by RR Haywood
‘Yes, if you stop shouting.’
‘Roger, I’m team leader then. I would have done it anyway . . .’
‘I know,’ Harry mutters.
‘Ben, you’ll need training.’
‘Training?’ he asks, his voice croaking much the same as Harry’s.
‘You’ve fired a weapon already,’ Safa calls out. ‘So that’s a head start at least . . .’
‘Eh? What? Why do I need training? What for?’
‘Those two idiots didn’t have a clue when they came for me. They need professionals. We’re the professionals,’ she says, coming out of her room now dressed to shake her head at them both still feeling sorry for themselves. ‘We’ll start training today but we need kit. You two get ready. I’ll find Roland and give him the good news.’
‘Good news?’ Ben asks, completely confused and still feeling like his head is struggling to catch up.
‘That we’re staying,’ she says. ‘Come on. Get showered. You’ll feel better. Drink lots of water. I’ll be back in a few minutes . . .’
Ben and Harry watch her go then look at each other and shrug.
‘We’re agreed,’ Safa says, coming to a stop in front of Roland’s desk with her feet planted apart and her hands clasped smartly behind her back.
‘Oh, that is wonderful.’ Roland sags into his chair, hungover and worried sick, but the relief washes over his face. ‘Really, I cannot express just how . . . I am honoured, thank you, thank you and . . . well, when can you get started?’
‘We need time to train,’ Safa says bluntly, standing at ease while looking over his head.
‘Train?’ Roland asks, going instantly back to looking worried again as he stands up. ‘How long will that take?’
‘As long as it takes,’ Safa says. ‘You want this job done, then we’ll do it properly.’
‘Miss Patel, I understand what you’re saying but we need to progress—’
‘Fifty years from twenty sixty-one?’ she asks. ‘Which is . . . oh, about a hundred million billion years from now, so we’ve got time. We’ve got as much time as we need.’
‘Okay,’ Roland says. ‘How long do you need?’
‘I just said. As long as—’
‘Yes yes, as long as it takes, I heard you.’
‘Look, we’ve agreed to do this for you,’ she says coldly. ‘We’ve all got skills the others need. Harry is about eighty years out of date and Ben needs to start from the basics. Anyway, you’ve got a time machine, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but only for the intended purpose.’
‘Which is what?’ she demands.
He blinks and shakes his head. ‘So you can investigate and find out how it happened . . . so you can stop that happening. Also to extract anyone else you feel you need to help you. On that note, I have a list of people that—’
‘So you’ll be using the time machine for the mission, which may change as we progress.’
‘Yes,’ he says suspiciously to her. ‘But we cannot manipulate time for our own purposes.’
‘You already have,’ she snaps back. ‘We’re dead, remember?’
‘Okay, okay.’ He holds his hands out, palms facing her. ‘Fine, yes, I understand you need time to train, but please do so quickly. We have to make progress.’ He stops and looks like he’s expecting a show of gratitude. ‘What?’ he asks when it doesn’t come.
‘Equipment,’ she says, as though it’s obvious. ‘Clothing, boots, weapons, radios, kit . . .’
‘Weapons?’
‘Harry was using bloody spears back in his day and—’
‘Miss Patel, I do not envisage a situation where you will need to use weapons.’
‘No?’ she asks in mock surprise. ‘Then why us, sir? Who broke the world, sir? Was it some bad people, sir?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. What weapons do you need?’
‘All of them, sir.’
‘What?’
‘All of them, sir.’
‘What does “all of them” mean?’
‘My team need to be able to use any weapon they pick up, sir.’
‘Stop calling me sir!’
‘Do you want a trained, disciplined unit?’
‘Yes,’ he sighs. ‘Fine . . . Safa? Is this really necessary?’
‘It is,’ she says seriously.
‘Okay, make a list and give it to Malcolm and Konrad. I’ll be going back soon anyway. I need to make sure we didn’t cause a catastrophe with last night’s debacle.’
‘It was a good night.’
‘It was a foolish thing to do. We cannot, under any circumstances, do that again.’
‘Roger . . . sir . . .’ she says with a twitch of a smile. ‘I thought you were glad we were here?’
‘Pardon?’ he asks, blushing slightly.
‘So glad, so so glad, really rather glad,’ she says, looking at the spot over his head again.
‘Very funny. Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘No, sir. Thank you, sir. Am I dismissed, sir?’
He waves his arms. A monster created and now standing in front of his desk.
‘Can we go outside?’ she asks, dropping back into a normal tone.
‘Yes,’ he sighs, his head still aching from being drunk and wishing she would bugger off now.
‘I thought you said about bacteria or something.’
‘We researched it. Malcolm or Konrad will show you but there’s a decontamination air-spraying thingy by the back door.’
‘Technical,’ she mutters.
‘I am not a technician. Malcolm and Konrad do those things.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I get money to pay for all this. Now, was there anything else?’
‘Er . . .’ she muses, pulling a face. ‘Not for now.’ She nods, turns smartly and marches through the door to catch sight of Malcolm and Konrad trying to scarper down the corridor.
‘You two,’ she barks, bringing them to a stop as Roland winces in his office at her brutal tone. ‘We need kit. Got paper and a pen?’
‘Paper?’ Malcolm asks ever so politely.
‘For a list,’ she says as though just this minor delay is causing her untold frustration that may manifest in extreme violence at any second. The two men literally quake in their boots, both of them shuffling and looking round nervously.
‘Got a tablet,’ Malcolm says, pulling a device from one of the many pockets in his cargo trousers. He slides a stylus from the side and activates the screen with a look of focused concentration. ‘So, er . . . what can I get for you? Oh . . .’ he says when she deftly plucks the tablet and stylus from his fingers and starts scribbling on the screen.
‘You’ve got our sizes, right?’ she barks at the two workmen.
‘Sizes, Miss Safa?’ Konrad asks.
She looks up slowly. ‘Feet,’ she says, pronouncing the word clearly.
‘Oh, shoe sizes, yes, we have those, and clothes sizes and . . .’
‘Who washed and changed me?’ she asks casually.
‘Pardon?’ Malcolm asks as the blood drains from his face.
‘Who washed and changed me?’ she asks again. ‘Because if I find out a man washed and changed me while I was drugged I will kill that man.’ Malcolm doesn’t reply but stands mute and terrified while Konrad shuffles back a few steps. ‘Did a man change me, Malcolm?’
‘No, Miss Patel,’ Malcolm whimpers.
‘I have not seen any other women here, Malcolm.’
‘Roland got one here . . .’ he stammers. ‘A woman, I mean . . . Roland brought a woman here . . .’
‘Roland?’ Safa calls out. ‘Is that true?’
‘It is,’ he calls from his office quickly, very quickly.
‘You said no one else knows apart from us . . .’
‘I promise you,’ Roland says, appearing in his doorway. ‘It was a woman.’
‘If you are lying to me I will kill you all. Are we clear? Good. Now be quick. I expect you back in one hour.’
<
br /> ‘One hour?’ Konrad says, taking back the tablet to look down the list. ‘But . . . they . . .’
‘One hour,’ Safa snaps. ‘The world is depending on us so hurry up. One hour.’
‘Yes, miss,’ Konrad shouts as they run for the door.
She walks on, marching through the corridor to the main room to find Harry at the big table pouring coffee into three earthenware mugs while Ben rests his head in his hands at the one remaining intact table.
‘They’re on it,’ she says brightly, her tone immediately changed. ‘I gave them a huge list and said they had an hour . . . and I also said I would kill them if I found out they washed and changed me. Apparently they had a woman come here and do it.’
‘Who?’ Ben asks, lifting his head.
‘Didn’t ask,’ she says, shrugging. ‘You’re the investigator, not me.’
‘You’re a copper,’ he says.
‘I told you already. I’m shit at investigating.’
‘Whatever,’ Ben groans as Harry plonks a mug of coffee in front of him.
‘What did you put on the list?’ Harry asks, sitting down heavily.
‘Boots and clothes, nothing too difficult. Are you sure you’re with us on this, Ben?’
‘For now,’ he replies honestly. ‘How does Roland know we won’t just do one on the first job?’
‘Do one what?’ Harry asks.
‘Leave, just walk away,’ Ben says.
‘Do one means to leave?’
‘Yeah, sort of, like slang. You’d say do one mate to someone you wanted to go away or you might say I’m doing one if you wanted to get out of somewhere. So anyway, how does Roland know we won’t just walk off on the first job?’
‘We do the mission,’ Harry says with a stern look at him.
‘This isn’t a war now, Harry.’
‘He said the world ends,’ Harry says. ‘We’ve got to stop that.’
‘We’ve got to stop the world from ending.’ Ben says it back quietly while his head spins.
‘We did it before.’
‘When?’
‘The Germans. We stopped them.’
‘Harry, this isn’t like that,’ Ben says.
‘Don’t overthink it.’
‘Mate, this isn’t about overthinking it. This isn’t a war with planes and submarines . . .’
‘Is that what you think it was?’ he asks, smiling sadly. ‘But you had the benefit of looking back. We didn’t. We only knew what was in front of us and we trusted those that knew better. We’re here. We do not do one on the first mission as that drops everyone else in the cackymess and you don’t do that to your mates.’
‘Cackymess?’ Safa asks.
‘I don’t get it. I can’t . . . fuck me . . .’ Ben gasps and blows air out while looking frantically round the room. ‘Why are you letting Safa take charge?’ he asks Harry.
‘What did you just say?’ Safa snaps at him.
‘No,’ Ben groans. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that . . . like . . . Harry is a commando from the war, right, so . . . oh, fuck’s sake. Safa, I didn’t mean it in a negative way. You’re awesome and I’d follow you anywhere but . . .’
‘Just answered your own question,’ Harry says easily.
‘This is fucked. We’re waiting for boots in a fucking bunker in the past . . .’
‘Ben,’ Safa says gently, reaching over the table to place a hand on his arm. ‘Just take it easy and go with it, okay.’
‘Okay. Sorry,’ he says with a nod at her. ‘Sorry, Harry.’
‘No harm no foul.’
‘We’re here,’ Safa says to him. ‘It’s happening. This is real and Roland chose us because he knows we’re not the kind of people to run away or . . . or give up at the first hurdle.’
‘But . . .’ Ben stammers and tries to grasp at the words in his mind but it’s hopeless. He feels hopeless. Completely and utterly lost.
‘I saw what you did at Holborn. I know what you did when you were seventeen. That’s why Roland chose you the same as he chose Harry and me. The only difference is Harry and I have been trained and prepared to accept things a bit better, that’s all. Listen, Ben.’ She speaks so softly that he hangs on every word she says. ‘We’ll get you through this. What you’re feeling now will pass. I promise. I had it when I first joined the police and then when I joined the DPS and I’m sure Harry had it when he first signed up.’
‘Normal,’ Harry says. ‘Man up. You’ll be fine.’
Ben blinks and straightens his back from the mild sting in Harry’s words. ‘Okay.’
‘Good.’ She smiles at him. ‘You’ll be fine. I promise. You’ll feel better once we’re taking control for ourselves. Now, fancy some fruit? Or whatever that stuff is . . .’
Seventeen
‘That was quick,’ Safa says, turning round in her chair as Malcolm rushes into the main room carrying two huge black holdalls. ‘Get everything?’
‘Yep,’ Malcolm says, dropping the bags to gasp for breath. ‘Me and Kon went . . . was . . . we . . . yep,’ he says again.
‘Where’s Konrad?’ she asks.
‘Oh, down there,’ Malcolm says, waving his arm at the door. ‘Wouldn’t come up.’
‘Why not? Did he change me?’
‘God, no! No, Miss Patel . . . no no no . . . he, er . . . well, he . . . I got what you said.’
‘Did you change me?’ she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
‘No! I promise. It was a woman . . . honestly . . . I did Mr Ryder and . . .’
‘What?’ Ben snaps, rising to his feet.
‘Oh shit . . .’ Malcolm says, backing out of the room.
‘Did you touch my willy?’
‘No . . . no I didn’t . . . oh God . . .’ He stammers the words out, getting through the door and backing away down the corridor. ‘We didn’t touch your penis, Mr Ryder . . . none of us . . . I promise we didn’t . . .’ He scampers away as Ben turns round to see Safa chuckling and Harry with a broad grin. Suddenly the world swings back on its axis and it’s not so bad being here.
‘Did you touch my willy?’ Safa says. ‘Classic . . . Harry, do you know what a willy is?’
‘Aye.’
‘Right,’ she says, still chuckling, as she grabs the bags. They head back down to their rooms. A fact which strikes Ben instantly. That he is already thinking of them as their rooms. His room. He has a room. He follows them in and immediately moves to drop down into one of the blue chairs.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got,’ Safa says, unzipping the bags. She starts pulling things out, examining them in turn. ‘Pair of boots for me . . . Harry I’m guessing these are yours,’ she says, holding a huge pair up.
‘What are those?’ he asks.
‘Boots,’ she says, looking up at him.
‘They’re not boots,’ he says.
‘Oh right, yes,’ she says, standing up to hold them properly. ‘Synthetic material with breathable mesh . . . they’re used by tactical police, soldiers, Special Forces . . . lightweight, breathable and the grip is incredible.’
‘I want my boots.’
‘Harry, these are excellent boots.’
‘Good, keep them. I want my boots.’
‘We don’t have your boots, we have these boots.’
‘The boots I was wearing, where are they?’
‘I don’t know. I was drugged the same as you.’
‘I’m going to get my boots,’ he says, walking towards the door.
‘Harry, just try these, you’ll love them I—’
‘MALCOLM? WHERE ARE MY BOOTS?’
‘Well,’ she says, looking at Ben then down at the boots. ‘They are good boots,’ she tells him. ‘Yours,’ she says, pulling another pair out from the bag. ‘We’ve got trousers . . . wicking tops . . . shirts . . . bags . . . belts . . . he’s got everything,’ she says, feeling impressed at the goods laid out on the floor. ‘And everything is new too.’
‘Did you ask for black?’ Ben asks, staring at the clothes
being stacked into three piles.
‘Yep, why? Did you want another colour?’
‘No, just asking.’
‘Could ask for yellow or something if you’d prefer.’
‘I said I was just asking,’ he replies too quickly.
‘Just banter, Ben,’ she says, standing up. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’
He exhales slowly and closes his eyes for a second as the world turns back on its fucked-up axis. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ she says so gently and again in such contrast to how she speaks to Malcolm, Konrad and Roland. ‘We’ll get through this. I promise.’
‘How can you know?’
‘Because,’ she says with a slow smile, ‘you’re Ben Ryder . . .’
‘Ah don’t,’ he groans. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘Trust me, you don’t know what you’re capable of.’
‘I do, and being a soldier dressed in black isn’t it.’
‘They play that footage in police tactical training schools all over the world . . .’
‘What footage?’
‘From Holborn. What you did on the platform that day.’
‘Why?’
‘To show the level that’s required.’
‘Level? What level? I was fucking terrified. I must have tripped over like ten times and missed nearly every shot . . . it was awful . . .’
‘Not that,’ she says. ‘That’s training. Firing guns and fighting people comes from training, but what you did was from instinct. I bet it felt slow to you, right?’ She smiles when he nods. ‘It wasn’t slow. It was over like that,’ she says, clicking her fingers. ‘Couple of minutes and it’s done. That’s how fast you were and you identified each target in order of priority. Yeah you were sloppy and yeah you fell over, but you didn’t have lightweight, breathable tactical boots and months of hard training behind you but you still did it. You stopped them. Same as you stopped that gang . . .’ She stops and flashes a dazzling grin of white teeth. ‘I’ve been in a fight with Harry Madden and Ben Ryder . . . and those things you said to Roland yesterday . . .’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Ben starts as Harry bustles back into the room.
‘Got ’em,’ Harry booms. ‘Now these,’ he says, proudly holding a pair of heavy-looking, battered old leather boots, ‘are proper boots. Feel the weight of them.’ He hands them to Ben. ‘Eh? Feel that?’
