Extracted

by RR Haywood

  ‘You’re the investigator,’ Safa says, thereby disclaiming any responsibility.

  ‘Right,’ Ben says, nodding slowly. ‘Fair one then . . . anyway, I’ve told him to find someone from military intelligence or that kind of background . . . someone who knows how to run something this size. Roland can’t be left to do it.’

  He stops to let them take it in and say something in reply. Harry heads for the closest armchair and sinks into it with a heavy sigh and a satisfied nod. Safa follows suit, taking the middle one, which she slumps into, grooving her backside into the soft seat.

  ‘Very nice,’ she says.

  ‘It’s like you said,’ Ben says slowly, watching them get comfortable. ‘You said I have to disconnect and that’s it, I couldn’t disconnect and it took a beating from Mad Harry Madden and you two being killed to make that happen.’

  ‘We can’t beat people as they get here,’ Harry says thoughtfully.

  ‘And I’m not drowning every bloody time we rescue someone either,’ Safa adds.

  Ben tuts and keeps going. ‘Look at the bunker. Everything is bare concrete and sterile. It’s like a prison or something . . . but here at least . . .’ He looks round the room. ‘Here there are things we can relate to. Does that make sense? Like windows and leather chairs and coffee tables . . .’

  ‘We changed our rooms but you didn’t want to,’ Safa says.

  ‘I was having a mental breakdown. I didn’t know what I wanted. Listen, it might have happened regardless of what anyone did but . . . it might not had it been dealt with properly.’

  ‘No, I agree,’ Safa says.

  ‘Aye, good work,’ Harry mumbles, stretching his legs out and looking round.

  ‘So has Roland got someone in mind then?’ Safa asks.

  ‘No idea. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days. Malc and Kon said he’s here less and less . . . almost like he thinks you two are back and I’m now fine so he doesn’t have to worry . . . or he’s so worried he’s off doing something else. I don’t like him. I don’t trust him either. The sooner we run it the safer it will be . . . but, and no offence when I say this, but we can’t oversee the whole thing. It’s too big. The bloody portal they use to get the things for this place is in the same fixed place in Berlin in twenty sixty-one. They’ve got no concept of security or surveillance. Christ, his son invented time travel then failed to secure it properly.’

  ‘Ben?’ Malcolm calls out from the corridor.

  ‘In here, mate,’ Ben says, turning to watch Malcolm walk into the room holding a tray with three big, steaming mugs of coffee.

  ‘Harry, Safa,’ he says, nodding at both in turn, ‘good to see you back up . . . like the rooms then?’

  ‘Very nice,’ Harry says, taking a mug from the tray. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, fine,’ Malcolm says, holding the tray out to Safa. ‘It is much better . . . me, Ben and Kon got some good ideas for the main room and other sections . . . and did Ben tell you what the doc said about the meds?’

  ‘Yeah, just told them, mate,’ Ben says.

  ‘We didn’t know,’ Malcolm says, offering an apologetic wince at Harry and Safa. ‘Anyway, we’ll leave you to it. We’re popping into the city for an hour, Ben. Need anything?’

  ‘Nah, it’s fine. See you later.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Harry says as Malcolm leaves.

  ‘Right,’ Safa says, fixing Ben with a firm look that immediately makes him squirm. ‘Elephant in the room.’

  ‘Eh?’ Ben asks.

  ‘What elephant?’ Harry asks, looking round.

  ‘I’ll just come out with it,’ Safa says, looking at Ben. ‘Get it behind us now . . .’

  ‘Oh,’ Ben groans. ‘Don’t . . .’

  ‘What?’ Harry asks.

  ‘Steph,’ Safa says.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Ben mutters.

  ‘Oh,’ Harry says. ‘That.’

  ‘Well?’ she asks. ‘You over it?’

  ‘Safa,’ Ben groans and shifts at her penetrating gaze as Harry eases subtly back on his armchair to disengage from the conversation.

  ‘Are you?’ she demands.

  ‘Guess so,’ Ben says quietly, looking away.

  ‘Harry, close your ears for a second. She was a fucking bitch, Ben. An absolute nasty, cold, money-grabbing whore bitch shit-head fucking bitch . . .’

  ‘Okay . . .’ Ben mumbles.

  ‘I haven’t finished. She was a dirty, nasty, fucking bitch. Harry, really close your ears now . . .’

  ‘Closed.’

  ‘She was a cunt.’

  ‘Safa!’ Ben and Harry exclaim, but she just glares without a trace of apology.

  ‘And I hate that word,’ she adds emphatically. ‘So for me to use it means she really was a cunt . . .’

  ‘Yes, alright,’ Ben says quickly.

  ‘Oh, you don’t know,’ she says darkly. ‘You were dead.’

  ‘Yes, yes I was,’ he mumbles, slightly alarmed.

  ‘Honestly, there are two people in this world . . . our world . . . the old world . . . anyway, there are two people I hate. Like really hate. To the point I would actually murder them and sleep soundly, and she is one . . .’

  ‘Christ,’ Ben mumbles again and looks at Harry, who pretends he’s not there.

  ‘Seriously,’ she continues. ‘She tried to ruin what you did . . . what you did twice. You did it twice and she tried to take it all away from you. Did Harry tell you she knew you were Ben Ryder?’

  ‘Er, I think so . . . I don’t remember all of it but I got the gist,’ Ben says with a frown as he tries to think back.

  ‘She said you raped her.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Ben says, his tone instantly hardening.

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ she tuts. ‘I know you bloody didn’t. Everyone knows you didn’t.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Long story short. You died. Someone recognised you from the footage as Ben Ryder. Word got out. The press went into meltdown. The whore already knew you were Ben Ryder as she’d overheard you talking to your mum and dad about telling her who you were and she was already having an affair with her boss, then when you died she sold her story for a fortune. The press went into meltdown again but then every single person that ever knew you came out and called her a lying fucking whore . . .’

  ‘They said that?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Words to that effect,’ she says, waving the question away. ‘Then your parents re-mortgaged their house to pay for the best private investigations agency in London, who bugged her and finally caught her blackmailing her boss over dinner in a restaurant.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘The boss wanted to leave her. She couldn’t handle it so tried to blackmail him but . . .’ she says, shuffling to the edge of her seat. ‘The whore admitted, during that bugged conversation, that she’d lied about everything . . .’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Press went into meltdown for a third time. She was ruined. A newspaper paid the detective agency fee and your parents paid off the debt on their mortgage.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘So she was a whore.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Complete bitch.’

  ‘Er—’

  ‘Enough said,’ she says firmly and sits back. ‘But she was a cunt.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Done now.’ She holds a hand up. ‘We don’t need to talk about the bitch whore slag ever again.’

  Ben exhales slowly and tries to get his thoughts in order. One pops into his head. ‘Who was the other person?’

  ‘What?’ Safa asks.

  ‘The other person you hate. Who? Christ, Safa.’ He reels back again, and if he thought he saw hatred in her face talking about Steph, he was wrong. The look she has now is venomous.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she mutters.

  ‘Safa. You don’t get to—’

  ‘I do,’ she cuts him off with a dark look. ‘Leave it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He holds his hands up in retreat.


  ‘I’ll tell you one day.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Not today though.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Or tomorrow.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘So don’t ask me again. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Which will be never.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Got a time machine,’ Harry says, glancing at her casually.

  ‘Two steps ahead of you,’ she replies.

  ‘What?’ Ben asks, shaking his head in confusion.

  ‘What?’ Harry asks in return.

  ‘Do you know what she’s on about?’ Ben asks him.

  ‘No,’ he says simply.

  ‘I’m so fucking lost,’ Ben groans.

  ‘Blimey, Ben,’ Harry says with a gently chastising tone to his voice. ‘We’ve got a time machine.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Safa has something she would like to rectify . . . and I want to see Edith again.’

  ‘Fucking hang on a minute!’

  ‘What?’ Harry says.

  ‘What about the timeline and all that arse about not going back and disconnecting?’

  ‘Christ, Ben,’ Safa groans. ‘Harry isn’t talking about leaving . . .’

  ‘But . . . you said . . . I said . . . fucking hang on a minute!’

  ‘Wikipedia said Ben Ryder was intelligent,’ Safa points out.

  ‘Yeah, but . . . I got beat up for saying I wanted to go back . . .’

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘You got beat up for being a dick. Harry is merely suggesting that should an opportunity present itself whereby we can make a wee trip . . . for him to see Edith and for me to . . . do what I need to do . . . then, you know . . . fuck’s sake, Ben! We’ve got a time machine right there.’

  ‘Timeline,’ he blurts.

  ‘Yes, which is why we haven’t already done it until we know what we can do without breaking things,’ she says.

  ‘Have you discussed this?’ he asks, looking at them both.

  ‘No,’ she says honestly. ‘I just figured Harry was thinking the same.’

  ‘Aye, was,’ Harry says.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Ben says indignantly.

  ‘If an opportunity presents is all we’re saying,’ Safa says. ‘But not yet.’

  ‘I’m so shocked right now.’

  ‘Man up,’ Safa grunts, but smiles at him.

  ‘Mission comes first,’ Harry points out.

  ‘So you’d go back and see Edith then come back here?’

  ‘Aye,’ he says with brutal honesty.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Ben mutters. ‘I think I’ll stick to soft furnishings . . .’

  Thirty-Nine

  ‘They loved it,’ Malcolm says.

  ‘Yeah? Really? Did they say anything?’ Konrad asks. Malcolm smiles and goes through. ‘Did they?’ Konrad asks again, stepping into the warehouse in Berlin from the bunker in the Cretaceous period.

  ‘Not in words, but I could tell,’ Malcolm says, leading the way across the room to the door at the end.

  ‘How did they look?’ Konrad asks, waiting for Malcolm to unlock the door then following him out to the street door.

  ‘Er . . . alright actually,’ Malcolm says, tilting his head side to side. ‘Yeah, like, same as normal, really.’

  ‘Can’t believe Roland didn’t come back to see them,’ Konrad says, tutting as he stands waiting for Malcolm to lock the street door. He stares over to the buildings opposite, seeing only the same windows and doors he has seen nearly every day for over six months. ‘He was always like that though,’ Konrad adds, his tone dropping to a grumpy moan. ‘Always had big ideas then got bored and lost interest. His son fucked it up, so you’d think he’d stick with it . . .’

  ‘He’s getting the money,’ Malcolm says in a tone that suggests this conversation has been going on for a while.

  ‘Yeah, still,’ Konrad says sulkily.

  ‘Come on,’ Malcolm says, walking past him to head down the street. ‘We’ll get a cake with our coffees. Hey, should we take them something back? Like a big cake or something? What do you think?’

  ‘Could do,’ Konrad says, nodding but still sulking a bit. ‘Get some paper hats and a few candles while we’re at it.’

  ‘Oh, pack it in,’ Malcolm tuts. ‘They’re back. We’ve got all three now . . . it doesn’t matter if Roland is here or not. Let them sort it from—’

  A tourist turns to smile at Konrad and Malcolm from the corner at the junction. His tourist guide and map clutched in his hands and his face showing the confused, harassed look of someone lost in a strange city.

  ‘Er . . . do you speak English?’ the tourist asks clearly and slowly with hope in his eyes that someone might be able to communicate with him.

  Malcolm grins. ‘You’re a bit lucky, mate,’ he chuckles. ‘You lost?’

  ‘You’re English!’ the tourist says with evident relief. ‘I have no idea where I am . . . apparently this building should be a museum,’ he adds, looking at the building on the corner.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Malcolm says, nodding at the map. ‘Where you trying to find?’

  ‘Gentlemen, say a word and you die right here,’ Alpha says, showing them the pistol held under the map. The genial look vanishes in a second. His eyes dart between the two stunned men.

  ‘Just stay still,’ Bravo says almost politely, walking briskly towards them with his own squat black pistol held partly concealed.

  Men come in from all sides. All of them dressed in normal civilian clothing. Malcolm flinches. His heart jack-hammering in his chest. Konrad spins, seeing the net closing in.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Alpha says calmly.

  ‘Easy, mate,’ Malcolm says, rushing the words out.

  ‘Mistake,’ Konrad blurts. ‘Seriously . . . don’t do this . . .’

  ‘Shush,’ Bravo whispers, moving to stand behind Malcolm. Echo moves behind Konrad. Alpha holds his pistol under the map, staring at them both with interest.

  ‘Mate,’ Malcolm says. ‘Don’t . . . you don’t know who they are . . .’

  ‘They’ll fucking kill you . . . all of you . . .’ Konrad adds in a rush.

  ‘Do as we say and you live. Understood?’ Alpha says, his tone calm, his manner relaxed. All five men are relaxed and calm.

  ‘No.’ Malcolm grimaces at having to argue. ‘Don’t do it . . .’

  ‘Listen to him,’ Konrad urges. ‘You won’t get a—’ He stops speaking with a gasp as the ultrathin point of a stiletto blade sinks a millimetre into the flesh of his right thigh.

  ‘Not another word,’ Bravo mutters, holding the blade while apparently trying to see between them to the map being held by the tourist. ‘The blue light. Is it the device?’

  ‘Shit.’ Malcolm sags on the spot. His eyes closing as he realises what is happening.

  ‘Is the device the blue light?’ Alpha asks.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ Konrad says, steeling himself as the stiletto sinks another millimetre into his thigh. They both breathe fast with panic rising in their chests and tight balls of fear forming in their guts that twist and flip.

  ‘Now gentlemen, you can see we are serious,’ Alpha says, smiling benignly. ‘Is the blue light the device?’

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Malcolm whimpers. ‘Please don’t do this . . .’

  ‘Killing us makes no difference,’ Konrad gasps as the blade sinks further in. Strong hands grip him in place. The pistol pushing in his back prevents him going back.

  ‘Answer the question and you both live. We will pay you. You’ll be millionaires within an hour. Your employers will never find you. We will protect you. Go anywhere you want. Have anything you want . . .’ Alpha speaks earnestly in a tone honed to perfection, the ultimate expression of believability and sincerity. He moves closer. His voice softens again. ‘Please . . . just tell me. Is the blue light the device?’ He sounds almost worried, afraid even.

  ‘He’s stabbing me, Malc.�
� Konrad swallows and stares down at the blade.

  ‘Yep,’ Malcolm grunts. ‘We’ll be alright, mate.’

  ‘Really fucking hurts, Malc,’ Konrad whispers.

  ‘Malcolm, Konrad. We know who you are. We know who you have inside. Ben, Harry, Safa. Roland. Doctor Watson. We know already. You can be wealthy. Go anywhere. New identities. Don’t sacrifice yourselves . . .’ Alpha implores them, his face a mask of worry and pity.

  Konrad snorts a dry laugh. ‘He thinks it’s about money, Malc . . . argh, fuck, that hurts.’

  ‘Yeah, millionaires,’ Malcolm replies, looking down at the blade sticking in Konrad’s leg.

  ‘You want to die?’ Alpha asks, puzzled and worried for them. ‘Here? In this street? For what? No one will know what you died for . . .’

  ‘Died before,’ Konrad whispers.

  ‘Do it again,’ Malcolm adds.

  ‘Ben went back for ’em, Malc.’

  ‘I know.’ Malcolm nods.

  ‘He got ’em too . . .’

  ‘He did . . .’

  ‘Malcolm, Konrad. See sense. There is no honour dying here. They won’t come back for you. We are taking the device before any damage is caused. Help us. Be rich. Save yourselves . . .’

  ‘Malc?’

  ‘Yep,’ Malcolm grunts.

  ‘I’ll slit you open and stuff your fucking cocks down each other’s throats . . .’ Alpha switches tone, seeing the resilience within the men.

  ‘Fuck.’ Konrad blasts air as the blade digs further, sliding deeper.

  ‘Life or death? Your choice . . .’ Alpha says. His tone hard then soft. ‘Choose life. Choose living. Be rich . . .’ he urges, begs, pleads. ‘See sense. Do the right thing.’

  ‘They’ll come for you,’ Konrad says through gritted teeth.

  A soft sound. Like air forced at speed through a small tube. Malcolm sags back, a sudden warmth in his gut. Strong hands hold him steady and he looks down to the crimson blush spreading across his T-shirt. ‘They shot me . . .’ he whimpers. ‘Kon . . . they bloody shot me . . .’

  ‘You’re all dead,’ Konrad says, grunting again as the knife goes deeper.

  Another soft sound of air. Malcolm staggers again. The hands hold him. The blood drains from his face. ‘Please stop shooting me,’ he whispers.

  ‘What’s on the other side of the blue light?’ Alpha asks. He lowers the gun and fires into Malcolm’s kneecap. A gloved hand comes over Malcolm’s face, cutting off the scream. The knife in Konrad’s leg twists and saws side to side. ‘What’s on the other side?’