TimeSplash

by Storrs, Graham

  Crouching low, she moved quickly and quietly toward the house, keeping close to the hedge, staying behind the guard. She let him round the corner of the house before she went to the windows. It was a big rambling place with several wings in a haphazard arrangement—the main house, an extension at each end coming off at right angles, and a huge garage that used to be stables, coming off one of the extensions. The guard would take several minutes before he was back again. She went to the door he had come out of, turned the handle and pushed. It was unlocked. Once she was inside, she pulled her gun and looked about her. She was in a utility room as big as her last bedsit had been. There was a big sink in one corner and a bench with wooden slats. Coats hung on the opposite wall and Wellington boots were lined up beneath them. She moved on, through a wooden door, into a carpeted corridor. She knew the layout of the ground floor. She had observed it often enough and long enough to be thoroughly familiar with it. Sniper spent most of his time in the big sitting room or in the home theatre. There was a woman who drove a bright red sports car—also missing, she realised—who had an office in the conservatory. She seemed to do all Sniper’s admin. If what she was looking for was anywhere, it would be in that office.

  It was easy to move silently on the carpet and listen to the sounds from the conservatory as she drew closer. A man’s voice spoke in harsh, clipped phrases. A woman answered him in monosyllables, her voice low and half-sobbing. As Sandra reached the door, the man raised his voice in anger. She heard two quick footsteps on the conservatory’s stone tiles and a slap. The woman cried out, a gasp of pain and shock.

  Not waiting to think about it, Sandra burst through the door, gun high. A burly, overweight man was standing over a woman. The woman was tied to an office chair with tape. Her blouse was ripped open and her hair was awry. Blood ran from a cut in her lower lip. They both looked at Sandra in surprise, but neither spoke.

  “Untie her,” Sandra said, taking aim at the man’s big chest.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asked, sounding more irritated than scared. His eyes flicked to the big desk nearby. Sandra looked too. A submachine gun was lying there, almost within his reach.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Sandra warned him.

  He reached slowly into his trouser pocket and pulled out a penknife. Sandra watched him carefully as he unfolded the blade. He reached down to the woman’s feet and cut her ankles free.

  “If you’re lookin’ for Sniper, he ain’t here, love.” He had a strong London accent. He moved to the side of the chair and cut loose one of her arms. Then, in a movement unexpectedly fluid and swift, he grabbed the chair and hurled it along with its human passenger toward Sandra. Keeping low, staying behind the chair, he reached for the desk.

  Unable to get a clear shot and seeing the man’s meaty fists reaching for the gun, Sandra launched herself at him, grabbing the chair as she went past to give herself more speed, sending it rolling even farther. The woman cried out in protest and alarm but by then, Sandra was barrelling into the big man.

  He was knocked sideways, Sandra falling onto him. The gun was in his hand but he had it by the barrel and couldn’t use it—except as a club. She rolled off him and sprang to her feet. He stayed where he was and concentrated on getting the gun into his hands and pointing it at Sandra. A grim smile crossed his face as he swung the muzzle round.

  Sandra’s first kick took him in the throat and the second mashed his fingers and sent the gun clattering across the tiles. She dropped to one knee beside him and three rapid punches to the face had him dazed and groaning. He choked as blood filled his nose and mouth. Sandra stood up, watching him in case she needed to hit him again.

  “You must be Patty.” The woman in the chair had freed her other arm but remained seated, looking more relaxed and composed than she had a few moments ago. Sandra regarded her from under drawn brows. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Camilla. You seem to have saved my life.”

  “You work here. How come Sniper’s muscle was roughing you up?” She found she had her gun in her left hand and pushed it back into its holster.

  “I can see why he’s so scared of you.”

  “There’s another guard outside,” Sandra said. “You should get out of here.”

  “No one’s going anywhere.” They turned to find a tall, lean man filling the doorway, his gun pointed at them. He noticed his colleague, still flailing feebly on the ground. “Jesus, Wayne, you big pussy.”

  Sandra measured the distance between them. Too far to try to jump him, too close for him to miss if she went for her gun.

  “Get back against the wall,” he told her, stepping into the room. He must have thought that Camilla was still tied up because he reached for the chair back to push her toward Sandra. As he did, Camilla lunged at him.

  Sandra thought the woman had punched him in the stomach and was amazed that such a feeble blow could double him over the way it did. The guard screeched in pain and clutched at his stomach, dropping the gun in his agony, and grabbing at the woman’s hand. Camilla sprang from her chair and away from him. When she pulled her hand from his belly, it was dark and wet. In her grasp, the blade of the other guard’s penknife dripped blood onto the stone floor. Slowly, the wounded man sank to his knees.

  Camilla was panting and shaken. She let the knife fall. She kept her eyes on the guard as he slumped to the floor. “Now we’re even, I think,” she said.

  Sandra wasn’t sure whether Camilla was addressing her or the dying man. “You’d better get out of here,” she said again.

  Camilla dragged her eyes away from her victim and turned to Sandra. “I’ve got nowhere to go. My employers are going to want me dead when they hear what’s happened. Sniper… Well, you’ve seen how our working relationship has deteriorated of late. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I came for some information. I want the lob target. Date and place.”

  “I thought you came to kill Sniper.”

  “Are you his new bitch, or what?”

  Camilla snorted. It might have been a laugh. “Whatever you need. I know everything about this operation. Have you got any money?” Sandra shook her head. Camilla shrugged. “Never mind. This one’s on me. My enemy’s enemy is my friend, as they say.”

  “You’ll tell me the target?” Sandra eyed the woman suspiciously.

  “Anything you want to know.”

  “Okay then, friend. Let’s go.”

  “Just a minute.” Camilla bent down and picked up the guard’s submachine gun. She examined it for a second, then set the weapon to single-shot, slid the bolt to chamber a round, and fired twice into each of the two guards. Sandra drew her own gun again, levelling it at Camilla just in case, but the woman seemed happy with what she’d done. With a satisfied smile, she turned and walked away.

  * * * *

  Sniper’s mood was grim. Someone had betrayed him. Again! It must have been that bitch Camilla. Or the investors, talking carelessly, bragging about what they were going to do. Or maybe one of the security guys. Camilla had picked them. He should have done that himself. He saw that now.

  God! Where had his head been these past few weeks?

  The engineering works was a mess. The minute they got back, Klaatu had organised his guys to start packing everything up. Luckily, they’d already disassembled it all. Three trucks were on their way from a local haulage company, hired and standing by week after week for just this contingency. Sniper hadn’t really believed he would need them but, after what happened in Berlin, fallback plans were in place for everything.

  “I’m not cool with this, mate,” the Aussie brick, Edna, said. He had left T-800 in one of the front offices and had come to find Sniper to make his displeasure known.

  “You think I’m happy?” One of the many things Sniper was unhappy about that night was looking foolish in front of his friends. “You think I like being betrayed?”

  “Didn’t it go down like this in Berlin? I heard you got dobbed in to the cops there too.”
r />   Sniper turned on him with a snarl, but he caught himself and forced himself to calm down.

  “That’s why I’ve got plans in place this time. The fucking cops are getting too good, but they’re still not good enough.” He put an arm around Edna’s shoulders. The young man stiffened, nervously, but knew better than to pull away.

  “You see, it works like this,” Sniper said. “I’ve got someone on the inside. They heard the cops are about to discover this location. So they let me know. But what they don’t know—what nobody knows except me and Klaatu—is that we have a second location, not far away, and we can have all this stuff in trucks and over there in a couple of hours. No worries, as you say. Is that right?”

  Edna still looked unhappy. “Yeah, right. No worries. I knew you’d have a plan. I don’t like the cops being this close, though.”

  “Come on. This is for me to deal with.” He led his friend back to the front offices. “You should sit down with a beer and relax. Listen! That’s the trucks arriving. Everything is okay, my friend. Just chill out and I’ll call you when it’s time to go. Okay?”

  Edna regarded him doubtfully. “Anyone else, mate, and I’d be out of here and heading for the airport. You know what I’m saying? Anyone else.”

  Sniper knew all right. “Don’t worry. This is all going to work out fine.”

  Edna nodded slowly and let himself be ushered out of the way. As soon as he was out of sight, Sniper strode quickly across to Klaatu. “We’re moving the schedule up,” he said. “I want you to start putting this lot together as soon as you get to the warehouse.”

  Sniper saw comprehension in his teknik’s eyes. If the police had found this place, it might not be long before they found the other. They needed to get the timesplash underway before that happened. After that, the cops would be in no state to find anyone.

  “How soon are we talking??” Klaatu asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Impossible! A week, minimum.”

  “A week is too long. Two days.” Klaatu seemed about to protest. “Forty-eight hours or I pull the plug and we walk away. Forty-eight hours or we find a new town, a new target, and start all over again.”

  Klaatu shook his head. “We can’t start again, man. Neither of us can do that.”

  “Forty-eight hours then.”

  “I can try…”

  “No.” Sniper wanted his commitment. If Klaatu said he would do it, it would be done. Angrily, Klaatu looked away. “I’ll need workers. Lots of them. You and the others too. No one sleeps. No one gets rest-breaks. No one does anything but build this damned rig for the next forty-eight hours. Okay?”

  Sniper grinned, excited by the drama of it. “Whatever you need. Get this lot loaded and on the road, then go out and recruit your workers. Get as many as you like. Promise them whatever it takes. I don’t plan to pay any of them.” He slapped Klaatu on the shoulder. “Forty-eight hours, man, and then we make history!”

  Klaatu gave a grim smile in return. “I’m not thinking about history. I’m thinking about all the work that has to be done.”

  * * * *

  Jay left the lift and trudged across to the door of his flat. It was almost two in the morning and he was tired and miserable. He prayed that the glazier had turned up as arranged to fix his windows. The flat would still look like someone had blasted it to pieces with a submachine gun—which they had—but at least he could sleep there without the wind howling through the place. He raised his hand to the lock and froze. Someone was inside. The log on the lock showed someone had entered at eleven PM. And had not yet left. He drew his gun and flattened himself against the wall thinking, Not again! He really didn’t need this kind of hassle every time he came home. And especially not tonight! Anger welled up inside him. Whoever the hell this was, they’d picked the wrong night to piss him off.

  He keyed the lock and burst through the door at top speed. The lights were off inside but with the curtains missing, enough light came in through the windows to see by. But there was no one to be seen. Not slowing, he rushed down the hall and dived into the sitting room, rolled once and sprang up facing into the room with his gun sweeping left and right. Still no one. He heard the handle turn on the bedroom door and he dropped to one knee, taking aim. Even as he did so, he noticed that someone had tidied up much of the mess. The bedroom door opened and Sandra walked out into the hallway, wearing only a t-shirt and panties. She squinted across at him grumpily and said, “What the hell are you doing? Do you know what time it is?”

  Still crouching with his gun pointed at her, he opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find words to begin to express what he would like to say. Sandra stood and watched his armed guppy impersonation for a few seconds, then padded across to the kitchenette.

  “Do you want a coffee?” she asked and picked up the kettle.

  “Coffee?” he demanded, jumping to his feet. “Coffee?”

  She regarded him blearily for a while, clearly waiting for him to add something more. When he didn’t, she filled the kettle anyway.

  “And where have you been till…” She checked her compatch. “Jesus.”

  “Where have I been?” he spluttered. “Where have I been?” He took a small step forward and then one backward as if undecided, in his agitation, quite where to stand in relation to her. She shook her head, and carried on making the drinks.

  “I’ll tell you where I’ve been,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in a police safe house playing poker with two policewomen, waiting for you to show up. That’s where I’ve been.” He took a couple of steps toward her, forgetting his earlier indecision. “But I don’t have to guess where you’ve been, do I?” She looked up at him sharply. “Out with bloody Overman, that’s where. What was it? A quiet little restaurant and then round to his place for a quickie?”

  A frown crossed her face. “God, you’re a stupid boy.”

  “Oh, I’m a boy now, am I? Now that you’ve found yourself a real man!”

  Sandra set down the cups with a bang. “What the hell are you talking about? You sound like some kind of jealous jerk!”

  “Jealous? Me? Jealous?” Which, he realised, is exactly what he sounded like. In confusion, he shut his mouth and stared at the kitchen counter, unable, suddenly, to meet Sandra’s eyes.

  “What do you see in him, anyway?” he grumbled. He was acutely aware of Sandra’s glare on him. It made him feel like shrivelling up and hiding in a corner. Yesterday, at his mother’s house, they had talked. They’d been close. He felt she really liked him. Hell, the last time they’d been in this flat, she’d kissed him! Hadn’t he the right to think… But whatever he had thought her feelings were, after this little tantrum he’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. He closed his eyes. The pain of wanting her to want him in the face of her indifference was a torment he had never known before. He turned to go. She could have the flat for all he cared. He just wanted to be out of there as quickly as he could.

  “No, don’t go,” she said, and something in the tone of her voice stopped him dead. “I’m sorry.”

  He turned back to her, more confused than ever. She looked unhappy, not angry.

  “You’re right,” Jay said. “I’m a jerk. It’s none of my business who you sleep with. I should just keep my mouth shut.”

  She regarded him with a serious face and he still couldn’t hold her gaze. He felt embarrassed now, ashamed of himself. Still, she kept watching him.

  “You are a jerk,” she said, but there was a softness, a fondness in her voice that made him look at her again. “And it isn’t any of your business who I sleep with, but I’m going to tell you this anyway. I haven’t been with Overman. We had our interview. It lasted about four hours. Then I left and went somewhere else. What you saw when you were there was just…well, I don’t really know what it was. Hard, heartless bastards like that bring it out in me. It’s…”

  Jay saw tears suddenly well up in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. He moved toward her, but she shook her head a
nd stiffened. She brushed the tears aside with her arm in a quick, angry motion. “God, I’m screwed up,” she said. “There’s something really wrong with me. When this is over, when we’ve stopped Sniper, I’m going back to the Institute. I don’t care that you got my sentence quashed. There’s someone there I need to apologise to. And to listen to.”

  For the second time since he’d met her, she looked young and frightened. Her armour of bravado had fallen completely away and she was vulnerable and weak. No, that wasn’t quite true. That first day, in Ommen, he’d seen it as she struggled to free herself from the cage. Nameless emotions surged in Jay’s chest. He didn’t know what to do or how to help her. He thought he might cry himself. “I love you,” he said, offering to suffer with her. Wanting to suffer for her if he could.