood and moved to the whiteboard .
“ OK thanks Nick, that’s good,” the Foreign Secretary picked a marker and began a list
on the board, “ let’s call that option one. We’ll log our choices and go through them one
at a time. Next.”
At the rear of the lecture suite Ciaran turned to Sacha and raised an eyebrow, the
journalist nodded and tapped the side of her nose; Harris had handled the situation
superbly.
“ This might be an extension of Ciaran’s first thoughts, but can we tie Chronos up,” Trip
was next, “ keep him so busy he can’t respond to an ultimatum request. If we could
simultaneously lay an ionizing radiation blanket over the hostile’s tranmitters that would
at least buy us more time to resolve the issue.”
Harris nodded.
“
Option two. Some good points there Trip. I think that’s one for our boffins to
consider.”
“ Ask bastard one more time.”
“ Option three Yevgeni. I think we’d all like it to be that simple.”
“ Don’t forget Ciaran’s original idea of trying to get Catherine’s husband to help. Makes
that option four then.”
Harris paused...
“ Is that it? Must admit I can’t think of any more obvious approaches,” he chuckled, “
but I’m just the Secretary.”
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The pause continued for a few moments until Ciaran spoke.
“ There is an option we haven’t considered yet.”
All eyes turned to the back of the room. Ward leant forward, staring at the floor as he
ran his fingers through his hair. Finally he sat up.
“ We agree to the ultimatum.”
The reaction was swift and predictable.
“ What!” Nick spun to face the scientist. “ You’ve lost it Ciaran, that’s...”
“ Thank you Ciaran,” Harris said calmly, “ that’s option five. Now, where do we start?”
!
Above the rising heat of late afternoon, Catherine Lebrun faced her bastard son across
the balcony table still unaware of their blood link; Olive Skin smiled, caressing his Bible
as he spoke.
“ You’re sure they’ve no idea.”
“ I’m certain; Ciaran thinks he has the complete code, but a vital plug-in is missing.
Only one person in the whole world knows the full sequence.”
Olive Skin closed his eyes, arcing his head as he replied.
“ One Catherine? Are you forgetting our arrangement?”
“ I’m old, not senile. Did you really think I’d give you the whole code before I’d brought
Jean-Baptiste back? You’ve got the same as Ward. As soon as my husband returns for
good, you’ll have your grand design. I only hope you enjoy it.”
Olive Skin snapped the bible shut, eyes flickering with rage.
“ I could kill you now...snuff you out like a candle flame, here...as we sit. Even without
your miserable husband.”
“ Of course,” Catherine enjoyed the luxury of her first smile for a long time, “ and then
what would you have?”
187
Youssuf’s appearance out of the shadow forestalled the reply.
“ Master some herders have entered the wadi.”
Olive Skin touched index and forefinger to the table top and a screen appeared in the
wall opposite. In seconds the familiar scene of the wadi flooded in sunlight came into
view. What looked like an entire family, men, women and even three children led a
large herd of goats down the dry river bed. Eventually they came to a halt beneath an
overhang in the west wall, scant protection from the early evening sun. Youssuf shook
with excitement.
“ Shall we call down the fire Master, such pretty fire.”
“ Youssuf be merciful boy, they’re your people. We shall leave them be; what harm is
there in a few goats.”
Once again the Arab boy melted into the shadow. Olive Skin shook his head.
“ He disgusts me at times now, perhaps I’ve indulged his peculiar senses too often.
Now, tomorrow we’ll welcome back your beloved Jean-Baptiste.”
“ No tricks,” Catherine shook her head, “ I can die quite comfortably with the knowledge
I have left.”
Far below, a battered fishing boat berthed near the port entrance, the day’s meagre
catch littering the deck. It’s scruffy crew, smoking relentlessly, dealt reluctantly with the
fish and worn out nets gaping with holes. Beneath it’s cracked uneven deck an Arab
spoke briefly into a radio transmitter.
“ Whisky four zero in place. Delta six niner inland. Recall 0600. Out.”
The transmission had lasted less than ten seconds.
!
[Tuesday June 12th early evening.]
Harris took some time over lighting a cigar.
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“ I’m assuming you’ve a reason for this Ciaran,” the Foreign Secretary frowned, “ so
we’ll hear it. Reverse order for the suggestions then, I guess this one can’t wait.”
“ It’s called giving up isn’t it Ciaran, things get too tough and you just, well...give up.”
Ward stared at his friend.
“ Sorry if you think that Nick; it’s not the reason. We’re considering alternatives here, I
happen to think that means all possible alternatives, not just the ones that’ll make us
feel good.”
“ Sure this will not.”
“ Yevgeni I don’t think any of us like the sound of agreeing to the ultimatum,” Sacha put
her arm round Ward’s shoulder, “ but Ciaran’s right, we’ve got to look at all the options.
Even if this one does stick in our throat.”
Not for the first time the young American lightened the atmosphere.
“ Hey that’s cool, we are still on the same side yeah?”
Nick stood and made for the door.
“ If it’s all the same to you I’ll just stretch my legs while you capitulate.”
“ Oh for heaven’s sake will you bloody prima donnas stop pissing about.” Harris
exploded, filling the lecture suite with cigar smoke “ Nick sit down; Ciaran just tell us
what you mean.”
The impact of Jack Harris’ outburst was immediate; Nick Beresford was back in his
seat within seconds as Ciaran began his explanation.
“ It’s simple really. If we agree to his demands there’ll be no more TIs; no more death
and destruction. Just a different maniac in charge; so what’s new? Anyway we could
overthrow him once things had settled down; can’t be that easy for one madman to rule
the world, none of the others have managed it. As I said, it’s a possibility and as such it
needed strong consideration.”
189
Nick stood again.
“ Well Mr Politician what do you make of that? Do we sit back and run up the white flag
or actually try and do something for our own and the planet’s future.”
Harris made smoke energetically.
“ I’ll tell you what I think and what our course of action should be. I wish all my choices
had been this easy.
Sorry Ciaran, your suggestion was a possibility, but not a viable one. Our man is
genuinely insane. If we agree we’ll get the final TI anyway, just like he’ll kill Cassidy and
his men. He sees himself as an artist, a creator, to him death and destruction on a
global scale is just one very big canvas. We’re to be his biggest, and almost certainly
last, work.
We don’t have a choice here, he really does have to be stopped.”
‘ Thank god’ thought Ciaran, ‘ it worked.’
“ Much obliged Jack,” Nick crowed, “ a victory for common sense. Can we get on?”
“ And the big military option is out for the same reason,” Harris continued, “ one sniff of
a sizeable offensive and we’ll get the grand finale just the same. No, we’ll keep the
SAS handy and follow the scifi approach.”
“ In that case,” Nick stood and walked towards the door, “ count me out. You don’t need
me here but I’ve a family that does. I’ll see you...well we’ll see eh. Ciaran.”
Beresford glanced quickly at his friend and hesitated for a fraction of a second, but the
plea for him to stay never came; he left without looking back. Ward got up and looked
at the others.
“ Just a couple of minutes. I owe him that.”
Ciaran caught up with Nick at the entrance to the accomodation block. For a few
seconds they faced each other without speaking
190
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“ Look Nick I just want to say...you don’t have to go you know. We can have Stephanie
and the kids here in a couple of hours. They’d love a helicopter ride, let me fix it. I know
you think we’ve failed here but it’s not over yet; we will get it right.”
Nick’s body relaxed as for the first time in many days knots of tension unwound in his
muscles. He smiled, a warm genuinely friendly smile.
“ Ciaran, it’s OK, really it’s OK. I could have had Steph and the kids here days ago, I
know that. But I don’t want them here, what sort of Time would we have cooped up on
this god-forsaken lump of history, waiting for the World to end. My family deserves
better than that.”
“ But you’d be safer here Nick, you know how secure this complex is.”
Beresford shook his head.
“ Safer from what Ciaran? A lingering death rather than a quick one. I don’t think so. If it
does all go wrong, as you so eloquently put it once, then I’d rather face it above ground
191
in surroundings I like and with people I love. If the planet is going to be destroyed I
want to be living rather than hiding when it is.”
“But it isn’t going to go wrong Nick, believe me.”
“ I’d like to Ciaran, but it just occured to me that, as usual, Harris is right. Look, this sort
of game’s out of our league; I’m a buffed up soldier and you’re a scientist. We’re not
equipped to deal with power crazed maniacs. Jack’s spent all his life getting the better
of politicians who actually could have destroyed the world and he’s called this one
right.”
“ Nick we’ve got thirty six hours left...”
“ And our man could kick off tomorrow, that’s the way he is. No I’m sorry Ciaran, that’s
me. Good luck, you’ve some fine people here. I’ll see you afterwards.”
After an awkward pause they shook hands.
“ Mmm...awfully British,” Nick smiled, “ and Ciaran, remember
what I said at
Fylingdales?”
“ I don’t tend to forget death threats, especially from friends.”
“ Well forget this one. I didn’t mean it, just felt I had to say something. We’ll have a
drink when it’s all over eh?”
“ For sure.”
And that was it, less than a minute later Ciaran was back in the lecture suite.
For the first time in her life Maread Haston sat with her uncle Davie in the back bar of
the Badlaurach Lodge Hotel drinking malt whisky; the relief following her return from
Gruinard had lifted many long standing restrictions. On the other side of the bar,
Sacha’s brother Gordon probed for news of his sister.
192
“ And you’re quite sure she’s well, eating properly...she was always one to skip meals,
not bothered about her figure just too bloody impatient to eat.”
“ Gordon she’s just fine, if you could be fine in that madhouse. I’ll not talk about it
willingly. The villagers were right, that island’s always been trouble. I’m away back to
Leeds, to some big city normality.”
“ But Maread ye’ve weeks of you vacation tae go yet, surely ye’ll stay till this is over?”
Davie Haston inched his empty glass across the bar, “ tastes unusually good tonight
Gordon, just refresh my memory.”
“ Sorry Uncle Davie, the way I feel at the moment, if I never see Gruinard again it’ll be
too soon. Sacha will be alright Gordon, you’ll see. Now if ye’ve finished with Davie’s
glass, mine could do with a little attention.”
Gordon McNeish received the nod from his friend and refilled Maread’s glass with
Lagavulin.
“ Ye’re sure there’s nothing to tell about the island then Maread?”
Maread’s look was the only answer necessary and the subject was never brought up
again that night.
!
Galvanised by Nick’s abrupt departure Ciaran began speaking as he entered the
lecture suite.
“ I don’t know how you all feel, but I’m sure Nick’s made the right decision.” he turned
to Harris, “ Jack if you’re agreed I suggest we start on options two, three and four
immediately.”
“ Ask bastard now.”
“ Of course Yevgeni, you and I will make that our first priority. Trip, can you liaise with
the radio guys and see if it would be possible to jam any hostile transmissions. Jack
193
and Sacha, maybe it’s time for some more publicity? See what you think. I’ll be in the
communications room in oh let’s see, three hours. I know that’s quick but I’ve a feeling
that Chronos will respond by then. Come on Yevgeni.”
!
!
Shortly before midnight tension grew steadily in the communications room. Sending the
second request to Chronos for help had taken Ciaran twenty minutes; three hours later,
even though the request had got through, hopes were not high, the Librarian had
already refused once. Trip’s work on jamming transmissions had proved fruitless;
according to the radio boffins, the only source sufficiently powerful to provide a high
enough level of ionizing radiation, and thus jam the hostile signal, would be a localised
high energy nuclear explosion. Available options for the JITS team were reducing
rapidly and Time was most definitely not on their side.
The effects of the morning’s TI had taken their toll on Ciaran, he sat grey faced, eyes
heavy with fatigue but fixed on the incoming signal display. It remained blank. Harris
smoked incessantly, Sacha worked at her laptop as official recorder, Trip continued to
monitor the black hole, Yevgeni had disappeared.
A rattling noise from the corridor broke into the silence, Trip leapt to the door and
Yevgeni entered carrying a tray precariously stacked with pots of tea and coffee, plates
of toast, cheese, roast beef and, inevitably, a bottle of Laphroaig.
Harris ditched his cigar for a big big smile.
“ Jesus Yevgeni that looks good. The man’s a genius.”
And it was true, even Ciaran revived slightly as coffee and food smells spread through
the sterile atmosphere of the room. A feeding frenzy occupied the next few minutes
194
until all the plates were emptied, as Yevgeni lined up a round of malt a sequence of
chimes heralded an incoming signal on the display. Ciaran spun back to the monitor.
“ How long,” Harris hovered at his shoulder, “ before we know it’s answer.”
“ Couple of minutes to receive, another ten or so to decode. Doesn’t take long to say
yes or no.”
To everyone’s amazement the message continued for fifteen minutes; nobody spoke
until Yevgeni summed up the situation.
“ Bastard indecisive now.”
Ward shook his head.
“ I don’t think so Yevgeni, this doesn’t look like a refusal to me; it’s much more like the
message form of the original code.”
Harris hopped and bothered at Ciaran’s shoulder...
“Well, come on Ciaran what’s it say.”
Sacha dragged the Foreign Secretary over to the tray and refilled his glass as a
distraction.
“ Whoa steady Jack, let the man work, we’ll know as soon as Ciaran what the message
is.”
Harris subsided ungracefully and took to the malt, closely followed by the big Russian.
“ What do you think Yevgeni,” Harris whispered theatrically, “ good or bad?”
“ Got reply, maybe good and bad. Only bastard knows.”
Five minutes later Ward sat upright and pushed himself away from the monitor.
“ Well well...hmm...well well well. Just what have we got here.”
“ What Ciaran, what for heaven’s sake,” Harris whipped round, endangering his malt in
the process, “ is it yes or no?”
“ Actually,” Ciaran paused, “ it’s neither. But it will help.”
195
By now the end of Harris’ cigar was glowing red from sustained puffing.
“ No riddles Ward, what have we got. Nice and simple.”
“ I was right, it’s a code string for a fully stabilised TI,” Ciaran did the pausing thing
again, much to Harris’ frustration, “ and it differs extensively from the one we used
before. It’s more detailed, giving greater control over the TI parameters. I’m afraid
Catherine sold us a pup originally and to think I trusted her...well obviously she has the
full code, I bet that knowledge has been a source of amusement to her in recent days.
Knowing her she’ll have held it back to the very last minute, what a bargaining tool,
perhaps she wasn’t as politically naive as I thought.”
“ I never doubted it,” said Harris, “ though to be fair, if that e-mail pic was anything to go
by, she’ll have needed that hidden advantage just to stay alive.”
Sacha shrugged her shoulders, hands palm uppermost.
“ OK OK, I’m thinking question marks here, what next. So we’ve got a better code;
does that help, is it good...well what?”
“ Bastard show us what to do. Sort of help.”
“ Yevgeni’s right,” said Ciaran, “ I think Chronos is showing us the only possible way we
can solve this problem, without actually intervening. We no longer have a choice; we
must contact Jean-Baptiste.”
“ Now?” Harris raised an eyebrow.
“ Sorry Jack, I’m buggered, make it first thing in the morning. G’night and sleep well,
tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
!
!
!
!
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Chapter 22
!
Whilst Gruinard slept, early morning sun warmed the far corner of Olive Skin’s balcony;
in the shade it was pleasantly cool. Strong dark coffee aromas hung in the air, mingled
with the scent of Gauloises; Catherine had returned to one of her past vices with a
vengeance. Bread and fruit lay largely ignored on the table and whilst Catherine
smoked, Olive Skin sought inspiration from his bible; as always Youssuf’s spectral
presence haunted the shadow.
“ You are, I sense, impatient,” Olive Skin looked up from his book, “ eager to feel once
again Jean-Baptiste’s strong embrace...”
“ I have everything to wait for,” Catherine inhaled deeply, “ you have not. Whatever
happens here I will see my husband again, now or later it is of little consequence; you
have become a convenience for me. No more.”
Anger darted across Olive Skin’s eyes, subsiding rapidly but not before Catherine
noticed.
“ Go ahead, kill me. Without me you are nothing; mere bluff, an empty pocket, your
grand design worthless.”
“ True enlightenment is about the denial of pleasure my dearest Catherine, or at the
very least it’s subjugation. We’ll send for Jean-Baptiste at midday...see how generous
I’ve become, now we both have to wait.” Olive Skin raised his hand, “ Youssuf raise the
Bald Master from his debauch, here take him a bottle, tell him we have work to do.”
Already hot sunshine slowed the routine activity in the port below; it emptied gradually
as the local fleet put to sea for the day’s catch. Unobserved, the previous night’s late
arrivals disposed of their paltry catch overboard and left the boat in ones and twos,
making their way slowly inland, up through the town’s narrow winding streets and
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alleys; a solitary fisherman remained below deck, apparently asleep amongst the
squalor.
High above, in the comparative shade of the wadi, elder goat-herders sat smoking and
drinking black tea whilst their youngsters tended to the animals. After a long drive they
seemed reluctant to complete the short remaining trek to the port. Once again
Youssuf’s bloodlust turned against his own people.
“ The fire Master, surely we can call down the fire now.”
Olive Skin caressed his bible absently...
“ Look boy, what harm do they do. Learn compassion and let them rest in peace.
Tomorrow they will be gone.”
As the balcony monitor faded, a young goat herder dropped to one knee amongst his
flock. In the space of fifteen seconds he sent two coded messages, one to the boat
which was redirected immediately to London, and one to the fishermen winding slowly
up through the town below. This latter the riskiest, received in the doorway of a stinking
hovel, passed unnoticed by Olive Skin’s all-seeing eye.
!
Geraldine Trembecki woke to a silence alien to the streets of London. Not even
residual traffic noise penetrated the double glazing; it was like a morning after snow.
She opened a window onto the city; silence. Behind her a phone rang, jarring in the
calm, startling and sending her heart racing. It was Chard.
“ News from Defence Minister, both SAS units are in position and moving on target.”
“ Is there something else you want to tell me Dominic? Where’s the city gone for
instance? I presume you can hear, or not, the same as me.”
Chard paused...
198
“ I was coming to that Minister. It is apparently a day of protest. All powered transport
has been suspended for a two hour period as a mark of protest.”
“ Against what?”
“ It seems that the country feels it’s Government has been less than open in recent
matters.”
Chard jerked the phone away as his minister’s response came down the line.
“ What! Just how was this protest organized without us having any knowledge at all.
Even our intelligence couldn’t have kept this quiet.”
“ Our information suggests that the organizers felt that the Government should be
aware it wasn’t the only body capable of secrecy. I have to say Minister that they do
appear to have been better at it than us.”
“ Thank you Dominic, I’d worked that out. And your source of information for all this,
wouldn’t have been Desroy by any chance?”
Chard coughed in affirmation.
“ Emergency services...is sickness and crime taking time out too?”
“ Will respond where necessary Minister, in cases where life is genuinely at risk.”
On cue the distant wail of a siren echoed through the city.
Chard waited for the next explosion, phone a couple of inches from his ear. It never
came.
“ Two things Dominic,” Geraldine’s control had returned, “ first, get yourself here and
arrange a video link with Gruinard, oh and bring Desroy here too. If he wants to piss
about then it’s time he got his feet wet, and no he doesn’t have a choice, drive the
vehicle yourself if necessary. Second, if a single person dies unnecessarily because of
this lunacy I will personally have the organisers flogged; this is the 21st century not
Merrie England. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
199
!
Ciaran Ward woke to his big day feeling as if he’d been run over by a truck. Aches and
pains clamoured for attention from parts of his body he didn’t know existed. With some
surprise he became immediately aware of Sacha’s presence next to him in bed,
realising that he didn’t remember her staying, his mind had shut down the moment his
head touched the pillow. Bending over he kissed the small of the back and felt her
move in her sleep; tearing himself reluctantly away he slid from the bed and hobbled
stiffly to the shower.
Five minutes later, tortured and pummeled by red hot power jets, he emerged feeling
almost human. Without towelling off he dripped across the room and leant to kiss
Sacha again, this time on the side of the neck. Straightway she turned to him, pulling
the sheet back...
“ God you take your time man, come here...”
Ciaran’s gaze followed the curve of her hips past tanned breasts to a crooked smile on
her face; he felt himself harden immediately and moved onto the bed. The phone rang.
“ Answer that and I’ll kill you,” Sacha grabbed for the handset but it was too late, “ have
you no sense of timing man. Leave it, they can wait...but I can’t.”
Ward squirmed as Sacha reached for him but the damage was done and Harris’ voice
burst into the room.
“ Drop whatever you’re doing Ciaran, Geraldine wants a video link in ten minutes,” he
paused, “ that includes you as well Sacha.”
The phone went dead.
“ Ten minutes,” said Ciaran, “ maybe we’ve just got time...”
And they had.
200
Geraldine Trembecki, Dominic Chard and Liam Desroy were already on screen when
Sacha and Ward made their entrance, both avoided looking at Jack Harris but it did no
good.
“ Sacha, Ciaran...what excellent timing. You know our leader and her assistant, Liam
Desroy here represents...er well actually er he...”
Desroy completed the introduction...
“ I’m the Press. Don’t know why I’m here, but I guess that somewhere at the end of all
this is one very big story.”
‘ I’m damn sure there is,’ thought Harris ‘ if we get to reach the end alive.’
“ Jack, Ciaran,” Geraldine wasted no time, “ I need to know exactly what our options
are and which we are about to use. Deadline is twenty seven hours away and that time
is going to pass so quickly it’ll scorch. I take it you heard about our demo this
morning?”
Harris nodded.
“ Well done on the secrecy front Mr Desroy, perhaps you’d consider working for us
when this is all over. News can be so much more interesting when you know both sides
of it.”
“ Maybe Mr Harris,” Desroy laughed, “ but I think your leader might have something to
say about that.”
“ Quite,” Geraldine said, “ now can we get on. Our options are...?”
Harris and Ward looked at each other for a few moments, Ward shrugged and nodded.
“ Strategic military we have discounted completely,” Harris spoke quickly now, “ there is
little doubt that our hostile is unstable and the first signs of a full frontal attack will
precipitate the ultimatum. Transmission blocking is impractical.”
To everyones surprise Desroy interrupted.
201
“ These are negatives Foreign Secretary, what positive choices are open.”
Geraldine gestured her approval with a wave of her hand.
“ Tactical military is in place and under way, both SAS units are in position and still
under cover. But I stress,” Harris paused to light a cigar, “ their role and any potential
involvement of Jack Cassidy’s men is highly sensitive and must be timed exactly; at the
best it may only be a distraction. Our hostile is in a position of great strength, in a few
minutes he can whistle up that final TI and we are finished. At the first sign of
compromise he will do just that, even trying to disable his transmission equipment
carries enormous risk.”
“ This is a bleak picture Jack,” Geraldine broke in, “ do we have anything that gives us
some sort of chance?”
Harris waved Ciaran into a cloud of cigar smoke.
“ Go on son...tell’em.”
“ It’s what Jack refers to as the sci fi approach,” Ciaran sat down in front of the camera,
“ our only serious chance is to stop our hostile from within.”
“ Sounds straightforward enough,” there was little subtlety in Chard’s tones, “ can’t
think why we didn’t do that before.”
Ciaran ignored the PA and carried on.
“ It may be possible to influence events in the stronghold by using our own incursion.
There is little doubt that Catherine Lebrun’s sole reason for crossing over is to access
the technology to utilise a stabilised TI to bring back her dead husband. If we can get
to Jean-Baptiste first and prepare him, we may be able to stop the hostile.”
“ Are we talking time travel here,” Desroy asked, “ I mean...you’re serious aren’t you.
Jesus wept, the World’s continued existence relies on a plot from a Saturday morning
202
B-movie. Minister you do have my sympathy and apology; even if you’d told us this no
one would have believed it.”
“ So now you understand Liam, our destiny relies upon a code from a black hole at the
centre of the Galaxy. It’s almost out of our hands, makes you feel...humble?” Geraldine
turned back to the screen, “ Do it and keep me informed at all times. I imagine it will be
dangerous; good luck Ciaran. If I’m not notified of a positive result by noon tomorrow,
a flight of six ICBMs will launch towards the target. That’s all.”
The link desolved immediately.
!
Shade still lingered under the wadis east wall, drawing the herders to continue their
patient wait, in knots of two and three they sat smoking and talking quietly. Had Olive
Skin’s remote microphones been able to filter their conversation from the continuous
goat noise, Youssuf’s enthusiasm for the ‘fire’ would have been rewarded. From time to
time two of the herders brought their heads together voices lowered; Olive Skin would
have been even more surprised to hear broad Yorkshire accents from the ‘Arab’
herders.
“ Ultra sound scan indicates two laser banks, either side of the entrance.”
“ Laser or communication.”
“ Laser. Ground in target area shows signs of vitrification from test firing.”
“ He could have fried Cassidy’s men where they stood.”
“ Looks that way, but why bother. Took good hostages. Personally I’d have fried them.”
“ Let’s see.”
The two men rose and signalled one of the younger herders to come to them, after a
short discussion the youngster returned to his herd but twisted his ankle and fell
heavily amongst the goats. During the resultant chaos the two elders ‘accidentally’ cut
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a section of the herd in the direction of the laser bank. In a clumsy attempt to recover
the animals one man drove them towards the entrance, directly between the laser
banks. Motion sensors detected the intrusion and artificial sandstone panels slid back
to reveal the lasers in banks of ten, either side of the wadi.
“ Look at your fellows Youssuf, can’t even control a few goats,” Olive Skin gloated, his
hand lingering over a switch in the control room, “ I begin to like them, let us keep them
as entertainment for now. Your time will come.”
Olive Skin touched a pressure pad and the laser shields slid back into place. A few
minutes later goats and herders were re-united and a semblance of calm returned to
the wadi.
!
It was nine thirty as Ciaran stood and made for the door.
“ I’m going to prepare the transmission now, if I wait any longer I’ll probably run again.
It’s fitting really, I helped get us into this mess so...”
“ Ciaran you weren’t alone,” Sacha’s anger broke out, “ others were involved too. And
Catherine made the original betrayal, then left us for a madman who could raise the
dead. She’s hardly blameless.”
“ I’m sure,” Harris spoke quietly, “ Ciaran is aware of that Sacha. And if all our guesses
are correct, then in a way Catherine is about to help us now without knowing it.”
“ What happen if she change mind, decide not want J-B.?”
Harris and Ward both answered at the same time.
“ We’re stuffed. Might as well send in the missiles now.”
“ It’s Time,” said Ciaran, “ I’ll see you back here in two hours.”
“ One thing,” said Trip, “ never been real sure just how you pick a...well Time for the
incursion? Give Chronos a date, a description, what?”
204
Everyone looked at Ward.
“ Really surprised no one’s asked before, actually it’s simple. Chronos is powerful
enough to know even from the briefest hint, in this case I’ll encode this pic of J-B and
Chronos will do the rest.”
Ciaran held up the photo of J-B in the Verdon Gorge sitting on the ground amongst his
climbing gear.
“ Hopefully he’ll be here soon”
!
Far away, no longer distracted by clumsy goat herders, Olive Skin closed his Bible with
exaggerated care and sat back in his chair.
“ It’s Time my dearest Catherine,” Olive Skin produced the photo of J-B in the Verdon
Gorge, “ let’s re-unite the lovers. Youssuf help Madame Lebrun with the stairs.”
!
!
Chapter 23
!
Os van Rindt had been careless, very careless. Fuelled by drink, his appetite for sex
and mutilation with young boys and even younger girls had spiralled out of control and
whilst Olive Skin had thrown him scraps from the table, the Bald Master had arranged
main course meals for himself. With Youssuf’s essential complicity van Rindt gorged
himself on a steady diet of young Arabs; they came unobserved by Olive Skin were
broken by the Bald Master and finished off by Youssuf.
Their entrance from the dismal alleys of the port below, was through a bolt hole leading
via a series of chimneys and tunnels behind Jack Cassidy’s temporary prison to living
quarters in the stronghold. There were two doors, one locked in the quarters to which
205
Os had his own security code, the other unlocked, clad in artificial sandstone, opened
out onto a ledge on the west wall of the wadi.
Innocent though the bumbling activity of the herders seemed, it was in fact a
meticulous and detailed reconnaisance of the wadi. Already a thorough ultrasound
scan had revealed the lasers, it’s next prize was an inconsistent echo from the artificial
sandstone covering the exit, discovered almost by accident. Supreme confidence and
indifference to others had exposed Olive Skin; his back door was open. More
buffoonery with the goats concealed another radio message to London as news of the
weakness was confirmed.
“ Penny for them?”
Harris’ quiet offer took Ciaran by surprise, his mind fixed on the next TI.
“ I...couldn’t...charge for them Jack. Don’t know what I’ve done, or what to do next.
Everytime I think things are starting to clear...bang...something else turns up that’s so
completely outre that I’m stumped.”
“ Ciaran nobody thought this would be easy...”
“ Well pardon me all over the place,” Ciaran cut in, “ sorry Jack but we’re about to
discuss tactics with a dead man. What am I going to say? Give him a gun, tell him the
next time he’s somewhere weird to shoot the bad guy that’s threatening a wife he
hasn’t seen for years. Christ Jack, we don’t even know what our hostile looks like.
Woww fuck me!! Do I go with the guy...I mean could I?”
“ Don’t be stupid man,” Sacha’s voice took them both by surprise, “ you’re going
nowhere. Give J-B a big gun and point him at our man.”
“ She’s right Ciaran...”
206
Harris had barely finished when the phone rang; there was no rush to pick up the
handset.
“ Harris. When? Accessible? Good. A solo intrusion, mmm well it’s better than nothing.
Wait on our call. My guess is immediately prior to the deadline. We will confirm.”
“ Jack?”
“ We’ve got a joker to play Ciaran. SAS have discovered a concealed door in the wadi,
the area around it shows signs of regular use. Best guess is it’s the back door into our
man’s lair.”
Ciaran grinned.
“ But that’s brilliant Jack, maybe we don’t need this charade now.”
“ Sorry Ciaran but it’s a one man show, any more would be missed in the wadi; they
can cover up one down just by buggering about. But it’s still better, J-B inside, one of
our lads working in. Could be worse.”
“ Shit,” said Ciaran, “ let’s do it.”
Without knowing why Ciaran had located the TI on the beach again; as they made their
way there low clouds scudded across the bay, dark against greying skies, rain began to
dapple the sea in line with the sqalls; it felt cold.
Hunched against the rising wind they huddled together.
“ How soon,” Trip yelled.
Ward looked at his watch.
“ ‘Bout five minutes and believe me when I say I’ve no bloody idea what’s going to
happen.”
Sacha dragged him close.
“ Will this work? You just walk in again, what if you collapse like last time?”
“ Got to try, we don’t have too many choices left. I walk in, explain to J-B...”
207
“ And he’ll understand,” Harris cut in, “ he does speak English doesn’t he? What about
the technical side?”
“ He has good English, as for the science, well he was aware of Catherine’s work. It
won’t be a complete surprise. Barraclough’s freed up an Uzi. God this sounds
daft...let’s hope I can convince him to use it.”
“ Bastard’s here.”
Yevgeni was right, a second incursion had formed whilst they talked, some fifty yards
along the beach. Bright light spilled from it’s opening and a faint tremor rippled the
shingle as the discontinuity interrupted the space and time around it. Suddenly feeling
cold and alone on this terminal beach, Ciaran hesitated, he turned to four faces for
possibly the last time, kissed Sacha and ran for the gateway. He remained visible for a
few seconds framed in the opening, then vanished as distortion on the event horizon
took over. He was gone.
Ciaran lurched as he stepped over the threshold, a cold wind at his back, warm air in
front and the now familiar resistance as he entered the incursion. For a few moments
his senses blurred before refocussing; he was in Provence.
He began to take in his surroundings. From the edge of a gently sloping, rocky clearing
amongst rough scrub he saw tortured limestone cliffs rising over four hundred meters
to a deep blue sky fringing the gorge’s rim. From either side of the clearing a path led
away through trees rattling with cicadas, he smelt thyme and genet fragrant on a gentle
breeze. It was hot, very hot.
At the foot of the crag a handsome blonde haired man sat amongst climbing gear and
for an instant Ward thought he was looking at the photo again. Then Jean-Baptiste
Lebrun spoke.
“ Bonjour, ca va?”
208
For a moment Ciaran forgot himself and replied in French as a courtesy.
“ Bonjour Jean-Baptiste, assez bien merci.”
The Frenchman started at the use of his name by a stranger, but Ciaran pressed on.
“ Vous parlez Anglais?”
“ Of course a little, but who are you?”
Ciaran walked across the clearing and sat on a rock next to Jean-Baptiste, displacing
an indignant lizard from beneath his new seat.
“Let me explain.”
Twenty minutes later Jean-Baptiste had agreed to help, despite considerable
misgivings concerning the wisdom of his wife’s desire to be re-united.
“ It is not natural, if I die...then that is it...no more. I’ll have no wish to live again, that is
why we live now, no?”
“ Jean-Baptiste you must not speak of this to Catherine when you see her again in this
Time; promise me, it might cause much harm.”
“ I do not understand all of what you say Ciaran, but I will help. Good luck, may we both
succeed. One secret from the past you must take with you, from what you say I can be
sure of your hostile’s identity; it’s Catherine’s bastard Arab son Karim. Now you must
go. Au ‘voir.”
After almost half an hour on the cold beach the watchers were relieved to see Ciaran
stumble through the discontinuity’s gateway, apparently alive and well. Sacha was the
first to reach him.
“ Mmm...Ciaran thank god, we were so...”
“ Concerned,” Harris was close behind, “ can we get inside to download, it’s bloody
freezing out here.”
After the warmth of Provence Ward needed no encouragement to leave the beach.
209
!
“ Come my dearest Catherine,” Olive Skin rose from the table, “ our Librarian has had
long enough to respond. Let us welcome Jean-Baptiste to his new age.”
Catherine followed reluctantly, her lifetime zeal faltering at last. Doubts rose as she
wondered what final games her captors had to play, but there was no turning back. She
thought of the pain caused in her own interest; Dominique her daughter butchered in a
hail of bullets, her lifelong friend Henri dying in a room nearby broken and degraded,
thousands dead across the world and for what. The answer was close at hand, her
son’s timing had been acccurate and Jean-Baptiste’s second incursion formed as they
entered the underground theatre.
“ Os, Youssuf,” Olive Skin spoke to the shadow, “ welcome our new guest.”
To Catherine’s dismay Os van Rindt and the boy Youssuf stepped into the theatre, both
armed with machine pistols.
“ Military honours perhaps Catherine,” Olive Skin had noticed his mother’s expression,
“ I think not. Your Mr Ward is a clever man, Mr Harris a devious one and they too could
have reached your lover, enlisting his help against me; I know I would have done in
their position. So we have,” he nodded to his guards, “ a little insurance.”
Catherine struggled forward.
“ Let me go you bastard, let me see him first I beg you.”
“ And lose you both for ever, how could I do that Catherine, we have so much to do
together yet. Os, Youssuf in you go, get the man.”
With obvious reluctance van Rindt and the Arab boy edged through the gateway and
disappeared from sight. On the verge of tears, Catherine could almost smell her native
Provence. A few moments later she saw her husband for the first time in thirteen years
as he crossed the threshold sandwiched between Youssuf and Os van Rindt.
210
Olive Skin held Catherine firmly by the arm, a grip her weakened body couldn’t break,
and in a bizarre gesture crossed himself before speaking.
“ Oh Jean-Baptiste welcome, see who waits for you. Os, help our guest with his
rucksack.”
Van Rindt dragged Jean-Baptiste’s pack off his shoulders and upended it onto the
ground; the Frenchman averted his eyes as the Uzi 9mm clattered onto the floor. Olive
Skin arced his head, eyes bright with rage.
“ So clever, oh so clever my dearest Catherine,” then hurling her to the ground at her
husband’s feet, “ but not clever enough. So weak and predictable,” he spat on the
couple, “ so Christian.”
“ Please Master, please let me have them,” Youssuf lashed out at Jean-Baptiste with
his pistol and Olive Skin smiled as the dull crack of breaking bone echoed in the
theatre, “ it must be time.”
“ Soon boy soon, all will be yours. Throw them with the other one, they can lick each
other’s wounds for now. I tire of these dull unimaginative days; it’s Time for our final
lesson.”
!
“ Ciaran you’re not serious,” Sacha shook her head in disbelief, “ she’s his mother. I
can’t believe it.”
“ Real bastard.”
“ Right Yevgeni, and one Catherine disowned when it suited her,” Harris said, “ no
bloody wonder he’s screwed up.”
“ He could have asked for a social worker,” laughed Ciaran, “ might have saved all this
planetary destruction nonsense. I just hope Jean-Baptiste is alright, I felt bad about
giving him the gun. If Karim finds it he’ll kill them both...”
211
“ But J-B’s already dead,” said Sacha, “ oh I can’t...”
“ Hang on guys,” Trip turned from the control panel, “ there’s a video link coming
through.”
Harris stubbed out his cigar.
“ That’ll be Geraldine with an SAS update.”
“ Not so sure Jack,” said Trip, “ signal originates in North Africa.”
All eyes fixed on the screen as Olive Skin’s face appeared.
“ I am Karim Lebrun; now you finally see me, be afraid. Clever Mr Ward, devious Mr
Harris a dead world might have you to blame, for you have made me angry. The gun
was a mistake and my patience is gone. I will have your decision soon,” a tic worked at
the side of Olive Skin’s left eye, “ such duplicity has brought the deadline closer. You
have till six o’clock tonight. No longer.”
Nemesis faded and was gone.
!
!
Chapter 24
!
Sergeant Darren ‘ Sunshine’ Hammond drifted absently away from his fellow
goatherders towards a weakness in the wadi’s sandstone walls. A steep slab, forming
one side of an open book corner, led to the ledge system where he’d discovered the
door. Sunshine had copped a royal bollocking for his find, which occured on a very
unofficial recce, but he was a climber and the wadi was rock; the two were inseparable,
fortunately his find hadn’t compromised the SAS position and he’d been sent back for a
further look. He climbed slowly, his non issue Gucci boots lacking the sensitivity that
rock boots provided, but Sunshine was good and revelled in the intricacy of sandstone
212
climbing. Some forty feet above the floor the slab opened onto a ledge system leading
right, it was mostly hands off stuff but he took great care, loose rock covered the ledge
in places, a rockfall would attract far too much attention.
As he continued past the door, which was set back in a small cave, he passed the two
sets of expansion bolts set into the rock he’d noticed on his first unofficial recce,
presumably used to fix ladders or ropes giving access to the wadi’s floor. Further right
still he entered an area of broken rock invisible from below. As he moved gingerly
amongst the boulders he felt something snap beneath his boot; Sunshine froze, as the
noise echoed like a gunshot in the confines of the gorge. Two minutes of slow
breathing and bowstring senses passed without incident before he looked down; a
broken human femur lay at his feet. Sunshine knelt and began a probing search
beneath the boulders...
“ Oh Jesus fucking Christ...”
...he stopped himself. Dozens of bodies in various stages of decomposition, some
skeletal, some half eaten, others fully fleshed, lay scattered under the rocks; their size
bothered Sunshine, none could have been older than fourteen or fifteen. Anger rising,
he scanned some images into his digicam and returned to the herd.
!
A profound depressing silence blanketed the communications room on Gruinard, it’s
atmosphere turned flat and lifeless by Olive Skin’s embittered response. Jack Harris
chewed on an unlit cigar, deflated as never before in his political career, he’d had no
worse moments than this. Ciaran stared at the screen eyes blank, ignoring Sacha as
she hugged him round the shoulders. Trip and Yevgeni just sat.
Five minutes passed before Harris reluctantly moved to pick up the phone, he’d no
desire for Geraldine to see them at the moment, but as he reached it a second video
213
link began to form. This time it was his leader. Before Harris could speak Geraldine
patched in Sunshine’s digicam file.
“ Jack, Ciaran want you to see this, we have some images from the wadi. It’s not
pretty.”
All eyes fixed on the screen as macabre imagery from the morning’s recce appeared in
gruesome detail, and as it did, anger replaced depression in the room.
“ The bastards, when was this taken,” Harris lit the cigar at last.
“ Less than two hours ago, but that can stand for now, you must have news of your
incursion
Jack, bring me up to date.” Geraldine Trembecki an admirer of Harris
throughout her political career and never before seen defeat in his eyes, but
recognised it now, “ By the look of you I’d think we’ve had some problems.”
“ The incursion worked fine, our man was armed and inserted as planned but,” Harris
sighed, “the hostile anticipated our move. We were compromised and exposed, that
option is closed. By the way, we know who he is now.”
Harris explained about Olive Skin’s identity.
“ I wonder if she knows, well, it’s irrelevant anyway. So our next choice is...”
“ Sorry Geraldine,” Harris ignored the interrruption, “ there’s worse to come I’m afraid.
He’s brought the deadline closer; we’ve got till six o’clock tonight. That gives us,” he
looked at the atomic clock above the display, “ well, about four and a quarter hours. We
don’t have much Time.”
The two politicians faced each other through the link, eye to eye, old warhorse and
young pretender burning with anger.
“ Suggestions Jack, Ciaran...anyone?”
Ward snapped out of his lethargy at the mention of his name.
214
“ Clear the political front first, so Milt Drover and the others need to know the situation.
There’s no need to go public, wouldn’t help anyway despite what Mr Desroy thinks. Get
our SAS man in there, but I’d leave it till the last hour or so, the more distracted Karim
is, the likelier we are to make progress. What d’you think Jack?”
“ Mmm, yes, good thinking Ciaran,” Harris roused himself too, “ never thought I’d say it
and I’m quite glad Nick isn’t here, but let’s get those missiles ready, looks like we’re
heading for the last resort.”
Dominic chard appeared over Geraldine’s right side and whispered into her ear.
“ Yes, thank you Dominic. Jack we’re going to try and get through to Cassidy’s boys
and fire them up if they’re still alive. Odds may be even at best, Catherine’s bastard
enjoys his killing too much for my liking.”
“ Copy,” Harris nodded.
“ That it?”
“ From here yes.”
“ In that case,” Geraldine emphasised, eyes smiling, “
I will see you after
Armageddon.”
It was a nice touch.
!
SAS Delta Six Niner, the Yorkshire goat herders, responded to their new brief rapidly.
Sunshine Hammond returned to take up position on the ledge above the wadi, a fifteen
litre Lowe Alpine hip pack bulging with ordnance concealed beneath his Arab robes. In
an attempt to approach the underground entrance which had swallowed up the Broken
Arrow force, ‘Dan’ Boone decided to replay the bumbling herder routine. After allowing
Sunshine plenty of time to get established on the ledge, he stirred up more goat trouble
by scattering the animals towards the entrance, unfortunately the whole herd took
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flight. Poised out of sight above the riverbed Sunshine watched as his mates chased
and flapped helplessly at the frightened herd, guttural shouts from the herders mixing
with frantic bleating from the goats; it was a masterful performance considering that
none of the soldiers had seen a goat until a couple of days ago.
Unfortunately Olive Skin’s computer controlled cameras were also interested in the
display, having detected a close match between sound and motion patterns from the
previous incident. Close enough to alert Youssuf, and that proved to be too close.
“ Master, the herders are approaching the main door for a second time. Surely the fire
now Master, it must be time.”
Karim Lebrun lifted his head irritably from the Bible.
“ What boy? Herders...again. They shall not bother us...do what you will, my last work
nears completion.”
“ Master, so many thanks, you are a true god. I will not fail you.”
Sensing almost unbearable pleasure, Youssuf’s hand gently traced the pressure pad
marked ‘LASER AUTO’, pulse racing, his skin darkened a long sigh escaped his lips
as he touched the pad.
Sunshine watched anxiously as blinds slid back to reveal the laser banks, then grinned
as ‘Dan’ Boone pulled off a perfect pratfall catching one of the goats; it was a better
show than last time; seconds later the grin froze as the first laser fired. In less than a
minute the wadi became a lattice of deadly beams burning and killing man and goat
alike; there was nowhere to hide and the smell of cooked meat rose from the killing
field below. High above the carnage Sunshine looked on helplessly, but there could be
no going back whilst his mission was still viable.
As he made to move back to the door, a faint noise stopped him. Edging rightwards,
closer to the edge he was amazed to see ‘Dan’ Boone slumped behind a boulder hard
216
up against the entrance; it was a blind spot, presumably too close to the door
mechanism to risk collateral laser damage. His boss was savagely burnt below the
knee on his right leg, but able to move, as soon as they had eye contact Sunshine got
a thumbs up, at least death wasn’t iminent but there was only one way out of the wadi,
upwards. Elsewhere nothing moved on the scorched earth below.
Sunshine worked his way patiently right, along the ever diminishing ledge, until directly
above the boulder. His palms and fingers slipped as sweat flowed freely and each hold
had to be dried off before use, falling was simply not an option; he longed for some
climbing chalk to dry his hands. Working quietly he placed a Wild Country Friend 4
camming device in a crack on the ledge, attached a Petzl Gri-Gri and threaded a thirty
metre length of 10mm rope down to his mate below. Slowly, painfully slowly in sight of
the lasers, he used the Gri-Gri’s pulley action to winch Boone up to the ledge. It took
ten minutes to reach the ledge, another ten for Boone, still belayed by the Gri-Gri, to
reach the comparative safety of the door.
“ Jesus Dan, what a fuck up mate. You OK?”
“ For fuck’s sake Sunshine, what does it look like,” Boone glared, “ yeah yeah, OK...
good effort. Legs buggered, lot of the calf muscle burnt away, I’ve covered it and
topped up on superdrugs, so I should be OK for the rest of this gig.”
Sunshine shook his head in disbelief.
“ How d’you make it to the boulder boss, they fried pretty much everything down there.”
“ Got myself a goat mate. When the first laser hit I went down and a fucking goat fell on
me, so I thought ‘ you’ll do mate’ pulled it on top and started crawling. Smelly bastards
but they don’t half keep a laser off; everytime I went past a downed goat after that I just
dragged a fresh one on.”
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“ You mad fucker. So what do we do now? Re-group with Whisky Four Zero in the port
and call for back up?”
‘Dan’ Boone spat blood onto the ledge.
“ Fuck no Sunshine, we’re it mate. I’m reliably informed your country needs you, so
onwards and fucking upwards, we got a job to finish in there. Move it.”
It was three o’clock.
!
“ It’s so normal here Nick,” Stephanie Beresford clung to her husband’s arm as they
walked down the Bank in Robin Hood’s Bay, “ I can’t believe that other world you’ve
been telling me about.”
Already Nathan and Sally had sprinted away from their parents down the steep hill,
past the Dolphin Inn heading for the beach. It was a bright blustery day with a snappy
breeze driving white breakers onto the rocks fringing the bay.
“ It’s all true love, God knows I wish it wasn’t. You know when I was on Gruinard, I so
desperately wanted to be here with you it hurt. Now I’m here it feels like...well...”
“ Nick you haven’t let them down,” Steph interrupted angrily, “ that’s ridiculous. No one
else had a family for heaven’s sake. You mustn’t think like that, you’re not being fair on
yourself.”
Another set of children ran past dragging kites towards the shore, their parents also far
behind ambling slowly downhill between the jumble of cottages clinging to the
Cleveland coast. The picturesque village had always been a firm favourite with trippers,
a piece of old England that had never altered it remained locked in Time.
“ Look at it,” said Nick, “ I keep thinking of all these people, us, the twins, even Ciaran
and the others and tomorrow it could all be gone. How did we do that? God knows.”
Steph held him close.
218
“ We’ll give the kids a couple of hours on the beach then nip up to the Dolphin for a
meal. Let’s see,” she looked at her watch, “ it’s just after three now, that should give us
plenty of time.”
Nick leant over and kissed his wife.
“ You’re right love, and I should have more faith in the JITS team and they’ve got
aother twenty four hours. Let’s go and fly the kites, it might be our last chance for a
while.”
The death toll amongst ‘Butch’ Cassidy’s Broken Arrow force had risen to four and he’d
had a hard job keeping it that low. Sitting still with a full complement of arms didn’t
come at all naturally to his men, not whilst they could still breath anyway.
“ Sir I really do not know how much longer we can hold this down.” Carl Simpson knew
he was asking the impossible, “ we been trained to fight, not double as clays at a
skeet.”
Jack Cassidy nodded.
“ You’re right there Carl and don’t I know it. But y’see the way I call it,” he looked at his
watch, “ it’s bout four o’clock now, we got another twenty hours to deadline. Plenty of
time for our guys to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve all of us getting fried.”
“ Sir...”
“ But do believe me son, if we aint got no news by eleven thirty tomorrow, this shithole
will see just see a fuckload of action. OK!’
‘Sir!”
!
Once inside the passage from the wadi, Sunshine and Boone worked their way slowly
inwards and upwards. Pieces of discarded clothing and bloodstains marked the route
at regular intervals; whoever was responsible for the butchery above, they’d seen no
219
need to cover their tracks. Most of the way followed age-worn steps cut into the rock,
occasional steeper sections
were equipped with metal ladders in surprisingly good
condition. It was hard going for Dan Boone, whose right leg was now little more than
dead weight; despite the field dressing the smell of cooked meat hung about them in
the confines of the passage. Although the way was lit at intervals by bulkhead lights
fixed to the rock, much of the passage was dark; they stumbled frequently as Boone
grew weaker with fluid loss and shock from the burn. Sunshine waited patiently after
each halt as his mate recovered.
“ Sunshine, you’re going to have to leave me mate. I’m fucked.”
“ Bollocks,” Sunshine reached into his combat suit beneath the robe, “ here cop these.
Super happy pills; they’ll get us there.”
“ You muppet,” Boone shook his head, “ any idea how many of those I’ve taken
already, like bloody Smarties. It’s no good, I’m so fucking happy it’s not true but my
body wont work.”
“ Wait here.”
Sunshine dropped his pack and sprinted up the stairs; he was gone about two minutes.
“ There’s a big landing two flights up, good resting spot. Door too, maybe that’ll help.
Come on Boone, get yer leg on, we might even have time for a kip up there.”
They reached the landing at a quarter to five and Boone collapsed unconscious on the
cold floor. Sunshine checked his breathing and made him comfortable, sat for a
moment, then took a drink of water from his bottle to fight dehydration and chewed
some figs. The door intrigued him, it was at right angles to the passage and set into a
small alcove, he knelt close with his head to the metal and listened.
Three minutes later he’d heard nothing, it was time for the next step. Sunshine freed up
his Heckler and Kock machine pistol and gently tried the door handle. It turned slowly
220
and he held it in the open position for a few seconds; nothing. There was no choice
now, he took a deep breath and pulled the door towards him, tensed in anticipation of
an alarm; nothing. A dry rustling reached his ear, the door opened further and a couple
of starving rats rushed past and down the stairs to richer pickings below. Once again
he waited, inching the door open minute by minute. At last it opened wide onto a
cavernous space below and distantly, many hundreds of feet beneath, Sunshine saw
lights and the dim shapes of men and machinery.
‘ Jesus Christ it’s Cassidy.’
He’d no way to get down, they’d no way to get up but he could signal. It was almost ten
minutes before Carl Simpson noticed the faint flashing light high in the roof above. It
was just as well it was Simpson too, of all Cassidy’s men he was the least inclined to
shoot first and question later, and...he knew morse code.
Within minutes Simpson was reporting to his Commander.
“ You sure ‘bout this Carl.?”
“ Sir, yes sir. He’s SAS Delta Six Niner on a solo mission. His force got fried by lasers
outside the entrance there, guess we were lucky.”
“ Wouldn’t say that Carl. And?”
“ Sir he confirms Sir, deadline altered to six o’clock today. Repeat today sir.” he looked
at his watch. “Leaves us fifty five minutes Sir.”
“ Well well Carl, you boys got your wish. We start shooting in forty minutes. Now here’s
what we do.”
!
!
!
!
221
Chapter 25
!
Henri Tribout lay in a coma on the rough mattress, his body and mind broken by
Youssuf’s relentless sadistic torture. Catherine lay slumped against the wall next to
him, Jean-Baptiste sat alongside her blood oozing from the compound fracture to his
forearm. Outside the room the boy Benazi sat on a chair, an Uzi 9mm cradled in his
lap; it was five twenty five.
“ Jean-Baptiste, I never wanted...,” Catherine’s voice faltered, “ this was not...”
“ I know,” J-B reached for her with his good arm, “ we are together now at last, perhaps
forever.”
“ But can we stop him, what have we got to offer that might turn him from destruction.
Never have I known such evil, a mother somewhere must curse her womb to spawn
such a one.”
In the dim light of the control room above Karim Lebrun made final adjustments to the
TI code.
“ Fires of hell, then icy wastes I think. How fitting a return to Tunguska must be. Os
wake you ox.”
The Afrikaner roused briefly then slumped back to the table. Enraged Olive Skin
slapped him across the face.
“ Wake damn you wake. Go see to our guests, I’m not sure about the boy. Youssuf stay
here, I want them alive yet.”
Down in the theatre Os van Rindt, awash with drink lurched up to Benazi and
wrenched the gun from his grasp.
“ Away boy, while you still can...there’s madness about here.”
Benazi fled without a word.
222
“ And now my friends,” a crashing kick from the Afrikaners foot forced the door in, “
shall we play?”
Inside Catherine spoke hurriedly to her husband.
“ If the door opens run my sweet, the incursion is still there. If we can make it across
the threshold they’ll not follow us now. It’s our only hope. Imagine it, a return to
Provence.
As Os bulldozed his way into the room Catherine leapt up and made for the door.
“ Jean-Baptiste, the incursion, run, come come my love.”
Despite his drunkenness Os was still powerful and quick, as Catherine dived past and
J-B jumped to his feet, the Afrikaner snatched at Catherine catching her by the neck.
Her speed and his grip were too much and her neck snapped between the fourth and
fifth cervical veterbrae like a dry stick. Stunned J-B stopped in his tracks as Os swung
the Uzi onto him, watching in horror as his wife died before she hit the floor.
Os flung him back to the ground and shut the door; it was five thirty five.
!
“Is there anything we can do?” Sacha clung to Ciaran as they walked head down into a
Scottish summer gale, one final walk along the beach, “ or are we just waiting to die.
Some sort of clue would be nice.”
Ciaran turned to kiss her.
“ Dearest Sacha, I only wish I could tell you. Tell everybody that it was going to be
alright, but I really don’t know if it is. It’s pretty much out of our hands now anyway. It’s
what oh five forty now...quarter of an hour and one way or another it’ll be all over.”
The rain had stopped, leaving a thin mist swirling across the bay, seals cried mournfully
in the distance.
“ Ciaran there is one thing I’d quite like to say...”
223
“ I know, me too and it feels so strange...”
“ Ho you two...”
Harris’ call cut through the mist, followed by the unmistakable scent of cigars.
“ Over here, just had word from Geraldine, four cruise missiles are on launch standby
on the Washington, they go at six if we detect a signal to Chronos.”
Ciaran grinned ruefully at Sacha.
“ Thanks for that Jack. Oh shit never mind. Don’t suppose you fancy a last glass of
Laphroaig by any chance?”
“ Thought you’d never ask old boy,” he took one on each arm, “ come on let’s get
inside, this bloody Scottish weather gives me the aches.”
!
Five forty five, Wednesday June 13th, Olive Skin and Os van Rindt waited impatiently
for a reply from JITS; there had been no contact since the previous bitter exchange.
Calm had vanished from the control room; Os lay slumped head down on a table, three
deep bloody furrows etching his cheek, an empty bottle of whisky lay on it’s side close
to his hand. Olive Skin, eyes bright, speed read page after page of the Bible, muttering
as he followed the words, seeking inspiration from his new god; brittle unpredictability
claimed the room.
Now and again distant, faint vibrations from within the mountain shook dust from the
walls and ceiling as Jack Cassidy kept his promise to turn his firepower against the
prison beneath.
“ Awake Os, no...no ox would be better. Yes, mud wallower, drunk, waster. WAKE!
We’ve a world to chastise; listen... in the manner of this god,” Olive Skin stood and
smashed his Bible into the Afrikaner’s bloody cheek, “ ‘...Vengeance is mine...’, well
now it’s time for ours my sodden bull.”
224
Slowly van Rindt raised his head and pushed himself upright, eyes glazed.
“ What now? Kill us all, is that...it. Your grand plan was...is...just to kill us all. And you
call that creative. We’re finished.”
Olive Skin snapped his fingers and a shadow detached itself from the walls.
“ And yet you killed her Os, how’s that now. Youssuf, more whisky for the bald master.”
Immediately a fresh bottle appeared on the table.
“ Drink Os, take your own water of life. You’re more use to me drunk.”
Reluctantly at first, but soon with deep swallows, the giant Afrikaner drank straight from
the bottle.
“ Now Os one last decision; what shall our final lesson be? Icy wastes or the fires of
hell?”
With exaggerated care Os van Rindt drew himself up from the table, his normally florid
complexion a bright delirium inspired red.
“ What lesson. You call it a lesson; how can that be, a lesson is to be learnt from. All we
learn here is how to die.”
Olive Skin returned to his seat.
“ So sad Os. Finally you disappoint me; leave now and you lose what I say will be
ours.”
“ It was never mine,” van Rindt struggled over his words, a pulse pumping in his
temple, “ never. I just...”
His final words stuck as the Afrikaner toppled to the ground, scattering glass and
whisky over the room.
“ A very special whisky indeed Youssuf. Remove him and leave me alone. I’ve a history
lesson to prepare.”
225
It was five fifty three as Olive Skin turned back to the control panel. He caressed the
Bible by his side.
“ Now see true vengeance Christian god; fires of hell will be so appropriate.”
!
Sunshine Hammond bumped into the last door almost by accident, a failed bulkhead
light bulb meant the last few steps were in near darkness. He paused again, looked at
his watch, it was five fifty four. Already a faint vibration in the rock suggested that Jack
Cassidy was making good his promise, Sunshine felt sorry for anyone unlucky enough
to get in the way.
From below a simple deadlatch replaced the coded lock, Os had seen little to fear from
the tunnel to hell. Once again Hammond patiently opened the door, closing it rapidly as
he heard the sound of steps descending a staircase and the muffled thud of a heavy
object dragging on the floor. Through the gap he watched Youssuf drag Os van Rindt’s
lifeless body across the floor. There was no time for introductions, he raised the
Hechler and Kock and stepped through the doorway.
“ Stay. Drop the dead guy and...”
Before he could finish the cell door burst open and Jean-Baptiste ran out. Sunshine
turned, recognising him immediately from the briefing, but it was too late, Youssuf had
snatched the Uzi and was firing.
“ Bastard...”
Caught in the leg and shoulder Sunshine spun round but managed to get off a full burst
from his machine pistol; Boone had liked him for that, Sunshine had always been good
under fire. Youssuf took the full burst head and upper body, dying in crimson jets as he
fell.
It was five fifty eight.
226
“ Take the magnum,” Sunshine began to fade, “ the big guys gun, you’ll never manage
an Uzi with one arm. Eh bien allez vite.”
Jean-Baptiste stooped low, wresting the Afrikaner’s gun from his belt and started up the
stairs.
As Olive Skin began entering the code sequence for the final TI, a slight noise in the
control room went unnoticed.
After a few moments a faint rasping cough caught his attention; he turned slowly, to
see Jean-Baptiste Lebrun framed in the backlit rectangle of the doorway. As Olive
Skin’s hand went to the control panel the Frenchman stepped quickly into the room.
“ Ah Jean-Baptiste, this is a...pleasure. My apologies for the insensitive Afrikaner’s
behaviour; he has been dismissed, yes and quite permanently. I was just about to
restore your loving Catherine...”
“ Bastard, perhaps once you could speak without lying. My only blessing is that she
never knew what evil she’d spawned.”
Above the control panel an atomic clock showed one and a quarter minutes to six.
Olive Skin half turned away, reaching slowly under the console for his insurance policy,
a 400 rounds per minute machine pistol.
“ So why have you come Frenchman? To bring our Catherine back or join me in
triumph. Perhaps re-joining Catherine would be a swifter solution.”
Olive Skin swung the machine pistol up and out but it was too late; Jean-Baptiste fired
twice with the late Os van Rindt’s handgun and two 45 magnum bullets hit his step-son
in the head and chest. Bloody and broken, Olive Skin died before he hit the floor.
227
Seconds later Jean-Baptiste put the barrel in his mouth and fired again, scattering his
head around the room.
It was six o’clock.
!
!
!
!
!
228
Postscript
!
So, Olive Ski’'s final request never reached Chronos and the threat of planetary
destruction receded. Sunshine Hammond, though badly wounded contacted Whisky
Four Zero and thus London, tidying up the mission from within.
With unanimous agreement from it’s four members, JITS was disbanded and it’s work
suspended indefinitely. The coding information that enabled communication with
Chronos was deleted from all archives; a single encrypted copy remained, secured in a
time-locked repository in a nuclear waste store beneath the Cumbrian mountains.
From the carnage in London a new Government emerged, headed eventually by
Geraldine Trembecki, with Jack Harris as kingmaker; it proved to be his political
swansong, albeit a triumphant one at that. Across the Atlantic, Milt Drover passed over
the Presidency’s poisoned chalice as rapidly as the system permitted, settling into ‘B’
list celebrity status to drink himself to death.
Nick Beresford left the Service, shocked by it's ingenuous capacity for destruction, and
took a country inn at Egton Bridge, a few miles inland from Whitby. Sacha and Ciaran
somehow stayed together, joined in catastrophe, with much to teach each other.
Trip and Yevgeni went their separate ways, vowing to stay in touch and meet regularly.
Maread returned to her university course much wiser, and now almost permanently
restless and dissatisfied.
Earth lapsed slowly back into twenty first century normality.
!
Meanwhile, twenty four thousand light years away, near the centre of the Galaxy,
radiation levels round the event horizon of a black hole began to fall.
!
229
!
© David Wilcock
Village Press
February 2001
All rights reserved.
!
David Wilcock
23 Woborrow Rd
Heysham Village
Morecambe
Lancs LA3 2PW
Tel: 01524 852217
e mail : [email protected]
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