by Scott Baker
‘Millions will die?’
Hamza held his hands out and shrugged.
‘So, the first thing you did was to look at your bleeding arm and saw the word VOMIT?’
‘The very first thing. Of course, I think I was the last of us to be sent back, it was three years after you’d gone! Ah, who can say why they do anything they do? We each only know our little bit, don’t we?’
‘So, what did you do when you arrived?’ I asked.
‘Well, unlike you and the other primary agents, I didn’t have any implants. All I had was this massive pain in my arm and an instruction to vomit. Funny really, it’s like they knew that you’d forget everything, but that was never mentioned. Did they say that to you?’
‘No. No, I went for more than a month and had no idea. I was cut in a fight and found the filament that led to the camera inside my leg. I would have never known otherwise.’
‘Hm, strange. If they knew it makes you forget, I don’t know why they wouldn’t have done the same thing for everyone.’
‘I don’t know either. But we have another problem,’ I then told him.
‘Oh, really? Besides the fact that once we dock in port we may already be too late for you to complete your mission?’ Hamza sat back in his small cabin. These merchant ships were not designed for comfort.
‘It was Delissio. Something he told me. I think there’s another agent in Jerusalem.’
‘Ah, well, yes there would be, wouldn’t there? Two for each assignment and all that – your pair would have been there.’
‘Yes, but Delissio wasn’t part of the project. I mean he was, but he had another agenda. He said Barishnikov was in Jerusalem, and was going to kill Jesus.’
‘What?’ Hamza sat up.
‘He thought that I had discovered Barishnikov’s intention, and that the Russian had spilled the beans on Delissio’s own involvement, and that’s why I was in Rome. He thought I was there to stop him. He must have thought I’d killed Barishnikov, so he sent agents back to Jerusalem to “finish the job” as he put it.’
‘How did Delissio know? Was he really a spy for someone? And if he was, then who? Who would want Jesus killed prematurely? And how could they possibly infiltrate The Facility? It’s in the middle of the Afghan caves in the middle of an Allied war; it’s not exactly something you’d stumble across.’
‘David!’ Shaun yelled, grabbing the engineer by the arm. Groans from around the plane’s cabin indicated how little the other passengers appreciated his outburst. He shrank back in his seat, but shook his new friend vigorously. David looked up from where he was filling pages with notes, diagrams and code.
‘What? Man, you know I’m really in the zone here, it’s hard to break this train of thought.’
‘It’s in Afghanistan,’ Shaun whispered excitedly.
‘What is?’
‘The Facility. It’s in the caves in Afghanistan!’
‘The diary says that?’
‘The diary says that. We’ve got to get there.’
‘Okay, okay. In case you didn’t know, the US has a major military operation going on there. I don’t think it’s as easy as “Let’s get there.”’
For the first time Shaun looked down at the masses of information David was pouring out onto the paper. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Ah, I’m writing down the spec. I studied that damned disc for years, and next to all my research was wiped when I left Newcom. The rest was at my apartment in Spain, and I zeroed all the data just before I left to meet you. I’m trying to figure out how they could create a recording device to encode the video data without knowing how to play it back.’
David looked up at Shaun. He sometimes forgot that this was the same guy who had written those papers he had read online, the most ingenious works he had ever come across. He was so used to treating people like idiots, that when he came across someone of Shaun’s intellect he forgot that the guy might actually understand what he was talking about.
‘Look man, just read. Keep it to yourself for now, I’ll catch up, but I have to get this down while I’ve got the time.’
Shaun nodded.
‘It’s in the middle of the Afghan caves in the middle of an Allied war; it’s not exactly something you’d stumble across. It would have to be someone who’s involved with the program, wouldn’t it.’
‘I don’t know. For all we know, Barishnikov may still be blissfully unaware of the fact he was born two thousand years in the future. Delissio said that he only remembered who he was when he saw me – and that was twenty-five years after he arrived in Rome. Seeing me caused the recall. What if Barishnikov hasn’t remembered his mission? When Delissio remembered, he sent his own men to Jerusalem to make sure the job was done properly. I may have caused the very thing I am now trying to prevent.’ The thought struck home.
‘It’s possible,’ Hamza said, sinking back down onto his bunk. ‘This could change history immeasurably; create effects that would ripple out across time and have untold ramifications. If there were no crucifixion, there would be no Christianity, at least not the way we know it. Millions of people would never be born.’ Hamza’s eyes stared into the distance as possibilities and consequences filtered through his mind.
‘There would be no need for your mission. The whole Facility may not exist, and you and I may never be sent back here.’
‘But we are here,’ I protested.
‘We are now. But who’s to say what will happen if we change things that we know have happened? The world we come from may never exist. Graeme, we can’t let this happen. If even one thing is changed now, the course of history will be altered and we may not exist! And as I said, you must get your interview.’
The constant thing drilled into us during our training at The Facility was The Rule of Knowledge: knowledge is absolute; if there was something we knew to have happened, then we must not interfere. This still allowed me a lot of freedom in the sense that there was very little from this time period that was known for certain, and so I was taught to work with the philosophy that if I didn’t know for certain that something had not happened, then the fact that I was here doing it meant that it did. Of course, you would know all this better than me.
Shaun read the last line again. ‘Of course, you would know all this better than me.’
Who was he talking to?
Puzzled, he continued.
CHAPTER 44
We could not have been more than half a day out when it happened. It was Mishca who alerted us to the ship heading towards us from our port bow. Immediately one of the crew boys, a lean, wispy figure not yet twenty, scaled the mast to check what Mishca was calling about. The word he called down sent the crew into a frenzy. ‘Raiders!’ he screamed.
There was instant panic all over the boat. Hamza bolted out of the cabin and scrambled onto the deck.
‘What is it?’ I called from below.
‘Sea raiders. Pirates. They’ve started getting game beyond their years, attacking boats along the merchant channels. They want their bounty, and they’ll kill us all for it.’
‘Pirates?’ I repeated. ‘We’re being attacked by pirates?’ I would have laughed if the situation were not so serious.
‘Can we defend this ship? Can we outrun them?’ I asked, coming up on to the deck to see for myself.
The ship’s captain, a broad man of nearly fifty, came down and barked at his crew in Hebrew. He paused a moment to stare out over the ship’s port side.
‘They’ll not catch us without a fight!’ The salty old sea dog growled as he stalked past me.
The Jewel’s single mast was held tight by a forestay, a line running from the top of the mast to the ship’s bow. It creaked with the unfurling of the sail. Mishca ran up to the front of the ship, and Malbool sat near the stern, the wooden barrels on the deck providing him something to grip as he battled his nausea.
‘What’s he doing?’ I asked Hamza as he stared at the frothing whitewash parting before our pursuer.
‘The captain is going to tack upwind. They’ll chase us, and catch us too – they’re far more manoeuvrable than we are.’
‘Well, ah, what’s the point in letting ourselves get caught?’ I queried, not understanding the tactic.
‘The point,’ he said, watching the skilled crew at work, ‘is that if we tried to pass them now, they would intercept us. If we head away from them upwind they will tack and jibe and follow us. It will take them an hour or so to catch us like that.’
‘I still don’t follow,’ I conceded.
‘Well, we’re much lighter. Our sail is almost the same size as theirs and we have little cargo. When they get too close to us to cut any angle, our captain will come about and head directly downwind with an open sail. We’ll shoot away from them, and once we’re downwind of them, they’ll never be able to catch us.’ He sounded almost excited at the prospect of the chase. ‘That’s why they approach from downwind like that. They scare the vessels into making a straight bolt diagonally downwind, but the big raider ship just cuts a slightly shallower angle and catches them.’
I was thrown forward as the boat tilted dangerously, and boxes and crew were sent scuttling across the deck. From the front of the boat I heard a squeal of delight as Mishca clung to the figurehead. Unbelievable! I looked up from my hands and knees and saw Hamza regain his footing.
‘Can’t he tell us when he’s going to do that?’ I spat.
‘You better find something to hang onto,’ he replied. ‘That’s going to be happening for the next hour or so.’
‘Isn’t it obvious what he’s doing?’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘Then why are they following us?’ I asked, looking out at the large foreboding silhouette that seemed to grow noticeably larger before my eyes.
‘What choice do they have?’ Hamza countered. ‘They have to make a run for us or we really would put too much distance on them heading into the wind. We’ll be zigzagging across each other’s path soon, so I hope our captain doesn’t misjudge his line. We’ll have a couple of close crosses before it’s safe to try and come full about.’
I sat back and grumbled, wrapping my arm in some loose rigging as Hamza kept watch on the ship, which seemed to gain far too quickly.
Malbool was having serious issues with the sharp turns and was now a peculiar grey colour. Mishca, on the other hand, was being flung about and, despite knowing the danger of the situation, he giggled with glee.
The raiders gained rapidly, and I was amazed at how the large vessel sliced through the water. The Jewel came about again and cut an angle into the wind. The rope bit into my arm as the deck tilted violently, and many of the smaller objects were flung into the water.
The hull righted itself and we lurched forward. Each turn took half a mile off our lead as the details of our pursuer’s vessel began to come into focus. Still we pressed on.
‘They’re gaining too fast!’ I heard one of the crew call back to the captain. The old seaman ignored the call and prepared to jibe. This run would take us across the path of the oncoming vessel, and the captain knew it.
‘Now!’ he barked. Again it felt as if a great weight suddenly attached itself to our speeding vessel as we dug into the water. As the sea level rose all around our starboard side, it became clear that we weren’t going to make it. The raiders’ ship was much faster on the straight than Hamza or the captain had given her credit for. As we continued on the only course we could take, the reality began to sink in: they were going to catch us.
‘Up two!’ the captain called. One of the crew sprinted the length of the deck, hurdling the wooden boxes of silk along the way. When he reached the front of the boat, he pulled on a rope that sent a sail, about half the size of the main sail, springing in to the air. As it filled with air and funnelled it back into the main sail, the effect was instant: the Jewel shot forward. At the back of the boat, the remaining two crew struggled to hold the steering oar against the pull of the wind.
Like losing control of a car on a wet road, we slid towards the inevitable, and as we approached I watched the raiders adjust their line to compensate for our new speed. They wouldn’t get close enough to board us on this pass, but perhaps on the next.
The air moved in gusts, rocking and tilting both boats as they cut through the water. I counted down to the moment we would cross their line. Eight, seven, six …
‘Mishca!’ I called out, ‘get down from there!’ The boy was no longer having fun as he came to understand what was happening. He scrambled down from the bulkhead and came to rest near where I was crouched halfway along the deck. The Jewel groaned with the effort. Four, three …
I looked out at the vessel, which was now larger than life and speeding straight towards us. We would clear it – just.
Two, one …
We shot across the raiders’ line and I saw clearly six men standing on the bow with their swords drawn. I looked into their dark faces as our eyes met; close enough to make out their sneers. I locked eyes with a man caressing his long, straight blade with menace. The men just behind him were holding coiled lengths of rope with grappling hooks tied to one end. My head turned slowly as we held each other’s gaze. The large wooden ship crossed behind us. It was mesmerising, so close and yet unable to do anything. Our entire crew was seized with terror. Then, the moment was gone, and the frenzy began again.
‘Full ahead!’ the captain called, but was distracted by one of his crew calling up to him from the stern. All on deck turned in time to see, to our horror, the raiders’ vessel coming about. They were turning to chase us.
This was not supposed to happen. We were hoping for another diagonal pass, but the raiders were backing their own upwind speed to chase us down directly, without giving us the room to cut and run.
The captain sprang into action. ‘Prepare full about!’ he called. He was going to try to start the run downwind early, a dangerous ploy.
I looked to Hamza as he stood nervously at the rear of the boat, his fingers curled around the wooden railing, splinters biting into his flesh.
‘It’s our only chance,’ he said before I could ask. ‘They’re much faster than us upwind, and for us to outrun them, we must run true and straight. They’re still downwind of us, and if they match our turn they’ll catch us before we can get clear.’
‘Everyone grab onto something!’ the captain called, while twisting his forearm in a lashing from one of the cargo boxes.
‘Now!’ he barked, and immediately the world tilted on its side. Anything loose on the deck was catapulted into the water. Malbool’s feet slipped out from under him. Landing flat on his back, he slid the width of the deck and planted his feet on the railing, narrowly avoiding being sent into the water himself. Barely holding his lunch from the constant tacking, the slide across the deck gave him no reason to keep his food any longer: bile and bread exploded across the wooden surface. Rolling away from the pile of vomit, he wrapped his arms around the rope webbing that bound the crate of swords.
Within moments the ship straightened, and the wind that had been wisping across the main sail now filled it completely. The wooden hull split the ocean, and the Jewel seemed to sing as she ran. We all looked out over the port stern, watching as the raiders’ ship turned to match our course.
‘They’re coming with us,’ Hamza said. ‘They’re going to try to intercept.’
Our trading vessel shot like an arrow, its large, lightweight sail paying off. But the raiders matched our pace, and with their ship already a little further downwind, we were bound for collision.
‘They’re going to hit us!’ Mishca called from beside me, fear in his voice. ‘They’re going to ram right into us!’
The boy was right.
The captain shrieked more instructions to his crew, who began to protest, but they were silenced by his reprimand. Grudgingly one of the oarsmen rushed over to the crates where Malbool was lying entangled in the webbing. He unwound the binding rope and lifted the top of the box,
frantically pulling out swords and throwing them into the ocean to ease the weight of our boat. I had serious doubts as to whether it would make any difference to our speed, but the next box gave up its quarry, and then the next.
Malbool, still queasy, struggled to his feet and began to help the crewman throw the swords over the side. He paused just long enough to grab a sword for each of us before disposing of the last of the metal.
Both ships raced for that inevitable point of intersection, and I could hear the raiders’ brutal cries as they anticipated the lunge. If we made it first we would be clear; they would not have the legs to run us down. If they got close enough to hook us with their ropes, it would be a very different story.
Malbool handed each of us a sword, unable to do anything but wait. Mishca was sent below. Eighty feet now … seventy …
We gripped our swords and came to stand at the port bow of the Jewel as the raiders approached, four or five men with ropes standing on their boat’s starboard side. Sixty feet …
We sped on as the first of the hooks came sailing towards us. They fell short and splashed into the water. Forty feet …
The raiders cried out savagely as two more of the grappling hooks sailed out towards our deck. They were going to get us. I ran back along the side of the boat and timed the hook as it arced and fell. Like a batter sending leather to the bleachers, I swung my sword at the falling hook and batted it away from the ship.
The second hook, however, breached the side of our boat and fell onto the deck, quickly dragging backwards to bite into the decking. Malbool leaped, his sword outstretched in front of him. In an overhead swoop he brought his blade down below the hook, severing its umbilical cord to the ship as he crashed onto his stomach. Twenty feet …
We sliced in front of the raiders’ vessel as the final two hooks landed on our stern. Hamza and one of the oarsmen responded instantly; the hooks were cut and thrown back into the water. Thirty feet …
