TimeRiders: The Doomsday Code (Book 3)

by Alex Scarrow

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your new life … I’m pretty sure it won’t involve you working in the World Trade Center.’ She looked briefly down at her watch. ‘Just … listen, you don’t need to go looking there this morning, OK? Go call your folks first thing. Forget about going to work.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Promise me.’

  He looked back at her, made a face, confused. ‘All right … I promise.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Maddy. She found her voice catching. She didn’t need him to hear that. To see that there was a struggle going on inside her head. ‘Go on and find what your new life is.’

  ‘Say goodbye to Sal for me,’ he said. Then he ducked outside and she watched the grey flannel of his office trousers walk up the cobbled backstreet and out of sight.

  ‘Take care, Adam,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER 86

  1194, Kirklees Priory, Yorkshire

  They stood amid the waist-high field listening to the hiss of a thousand ears of barley swaying in the gentle breeze. Becks handed Cabot an armful of sheets of parchment. ‘This is the complete duplication, with several minor alterations. You must look after it, keep it safe.’

  Sébastien Cabot nodded dutifully. ‘I will. We have a crypt below the priory. I will see to it that it is stored there.’

  ‘That is good.’

  Liam stepped forward. ‘Mr Cabot, we – we owe you our thanks.’

  The old man grinned. ‘Aye, ’tis been a … a truly fascinating few months.’

  ‘That much is for sure.’

  He held a hand out to Liam. ‘I have learned so very much. Perhaps too much. My … my faith has been troubled.’

  ‘Well –’ Liam grasped his hand – ‘if it’s any help … despite all the things I know and all the things I’ve seen, I still pray to the fella upstairs – when I’m in a tight spot, that is.’

  Cabot nodded. ‘There is comfort in that, Liam. Thank ye.’

  ‘Information: tachyon particles detected,’ said Becks. The soft tones of a court maiden she’d used just for John dispensed with for now. She turned to regard the circle of low stalks in the field, clipped down close to the ground from the last time the portal had opened here. ‘Stand back,’ she cautioned.

  A moment later their loose robes fluttered in the gentle gust of displaced air and they were staring at the undulating sphere of the portal.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cabot. I would invite you to come along with us but …’

  Cabot shook his head. ‘’Tis a world, I think, that would send me mad. Anyway –’ he held the parchment out – ‘I have a duty here, do I not?’

  Liam nodded. ‘Aye, that’s true.’

  ‘We must go now,’ said Bob. He stepped towards the portal, then stopped, turned and offered his one good hand to Cabot. ‘A pleasure working with you, Mr Cabot.’

  Cabot grasped his large hand. ‘And ye. Truly … I have never seen a man as indestructible as ye. I would not be surprised if the superstitious folk in these parts tell fireside stories about ye, Bob, long after ye’ve gone.’

  Bob worked on a smile and let his hand go.

  Becks was the last to bid him farewell. ‘If you ever see John again, tell him …’ She hesitated, unsure how to complete the sentence.

  ‘Shall I tell him that ye think fondly of him? That ye have returned to France?’

  She nodded. ‘Affirmative. That would be an appropriate message to convey.’

  The portal still shimmered, impatiently inviting them through.

  ‘We should go,’ said Bob. ‘It is unwise to open non-dimensional space longer than necessary.’

  Becks released the old man’s hand and joined Bob and Liam at the edge of the sphere.

  ‘Take good care of it!’ said Liam.

  Cabot nodded and watched as the three of them stepped into the churning perimeter, their solid outlines becoming wavering phantoms lost in a swirling dim world. Then, with a soft puff, the portal closed, leaving him alone once more in the swaying field of barley.

  He looked up at some crows circling above the trees, now beginning to turn from their rich summer green to the golden hues that beckoned harvest time. The stifling warmth of summer was soon going to give way to fresher winds.

  He sniffed the summer scent with his florid nose and found himself considering an idea.

  So, the world is round now, is it?

  The thought placed the hint of a smile on his craggy face. A vaguely reassuring notion, that. He looked up at the sun in the sky.

  And ye stay put, do ye? It’s us that wanders round ye?

  Again, a strangely comforting idea, that God’s works might be far larger, far greater than this one little world full of greedy and insane barons, princes, kings and popes.

  CHAPTER 87

  2001, New York

  Sal watched the twisting, coiling outline of several figures, embracing one another. She thought she could make out a swaying field of yellow wheat or maize and a blue sky.

  Then the figures, three of them, stepped closer and emerged a moment later into the archway.

  She almost didn’t recognize two of them.

  Bob’s fast-growing coconut hair was a shaggy, coarse, dark, wild bush. The other thing she immediately noticed was that his left arm was missing at the elbow … and one ear was gone.

  ‘Shadd-yah! Bob!’

  But Liam … it was Liam; she almost could have passed him by in a street and not have recognized him. His dark hair had grown. Uncut for six months, it hung down on to his shoulders; parted scruffily in the middle, it draped either side of his face like dark theatre curtains. It was his wispy beard, however, that shocked her: a jaw lined with bristles, across his top lip a downy moustache, his mouth framed by a goatee.

  ‘Liam!’

  Maddy balled a fist in her mouth. ‘Oh my God, Liam. You look …’ She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Scruffy?’ He arched his thick eyebrows. ‘That the word you’re lookin’ for?’

  He grinned and stepped over towards them, wrapping one arm round each of them, pulling them all together in a clumsy bear-hug. ‘Ahh, ’tis good to see ye, so it is!’

  Maddy laughed. ‘You sound all funny.’

  He let them both go and stood back. ‘Aye … ’tis the Old Anglish, so. I’ll be back to meself soon enough.’

  ‘Love your gear!’ said Sal, admiring his studded leather jerkin, cotton hose and boots.

  ‘Aye, they are well made.’

  Maddy looked Bob over. ‘Bob, the arm … Can you be fixed up like Becks was?’

  ‘Affirmative. I will need the growth tube.’

  She turned to the monitors. ‘Bob, can you set that up?’

  > Affirmative, Maddy.

  The cursor blinked for a moment, then skittered along.

  > Welcome back, Bob and Becks.

  Both support units silently acknowledged that with a wifi handshake.

  ‘Where’s that English fella … Adam?’ asked Liam.

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Maddy. ‘Gone back to his life.’

  ‘Was Adam Lewis realigned?’ asked Becks.

  Maddy knew what she was asking: had he been outside when the last minor time wave came through? Was his memory wiped clean – was he Adam Lewis living a very different life? She decided to keep matters simple for now. After all … she trusted him, sort of. And even if he did decide to rush to the nearest newspaper with his fantastic story, who was going to believe him anyway? If he led a curious journalist back to the archway this time tomorrow … there’d be nothing to see, just a vacant archway beneath the Williamsburg Bridge.

  ‘Yeah … don’t worry, he’s aligned.’

  Becks nodded, satisfied with the answer.

  Liam clasped his hands together. ‘So … it’s been a long while since I had a nice hot shower.’

  Maddy wrinkled her nose. ‘Uh-huh, we noticed. Why don’t you and Becks get changed into something less fancy-dress and head over to the drop-in centre shower block.’
/>   Liam nodded. ‘Aye, sounds like a plan.’

  ‘And when you’re done, we’ll go out and get something to eat.’ She looked at Bob. ‘You too, we can growth-tube you afterwards if you’d like.’

  Bob’s thick lips slowly stretched with what looked like something approaching a mischievous grin. ‘Aye, sounds like a plan.’

  Maddy rolled her eyes and looked at Liam. ‘I see he’s growing a funny-bone too?’

  Liam shrugged. ‘Right pair of jesters, so they are.’

  Adam stood at the intersection of Bowery and Delancey Street, busy with this morning’s rush-hour traffic.

  A new life … and he hadn’t the first clue what it was yet. His mobile phone was in his jacket pocket. Maybe Maddy was right. Maybe he should dial up Mum. Whatever new course his professional life had taken, she and dad were still likely living in their old bungalow in Chelmsford.

  And what do I say, exactly? Hey, Mum, I’ve just come from another timeline … where am I living right now? Am I married? What job do I do? He chuckled at the thought of that.

  But then he realized the cell probably wouldn’t work. Its contract would never have existed, the SIM card’s code number would be invalid.

  A new life. And yet New York looked exactly the same as it did this time yesterday. He couldn’t quite believe his apartment would no longer be his, that Jerry, the security guard, wouldn’t have a clue who he was.

  He looked to his left. The tall skyscrapers along Wall Street, the Twin Towers standing proud, thrusting into the cloudless sky. He pulled his Trade Center security pass out of his breast pocket and gazed at his passport photo: a daft grinning face above a crisp shirt and tie. If Maddy was right, this pass wasn’t even going to get him past Reception on his floor, let alone allow him to enter the IT room and his personal office.

  And his apartment keys? He pulled them out and jangled them in one hand.

  Somebody else’s home now.

  He shook his head. It was too damned strange. Too weird. Standing here in a wholly unchanged world, unchanged except that Adam Lewis was living a very different life in it.

  Mission Control to Adam: what if she made that up?

  He didn’t believe Maddy Carter would. She seemed the genuine type.

  OK, then, Adam. How about this? What if you just dreamed this all up? Eh? What if this has all been a hallucination? What if you’ve turned into a loony?

  The thought of that sent a chill down his spine. ‘It happened,’ he told himself. ‘All that time-travel stuff happened. I’m not a bloody loony.’

  Only one way to find out then, old son. Hmmm?

  He looked at the Twin Towers, then glanced at his watch. It was just gone eight in the morning. Maybe he should at least check: walk in and swipe his card at the reception desk, see what happened? If it let him through, then it meant his old life was still there. The well-paid consultancy job, the fancy riverside apartment, the exclusive gym membership. It just meant he’d had one helluva hallucination.

  And, of course, it means you might need to go and see a head doctor.

  He laughed at that. A therapist. Crazy. Maybe this whole thing had been some sort of trip? Maybe he’d had a little too much to drink last night? Maybe someone had slipped something funny in his drink?

  Only one way to find out, Mission Control said again.

  He tucked his keys back in his pocket and turned left, heading down Bowery towards the World Trade Center. He figured half an hour from now he was going to be behind his desk again and wondering where the hell he’d got the fanciful idea from that he’d actually spent the night in a dingy brick archway with a team of time-travelling kids.

  Crazy.

  CHAPTER 88

  2001, New York

  Monday (time cycle 59)

  I know Maddy wanted that Adam to stay. I think she really liked, maybe fancied, him or something. He could have stayed, though. We could have fitted him in somehow. At least he’s got his life back now. Lucky him. I wonder what he’s doing now. Where he is. Probably back in England.

  Anyway. Bob’s busy growing an arm and Liam’s shaved his head short. I don’t like it. He looks more like a coconut than Bob does! Oh, and the beard’s gone. Liam used an electric shaver for the first time in his life. Said the thing scared him half to death. He thought it was going to eat his face off. I’m glad he’s lost the beard. It made him look so much older, that and his bit of white hair. He was looking like an oldie.

  At least now he looks more like himself.

  But, jahulla, he is definitely older. He doesn’t look like the boy I saw when I first woke up. He’s changed somehow. The eyes maybe. Old before they should be.

  Sal put down the pen and took in the quiet archway. On Liam’s bunk was a small stack of history books that he was working his way through. The one on top looked like it had something to do with the American Civil War; the cover was all flags and crossed swords and bearded generals. Right now he was downtown. Said he wanted to take a walk and clear his head. Sal got the distinct feeling he wasn’t so happy to be back as he’d let on. That maybe he could have been quite happy living on in the year 1194.

  ‘I was actually the Sheriff of Nottingham for a while,’ he’d told her rather proudly, and, she suspected, a little wistfully. Sal knew something was also troubling him. She’d heard him murmuring in his sleep last night … telling someone over and over that he was ‘so very sorry’.

  His eyes. Old before they should be.

  Eyes. That word suddenly stirred a memory.

  I saw something a couple of days ago. It’s a bear, a child’s teddy bear. I can’t explain why it’s playing on my mind. I know I’ve seen that bear before. I mean ‘before’, like before me being a TimeRider. I just can’t quite remember where or when. It’s totally dullah. Weirding me out!

  Through the open door into the back room she could see Bob’s form floating in the nutrient-rich amber soup, gently kicking in his sleep as something close to a dream must have been running through his head. His lower arm had grown bone first and now was at the stage of sprouting ribbons of feathery pink muscle tissue.

  It was quiet in the archway.

  Becks and Maddy, they were out together to give Foster an update. Sal wanted to go along and say, ‘Hi’. But Maddy had said, ‘Not this time’.

  She’s always doing that. Treating me like a child.

  She sighed irritably.

  ‘Just me,’ she said aloud, her voice echoing around the brick walls and coming back to her. She got down off her bunk bed with a squeak of springs and sauntered over to the computer desk and sat down.

  ‘Bob?’

  > Hello, Sal.

  ‘Wanna play a game of something?’

  > Certainly. What would you like to play?

  ‘Do you have any Pikodu puzzles on your system?’

  > Affirmative. Would you like to do a two-player one?

  ‘Yes.’

  One of the monitors flickered to life with a complicated mosaic of icons.

  ‘And put some music on. Something really heavy.’

  > What would you like?

  She clucked her tongue. ‘What about that band Maddy took us to see? What were they called again?’

  > EssZed.

  ‘Yeah, let’s have some of their stuff.’

  The faint rumble of a train passing overhead was lost behind the opening powerchord of a distorted guitar and the rasping deep drawl of the vocals. She sat back in her chair and nodded along to the beat. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, nodding at the webcam. ‘Your go first.’

  CHAPTER 89

  2001, New York

  Foster was sitting on the park bench, just like the last time she saw him, pulling nuggets of dough from a hotdog bun and throwing it to a strutting pack of impatient pigeons.

  ‘Hey,’ said Maddy.

  He looked up at her and smiled. ‘You found me, then.’ He studied the girl standing beside Maddy. ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, this is Becks. We grew
her.’

  Foster’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then flickered with recognition. ‘Yes … of course! That’s the female model. You know about the San Francisco drop point, I take it?’

  ‘Yup.’

  His eyes were drawn to the swirling ridges of scarred skin tissue running up her left arm. ‘Looks like she’s seen action already.’

  Maddy sat down next to him. ‘A prehistoric monster bit her arm off. That’s regrowth there.’

  His eyes rounded. ‘Prehistoric?’

  Maddy nodded. ‘That’s a whole other story, Foster. I told you about it last time.’

  ‘Oh … this is not the first time you’ve come to me? I must seem like some senile old fart.’

  ‘Relax,’ she said, laughing, ‘it’s only the second.’

  ‘Ahhh … So, how are you coping?’

  She sighed. ‘OK so far, I think. History’s still in one piece.’ She looked around the park. A toddler was tormenting the pigeons, his parents a few dozen yards away watching him. No one close enough to ear-wig. ‘Foster, I really need to talk to you about something.’

  He threw the rest of the bun at the pigeons and dusted the crumbs off his hands. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Does the word Pandora mean anything at all to you?’

  He tilted his head in thought. ‘Do you mean apart from the Greek legend?’

  Maddy nodded.

  ‘No … I –’ he shook his head – ‘nothing especially.’

  ‘Only … when we were getting the spare foetuses from the San Francisco drop point, I discovered a handwritten note addressed to me, telling me to look out for it.’

  He frowned. ‘Odd.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Maddy proceeded to spend the next ten minutes talking, explaining all about the Voynich Manuscript, Adam Lewis, the Holy Grail and freemasons from the future. Finally she explained that some sort of prophecy, some Big Secret, supposedly penned nearly two thousand years ago, was locked up in a password-protected portion of Becks’s brain.