by Alex Scarrow
Bill grinned. ‘One for the road, my man?’
‘A beer? Sure. But just the one. Don’t wanna –’
‘Don’t wanna keep yer mamma up,’ parroted Bill with a well-worn smile. Same lame ol’ line. ‘Problem with you, Jim, ol’ buddy, is you need to come up with some new one-liners.’
‘Yeah? Or what? You gonna go find some other dumb sucker to partner up with?’
They weaved their way out of the deserted precinct office, all cubicles and desks piled high with sitting paperwork.
‘Now you know me better than that, Jim … You an’ me, we’re like an ol’ married couple.’
‘Gross,’ Jim muttered as he grabbed his coat and kitbag. ‘Now I got a goddarn picture in my head gonna give me nightmares tonight.’
CHAPTER 20
2001, New York
The sound of the cell door being unlocked and wrenched open roused Lincoln from his sleep. Bleary-eyed, he blinked back the glare of morning light spilling in through the slit window and looked up from the bunk at three men in dark suits crowding into the cell and staring down at him.
‘Abraham Lincoln?’
He rubbed his tired eyes and lifted himself off the pillow on to one elbow. ‘Yes, that is I.’
‘You will come with us, please.’ A dry emotionless voice.
Lincoln pulled himself up to a seated position and swung his legs off the bunk. His bare feet touched the cold floor. ‘Gentlemen,’ he started, ‘I have done nothing to deserve being incarcerated like this! Being treated like a –’
‘Sir, you will put on your shoes and come with us now.’
Lincoln’s face clouded with anger. ‘I will do no such thing, sir! Not until I receive, at the very least, an apology for –’
‘All right,’ said one of the suits, his lips barely moving. ‘Cuff this scumbag.’
The other two fell on him like a ton of breeze blocks, pinning him down on the bunk as he squirmed and thrashed beneath their weight.
‘THIS … IS … AN … OUTRAGE!’ he barked. ‘HOW DARE YOU –’
‘Save it for later, pal,’ grunted one of the men lying on top of him, fumbling for his wrists. ‘You’re in for a world of hurt, buddy,’ said the other. ‘You filthy, murdering, terrorist sc–!’
‘Agent Belling, best keep your feelings to yourself, son. While you’re on FBI time, I expect a certain level of professionalism.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Now, get him up.’
Between them the two men in suits hefted Lincoln off the bunk and turned him to face the third.
‘THIS IS A TRAVESTY –’
‘I’d advise you to keep your mouth firmly shut, Mr Lincoln. Emotions are running very high this morning and the last thing me and my boys need to hear coming out of your mouth right now is a whole load of attitude.’
‘I INSIST YOU TELL ME –’
‘A few minues ago a second plane just impacted with the other tower. ‘Last night you were logged making a claim the World Trade Center was coming down this morning.’
Lincoln frowned. ‘Those two tall towers? Yes I –’
‘A few minutes ago a second plane just impacted with the other tower.’ The FBI agent’s jaw set firmly. ‘You’re either a prophet … or a terrorist. Either way, we’ve got a whole bunch of questions for you.’
He stepped backwards from the cell into the corridor. The other two men shuffled out of the cell with Lincoln wedged between them. ‘You’ve just been signed over to FBI custody.’ He smiled coolly. ‘Your sorry, murdering, terrorist, scumbag butt is ours now.’
Maddy turned to the others, standing together on the forecourt outside the precinct station. ‘All right, it’s half past nine. I guess there’ll be some police clerical staff at their desks by now who can sign a release form for us.’
She looked at Liam, Sal, Bob and Becks. ‘So … Liam, you come with me. The rest of you, just … just stay here.’
‘But what if they won’t let him go?’ asked Liam. He opened his mouth again and was about to point to both support units, Bob reaching inside an old mackintosh he was wearing to pull Foster’s old shotgun from the waistband of his trousers. Quite clearly eager to bring the thing out of retirement and use it once again.
‘No! We’re not shooting this place up! I said that already. If they say no, then we’ll just have to figure something else out.’ She pointed up at the sky, where a solitary column of dark smoke arced across the cloudless blue morning. ‘See that? Everyone’s watching the news. Everyone’s watching nine-eleven unfold. People are angry and very, very frightened … and that includes the cops. As far as they know, right now, this could be the first of a whole wave of terrorist attacks.’
She took a fluttering edgy breath. Nervous. ‘The last thing we want to do this morning is kick up a disturbance, OK?’
Liam shrugged. ‘All right.’
She reached out and grabbed his arm. ‘Come on.’
They climbed a couple of steps off the pavement and crossed a small forecourt that would normally have been filled with patrol cars and police bikes. Pretty much all of them were out this morning. Crowd control. Panic control.
They stepped in through swing doors and ahead of them was a counter and a thick panel of perspex behind which two female uniformed officers and several plainclothes officers stood, all of them staring at a small portable TV perched on the corner of one of the desks beyond.
Maddy stepped up and wrapped her knuckles lightly on the barrier. ‘Excuse me?’
Maybe they heard, maybe they didn’t.
‘Excuse me!’
One of the women in uniform managed to tear herself away from the screen. Maddy could see her eyes were red with tears. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered to Maddy, as if they were old friends, ‘it’s awful, isn’t it?’
Maddy nodded. Right now, she felt disconnected from the disaster slowly developing at the south end of Manhattan, but she certainly remembered the emotions all around her back at school, while they, like these police officers, had sat and gasped and cried as they watched the flames climbing the sides of both the north and south towers.
‘We’re here to collect our … uh … well, our cousin. He was brought in last night and cautioned, I think.’
The woman on the far side sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Right … yes …’ She seemed a little relieved to have something to put her mind to. ‘Gonna need a name, please.’
‘Madelaine Carter. And this is Liam O’Connor.’
‘No, I need the name of the arrested.’
‘Oh, right … it’s Abraham Lincoln.’
The woman nodded. Pulled out a clipboard with a computer-generated event log clipped to it. ‘Lemmesee … lemmesee …’ Her finger ran down the printed page. ‘Abraham Lincoln? A D&D …’ She looked up at them. ‘Drunk and disorderly. Looks like he was booked in at ten fifteen last night.’
‘That’s him,’ sighed Liam. ‘He … uh … he does like a drink every now and then.’
‘Gets him into all kinds of trouble,’ added Maddy.
‘We’re going to give him a right telling off, so we are.’ Liam shook his head sternly. ‘I wouldn’t want to be him when we get the fool home.’
The woman nodded absently. She picked out a reference number and began entering it on to a computer. ‘Going to need you to sign a release form. Are either of you members of his immediate fam–’ She stopped dead, her mouth slung open, her eyes on the screen. ‘It says the FBI came for him this morning.’ The policewoman looked up at them. ‘You just missed him. We transferred jurisdiction to them – about ten minutes ago.’
Maddy swallowed nervously. That doesn’t sound good.
She stared uncertainly up at Maddy and Liam, a look of growing suspicion in her eyes. ‘I … uh … you say you know this Abraham Lincoln? You’re associates of his?’
Associates? That made them sound like … criminals.
‘We’re, like, family … sort of,’ she said with a faltering smile. ‘Uh, is there a prob
lem?’
The policewoman ignored her question. ‘Just one moment.’ She turned away from them, hurried across the front office to where the others were gathered, still staring at the small TV set.
‘Liam … something’s really wrong,’ hissed Maddy.
The woman was saying something to the others, then suddenly all five heads turned from the TV to look their way.
Oh crud.
‘I think we should leave,’ said Maddy.
‘I think you’re right.’
Liam waved his hand and called out to them. ‘Hey, you know what, fellas, we’ll come back another time! I can … uhh … see you’re all rather busy!’ He backed up a few steps from the counter and the plexiglas shield.
‘Stay right where you are!’ called out one of the plainclothes officers, his hand absently reaching under his jacket.
‘Oh crud!’ hissed Maddy.
Sal stood between both support units outside on the pavement, feeling strangely conspicuous. She noticed the same eerie stillness here as she’d seen on countless occasions in Times Square: people standing motionless, gazing up at the sky, most of them with a mobile phone to one ear, sharing these moments of horror with a loved one somewhere else in the city. Even some cars were still, stopped at intersections though they had a green light, their driver-side doors open or window wound down to see better the thick pall of smoke filling the sky.
With all eyes tilted upwards, it was only Sal – seen the 9/11 sky far too many times already – who noticed the black van smoothly rolling out of the precinct’s forecourt. As it turned left on to the intersection and rolled past them, she thought she spotted the ghost of a familiar bearded face through the grilled window in the back of the van.
‘Uh? Was that …?’
Becks looked back down. ‘What is it, Sal?’
‘That van …’ She pointed.
Becks followed her finger. ‘The black van? Registration Washington BLL 443.’
‘Yeah, I thought I just saw …’ Her uncertain voice faded to nothing as the van calmly weaved its way around the stopped traffic, took a right and disappeared from view.
Liam grabbed hold of Maddy’s hand, turned and ran out through the swing doors.
Outside, down three wide steps on the pavement, Sal and the other two looked up.
‘Maddy!’ called out Sal. ‘I think … we think we just saw Abraham being driven away in a –’ She stopped. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
Maddy grasped her shoulder, struggling to fill her wheezing lungs with air.
‘Maddy? You all right?’
‘We –’ wheeze – ‘we … got a new plan!’
‘What is it?’
At that moment the double glass doors of the precinct swung open and several uniformed police emerged, hands resting on their gun holsters, looking around at the passing foot traffic on the pavement.
‘Run!’
CHAPTER 21
2001, en route to Quantico, Virginia
Lincoln glowered at his three captors in silence for the best part of an hour. The horseless vehicle they were travelling in was uncomfortable and bare. There were no windows that he could see out of clearly and the occasional lurching motion was beginning to make him feel sick. He had no idea how long they had sat like this, a man either side of him and one sitting opposite, returning his glare through round wire-framed glasses with cool professional contempt.
To his left a hatch suddenly snapped open revealing wire mesh and two more men in a cabin in front. Lincoln had the distinct impression that he was seeing the drivers, the operators, of this curious vehicle.
‘Agent Mead, sir!’
The man who had been silently staring at him turned and shuffled up the bench opposite. ‘What is it?’
‘Message from the New York field office, sir …’ The man’s voice was hesitant.
‘Well? What is it?’
What was muttered, Lincoln couldn’t make out. But for the first time he thought he saw a flicker of emotion on the bespectacled man’s face. The conversation was quick and the trapdoor snapped shut again. The man shuffled back down the bench to look at Lincoln once more. His jaw was grinding away, his lips pressed tightly, the knuckles bulging on his fists as he silently clenched and flexed them. Finally, in a voice clogged with emotion, he spoke.
‘Jesus.’ He shook his head. ‘God knows how many innocent civilians just died. One thousand? Five thousand? Ten thousand? We may never know.’
‘What’s happened, sir?’ asked the agent to the left.
‘They came down.’
Both agents cursed.
‘North and south, both of them, the whole damned thing … gone!’
Lincoln frowned for a moment, and then realized the man was talking about those two magnificently tall buildings he’d seen exploding back in that brick archway. ‘The two straight towers are completely destroyed now?’
Lincoln could see the man with the spectacles wanted so much to throw a punch at him, but was doing his best to contain that urge. Nonetheless, he decided it was worth another go explaining his bizarre circumstances.
‘Now you must listen here, sir. I told those two rude gentlemen last night all about this! I was trying to explain to the foolish ignoramus that I have somehow managed to travel in time –’
‘I’d shut up if I were you.’
‘Good God, sir! This is a free country!’ Lincoln puffed his cheeks angrily. ‘I have a right to speak my mind, sir!’
‘Right now … no, you don’t.’
‘Do you know who I am, sir?’
‘Sure, I know who you are. You’re some scumbag, whack-job terrorist. Some messed-up-in-the-head fanatic who believes in killing innocent civilians to make some sort of screwed-up point!’
Lincoln leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. ‘Now you will hear me, sir. I shall be president of this country one day, and –’
The man wearing spectacles moved with a blur and Lincoln found himself doubled over, gasping for breath, winded by a blow to his solar plexus. He tried his best not to vomit on the metal floor between his feet.
‘Agent Belling, you saw what just happened, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. The vehicle lurched violently and the detainee fell on your fist, sir.’
‘Precisely.’
Lincoln looked up at them. ‘What? No! That man just punched me!’
‘Like I said, Abraham …’ said Agent Mead, ‘probably best if you shut up right now.’
CHAPTER 22
2001, New York
‘He must have blabbed about nine-eleven,’ said Maddy. ‘He must have said something about the Twin Towers being blown to pieces when he was arrested last night.’ She looked at the others, pointed to one of the computer screens. ‘He saw it all on there, didn’t he?’
‘It is logical that with foreknowledge of the event the authorities will think he is involved,’ said Becks.
‘Exactly! I remember when nine-eleven happened there were arrests going on all over the country, you know? Like within hours of it all happening! If the FBI have just whistled him away somewhere in the back of a van, then they must believe he’s some terrorist. That he’s involved in nine-eleven somehow.’
‘But … if he is also telling them he’s Abraham Lincoln,’ said Sal, ‘maybe they will just think he’s a total crazy and let him go.’
‘Information: this is an altered timeline,’ said Bob.
Maddy nodded. ‘Exactly, Bob’s right. It’s a timeline – remember – where there was no famous Abraham Lincoln. He can tell them till he’s blue in the face that he’s The Abraham Lincoln. It won’t mean a frikkin’ thing to anyone!’
She got up from her armchair and paced up and down the length of the kitchen table. ‘We’ve got to work out where they’re taking him and snatch him back before we get another wave coming along. The next change could be a big one. We need to find him quickly.’
‘What’s the FBI?’ asked Liam.
‘Federal Bureau of Investigation,’
said Maddy. ‘Special police, if you like. They investigate terrorists and criminals. In fact, they’re like extra-special police.’
‘Like Scotland Yard?’
Maddy shrugged. ‘I guess.’
Liam nodded. ‘All right, then … and do they have a place they work from? Like us, like our archway? A base?’
‘Washington DC, I think,’ replied Maddy quickly. ‘That’s the FBI headquarters if I remember The X Files correctly.’
‘The X …?’
‘An old TV show – it’s not important,’ she replied. ‘Look, that’s got to be where they’ll have taken him. That’s what happened in the aftermath of nine-eleven. I remember reading about the FBI rounding up every suspicious-looking character they could and processing them and the FBI holding them until the camp at Guantanamo Bay was up and running a few months later and ready to take them.’
She turned to Becks. ‘Can you get computer-Bob to put together a data package on the FBI, their HQ … layout, location, that kind of thing? Also any information on the suspects rounded up after nine-eleven – where precisely they were held?’
‘Yes, Maddy.’
She turned to the others. ‘It doesn’t seem like we’ve got a lot of choice. I can’t think of anything else we can do. We need to make our way down to the FBI’s HQ and …’ She looked up at Bob. ‘And if worst comes to worst, Bob, you’re going to have to do your one-man-army thing and bust him out for us.’
‘That will require extreme violence,’ said Bob. ‘I will need more weapons.’
Maddy nodded. ‘Oh, you can be sure of that. This is going to get messy.’
‘Where did you say this FBI place was?’ asked Liam.
‘Washington. You’ve already done that journey, Liam. Remember?’
Liam frowned for a moment, then recalled. ‘Aye.’ He and Bob had travelled by truck from Washington to New York through a very different America back in 1956. An America overrun by an occupation army of Nazis.
‘We’re going to need a car, then,’ said Sal.
