by Jodi Taylor
‘On the contrary, you have more than addressed my concerns as to your authenticity. I am very willing to offer you all the support you require.’
‘Such as?’
‘A secure base from which to operate. And financial backing. You need never worry about money again.’
That would be because we wouldn’t live that long, but never mind that now.
‘Research facilities,’ put in Mikey quickly.
He nodded with all the ease of a man who has no intention of keeping his word. ‘I shall be delighted to provide you with whatever you desire. You have a proven track record in innovation and achievement and I am confident I would soon see a return on my investment.’
It’s interesting, isn’t it, how language is such a giveaway. If his offer was genuine he’d have said, ‘. . . will soon see a return . . .’ or ‘. . . shall soon see a return . . .’ Would was rather too provisional for me.
‘Remuneration?’ I said quickly, channelling greedy historian.
He smiled comfortably. ‘Oh, I don’t think we should talk about that now. Obviously, you won’t be cheap and my initial outlay would be enormous, but I think we might consider allocating you a small . . . a very small percentage of whatever you manage to . . . retrieve. Once my start-up costs have been recovered, of course.’
I sighed. A moving portrayal of an historian who is slowly realising she might have bitten off more than she can chew but it’s too late to do anything about it now. Sometimes I think there should be more Oscars on my mantelpiece.
‘Well,’ I said slowly, apparently willing to be persuaded. ‘We could start small, I suppose. A few trinkets here and there. Something from Marie Antoinette, perhaps. Or Martin Luther’s Ninety-five Theses hot off the church door . . .’
‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t do starting small, Dr Maxwell. You will start large and then get larger. I want something big. Spectacular. Priceless. Something that will put me at the very top. Something unique.’
‘Well,’ I said dubiously, ‘I could bring you the head of Marie Antoinette if you like, but I should warn you it won’t keep well.’
‘Bigger,’ he said. ‘Much, much bigger.’
Silence fell in the pod. I stared at my feet apparently deep in thought.
The silence ticked on. The urge to say something was overwhelming but it had to come from him. I’d planted the seed . . . I made myself stay silent. Not to over-egg the pudding. Just let him find his own way . . .
‘You mentioned dinosaurs, Dr Maxwell.’
I offered up a quick thank you to the god of historians and then scowled horribly. ‘Are you saying . . . ? No. Absolutely not. Out of the question.’
‘Perhaps I should explain,’ he said gently, ‘that the consequences of saying “no” to me are not pleasant.’
‘By all means,’ I said, sweat breaking out all over again. ‘And then I can explain the consequences of trying to capture a dinosaur, subdue a dinosaur, ward off its deeply unhappy friends, get it up the ladder and into the pod. Then I can describe the injuries even quite a small dinosaur can inflict when it really puts its mind to it. Yes, Mr Wolfe, I can understand the attraction but, believe me – it’s not worth the risk.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think you understand me, Dr Maxwell.’
‘Well, there’s a coincidence. I was about to say exactly the same thing to you.’
Mr Khalife slapped my face. Not hard but hard enough. The sound rang around the pod. I’d threatened Mikey with all sorts of death if she intervened. But her gasp of surprise was very realistic. I put my hand to my face, apparently too shocked to speak.
Khalife’s eyes glittered. ‘You are an intelligent woman, Dr Maxwell, but your manners need work. Mr Wolfe is accustomed to more respect.’
I let my hand drop. ‘Not if he keeps coming up with daft ideas like that one.’
It was going to be a clenched fist this time.
Wolfe held up his hand. ‘One moment, my friend. It is possible that Dr Maxwell has misunderstood me. Of course, I can see the difficulties she so vividly outlined, but it occurs to me that all that could be bypassed simply by bringing back . . .’ he paused for effect, his eyes gleaming – possibly with excitement but more probably greed, ‘. . . a dinosaur egg.’ He sat back, well pleased with himself. ‘Small, portable, non-violent, perfect.’
I said suspiciously, ‘And what would you do with this egg?’
‘That need not concern you, Dr Maxwell. In fact, I really think all our lives will be much easier if you just confine yourself to . . . shall we say, acquisitions . . . and leave the distribution side of the business to me.’
I needed to struggle. Just a little. ‘I don’t think . . .’
‘Very wise, Dr Maxwell. In fact, your role will not require you to think at all. Simply to do as you are told.’
I very badly wanted to tell him better men than he had tried and failed at that, but now was not the time. Hopefully I would live long enough to see him dead at my feet.
‘The Cretaceous period lasted for millions of years, Mr Wolfe. How would you have me narrow down such a long period of time?’
‘As you yourself said, you’ve been there before so it’s not completely unknown territory.’
The thought flashed through my mind. Could it possibly be that he thought he was steering me?
I said slowly, ‘A colleague and I once spent some time there, carrying out an in-depth survey. Flora, fauna, geology, climate – all that sort of thing. I’m familiar with that particular part of the Cretaceous so I suppose I could revisit. It would have to be some six months or so later – to avoid running into myself.’
I paused, staring at nothing, apparently considering ways and means.
He waited patiently. Not a man to over-egg his pudding, either.
‘Yes,’ I said, eventually. ‘I suppose it could work – I would know my way around the area, be familiar with the livestock and so on, and there won’t have been any major geological changes in just a few months.’
He nodded. ‘You cannot be more precise as to the date?’
‘Well, not really – dates hadn’t been invented then and it’s a very long time ago so I’m afraid that’s about as precise as I can get.’
It was precise enough. Ronan knew when Sussman and I had been in the Cretaceous. He’d be perfectly prepared to jump to approximately the right time and wait for as long as it took. The incentives were all there. Me, of course, but mostly, this pod. The pod that would make him more than rich. Oh yes – he’d happily wait for us to turn up.
Knowing perfectly well why he was asking and curious as to what he would say, I said, ‘Why are you asking?’
I was expecting something vague and meaningless so his answer came as a bit of a shock. ‘I rather thought I might join you.’
It would be hard to say whether it was me or Mr Khalife who was most alarmed.
He silenced our babble of protest. ‘Who could resist a dinosaur?’
I said flatly, ‘I mentioned a colleague. Perhaps I should tell you he didn’t make it back home. Well, not all of him. I only ever found his boot. His foot was still in it.’
He waved that aside. ‘Mr Khalife will keep me safe.’
I could already see Khalife mentally loading for elephant. God knows what sort of arsenal he’d bring with him. And he’d use it, too. I’d seen dinosaurs slaughtered once. I had no desire to see it again.
But, I had to get Ronan to the Cretaceous. I needed him to die there and there would never be a better opportunity than this. All my planning, step by careful step, had brought me to this point. Surely I could cope with two extra passengers. I should give in ungracefully and just do my best to prepare for whatever might go wrong. Because it would.
I counted slowly to ten and then said reluctantly, ‘Well . . .’
‘A wise decision
, Dr Maxwell. I foresee this will be a very profitable enterprise.’
For him – yes. For us – probably not so much.
I changed the subject slightly. ‘Will you try to hatch the egg?’
‘An interesting experiment, don’t you think?’
‘What will you do with it if you’re successful?’
‘He could feed it the other dodo,’ said Mikey, who had yet to master some aspects of polite social interaction. ‘Max – we agreed – after what they did to Donald – or Hillary – no more livestock. They can’t be trusted.’
They both ignored her. She was just a little girl.
‘Hush, Mikey,’ I said in my let the grown-ups sort it out voice. The one that pushes teenage buttons everywhere and one of the very few weapons in the parental armoury. She subsided in a really very realistic sulky heap.
Messrs Wolfe and Khalife exchanged glances. I pretended not to notice. Because I didn’t care. I was off to the Cretaceous and that was all that mattered.
That part of the assignment settled, now it was time for the bread and butter matters. I looked at Mikey. ‘How are we doing for power?’
‘Fine.’
I began to unwind my pins-and-needles-ridden legs. ‘No time like the present then. Let’s go.’
Wolfe held up a hand. ‘I applaud your enthusiasm, Dr Maxwell, but I need to return to my office. I have important meetings planned.’
‘Mr Wolfe, you could spend ten years in the Cretaceous and still be back in time for your important meetings. We should go now.’
He shook his head. ‘I have a great deal of material to prepare and I am tired and have things to see to. Tomorrow. We will . . . what is the expression? . . . jump? We will jump tomorrow at six p.m.’
Which would give him more than enough time to hold his ‘meetings’ and get all his players into place. I sighed heavily and nodded. Not happy, but unsuspicious. Yet another award-winning performance.
And back to the sex club – a phrase Jane Austen inexplicably omitted to use in any of her books – because the next task was to get Adrian back, although I suspected they would be only too happy to let him go. We might even find him waiting for us on the pavement.
We landed in their back yard. Right next to the wheelie bins again.
‘Anything?’ I said to Mikey and she shook her head. The proximity alerts stayed silent.
We waited.
‘What are we waiting for?’ enquired Mr Wolfe, testily.
‘Adrian.’
And here he came. Very happy by the looks of it and definitely very chatty. He was escorted by the two bouncers who were looking particularly glassy-eyed. That’s the problem with teenagers. Either you can’t get a word out of them as they squat, sullen and suspicious, in their own filth – or bedroom, as they describe it – or you can’t shut them up at all and your ears melt in self-defence.
Mikey sprung the hatch and I gestured politely to our guests. Sorry – employers. We dropped the ladder and they descended.
Adrian was still talking. ‘Remember, it’s a lot easier if you can bypass the start-up procedures in the first place because then it will disable both firewalls and update automatically. After that – you’re straight in. Oh, hello.’ He waved. Mikey and I, both peering out of the hatch, waved back.
I eased Khalife’s gun out of my pocket and held it out of sight. I didn’t think there would be any trouble, but just in case . . . Clive Ronan was never far from my thoughts.
Mr Khalife turned back. ‘My gun.’
I nodded at Adrian. ‘My hostage.’
Wolfe nodded at Khalife who nodded at the two men who would probably have nodded at Adrian had he actually stopped talking long enough to notice.
Traditionally, of course, the two sets of hostages walk slowly towards each other, pause as they meet, and then continue on their way. Adrian obviously hadn’t read the Hostage Handbook.
‘Hello, Mr Wolfe. Hello, Mr Khalife. Did you enjoy it? Where did you go? Did you bring anything back? Donald’s laid an egg so we got that wrong. How was the pod? Did it drift at all? Mikey doesn’t always compensate properly, you know. Tell me you didn’t end up in the Gobi Desert? I got bitten by a scorpion there once and Mikey was shot on the Chinese border. Well, actually, she was shot in the shoulder but you know what I mean. Oh – are you not stopping?’
They weren’t trotting, because that would be undignified, but there was a briskness to their walk.
Adrian clambered up the ladder, turned at the top and waved. ‘Thank you for having me.’
Have I mentioned they both had beautiful manners?
Mr Wolfe called up, ‘Tomorrow then, Dr Maxwell. Six p.m.’
Yeah – like I was going to turn up at a pre-arranged time and walk straight into Clive Ronan.
I smiled, waved an acknowledgement, checked the safety catch and chucked Mr Khalife’s gun to him.
He caught it neatly, shot me a look that could have meant anything, and the two of them disappeared into the house.
‘We should go right now,’ I said, once again letting my fear of untimely ambush envelop me in the warm, fuzzy blanket of paranoia.
So, we went.
Obviously, there was no way we were going to do anything as daft as turning up at the right place at the right time. Who would do something that stupid?
We landed at the wrong time and in the wrong place. Always listen to your paranoia. It’s keeping you alive and almost certainly has more sense than you do. We watched for a while and when nothing dreadful happened, shoved out the ladder.
‘Why?’ I asked in mild exasperation.
They seemed bemused. ‘Why what?’
‘Why this old, heavy wooden thing?’
They looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. ‘What’s the matter with it?’
‘It’s old, heavy and wooden.’
They didn’t seem to understand.
I tried again. ‘You could get something better.’
‘Better than what?’
The ladder hit the ground with a thump, failing to maim any passers-by. ‘Than this.’
‘What’s the matter with it?’
I know when I’m being wound up. ‘Nothing. For you two, it’s just perfect.’
Adrian grinned. ‘Yeah, most people see it our way sooner or later. Right, I’m off over the river to give myself up to the Time Police and tell them what’s happening.’
‘Remember,’ I said, because all sorts of things could go wrong, ‘demand to speak to Commander Hay. She will be expecting you. Behave yourself. Don’t provoke them into shooting you and . . .’
‘Yes, all right,’ he said impatiently. ‘Mikey, look after the pod and don’t forget to . . .’
‘Just go, will you,’ she said in exasperation.
He clambered down and disappeared, his coat flapping dramatically around him.
‘They’re going to be awfully surprised when he knocks on their door,’ said Mikey. ‘Do you think they’ll just shoot him out of hand?’
I shook my head. ‘I think I’m the one who’s most likely to be shot out of hand. Remember – hatch down and locked. If neither of us comes back then jump to St Mary’s and hand yourself over to Dr Bairstow.’
If he was there.
I went to climb out of the hatch. I should get a move on. Adrian could be crossing the river by now.
She grinned. ‘Wish I could see their faces when he gives himself up.’
‘It’s not too late for you to go with him so be careful what you wish for.’
She grinned. ‘Nah – you’d never be able to pilot this thing by yourself.’ She patted the wall affectionately.
‘You do know Dr Bairstow has promised to destroy it when all this is over, don’t you?’
‘I do. But it’s not over yet.’
‘And never
will be unless I get a move on.’
‘Good luck, Max.’
‘See you in ten minutes.’
There was no one on duty at the front door. Well, it was only twenty past eleven in the morning. I looked but couldn’t see a bell anywhere. Presumably if the door wasn’t opened for you by a massive bloke in a suit then you didn’t get in at all.
Obviously, a subtle approach was required.
I stepped back to give myself room and pounded on the door. ‘Hey, open up. It’s me. Get a move on – it’s time to go.’
I reckoned twelve to fifteen seconds. They opened the door in nine.
I stepped well back out of grabbing range, although there were people in the street and I wasn’t too worried. They still needed me. It was when we arrived in the Cretaceous that my warranty would suddenly run out.
Mr Khalife stared down at me. ‘You are early, Dr Maxwell.’
‘Dodging the Time Police,’ I said, backing down the steps. ‘We’re going now. If you want to come with us be in the alleyway in five minutes. If you’re not there we will go without you.’
I turned away.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Mr Wolfe is not ready.’
‘Then tell Mr Wolfe he can come next time,’ and trotted back along the pavement. I had my hand on my stun gun the whole time just in case Ronan had men here already waiting for us to turn up. He himself, I suspected, would be waiting for us in the Cretaceous. Just in case we slipped through everyone’s fingers here. Belt and braces. And he’d want to make sure of the teapot.
Mikey flung out the ladder as soon as I turned into the alleyway. I clambered up and we heaved it in and waited. Who would appear? Wolfe or Ronan. And who would arrive first?
It was Wolfe.
34
They say that smell is the most evocative of all the senses. I stuck my head out of the hatch and the stink hit me square in the face, taking me back. Right back. Back to the time when I was Miss Maxwell. When I’d never even heard of Clive Ronan. When life was bright and exciting and I and everyone I knew were all going to live forever. When I’d only just met Leon. When Kal was still at St Mary’s. When Helen was still alive. And Davey Sussman.
