‘Yes, fire away,’ added Avy.
‘Who the hell is Cillian Gander?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
May 4th, 1967, 14:38
Cillian Gander was seated behind a large walnut desk in a green leather high-backed executive chair. He sat silently with his eyes closed and fists clenched, deep in thought.
His office at Central Station was extravagant in its size and appearance, with a splendid velvet Oriental rug centred over highly polished wooden floors. The walls had rich teal wainscot panelling encircling the lower third, with white wallpaper with gold gilded vertical stripes above. Behind the desk on either side of the chair sat two large bookcases filled with leather-bound books in weathered shades of blue, red and green. This office was one of three such offices inhabited by each of the three Section Heads at The Office of Time Dissemination. Cillian’s office was the middle of the three, overlooking the main atrium, where many of the other Timekeeper agents worked.
Cillian was a gaunt, cadaverous and aggressive-looking man with pale skin riddled with deep lines. For most people, it was difficult to tell whether these folds were the result of ageing or of the frown lines from his continually furrowed brow. He was such an intimidating figure that most were too afraid to question which was the case. It gave others the impression that he was perpetually old: no matter how many years passed, he never seemed to age. He had a high hairline with dark grey and relatively sparse hair, which was swept backwards neatly. His eyes were sunk behind thin slits of loose skin and framed with thick dark eyebrows above and drooping plump bags of purple-coloured skin below.
It had been two days since the mysterious disappearance of Nestor Ordell. When Frenz Belingi made the report of his disappearance, it was met with scepticism and disbelief by some and distress and confusion by others. A Timekeeper agent going astray during an active assignment was rare but did happen. An engineer disappearing from his workshop when no active assignments were even scheduled though, that was highly unusual. All of this meant that tensions were at an all-time high at Central Station, and each of its three sections was subtly pointing the finger of blame towards the others. Each had opened detailed investigations to discover how this could have happened.
Although all part of the same agency, the three sections operated virtually independently from one another.
While no official accusations had been made towards him, Cillian couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. His plan to take control of the agency was only just underway and it had already hit an unexpected obstacle. He had taken a huge risk by conducting unauthorised Futures Project assignments, but if his bid for power was going to work, he needed to have an advantage over his opponents. For him, the biggest advantage was information. It was always a powerful weapon and wielding it correctly could be the difference between success and failure. Information about the future was something else entirely. With it he would know what his opponents’ next moves were going to be and he could plan and act accordingly. To retrieve this information, he’d sent willing agents months into the future to gather that information. He’d done it before and done it quietly. This time, however, he’d made an awful lot of noise.
He had been sitting in an almost trance-like state for two hours, contemplating his next move, when the silence was broken by the buzzer on his desk. He blinked rapidly for a few moments before turning his head towards the intercom with a look of disdain. He pressed the large black button under the flashing red light and barked, ‘What is it?!’ He spoke with flawless Queen’s English. Each syllable was shaped and carved immaculately. His voice was smooth but with a slightly higher pitch to it than one might have expected.
A timid female voice crackled through the tinny, electronic buzz of the intercom speaker: ‘I’m…I’m sorry, Mr. Gander, but Agents Tyke and Wigmore are here to see you. They don’t have an appointment but claim that you’re expecting them.’
‘Fine. Send them in.’
‘Yes, of course, sir.’
‘And Ms. Brockett?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Nobody but these two agents are to be admitted for the remainder of the day. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir, understood.’
The intercom cut off with a loud click.
The double doors opposite Cillian’s desk swung open as the two men entered. The first to pass through the door was tall and thin. His legs seemed to account for almost two-thirds of his overall height. He carried a brown leather case in his hand. The second man was short, with a bulbous stomach hanging over his belt. He had a large round head perched on top of his shoulders. There was no discernible sign of a neck. He pulled the doors closed behind him one at a time and took up position next to his taller counterpart. They wore matching tan green tweed jackets and beige trousers and stood silently in front of Cillian Gander’s desk, obediently awaiting orders.
Cillian looked at them and with an irritated tone said, ‘Sit.’
The two men did as they were instructed. They looked at each other, unsure who should speak first or indeed if they should speak first. They looked at Cillian, who raised his eyebrows at them impatiently. Sensing their superior’s growing annoyance, the shorter man, named Wigmore, eventually spoke. He cleared his throat. ‘Section Head Gander, we have some news.’
The taller man, Tyke, added, ‘Yes, sir. As expected, investigations are underway in all sections of the agency. For appearances’ sake, our section has begun its own investigation also.’
‘I see, and what about our man? Has he been dealt with and the dossier secured?’ Cillian said.
‘Well, sir, not exactly,’ Wigmore replied.
‘Excuse me? You fucking imbeciles! You’re only coming to me with this information now?’
‘Our apologies for not coming to you sooner, sir –’
‘It’s been two days,’ Cillian interrupted.
‘Well, sir, given that we’re under an AA condition, we thought it safer to wait for the dust to settle.’
‘What the hell happened?’
‘I assure you, sir, that your orders were carried out to the letter just as they have been on previous assignments. We had no problems finding an agent to volunteer. A new recruit, Stephen Robertshaw, only twenty-four years old, enthusiastic, eager to impress, living on his own in the city and not likely to be missed. He was taken to the basement-level complex and placed in room four in the east wing.’
‘And he was examined thoroughly?’ Cillian asked.
‘Yes, sir. The agent in question had a full medical examination. A dental examination confirmed the absence of any metal fillings. He then showered and was deloused. His fingernails examined and cleaned thoroughly. As you know, we’ve encountered some unpredictable behaviour with ferromagnetic materials, so a full-body scan was also performed.
‘Finally, he was taken back to room four, where he was placed three feet from the centre of the north wall. Agent Robertshaw was then handed the Timepiece with its destination time already set. Agent Robertshaw activated it and was gone for no more than twenty seconds. When he returned, he was asked to confirm that contact was made with you, sir, to which he responded in the affirmative. He was then immediately bound, gagged and placed in secure isolation, which is where he remains. Initially, the assignment appeared to be a success.’
‘Any resistance?’
‘Yes, he struggled and shouted through his gag, but no more than the others.’
‘And the dossier?’
‘I’m afraid he didn’t have one with him, sir. That’s why he hasn’t yet been processed. We thought that you might like to speak with him to find out why he didn’t receive a dossier from your counterpart in the future.’
‘It’s a risk keeping him here. We can ill afford for anyone from outside the Operations Section finding him.’
Tyke sat up in his seat and said, ‘He’s under guard from agents we can trust, sir.’
‘Fine, but I’ll want to speak with him as soon as is possible. I have a lot of eyes on me at
present, so care must be taken. What’s the status of the other sections?’
‘Well, sir,’ Tyke said, ‘it seems that Section Head Doolin was the first to act. Not surprising given that the agency staff member who went astray was from his own Engineering Section. Our sources from within his section didn’t indicate that he has any reason to suspect our involvement.’
‘Doolin won’t be a problem,’ Cillian said. ‘He’s far too invested in his personal financial affairs back in the States to pay much attention to what goes on here anymore. So long as we keep feeding him information garnered from our Futures Project, he’ll keep making the money he needs to pay off all the politicians and officials that he needs to, to keep his sons out of jail.’
‘Yes, sir. Wigmore and I came to the same conclusion. We think the investigation is just to show that he’s doing something. It’ll keep the rabble happy until all the excitement dies down.’
‘Why do I get the feeling there’s more?’
Tyke and Wigmore eyed each other nervously once more before Tyke said, ‘While Section Head Doolin has proven relatively toothless, the same can’t be said for one of his subordinates.’
‘The woman. Avy Stammers,’ Cillian said.
‘Yes, sir. She’s convinced that the Operations Section is responsible. More specifically, she believes that you personally are to blame and she’s not being quiet about it.’
‘Tell me about her. Is there anything we can do to silence her?’
‘Well, we could follow her home one evening. Perhaps she could fall in front of a bus or a train? Grief can do that to people, and it’s an approach that has worked for us in the past.’
‘Not this time. If she’s being vocal about her suspicions, then her death will only draw more attention to her and to us. No, we need to deal with her differently. Do we have any other leverage? Partners? Children? Elderly parents perhaps?’
‘Unfortunately not. She has no children, no siblings. Her parents both died shortly after the war. The impression we get from other staff members is that she did have a partner.’
‘Did have?’
‘It seems that her and our missing man, Nestor Ordell, were… romantically engaged with each other.’
‘Well, that explains her tenacity; this is personal for her. In that case we will have to attack her character and discredit her professionally. Wigmore, begin immediately. Everyone has secrets and I want to know hers.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I would like to get the measure of her, so bring her to my office. While she’s here, perhaps you could search her workstation. Go.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now,’ Cillian hissed.
Wigmore startled in his seat, stood, gave Cillian a determined nod and waddled out of the room, closing the doors behind him. Cillian watched him leave and then turned his attention to Agent Tyke. ‘What about Madame Izri?’
Agent Tyke’s eye twitched ever so slightly at this question and he shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. He calmed himself before he spoke. ‘Section Head Izri is a little harder to predict, sir. It was a member of her team who witnessed the disappearance of Nestor Ordell first-hand.’ Tyke pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket and flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for. ‘His name is Frenz Belingi. He’s been at The Bureau of Game Theory for sixteen years. From what I’ve been told, he’s a reliable and able Geohistorian and is well liked by Madame Izri herself.’
‘Yes, I know the one. The negro’ – Cillian’s top lip curled up in disgust as he spoke the word – ‘was he the only person to witness the disappearance?’
‘Yes, we believe so.’
‘What was his relationship to this Nestor Ordell person?’
‘They were good friends, or so I’m told. Belingi, Stammers and Ordell were apparently a tight group.’
‘So, it’s personal for him as well. Reporting the disappearance aside, has he vocalised any suspicions towards us?’
‘No, not that we’ve heard. He’s certainly not drawing any attention to himself in the way that the Stammers woman has been.’
Cillian leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if he might find answers there. He then returned his gaze to Agent Tyke. ‘Let’s see what he does next. Stammers should be our focus for the time being.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘One more thing. The malfunctioning Mimic Watch, have you recovered it?’
Tyke reached down to his side, picked up his brown attaché case and placed it on his lap. He carefully rolled the dials for the combination, opened the case and pulled out a black rubber wallet, placing it on the desk in front of him. Cillian picked it up and opened it. He pulled out the Mimic Watch, placed the wallet flat on the desk and laid the watch on top of it. The outer ring of the device pulsed a dim red colour every few seconds.
Cillian ran his hand gently over the surface of the watch, almost tenderly. ‘It’s still active. So, this is what has caused all of our troubles. How did we miss this?’
‘It seems the problem was discovered close to the time we were planning our next Futures Project assignment. We were already underway by the time it was officially entered into record. Given the dangers a Mimic Watch like this could cause, it was sent for repair immediately.’
Their conversation was interrupted when the desk intercom buzzed loudly once more. The voice of Ms. Brockett crackled through: ‘Mr. Gander, sir, apologies for the interruption but Agent Wigmore has returned with Ms. Stammers.’
Cillian pressed the intercom button, leaned towards the speaker and said, ‘Agent Tyke was just leaving. Please send Ms. Stammers in once he has left.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Cillian turned back to Tyke and said, ‘Keep an eye on Frenz Belingi. Bring him to me the moment he steps out of line.’
‘Right away, sir.’
Agent Tyke stood and with long, slow strides reached the double doors in just three steps. He pulled a door open with his right hand and made a theatrical motion with his left, holding it out to one side, beckoning Avy Stammers into the room. She ignored the empty gesture, pulling the other door open instead and walking past Tyke without acknowledging him. Tyke appeared to shrink into himself and retreated from sight.
Avy walked purposefully into the room and stopped in front of Cillian Gander’s desk. A thin, satisfied smile spread across Cillian’s face. He regarded Avy thoughtfully and then said, ‘Please, sit.’
‘That won’t be necessary, I won’t be staying long,’ Avy snapped back.
‘Is that so?’
‘I’m here as a courtesy. I don’t work in your section, so you have no authority over me. You know this.’
Cillian smiled again, slightly wider this time. He was impressed with the confidence of this unassuming woman before him. ‘My people tell me that you’ve been making some rather unsavoury accusations about the Operations Section. And about me personally.’
‘A good man is gone because someone activated the Timepiece off-book. Your own Operations Section has a responsibility to prevent this kind of thing and it failed. Intentional or not, you are to blame.’
‘I find your choice of words interesting.’
‘Oh, how so?’
‘You talk about responsibility. Was it not your own responsibility to oversee the repair of this particular Mimic Watch yourself, as head of your department?’
Avy didn’t rise to this; instead, the features of her face hardened and she directed an arrow-like stare back at Cillian.
He continued, ‘It seems to me that if anyone is responsible for a man having gone astray, it’s you. Then again, perhaps the blame stretches even further than that. After all, it was Section Head Doolin’s decision to appoint a woman as head of your department in the first place. Even after my advice to the contrary.’
Avy had learned to deal with men like Cillian throughout her life and deflected his next attempt to get a rise out of her. ‘What is it that you want?’
Cillian leane
d forward, placing his elbows on his desk. He could sense victory was within his grasp. She wanted something and a man in his position had a lot to offer. ‘I want you to stop your slanderous remarks about this section’s involvement in this man’s disappearance and get on with your life.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Well, why stop at head of department? Perhaps one day even a woman might be able to become head of the whole Engineering Section? Stranger things have happened.’
Avy smiled. ‘You’d really do that for me?’
‘Of course. You scratch my back and I scratch yours.’ Cillian smiled, this time baring crooked, yellowed teeth. Avy took a step forwards and placed both palms flat on the desk opposite Cillian. Her face was close enough to smell Cillian’s stale breath. In a low, seductive voice, she said, ‘That really is a sweet offer.’
‘I can be ever so nice if I choose to,’ Cillian replied.
‘Well let me tell you something, Cillian Gander’ – her tenor altered rapidly – ‘I know it was you. And I will prove it and you will pay for it. No matter how long it takes me, you will pay.’
The smile evaporated from Cillian’s face, quickly replaced with an expression contorted with rage. He pushed himself back from his desk, stood and through gritted teeth said, ‘You’re finished. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. This was your chance to come out of this on top and you’ve wasted it. Leave now and hope you never cross paths with me again.’
Avy stepped back and smiled. ‘I told you this would be a short visit. Hopefully your man will have finished searching through my things,’ she said with a mocking grin. ‘Now, I have a memorial service to attend for a real man who is gone because of you.’ With that Avy spun and left the office.
Cillian was still seething after his meeting with Avy Stammers when Agent Wigmore returned to his office, shown in by Ms. Brockett. Cillian rose from his desk as he entered and began talking immediately. ‘Did you find anything on Ms. Stammers?’
‘No, I’m afraid not, sir. Her workstation was clean.’
The Timepiece and the Girl Who Went Astray: A thrilling new time travel adventure Page 15
