Alice Through The Multiverse

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Alice Through The Multiverse Page 7

by Brian Trenchard-Smith


  Alice did not notice the security guard lying face down under a bush, as Paul hustled her through the garden at the run. They reached the steel gate in the wall outside the car park, monitored by a security camera. If Dr. Picton, still at work in his office, had happened to glance at the bank of security monitors, he would have seen the American intern abducting his mysterious patient. Instead, Picton was intent on texting his most important client, confirming their earlier phone conversation. He reported in oblique terms the suspicions he had about this American’s interest in the patient in 5B, and that he had immediately terminated said doctor, whom he theorized was in the pay of a muckraking journal. He wanted the man checked out and attached his information. So Paul’s abduction of Alice, currently Picton’s prime commodity, went unnoticed by him, something so inauspicious that the doctor could not even have conceived of it happening.

  Alice gawked at the lights above the hospital’s main gate. She had never before seen lamps that burned so brightly that it hurt your eyes to look at them. Under the glare of the overhead Zenon, Paul swiped his cloned key card, and scrutinized the darkened building behind them for movement. The LED went green and Paul pushed the gate open. There were no cars left in the car park other than his BMW, which was in the shadow of the trees that ringed the facility. As they raced across the asphalt, Alice enjoyed the spring in her feet that this strange footwear gave her. Then a shape came into view and she slid to a halt. Paul whirled round to see her face frozen in fear. He followed her gaze. His BMW stood a short distance away. To Alice, it was like the creature with glowing eyes that had loomed over her in the storm.

  “Armoured beast! Nay!” She tried to back away, then Paul put his arm round her, and whispered soothingly: “Don’t be frightened. It’s...my carriage.” Alice shot him a dubious look. “Where are the horses then?”

  Paul pressed the button on his key. The headlights flashed, the interior light went on, accompanied by an electronic squeak. Alice recoiled with a gasp. “This is sorcery...” Paul knew that they had to get moving as fast as possible. He took his spray cylinder out of his pocket, keeping it concealed in the palm of his hand. If she became difficult, he would do whatever was necessary.

  “Again, I ask...do you trust me?”

  Alice had no defense against such a question. She nodded.

  “Then do exactly what I say.” He hustled her over to the passenger door, and opened it. A voice from behind him barked. “Stop right there. Don’t move.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Two Hand Cannons

  A wiry man was standing in the shadows. It was Nelson’s subordinate, Ian Selwyn. Other than Brandt, neither Selwyn nor the other agents in Nelson’s section knew the ultimate purpose of any of the tasks they were carrying out on this mission. Selwyn only understood that they were striking another blow in the global war against terrorism. It wasn’t his place to sort out the complexities of intelligence work.

  Nelson had handpicked Selwyn in part because he was a third-generation Pentecostal Christian, who believed that the End Times were at hand. His loyalty could be counted on. Selwyn was a man fully prepared to die for a cause. He had joined the SAS, deploying to Afghanistan, and had distinguished himself in battle, earning the Military Cross. Charging a heavy machine gun got you a medal or a body bag. Often both. Selwyn’s commanding officer knew that he had a death wish lunatic on his hands from the first day Selwyn saw action in Khunduz. But every platoon needed a death-or-glory boy, as inspiration to others. Selwyn got the medal, not the body bag. In his work for the EST, Selwyn saw himself as a warrior for God in the final battle against the forces of Satan, his experiences in Afghanistan confirming that the End Times were following their prophesied path.

  However, this was not going to stop him enjoying the pleasures of life: beer, Irish whiskey and soccer. But there was no steady girl in Selwyn’s life. Sex for him was furtive and guilt-ridden. Bang and bolt was his motto. There was no point in committing to a permanent relationship, when he knew he would be taken up in The Rapture before he reached forty. And if he was killed in action ahead of time, it was his privilege to be at the cutting edge of God’s sword. Life Everlasting was the one that mattered. But he was troubled by the events of the evening. These were not Islamic radicals they had killed. These were Americans. Of course there had to be a good reason for it. It would be explained to him later, he was sure. But he had followed his training. Doubt was the enemy’s friend.

  Selwyn set his mind to the task ahead. He had been expecting to accompany the ambulance to collect the suspect in the usual manner the following morning. But Nelson had received disturbing information that evening from their contact at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Nelson communicated to Selwyn that the hospital was under surveillance by a rogue team. The observers had to be neutralized at once. How much they had found out would be evident when the recordings and computers in their van were examined. Now it appeared there was a third enemy agent involved and he was making off with the package they were scheduled to collect the next day. Selwyn had seen Paul and the girl crossing the car park and whispered into his lapel mike for instructions. Capture and hold was the response from his colleagues, who were transferring the bodies of the men they had killed to a meat wagon and making the van ready for disposal. They would join him as soon as possible. Selwyn drew his Glock 26 and stepped confidently forward into a patch of moonlight, which revealed his pock-marked face.

  Paul focused on the man’s posture, his earpiece, the way he held his weapon. A professional. Paul knew that he could not outdraw the man at this stage and would soon have his weapon taken from him. He would have to pick his moment carefully.

  What Alice saw, as light fell on Selwyn’s face, was Gareth, the pox-faced man to whose saddle she had been tied, who had molested her so foully, and had paid for his sin with a painful fall. He was the same man, yet now dressed in strange garments, like James’. Had their enemies pursued her into this new life? Frightening though that thought was, it made some sense out of the swirling nightmare around her. They would all have to be destroyed.

  “Don’t worry Alice, I’ll straighten this out,” whispered Paul. He launched into his bluff, as the gunman approached. Paul deflated the natural strength in his voice to a pitch that seemed as nonthreatening as possible. “There must be some mistake. I am a doctor at this hospital.”

  “Stow it,” snapped Selwyn. “Hands in the air!”

  “Look, I’ll show you my ID,” said Paul, slowly moving his hand towards his jacket, not so fast as to provoke a shot.

  “Stop!” came the immediate response. A bullet in the head was a hair trigger away. “I will shoot unless you do what I say. Now turn around.”

  “Don’t shoot! Please. I’ll cooperate.” Paul turned his back, muttering indignantly. “This is ridiculous. You’re making a big mistake. You’ll be sorry about this, I warn you...”

  “We’ll see who’s sorry,” said Selwyn, patting Paul down. He extracted the Tanfoglio 9mm from Paul’s belt. “Nice piece...Doctor,” Selwyn said pointedly, dropping the gun into his jacket pocket. He would add it to his collection. Alice took a step forward. Selwyn snapped at her: “You! Step back! Any trouble and you’ll be sorry too.”

  Alice obeyed. She recognized the metal object jutting from the man’s hand as a weapon. A hand cannon, as they were called. She knew of them, but had rarely seen one. Then her eye fixed on a small metal object in her lover’s hand which his fingers were turning upside down. Her James was up to something, as she knew he would be.

  Selwyn stepped closer to Paul’s back, pulling a looped plastic handcuff from his pocket. Paul half-turned his head in his adversary’s direction, gauging the distance.

  “Eyes front!” said Selwyn tersely. Ex-soldier, noted Paul.

  “Cross your wrists.”

  “OK. But I have a question for you...”

  “Really? What’s that?” said Selwyn contempt
uously, about to slip the plastic loop over Paul’s wrists. In a nanosecond, Paul had swung his right hand up to his shoulder blades and sprayed Selwyn full in the face. Selwyn recoiled, gasping and choking. Paul took a pace away to avoid any contact with the dissipating droplets. Selwyn tried to raise his gun but it fell from his fingers.

  “Who’s sorry now?” taunted Paul.

  What weapon was this that could fell a man with a puff of fine mist, wondered Alice, as Selwyn sank to the ground. Alice ran up and kicked him hard in the stomach. Totally unconscious, the man barely reacted.

  “Burn in Hell, you cur! You shall not touch me again!”

  So she thinks she knows him, thought Paul, as he retrieved his Tanfoglio and pocketed the fallen Glock. Alice was pleased to see that they now had two hand cannons.

  Paul pulled Alice towards the car, and opened the passenger door. He had to push her inside and slam it shut, nearly catching her fingers, when she did not immediately get all the way in. Her wail of protest stopped as he took the driver’s seat, put the Glock in the glove compartment, turned the key in the ignition. Alice tried to climb out of her seat as the engine roared. He pulled her back with one hand and secured his own seatbelt with the other, then floored the accelerator. Alice was wide-eyed, as they sped out of the car park down the narrow lane away from the hospital.

  The speedometer climbed to sixty. “Buckle up,” snapped Paul. Perhaps in the heat of the moment she would comply automatically and expose her archaic persona as a conscious charade. But there was no response. “Seat belt, Alice!” he said more insistently, but Alice remained mesmerized, squatting cross-legged on the leather seat. Paul reached across and strapped her in, before propelling the BMW into a sliding turn through a junction onto a deserted country road. Paul’s adrenaline was in overdrive and it made him impatient. He needed answers.

  “That man, Alice, you knew him...how did you know him?”

  “Name’s Gareth. Chased me through the forest, him and the others, but I got away. He’s one of thy nuncle’s men.”

  “My uncle?” Paul exclaimed. His only uncle had been dead for years.

  “I didn’t recognize his face at first, but here you call him Dr. Picton.”

  “Dr. Picton?”

  “Sir Giles, you doddypol, stole your land and half the county, made you an outlaw.”

  “Oh, Sir Giles, of course,” said Paul unable to suppress sarcasm. “Hundreds of years later, still alive and kicking. Come on Alice, time to come clean.”

  “Clean?” cried Alice, unable to understand the shift in his tone. “I am clean. Those women bathed me nigh to drownin’.”

  Paul reacted to something a few hundred yards ahead. An SUV slid out of a junction and stopped short blocking the road. Paul braked hard and slowed to a halt. He looked in the rearview mirror. Behind him the road was deserted.

  “Enemies, fore and aft,” said Alice without looking round.

  Paul looked round again. Nothing. But an instant later the lights of another vehicle crested a rise in the road behind, then stopped. He looked at Alice. Spooky.

  Paul weighed his options. To his left was a break in the fence, giving entry to a track between plowed fields. He could disappear down that track, and while out of sight find another way to slip through the net that was evidently closing on him. But then he might just end up cornered in a dead end.

  But Alice knew what to do. Although there was much that she did not understand about her new life, she was recognizing parallels with the life she had known. Their escape down the river flashed into her mind. God was testing them with the same challenges. They must trust in Him.

  “Not there,” said Alice pointing to the track.

  “Why not?” Paul wondered how she could have known what he was considering.

  “No way out. Charge through. God favors us, and your men will come to our aid.”

  So she knew he had back up? But did not know they were dead? Or did she mean that Robin Hood’s Merrie Men would leap from the hedgerows and shower his pursuers with arrows? She was crazy. But maybe she was crazy right. With screeching tires, he roared away. Chicken it is. Let’s see who blinks.

  The driver of the SUV ahead was a junior agent recently added to Nelson’s department. He was surprised to see the BMW heading towards him. He had thought that surrender was imminent. He looked at the ditches on either side of the narrow country road. No vehicle could squeeze past his without tipping over. But as the BMW sped closer, it stayed resolutely in the center of the road, with no sign of choosing one side or the other to slip past. The junior agent started to panic. He had been given no information as to who their adversary was. Just that he was to be taken alive. What if this was a suicide run? Reflexively his hand moved to the gear shift. There was a girl he wanted to marry. Was this worth dying for? Although he had just transferred to counterterrorism, he had always thought that dying was what the enemy did. The oncoming lights started to blot out all other detail. Impact was a second or three away. Then his hand and foot took on lives of their own, independent of the debate in his head, slamming the shift into drive, and stamping down on the accelerator. The SUV plunged into the ditch ahead, cracking the radiator, and giving its driver whiplash. As he bent over stunned against the wheel, pain radiating from his neck to his shoulder blade, he realized that his career with Nelson’s counter-terrorism section was over. Then a wave of relief hit him, momentarily overwhelming the pain. He had never really wanted the job. He had only taken it to please his father. He would please himself from now on. He would resign tomorrow.

  Paul had been ready to clip the tail of the SUV and take his chances on the ditch behind it, but with a deft flick of the wrist he found the gap and shot through, skirting the rim of the ditch with an inch to spare.

  Alice had seen none of it. She had simply shut her eyes, put her hands together and prayed. As the car fishtailed back into the center, she looked up and saw that the road ahead was empty.

  “Gratia tibi Domine!” she yelled exultantly, looking at Paul.

  But his eyes were on the rearview mirror. One down, one to go. Sure enough, the second SUV was in pursuit, roaring past the car in the ditch, the driver not bothering to check on the fate of his colleague. Paul would have to lose him and get onto the motorway to London unobserved. As he wracked his brain for a plan, his car phone hummed in its cradle. Paul ignored it.

  Alice looked in wonder at the glowing object. She startled as it spoke with Paul’s voice.

  “This is Dr. Montgomery. Leave a message.”

  Alice went rigid, clutching the sides of the seats. After the beep, another voice; Nelson in acid tongue. “Doctor Montgomery, or whoever you are, you have taken something that does not belong to you. I strongly recommend that you return it.”

  Paul smiled. The bigger fish were coming out of the reeds.

  A shiver ran through Alice. She’d heard that deep, evil voice before. The accent was different but it was unmistakably that of the grim Dominican, Córdoba.

  CHAPTER 13

  To London Town

  Paul hit the talk button. “Who should I say is calling?”

  Oh, a smartarse, thought Nelson. He was making the call from the basement of an abandoned building scheduled for demolition. It was his forward HQ for the operation in hand. Nelson’s anger was straining at the leash but he contained it as he cautioned the thief. “Just know that there will be serious consequences if our property is not returned or is damaged in any way.”

  “Then call off your dogs,” replied Paul, hanging up. Click.

  When Nelson was frustrated, he clenched his teeth and growled through his nose, a sound familiar to his second-in-command, Angus Brandt, taking notes from a call on his headset across the room. It was a spartan office: bare concrete walls, a small fridge, folding chairs, picnic tables full of laptops, and a pair of suicide vests. Brandt had been sewing each vest into the lini
ng of upscale coats. Nelson was privately amused that a man as tough as Brandt was deft with a needle and thread, a skill Brandt said that he’d learned from his granny. The woman’s coat was finished, the man’s just begun, when news had come in of the unexpected drama at the hospital.

  Nelson signaled to Brandt, who put the caller on hold. Keeping the chief continuously updated was a 24/7 priority, which made him the best backup man Nelson had ever had. Brandt was six-foot-six inches of muscle; barrel chest, craggy face. They had been a successful team for seven years now, with Brandt happy to defer to Nelson’s leadership, for which he was amply rewarded.

  “They know who ordered the snoop. Farrell says he’s been neutralized. No leak, no damage, they say.”

  “They say,” growled Nelson. “They’re not doing the heavy lifting...Bloody Yanks! Why didn’t they tell us about this sooner? Typical!”

  “I’ll have more details in a moment.”

  “Find out who this Dr. Montgomery really is,” said Nelson replacing his headset. He returned his attention to the chase that was continuing down the A331 highway. The other elements of the team sent to West Surrey to destroy the surveillance post were disposing of bodies or bringing the vehicle back for analysis, leaving Selwyn to supervise the pickup at the hospital, with Jones and another new recruit cruising separately nearby. They had been totally blindsided by the kidnapping. Now only Jones had the suspect in sight.

  Nelson was pleased with Jones’ performance so far. Willem Jones had proved to be a gifted agent provocateur at political rallies, with an affable manner that masked inner detachment. Jones had intuited the for-profit nature of some of Nelson’s work. It did not bother him in the slightest. The junior agent had let Nelson know that he was up for anything. Anything. Now Nelson was giving him his shot at field work. He had to test the boy’s stomach. Jones for his part knew that he was being evaluated. He had taken no part in tonight’s killings due to his lack of experience, but had viewed the bodies, and his stomach was just fine. Tonight’s sudden turn of events was an opportunity to distinguish himself. Neutralize this wild card that had suddenly jeopardized their operation. Do it without backup. The other car had chickened, now it was down to him. Jones hit the accelerator and drove as fast as he dared.

 

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