by Alex Scarrow
It could have occurred as the official verdict stated: that poor Frasier had just set his Auto-Drive to take him home along the wrong road at the wrong time and the hastily erected roadblock, the subsequent murder and vehicle theft were just another sad sign of these dark times.
But then Joseph discovered something that made him suddenly very frightened of Waldstein. Griggs’s personal digi-pen — a very expensive one modelled to look like an old-fashioned fountain pen — was sitting in Griggs’s Real G mug like some carelessly discarded biro. Something he never did. He had a brass holder for his digi-pen and it always nestled there when not in use — one of his obsessive-compulsive habits. He’d never leave it like that, poking out of his mug.
So that’s why Joseph picked it up and thumbed the control nub.
A memo. It wasn’t even password-locked. It was the last entry recorded on Griggs’s digi-pen. He must have recorded it not long after he’d rowed with Waldstein. He sounded angry still. Perhaps even frightened.
‘ He’s insane. The man’s completely insane, Joseph.’ Griggs’s words were badly slurred. He must have carried on drinking after Joseph had bid him goodnight.
‘ I think he wants the whole world to die, Joseph. That’s what Pandora is. It’s the end of the world. Roald knows all about it. When it happens, how it happens. And you and I… and those poor clones back in 2001… we’re here to make sure it happens that way. ’
A pause. Joseph heard the slosh of liquid, the clink of a glass. The sound of a gulp.
‘ You know… that first time he used a time machine? Back in ’44. I don’t think he went back in time to see his wife, his son, like he always claimed. No. I think he went forward. I think he discovered how mankind finally kills itself off. And all this… everything… his campaign against time travel, this little project, those poor lab rats back there in New York in that archway, you and me… it’s all been to make for certain it damn well happens that way. We’ve been played for fools, you and me, Joseph. Fools! ’
Another pause.
‘ You can stop this, Joseph. I… can’t. He won’t let me back in after what I said. He won’t trust me anywhere near this project. I should’ve shut my mouth. I shouldn’t have confronted him. But it’s done. I’m out of the circle of trust… and that’s how it is. But you can do something. You’re all he has now. He trusts you. You could derail this thing! Sabotage it! ’
The sound of heavy breathing, rustling across the mic.
‘ Joseph. History has to be changed. Do you understand? Not preserved… but changed. You have to do it! You’ve got to steer us all away from wiping ourselves out!’
Another pause.
‘ God forgive me for my part in all of this… ’
Chapter 27
12 September 2001, North Haven Plaza, Branford, Connecticut
‘We’re going to have to pull in a lot of favours to keep the lid on this, Agent Cooper.’
‘That’s what favours are for, aren’t they? Rainy days like this.’ Cooper looked around the entrance foyer of the shopping mall. It looked like a thousand other malls, all pastel plastic fascias and plastic plants. Faux Greco-Roman columns and Doric archways. Only this one was decorated with icing-sugar granules of glass scattered across the fake marble floor, shopping bags discarded in the stampede to exit. Several drops and smears of dried blood dotted here and there.
‘What cover story are we putting out?’
‘Armed robbery that went wrong.’
‘Good.’ Cooper nodded. Keeping it simple. If there’d been a whiff of ‘terrorist’ to it, the press would be all over this story. That had been his first instinct, a ‘terrorist’ cover story that some conspirators involved with the Twin Towers incident — some of the press were calling it 9/11 now… a catchy term for it — had been identified and put under surveillance: the men had been a terrorist cell attempting to lie low for a while, until things settled down and vigilance levels dropped once more and they could have a go at slipping past immigration and out of the country, but they’d been followed and caught as they headed upstate from New York.
If Cooper had gone with that cover story, this car park would have been crawling with news-station broadcast vans and reporters doing pieces to camera. Instead, a simple ‘armed robbery gone wrong’ story didn’t have the same pulling power right now. They had the mall to themselves for a day or two. A crime scene: every entrance taped off and guarded by a uniformed officer.
‘We got CCTV coverage of most of the incident.’
‘That’s all been confiscated?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cooper had already seen some of it. Digitally copied and enhanced to make it a little clearer. There was no mistaking the fact that the two armed people, one man and one woman, had been hit several times in the opening crossfire. And yet they’d walked on as if nothing had happened, leaving an easy-to-follow trail of blood droplets in their wake.
Cooper looked up at the escalator, one glass side of it shattered. Then at the railing running round the horseshoe-shaped balcony of the floor above. A twenty-foot drop down to where they were now standing.
Incredible.
‘The female really jumped down from up there?’
‘That’s what the eyewitnesses said.’
‘They’ll need to be informed they were mistaken, or that the woman shattered her legs and spine on impact.’
‘They saw her get up and take several steps.’
Cooper looked at Agent Mallard, one of the few FBI agents his limited budget allowed him to deputize into The Department. Mallard was young, eager to impress. Ready to do as he was told. ‘That’s what they thought they saw, Mallard. Do you understand? What they thought they saw in the heat of the moment. The mind plays tricks on what you think you’ve seen in a situation like this.’
‘Right, yes… sir.’
‘The male one?’
‘Preliminary autopsy’s already been done.’
‘And?’
Mallard hesitated. ‘The report says he sustained thirty-seven separate gunshot wounds.’
‘Thirty-seven?’
‘Yes, sir. The police officers who were interviewed said they only managed to bring him down after four or five successful head shots.’
Cooper kept his face impassive, his response measured. This wasn’t the place for outbursts of incredulity. He also needed to be sure his new recruit fully understood the situation. ‘Mallard?’
‘Sir?’
‘You’re going to see some things, learn things that — I’ll be frank with you — most Presidents don’t even get to know about. You understand, once you’re in The Department, you’re in it for good?’
‘That was made clear to me, sir.’
‘Good. Now… take me to where they’re holding the other one, the female. I want to talk with her directly.’
Chapter 28
12 September 2001, Interstate 90, Newton, Massachusetts
The rest of the drive up to Boston had been quiet. Liam, Maddy and Sal all silent with their own thoughts. The two support units sat perfectly still; Bob was busy as he drove, sorting through packets of code and prioritizing the most useful bits to upload to Becks. She sat in the back, still as a shop mannequin, as she digested the code floating back to her. Rashim gazed out of the window at more of a world he’d only ever seen in video-film files, while SpongeBubba chirped exclamations full of childlike wonder every now and then.
So very much like a child with that squeaky voice and slight lisp…
Look, skippa! A RED car!
Hey! That man’s re-eally fat!
Maddy wondered why Rashim would deliberately choose to hack his robot’s code to be so grating. But that was it, wasn’t it? The faults, the irritating traits and annoying behavioural ticks, the imperfections and phobias… it’s those things that make us human. That’s why he made his lab unit so irritating. Less of a soulless machine.
Perfection on the other hand…? Cool, detached, emotionless perfection. Li
ke those two killer meatbots relentlessly pursuing them. That’s what sociopaths were, weren’t they? At least in their own minds — without weakness, without imperfections.
Just after midday they checked into another motel; it was as generic and nondescript as the last one had been. But at least this was one in her hometown. Boston. Maddy felt a little more secure. The suburb Arlington, where her folks lived, was actually only about five or six miles away as the crow flies.
She was so nearly home.
‘Isn’t this a bit dangerous?’ said Liam, flicking through the channels on the room’s TV set. ‘I mean… well, might they not guess you’ll come here?’
He’d said ‘they’ like They. Them: the sort of language a tinfoil-hat-wearing, paranoid conspiracy nut would use.
‘We’re nearly out of money, Liam. And, even if the account had more money in it, what if someone’s tracking the card when we use an ATM?’ It could be done, a bank account flagged and used to track a person’s movements. ‘We need some help. In case you haven’t noticed, our little organization isn’t doing so good.’
‘But come on, going to your parents ’ house?’
‘They can help us out! My mom and dad, once I’ve explained who I am, they’ll help us out.’
‘Once you’ve explained who you are?’ He cocked a brow. ‘Listen to yourself. That’ll take some explaining, so it will, Maddy.’
She could already imagine the expression on her mom’s face. A squint of suspicion at the strange teenage girl on her doorstep gabbling about time travel. Then probably fear. Perhaps Mom would try slamming the front door on her and calling the police. But then Maddy could tell her and Dad some things that were about to happen. She could tell them that President Bush was soon to make his infamous ‘Axis of Evil’ speech. That very soon they were going to start pointing the finger of blame at Saddam Hussein in Iraq. Or aim for something closer to home.
She tried to think of their family life directly after 9/11. But she couldn’t remember anything specific that was due to happen at home over the next few days. They’d lost Julian in the north tower, their nephew, her cousin. It would be a household fogged with grief right now. No wonder she couldn’t recall anything specific. She was nine, then — now. Her younger version would be a confused and frightened little girl, believing Fox News that a Big War was coming. That more planes could suddenly start dropping out of the sky. No wonder Maddy couldn’t pull any useful memory out of her head from the immediate aftermath. It was just one big fog of news stations repeating the same things, of fear and paranoia and rumours.
She decided she’d pick something from before 9/11 to tell her parents, something only their very own daughter would know. And yes, there’d be herself — her younger self — right there to confirm that she was telling the truth, that she was their daughter from the future. She could pick something like her favourite toy’s name, her favourite TV show, her favourite clothes, her favourite…
Maddy realized she couldn’t recall any of those things.
Not a single thing.
‘Liam’s right,’ said Sal. ‘Maybe visiting them isn’t a good idea.’
Maybe. Maddy watched channels flash by on the screen. Maybe the other two were right. But they couldn’t stay here in these two motel rooms forever.
Liam yawned. She felt tired too. She needed some time alone to get her head right.
‘Let’s get some rest,’ she said finally. ‘We’ve all had a bad few days and we’re none of us thinking straight here.’
‘That is sensible,’ said Bob. ‘Becks and I can stand watch while you sleep.’
‘You boys can have the other room,’ said Maddy. Rashim nodded and got up. Liam tossed the TV remote to Sal, and Bob opened the door for them.
‘Let’s meet for dinner. We’ll work out what we do next then.’
The boys left, the motel door snicked shut behind them. Becks took her place beside the window, the net curtain tugged slightly aside, patiently watching the slip road outside that led past a TGI Friday’s and a liquor store to their motel. Sal flopped on to the free bed and within a couple of minutes was snoring with a soft rattle that sounded like the purr of a cat.
And Maddy gazed listlessly at the muted TV set at the end of her bed.
Chapter 29
12 September 2001, New Haven County, Connecticut
Agents Cooper and Mallard looked at the knuckle-shaped bulge in the cell door.
‘ She did that?’ said Cooper.
The duty officer at the county police station nodded. ‘We had to taser her and heavily sedate her, cuff her… and put her in a restraining jacket, or I reckon she’d have smashed her way out eventually.’
‘She’s conscious now, though?’
The officer nodded. ‘You actually wanna go in there with her?’
‘Of course.’
‘Jeez… don’t rile her up or anything.’ He fussed with a jangle of keys on his belt. ‘Don’t know why we’re holding her here. She should’ve been taken to the state — ’
‘On my orders,’ replied Cooper. ‘The less pairs of eyeballs on this, the better. And you and your boys did a splendid job taking her down at the mall.’ He smiled kindly. ‘I trust her in your care, officer. For the moment.’
He found the key and inserted it into the cell door. ‘This is some kind of Top Secret, isn’t it?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Anything to do with the World Trade Center?’
Cooper shook his head. Keep it simple. Keep it terrorist-free. ‘No. Nothing.’
He turned the key in the door. ‘Back at the mall she hospitalized three of my men even after we’d tasered the heck out of her.’ He looked at Cooper pointedly. ‘Could you at least give me some idea what the hell she is?’
Cooper glanced at Mallard, then back at the cop. ‘She’s… the future.’ He pulled the cell door open; it clanged against the doorframe as it opened, slightly misshapen from the pounding it had received from the inside.
He stepped in, beckoned Mallard to join him, but held his hand up to the cop. ‘Just my colleague and me, I’m afraid.’
‘Right,’ sighed the officer.
He glanced at the bald-headed female strapped to the cell’s cot. She was wide awake and emotionless grey eyes swivelled murderously towards him. She was panting like a wild animal, flexing against the restraints.
‘She’s all yours,’ he said finally and closed the door on them.
Mallard looked decidedly uncomfortable. ‘You sure we’re safe in here with her, sir?’
Cooper ignored him. He squatted down beside the cot; those grey eyes were now on him. Her panting and flexing stopped. No longer a wild animal. In a heartbeat she was calm and impassive. He could feel those grey eyes coolly evaluating him.
‘Release me,’ she said evenly after a while.
‘Ah! So… you can talk?’
‘Affirmative. I am able to talk.’
Cooper tapped his chin with his fountain pen for a moment. ‘I have no idea what exactly you are. I do know, however, that you’re not a normal human being.’
She said nothing.
‘We had a preliminary report back on a sample of your colleague’s blood…’ Cooper worked to keep his voice as cold and clinically professional as this young woman’s. ‘It’s not a match with any blood type.’
‘Correct,’ she replied. Her dark eyebrows knotted momentarily. ‘Abel is terminated?’
‘Terminated? You mean dead?’ No point lying to her. ‘Yes, he’s quite dead.’
He thought he detected the slightest flicker of a reaction on her face.
Terminated. God, yes… that’s what this was beginning to feel like — that awfully cheesy eighties science-fiction movie about killer robots.
‘The post-mortem also produced another very interesting discovery,’ continued Cooper.
This one’s a doozy. The pathologist who’d rung this little detail through to him was almost in tears. She was gabbling, confused, asking him questions
none of which he could answer. Mallard had yet to hear this titbit of information.
‘Your friend, Abel, has no human brain.’
‘ Whuh? ’ Mallard’s jaw hung open. Cooper scowled at him and his mouth snapped shut.
‘The cranial cavity interior’s much, much smaller than a regular human skull. The space is taken up with additional layers of bone. A thoroughly reinforced skull. Inside all of that we found a brain the size of a fingernail and what appears to be some sort of embedded circuitry.’
‘The circuit has self-destructed,’ she said, cocking an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
He wasn’t sure if that was a statement or a question. He waited for more, but she just eyed him coolly. ‘Yes…’ He sighed. ‘It was pretty much fried.’
‘That is good.’
Was that the ghost of a smile there?
‘Abel was able to self-destruct.’
He thought he’d give the direct approach a go. At the moment she seemed willing to talk candidly. ‘Would you care to tell me who… or what… you are?’
‘Genetically engineered organic-silicon hybrid — Reconnaissance and Covert Operations variant,’ she replied. ‘With W.G. Systems AI version 2.3.11 installed.’
‘What does organic-silicon hybrid mean? You’re what?… Some sort of half human-half robot?’ asked Mallard.
‘Negative. I am a genetically engineered human frame with a dense silicon-wafer processor.’ Her eyes flickered on to Mallard. ‘A computer for a brain,’ she clarified for his benefit.
‘But… but — ’ He looked at Cooper — ‘we can’t do that kind of genetic engineering yet! Can we?’
‘No,’ Faith replied. ‘Not for another fifty years.’
‘My God!’ gasped Mallard. ‘Jesus! You’re from the… from the future? Is that what you’re saying?!’
Cooper was tempted to tell Mallard to shut up. Yes, at some point he was going to need to bring his new man up to speed. Mallard had already been exposed to knowledge way beyond being allowed to return to the FBI rank and file. Cooper decided he might as well get him right up there on the same page as him. The sooner, the better. ‘Why don’t you start by telling me what precise year you’re from?’ Cooper said.
