“O‘Dell? Yes, we met. What’s he in for?”
English gave his disconnected smile. “Mr. O‘Dell often drops in to supply us with information. After the death of the Reverend Duvalle, he came forward with some very interesting intel about the possible involvement of a terrorist group known as The Friends of Democracy. He’s been tracking them for us for some time.” A small frown crossed English’s face as the implications of Jay recognizing O‘Dell finally sank in. “Where did you say you met him?”
“In the Shanty. Some kind of local crime boss, isn’t he?”
By then, English was looking very unhappy. “Yes, the kind of man who would know everything that goes on in his own territory. Like that Polanski had his headquarters there.”
They reached English’s office and the Deputy Director hastily showed him in. “Make yourself at home. The phone’s on the desk. Would you excuse me a moment? There’s something I need to attend to.” He hurried off in the direction O‘Dell had gone.
The office was large, but not as large or well-appointed as the Director’s. Jay found the “phone” as promised—a compad sitting in a docking station. He started fiddling with it, trying to find directory inquiries. To his surprise, a man’s face appeared in its tiny screen.
“Switchboard,” the operator said.
“Sorry?”
“How may I connect you?”
“Oh. Thank you.” He gave Kapellhof’s name and location.
“Thank you, sir. Just one moment.” The screen showed a short repeating animation of a country scene while Vivaldi thrummed and twittered over it. Jay listened to the music for a while wondering what to do. He’d just came to the conclusion that the device had malfunctioned when Kapellhof’s face appeared.
“Jay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You just caught me. I was on my way out.”
“What? Oh, er, sorry.”
“You haven’t reported for nearly two days and now this. Well?”
“I found Polanski.”
“You found him? You’re there as an adviser. What about the FBI?”
“Well … They know where he is now.”
“And the woman? Malone? Is she alive?”
“Yes, sir. Well, she was a few hours ago. Polanski’s got her again.”
“Again?”
“It’s a long story. He’s got my daughter too. The thing is, sir, he’s planning a timesplash.”
“We knew that all along, didn’t we? When and where?”
“That’s just it. It’s going to happen here in Washington, and it could happen any minute now.”
“What?” If Kapellhof had been just a little distracted, Jay now had his full attention. “Good God. And the FBI is fully aware? They know everything you know?” He seemed to require reassurance.
“Yes, sir. They have a raid planned on Polanski’s headquarters. It’s about ten kilometers away. I’m going with them to see if I can’t get Ms. Malone and my daughter out of there.”
To Kapellhof’s credit, he didn’t try to order Jay not to go. “How’s the evacuation going? It must be chaos over there.”
“No evacuation. They’re trusting that they can stop Polanski before the lob starts.”
“But surely …”
“They’ve God on their side. That’s probably what they’re thinking. They’ve no doubt sent a task force of crack chaplains to the nearest church to pray for a good outcome.”
“Are you all right, Jay?”
“Just feeling a bit vulnerable, sir. Look, if I manage to get Sandra and Cara away, is there anywhere I could take them where we could be extracted?”
“Extracted? I work for Europol, not the SAS.”
“An airport? A dock? Even some place we could hide out for a while?” Jay was well aware that the FBI would be listening in on the call, but he needed somewhere safe to head for so that the three of them stood a chance of getting out of the U.S. If Polanski’s splash happened, it wouldn’t matter if anyone in Washington knew where they were heading—because Washington wouldn’t exist anymore. And, if Polanski was right and his splash started a revolution, America would not be a safe place for anybody.
Kapellhof regarded him in silence then said, “Remember that case we worked with the French police a couple of years ago?” Jay nodded. A splashteam in Paris had been using an American subsidiary of a French mining company to smuggle F2 generators from South America to a group in Toronto. “We did them a big favor, keeping their involvement quiet. I’ll make a few calls. You know where their North American head office is, don’t you?” Kapellhof had also seen the need for silence. “Well, go there. I’m sure you will be well received.”
Jay wanted to say more but this was not the time.
There was a long silence then Kapellhof said, “Have you thought about your future yet, Jay? What you’d like to do next?”
The idea that he might have a future beyond the next few minutes or hours seemed almost laughable. “I haven’t really had time to think about that yet, sir.”
Kapellhof pursed his lips and nodded, which might have been a sympathetic acknowledgement, or it might just have meant that he expected no better from Jay. “I will call the commissioner and have him call the minister, get him to remind the Yanks that we’d like you and Ms. Malone back in one piece if possible. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Jay slowly shook his head. “Thank you, sir.”
As soon as he hung up, the office door opened and an FBI man poked his head in. Coincidence? “Deputy Director English and the European Ambassador are waiting for you in meeting room one, Chief Inspector.”
-oOo-
Ambassador Borghese was a rather svelte, fifty-something, Italian woman who made Deputy Director English look a little shabby and uncomfortable. She turned sharp, appraising eyes on Jay as he smiled deferentially and bumbled into the room, feeling a little shabby and uncomfortable himself. She rose and shook hands with him, making English rise too. It struck Jay that the EU might have sent a female ambassador here on purpose, just to discomfit everybody she dealt with.
“You wished to see me, Chief Inspector?” A raised eyebrow gave her gaze an ironic tinge. I am going to play along, it seemed to say, but I find myself a trifle amused that I should be summoned by such an insignificant person as yourself. She turned her aristocratic smile on English. “Apparently, it is a matter of extreme importance.” Her tone said that she had already grown to doubt it.
Jay did not blame her at all. In truth, he had not expected the FBI to drag an ambassador across town for him, and he’d mainly demanded to see her to make himself sound important and to create as much fuss as possible. However, now she was here, he could at least warn her—and maybe try to line up some kind of escape route.
“Madam Ambassador,” Jay began, at which point she sat down and so did English. Finding himself alone on his feet, Jay pulled over a chair and also sat. “You and your staff are in extreme danger.”
Her eloquent eyebrows arched into a frown, which she turned on English. “Danger?”
Jay pressed on. “There is a terrorist in this town—”
“A terrorist? Has there been a threat to the embassy?” she asked English.
“The threat is to the whole city,” Jay said, beginning to feel a certain irritation with this pompous woman. At least he had her attention now. “Zadrach Polanski is about to create a timesplash big enough to wipe out the whole of the Washington metropolitan area.”
“But that’s millions of people,” the Ambassador said, forgetting to aim it at English.
The Deputy Director jumped in. “The danger is minimal, I assure you. I’m assembling a team right now. Polanski will never be allowed to unleash this terrible weapon.”
“Then why am I here?” Ambassador Borghese asked.
“Because the threat is imminent,” said Jay before English could reply. “It could happen at any moment. I’m sure you have emergency procedures in case of terrorist attacks. I suggest you invoke them right no
w. Get yourself and your people out of Washington. Polanski will probably strike at the Capitol, or the White House, or somewhere else very central. If Beijing and Mexico City are any guide to what we can expect, you need to be fifteen kilometers from the center when the backwash hits. Twenty would be better.”
“Beijing and …” She turned to English, aghast. “Is this true?”
“The Chief Inspector has recently been a captive of the terrorists,” English said. “He is still a little overwrought.” He turned to Jay. “I’m sure, when you get yourself some sleep, things won’t seem so bad.”
“What?” Jay couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “With all due respect, Deputy Director—” He stopped himself saying the many things that were on the tip of his tongue and instead tried to focus on what really mattered. “You really are planning an assault on Polanski’s headquarters? That isn’t just you trying to humor me?”
“Of course, of course. But, really, there’s no need to go alarming people. Our analysts believe we have days, if not weeks before Polanski could get your … ah … Miss Malone to build him a time travel machine.”
“Your analysts? Your analysts?” For a moment Jay was speechless. “The same analysts who thought Polanski was building a dirty bomb? Those analysts? And what do these morons use for intelligence? Star charts? The Book of Revelation?”
“Chief Inspector!” the Ambassador snapped. “Do I have to remind you that you are a guest of the FBI and a representative of your own department?”
Jay opened his mouth to tell the stupid woman what place diplomatic protocol had in the current proceedings but decided not to waste any more time. “You need to get yourself and your staff out of Washington right now. The rig they’ve built is complete and it’s ready to go. You,” he turned to English. “When is this raid of yours planned for? Tell me.”
“Chief Inspector, I really think—” English began.
“And I really think that if anyone survives to tell the tale, yours will be the name of the bureaucrat who screwed around while terrorists blew up his nation’s capital. Now, when is that raid?”
English sighed and looked at his watch—a gesture Jay had never seen before, except in old vids. “We leave in one hour. We attack Polanski’s compound at twelve noon. Are you happy now?”
“No!” There seemed to be no getting through to the man. “We should go right now. Right now.”
The Deputy Director’s irritation finally got the better of him, despite the Ambassador’s presence. “Chief Inspector, I have tried to be patient with you, and to accommodate your wishes. However, you have been nothing but a burden on this investigation since the moment you arrived. My report to your superiors will reflect this.” Perhaps he saw Jay preparing to jump in with an objection because he added, “Yes, you stumbled on Polanski and for that we are very grateful. However, that means your work here is done. We’d like your assistance with the raid but, after that, you’re on the next flight home. Understood?”
Jay nodded. “If there’s a working airport anywhere around DC in two hour’s time, I will be more than happy to be there.”
English stood up. The meeting was over. “Chief Inspector, there is an agent outside who will take you through the preparations for the raid. Do not try to run away again. Madam Ambassador, it was an honor to meet you. Now, if you will excuse me …” All smiles, he shook hands with Ambassador Borghese and left the room. He was replaced immediately by another FBI man there to escort the ambassador out.
Before she went, Ambassador Borghese looked down her long nose at Jay and said, “It’s a pity you did not put more effort into dealing professionally with your American counterparts. I am personally very disappointed.”
Jay was so far beyond amazed at the way the meeting had gone that he didn’t react at all. Wearily, he said, “You need to evacuate the embassy and warn anyone else who will listen to get away from Washington. Don’t be fooled by the complacency you see in this building. These people are all high priests of the church of damned fools. Maybe they trust that God won’t turn the city into a mass of twisted metal and powdered rubble.”
“Trust in God is nothing to sneer at, Chief Inspector. I myself am a devout Catholic.”
Jay threw up his hands. “Of course you are. Tell me, is it still a mortal sin if you commit suicide through sheer stupidity? Or how about murdering all your colleagues through wilful ignorance, will that send you to Hell? Think about it.”
She was already marching to the door, pretending not to hear him, but she stopped on her way out. “It’s Chief Inspector Jason Kennedy, isn’t it? I must get it right so that I can mention you to the Minister when we next speak.”
“Better call him right now, then,” Jay shouted after her retreating footsteps. “Because the clock’s ticking.”
He flopped into the nearest chair and closed his eyes. I’d better hope Washington does go up in flames now, he told himself, because otherwise that’s the end of my career in the police.
And yet, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was saving Sandra and his daughter. After that, he didn’t care. He’d given his life to the pursuit of timesplashers ever since his friend had died in a backwash eighteen years ago. He’d served in MI5 and then in the Temporal Crimes Unit at Europol. But the TCU had done its job and was closing down. The bricks that had plagued Europe two decades ago were behind bars, lying low, or dead. The technology was still out there—there was no way to put that genie back in its bottle—but it was mostly in the hands of governments and their oppositions now. It had all moved up to a level beyond Jay’s expertise. And, truth be told, beyond where he cared any more.
With the bricks shut down, Jay’s personal quest was over. It had been over years ago, really. And now he was here, sitting alone in a doomed city, waiting for the modern-day equivalent of the Inquisition to rescue the only two people on Earth—apart from his mother—who mattered at all to him; the woman he’d once loved with a brief, adolescent passion, and a girl he barely knew but who had a confusing genetic claim to his devotion.
In a wild moment of fantasy, he imagined them together, in an old farmhouse in Provence, perhaps, eating cheese and olives and drinking a cheap local wine out of tumblers, laughing in the Mediterranean sunshine as they grew intimate and comfortable with one another.
“Sir?”
It was his new minder at the door. Jay waved a delaying hand at him and tried to recapture the image of his daydream, with no success. More likely, his future was in a flat in London, working for the Metropolitan Police, and signing up for an online dating service when the loneliness became too unbearable.
If he survived beyond today.
He stood up and joined his minder.
“There’s a briefing in five minutes for the assault team, sir.”
Jay nodded and let himself be led away.
Chapter 26: Polanski
Polanski made sure that Sandra and her daughter were soundly tied and well guarded, and that Matthew was able to operate the control computers with his uninjured hand, before going to see Peter.
The young man was propped up in bed with pillows but was still unable to move much. The woman who had been nursing him got up and left the room as Polanski came in. Peter’s eyes met Polanski’s and the boy smiled.
Polanski smiled back, although it was hard. “How are you feeling, Peter?” He didn’t really need to ask, since he’d been getting regular updates after that damned woman laid out the big lug.
“I’ve been better. What hit me? Must have been a train at least, way I’m feeling.”
“Does the name Sandra Malone mean anything to you?”
“Sure, she’s on your list for snatching a teknik over in Europe. Hey, you’re still gonna take me, right? I’ll be out of here in no time, you’ll see.”
“Don’t excite yourself. I ain’t going nowhere without you. You just try and get some rest and you’ll be fine in no time.”
Peter settled back in his pillows as if even that brief co
nversation had exhausted him. “I don’t feel right, Zak. You always said my head’s got rocks in it. I think maybe you were right after all.”
Polanski took a seat beside the bed and put a hand on the boy’s beefy shoulder. “I’ve said and done a lot of things I regret now, Peter. Number one is putting that woman’s name on the list.”
“Well, take her off, Zak. Ain’t no harm done. Plenty more names to go after.”
Polanski shook his head. “Here we are sitting on the most powerful time machine in the whole country and we can’t go back and change just one tiny thing. Now that’s what I call irony. I can almost hear God slapping His thigh and laughing His head off.”
“God ain’t cruel, Zak. He’s more like to weep over our misfortunes than laugh.”
Polanski felt the admonition like a hand clutching his heart. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to talk like that, but I’ve got a lot of grief weighing on my soul today. I just don’t know how I’m going to carry a load like that and still do what I have to do.”
Peter tried to get up, but Polanski easily held him in place with a gentle pressure from his hand. “Whatever you need, Zak. You know I’ll do anything for you.”
“I know. I know.” His throat closed on a sob and choked off any more talk for the moment. When he was able, he said, “I haven’t looked out for you right, Peter. I should have watched you better, worried more about how you were doing. I’ve been so wrapped up in getting things done.”
Peter reached out for Polanski’s arm and held it weakly. “You been like a father to me, Zak. You always looked out for me.”
“Hush now. You try and get some rest. I’ll just sit here with you.”
He turned away so that Peter wouldn’t see the tears flowing down his cheeks.
Some father, he thought. Some friend. Taking the boy to Europe had been a bad idea, although Polanski hadn’t known it at the time. Looking back, he could see it had started in Liverpool. They’d walked from the docks to Lime Street Station and Peter had been big-eyed and excited at first. The streets were full of cars—not old wrecks either, but smart ultramodern models—and the buildings were clean and bright, with shop fronts full of amazing luxury goods. And the people … The people were healthy and clean and dressed in beautiful clothes. Polanski didn’t see a single invalid, not so much as a harelip or a pock-marked face.
True Path Page 26
