TimeSplash

by Storrs, Graham

  * * * *

  “I’m off for a sausage,” Klaatu said, wiping grimy hands on his grimy overalls. The work was going well but the hours were long and Sniper was pushing him hard. He was tired and unhappy. The big German grew more restless and unstable every day, and Klaatu worried more about what Sniper might do than whether the police might find them. That stunt with the RWE.ON truck was madness. They could have got the parts from other, more discreet sources. Stealing the truck, killing the driver, were just Sniper being impatient, needing some excitement. Like a big kid. This was going to be Klaatu’s last timesplash.

  Sniper looked up from where he sat watching animated interactives. “I’ll come with you.” He stretched his long limbs and rose to his feet in a fluid catlike movement. He looked around the big warehouse with a slow sweep of his eyes that took in the bank of generators, the cage, the switches, computers and electronics, all strung together in a rat’s nest of scaffolding and wires. Klaatu’s tekniks were dotted among the gear, heads buried inside equipment racks, bodies crouched over lathes and welding arcs. Around them, not all of them visible, were Sniper’s people, hired muscle, watching the entrances, patrolling the boundaries, making sure the work would not be interrupted. They strolled over to a side entrance and Sniper nodded to the guard at the door. The man spoke into his compatch, alerting the guards outside so they wouldn’t shoot them.

  “We don’t need all this security,” Klaatu grumbled as they walked through an echoing alley between huge metal sheds.

  Sniper paid him little attention. Klaatu’s growing discontent did not seem to bother him at all. “Indulge me,” was all he said. Klaatu heard the warning in his voice and said no more.

  They were heading for an all-night sausage stall a few blocks away that served the remaining businesses on the industrial estate. It sold weak coffee and thick, oily bratwursts with hunks of bread and mustard. As the work intensified and the hours grew longer and harder, both of them became used to eating most of their meals there.

  They were halfway to the stall when Sniper stopped suddenly, listening. He grabbed a handful of Klaatu’s overalls and dragged him effortlessly into the shadows. The young teknik’s eyes, already wide with alarm, widened farther when he saw the gun in Sniper’s hand. Sniper held them both still for long seconds, staring back the way they had come. Klaatu peered past him, trying to hear what Sniper had heard. Then a pair of dark shapes emerged from a corner and into the alley, moving at speed, heading away from them, toward the warehouse.

  “What the hell…” Klaatu whispered.

  “Sweepers!” Sniper hissed.

  Klaatu looked up at Sniper’s face, unreadable in the darkness. They both knew what it meant. The warehouse was about to be raided. The sweepers would be the tip of an iceberg of heavily armed law enforcement officers. The place must be thick with them. They would be lucky to escape with their lives. Yet Klaatu could feel Sniper being drawn back toward the warehouse, his body taut and yearning for a fight.

  “You’ll be killed if you go back,” Klaatu whispered. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.” Still Sniper remained silent, straining toward the impending gunfight like a dog on a leash. “You can’t save the lob now. It’s gone. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

  Sniper’s face snapped round to face him. His lips were drawn into a snarl and his eyes smouldered with rage. He badly wanted to kill somebody and Klaatu didn’t like being the only one present. Anger slowly welled in the young teknik’s breast. It was obvious to him that the only way the cops could have found them was by tracking the truck they’d stolen. And that was all down to Sniper’s stupidity. His anger gave him the courage to face Sniper’s rage one more time. Slowly and firmly he said, “We have got to go. Right now. Or die here.”

  At last, the words seemed to penetrate and Sniper, hissing like a wild animal in his frustration, released Klaatu from his gaze and looked about for a way of escape.

  * * * *

  The sound of gunfire froze the small Europol contingent. It had begun. In their ears, the voice of the Bundespolizei commander droned in German as he moved his people around.

  “This is not right!” Joe declared, coming to stand beside Jay. “We should be up there, helping.” The young Spaniard was agitated and tight-lipped.

  Jay couldn’t have agreed more. It would have been better to have stayed at the office than to be so close and to feel so useless.

  “We did all the work,” Joe complained, inaccurately. “Now they’re going to grab all the glory for themselves.”

  “That’s not what’s going on,” Jay began to explain, but gave up immediately. Joe had a way of looking at the world that Jay couldn’t begin to understand. He’d be wasting his breath.

  “Well, I’m not waiting,” said Joe, looking intently at Jay. “Are you coming?”

  “What?” As Jay gaped at his friend in astonishment, Joe flashed him a wild grin and ran off into the shadows. “Joe!” he called after him, his voice low. He looked around to see who else had seen Joe go.

  No one was looking. The others were all peering into the van to see the status displays or staring toward the sounds of the rattling gunfire and screaming buzz-guns. Without stopping to consider his own career prospects, Jay set off after Joe, his only thought being to stop him and bring him safely back.

  He followed the path Joe had taken around the back of a low, unlit building and turned, at the first chance that offered itself, toward the warehouse, knowing that was the way Joe would have taken. He found himself in a narrow alley and could see Joe ahead of him, keeping low and running fast. There was another building blocking the direct route to the warehouse and Joe turned right, across the front of it, disappearing from view. Jay ran faster. A couple more blocks and they would be in the middle of the fighting. He had to stop Joe before then. He took the turn in time to see Joe duck into another alley to the left. He was gaining on him and started thinking about what he was going to do to him when he finally caught up with him. He took the left turn at top speed into a broad street with dim lighting, and almost stumbled and fell when he saw what was ahead of him.

  His adrenaline levels shot through the roof. There was Joe, weapon drawn, skidding to a halt and trying to bring his gun to bear on two men who were standing stock-still ahead of him. One of the men was short and slight, wearing workman’s overalls. The other was tall and broad shouldered. Even in the uncertain light, Jay recognised Sniper and Klaatu immediately. He saw Sniper’s long leather coat flick back as the man’s right hand reached across to a shoulder holster beneath it. Joe shouted, “Stop! Armed police!” but Sniper was already pulling out his weapon. Jay reached for his own gun, fumbling with the catch on the unfamiliar, police-issued holster. Joe fired three times, all three shots going wide as he fought to get his balance. Sniper’s face was handsome, cool. A small smile formed as he steadied his own weapon. Jay kept running, closing the distance, shouting, “No!”—a desperate plea to the gods as much as it was an attempt to stop the inevitable. Sniper’s eyes flicked across to Jay in the same instant his gun went off. Out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw Joe jerk sideways as Sniper’s bullet hit him. Ahead, Sniper was already swinging round to fire at Jay, but Jay kept running and a moment later smashed into the tall German with all the speed he could muster.

  The impact lifted Sniper off his feet and they both hit the ground with a crash that sent them rolling apart and knocked the wind out of them. Jay heard Sniper’s gun go clattering across the concrete pavement, but had no time to appreciate his luck as Sniper lurched to his feet. Jay scrabbled to get upright, pulling his gun free just in time to have Klaatu whack him in the upper arm with a heavy wrench. Pain shot through him like lighting. The gun fell from his hand. Even so, he managed to swing the elbow of his undamaged left arm back and round into Klaatu’s face, sending the teknik staggering away, stunned.

  Then lights exploded in his head. He twisted and fell to the ground. Sniper stood over him, the fist that had just smashed Jay’s face pul
ling back for another blow. Jay looked up into Sniper’s eyes, confused by the shock and pain, knowing there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He waited, dizzy and mesmerised, for the blow to fall.

  But it never did. A shot rang out, zipping through the air close to Jay’s head. Then another, smashing concrete near Sniper’s feet. Klaatu shouted something in German, and Sniper shouted back. Jay couldn’t see who was shooting and neither could Sniper. Another shot snapped through the tail of the big man’s leather coat. And then Sniper and Klaatu were both running down the street, away from where Jay lay. Two more shots followed them. Both misses.

  “Who’s there?” Jay had seen the muzzle flashes, but still could not make out who had fired the gun. He peered into the darkness, still a little groggy, the pain in his arm and face making the world outside his head seem distant and disconnected. “Help me. My friend’s hurt. He was shot.”

  Out of the darkness, a figure stepped into the gloomy street light. Jay blinked at it and screwed up his eyes. It seemed to be a woman, tall, long legged, in tight jeans and a thick furry jacket. The gun was still in her hand and she kept looking anxiously toward where Sniper had disappeared.

  “It’s you!” he gasped as she went down on one knee beside him. It occurred to him that he might be delirious or dreaming. “You’re the girl from the splashparty.” And, seeing her again, he remembered something else. Something he’d forgotten he’d seen in the press of events. “You’re the one who ran away from that mental hospital.”

  “Can you stand?” she asked, speaking English with an English accent. “I think your friend is just wounded. I can see him breathing.” She touched his arm gently and he winced. “I think that’s broken,” she said.

  “He’s all right?” Jay could hardly believe it. “Look, there’s more of us not far away. You’ve got to—”

  She looked up quickly. “More cops?”

  “It’s Patty, isn’t it? Your name. It’s Patty.”

  She looked at him with a frown. “How do you know?”

  He tried to sit up and the world whirled around him. The girl caught him before he hit the ground. After a moment, the dizziness passed and he looked at her again.

  “I saw you in Ommen,” he said, his voice slurring. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  Then his eyes closed and he felt himself slump heavily in her grip, all his strength gone. It felt like a dream as she lowered him, gently, cursing under her breath. He felt her touch his compatch. Pain shot through his arm. She seemed to be dialling a number but, in his semi-conscious state, he could not understand why. He barely registered the sound of her running lightly away, back into the shadows.

  Part III

  Summer 2050

  Chapter 13: An Invitation

  An English summer. Jay looked around his parents’ garden and smiled to himself. Neat borders of alternating alyssum and lobelia interspersed with bright salvias surrounded a lawn of lush green. A row of stepping stones meandered through the lawn, past the nodding roses where bumblebees hummed and filled their sacs with nectar, to a small wooden shed. Beyond this, peas and tomatoes stood tall over rows of lettuces, carrots and radishes. The sun flew high and warm, cabbage white butterflies flapped idly in the still air, and Jay sat back in a cane chair sipping homemade lemonade. His mother appeared from the kitchen, carrying yet more cake and drinks, smiling as she saw him watching her. He smiled back. Apart from the dull thud of pop music coming from a neighbour’s house, the scene was a perfect idyll.

  “I don’t know why you can’t just stay here with us, Jason,” his mother said, setting down the tray. “We’d love to have you.”

  Jay groaned inwardly, but kept his smile more or less in place. “I don’t think Dad would be too happy.”

  “Oh, rubbish. You saw how pleased he was to see you last night.”

  It wasn’t quite how Jay remembered it. The geniality had lasted about ten minutes before his father had started on about why Jay didn’t give up all this “police nonsense” and go to university.

  “You’re still a young lad, Jason. You shouldn’t be wasting your life chasing criminals around Europe. You should be studying for a degree. A man needs an education behind him these days. You’re a bright lad. You could do so much more with your life.”

  Jay had begun to explain that he was doing something worthwhile, that he was making a contribution to something important to everyone, but his father had not been listening.

  “You’re barely out of short trousers, Jason. You can’t expect to have a mature perspective on these things. I’m sure your life is very exciting, playing cops and robbers in exotic places—”

  “You’ve obviously never seen Brussels.”

  “—but having a good time isn’t everything, you know. You’ll be wanting to settle down one day, have a family. You’ll be glad then of a good professional salary instead of whatever pittance the police pay you.”

  At which point, Jay stopped listening too.

  “I don’t think Dad understands how committed I am to what I do,” he told his mother, sipping his lemonade. It was mid-morning and his father was at work. Jay’s six month Europol assignment had ended and he had returned to the UK to resume his work at MI5. Of course, to his parents, all he could say was that he was back working for the Metropolitan Police.

  “You’ll have to give him time, love. He just worries about you. That’s all. We both do.”

  Jay shook his head. After more than two years of working for Five, he had hoped his father would start to accept it. “Anyway, that’s the sort of reason I can’t move in here. Besides, I’m used to living on my own now. I’d probably be a terrible house guest these days.”

  “Teenagers are always terrible house guests,” his mother said. “Especially when they’re your own.”

  “But I’ll be able to come over to visit more often now I’m back in London. I’m thinking of getting a car. Not that I really need one but it might be a bit of a laugh. I could take you and Dad for a run out to the beach at the weekend, or something.”

  His mother laughed as if he was still five years old and telling her his plans to build a moon rocket. She handed him another piece of cake. He eyed it queasily and thanked her.

  “So did you meet any nice girls over in Europe?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Only policewomen and femmes fatales. You wouldn’t like the policewomen because they’re all tougher than me and can drink me under the table. The femmes fatales are great but they’re mostly over thirty and not one of them knows how to make angel cake like you, Mum.”

  His mother pulled a face and slapped his arm in mock annoyance. “I’m only interested in how you’re getting on. I know you, you’ll turn up on the doorstep one day with some postpunk girl with a bolt through her neck saying, ‘Mum, meet Eviscerator, she’s your new daughter-in-law.’”

  “Well, if that’s how you feel about body piercing, I don’t think I’d better mention the biker chick I’ve been shacked up with for the past six months.”

  They chatted on in the same vein for a long, languorous time, neither of them caring much what they talked about. The mention of girls had brought back the memory of Sandra Malone and the thought of her ran in the back of his mind as the conversation meandered about. After that night in Berlin, when she had saved Jay’s life—and Joe’s—he had tried everything he could to find her. He still thought of her as Patty, even though he had quickly discovered her real name. He could still see her appearing like a guardian angel out of the cold November night, reaching out to hold him as he spiralled down into darkness. But she was gone. The bullets from her gun had been tied by forensics to a shooting in London more than ten years ago. Too long ago to be anything to do with her. How she had come to be carrying a weapon with that kind of history he could only guess. What she was doing there, in that street, on that night, he had no idea, but it had to be something to do with Sniper. Had she gone back to him after she’d escaped from the institution? If so, why had she
fired at him? Had she really tried to kill her one-time lover, or had she deliberately missed, scaring him off to save Jay?

  He had spoken to the police who arrested her in Ommen and the psychiatrist who had treated her in Cornwall, but still had no clear picture of her. Beautiful, intelligent, severely traumatised and probably paranoid, the psychiatrist had said, living in constant fear for her life, dreading the power and evil intent of a man she imagined as a demigod of vengeance and destruction. Not such a bad description of Sniper, Jay thought.

  The Mexico City disaster, two months ago, had put so much pressure on the TCU that Jay had had to drop his search for the mysterious Sandra Malone and focus on more pressing investigations. But he still kept looking, quietly, in the background, determined to find her. Reminiscences and conversation both were stopped by the sound of the front doorbell. Jay’s mother got up with a “Who can that be?” and disappeared into the house. She was gone so long that Jay began once more to relax back into simply sitting quietly with nothing to do. The past few months—the past two and a half years!—had been so full-on he had hardly ever had a chance to just sit around and do nothing. Yet, even now, with the gentle English sun warming him and the quiet hum of the bees lulling him, he couldn’t help wondering about the work he’d left behind in Brussels and the assignment that was ahead of him here in London. After that night in Berlin, there had been no sign of Sniper or his teknik. It was impossible to believe that a man like that would have just given up. No, he was out there, somewhere in the world, planning another big splash. Jay had done all he could to track him down, Europol had done all it could too, but, in the end, the trail had gone cold and Sniper had vanished into the ether. Other bricks had been found and other splashes had been thwarted but not the one that mattered, not the one that Sniper must be planning.