“I only got a glimpse. He was really tall. I was going to find him and talk to him after, but I had my hands full with Razor and Dmitri. When I looked for him later, he was gone. Abbie, I think someone is trying to send us a warning.”
“Who?” she asks. “And if they were, why didn’t they just meet us somewhere and tell us straight out, instead of speaking through a puppet?”
“I don’t know. The whole thing’s really weird. But I tell you, it felt like that puppet was actually looking at me and talking right to me.”
A rustling sound interrupts my thoughts.
I look toward the bushes. Nothing.
“We’d better go,” says Abbie, switching to mindpatch.
I nod and stand up. I can’t shake the image of the Mother Shipton puppet staring at me. Her words run through my head over and over again. I also have a strong feeling that things are going to go very wrong very soon unless Abbie and I do something about it. But what can we do against Frank and Uncle? They hold all the cards. Well, maybe not all of the cards. Maybe there is still something we can do. The first inklings of a plan begin to take shape in my mind.
October 6, 2061, 7:33 P.M.
The Compound
SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)
Right after supper, Abbie and I head for Uncle’s office. There’s no aquarium in this one, which means no snapping turtles. That’s a good thing because those turtles of his are downright nasty. Shu Fang in particular dined on my wrist once.
Luca is already here. He closes the door and leans against a wall. There are no chairs, so we sit cross-legged on the floor.
No sooner are we seated than the office darkens until it is pitch-black. A pinpoint of light appears. It grows bigger and bigger until it takes Uncle’s shape. If I squint, it seems like he is actually in the room with us—that’s how lifelike the holo image is.
“Feasgar math, Abbie and Caleb,” he says. He is dressed in a simple leather jerkin and carrying a two-handed broadsword.
“Feasgar math, Uncle,” we chime.
“It is a very special day today. Do either of you know what day it is?”
He’d better not call on me.
“Caleb?”
“I believe it is Tuesday, Uncle.” That’s actually a guess on my part. It could easily be Wednesday. When you don’t get weekends off, it’s kind of hard to keep track of the days of the week.
Uncle chuckles and says, “Actually, it’s Thursday. But, Caleb, I meant what is special about today?”
He’s got me there.
“I don’t know, Uncle.”
He doesn’t seem put out by my answer. In fact, he smiles even more broadly. “On this day in 1296, Robert the Bruce became Constable of Carlisle Castle. On that same day, he also swore allegiance to Edward the First, King of England and Overlord of Scotland, who figures prominently in the matter we must discuss.”
A good thing I didn’t guess. I never would have gotten that one.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Uncle says. His image blinks out, and we’re left sitting in the dark.
The pinprick of light reappears, and a moment later, so does Uncle’s form. “Thank you for your patience. I had to explain to one of the workers that the original stonework of the outer castle is not to be compromised in the renovations.
“Now, I’d like to turn to the matter that I brought you here for. I have a mission for you and your recruits. One that is dear to my heart. It is a mission that I have been dreaming of for a long time. It is also the inaugural mission of our new Historical Correction Division, of which Caleb is the head. But until today, until your success in the forests of China, this mission would have been doubly difficult, if not impossible.”
My left leg is falling asleep, so I uncross it and give it a good shake. If I heard Uncle correctly, he wants to send our team on a mission. He doesn’t want to punish us. That’s definitely good news.
“Gaze upon this, my friends,” he says, and a holographic image appears two feet from our noses.
The image is of a big rock, roughly two feet long and a foot and a half high.
“The object you see before you is the Stone of Destiny,” Uncle says.
Now, there’s a catchy name. I can easily picture it as the title of a made-for-holo miniseries.
“The Stone of Destiny has been used in the coronation of every King of Scotland for the last eight hundred years,” Uncle continues. “And even before then, to crown the kings of ancient lands. In very early days, it was known as Jacob’s Pillow and was rumored to be the very stone upon which Jacob of biblical fame laid his head to rest as he dreamt of a ladder reaching all the way up to heaven. The prophet Jeremiah is said to have brought the stone from ancient Israel to Ireland, and from there, it found its way to Scotland. If this stone could talk, my friends, think of the stories that it could tell.”
None of my business, but I don’t think a conversation with a rock would be that interesting.
“In 1296,” he continues, “the stone was snatched from the Scottish by Edward the First. His successor, Edward the Third, promised to return it to Scotland, but alas, the promise was broken, and the stone was not returned. So on Christmas Eve in 1950, a group of Scottish students hatched a daring plan to right a wrong, to make good the unfulfilled promise of Edward the Third.
“Their mission was to snatch the stone from Westminster Abbey in London, England, and to return it to Scotland, its rightful ancestral home, so that all the people of Scotland could gaze upon it.”
I still don’t see where we come in.
“The students indeed snatched the stone from Westminster Abbey and returned it to Scotland. Eventually the stone was deposited on the altar at Arbroath Abbey. When the British discovered it there, they took it back to Westminster. There it stayed until 1996, when it was finally returned once again to Scotland and to Edinburgh Castle for display, along with the crown jewels of Scotland.
“However,” Uncle continues, “there is some uncertainty surrounding the provenance of the stone that is now kept at Edinburgh Castle. Some believe that shortly after it was stolen from Westminster Abbey, the original stone was hidden and that the stone on display in Edinburgh is a copy.”
Uncle raises the broadsword high over his head and then makes a downward slashing motion. Through some trick, the blade shimmers a brilliant blue as it cuts through the air.
“Tomorrow you will have only one mission to carry out: it is a mission to correct history. You must snatch the original stone from the student thieves immediately after they steal it and bring it to me here in Scotland, where it belongs.
“Now, there are two more pieces of information that you should know,” he continues. “First, the stone weighs in excess of three hundred pounds. It is not easily moved through time. But with the new, cutting-edge, technology that one of your group has pioneered”— Uncle smiles—“transporting the stone—and the replica stone of the same weight that you will replace it with—should not pose a problem.”
Really? Tell that to Dmitri. It may be true that he’s our go-to guy for moving heavy stuff through time, but can I count on him in the crunch? The jury is still out on that one.
“And second,” Uncle continues, “I realize that the training of new recruits has not yet been completed. However, this will be considered a regular mission, not a training mission.”
My hands go cold. A regular mission means no margin for error. And it also means punishment for failure.
“I’m counting on you to make this snatch a success,” he says.
Well, at least he didn’t single me out.
“And, Caleb, this will be your chance to redeem yourself for your escape from the Compound. Perform well, and everything between us is erased.”
There it is. A single chance to wipe the slate clean.
“That is all,” says Uncle. “In the
morning, Luca will provide you with more specific information concerning the mission. Ask him any questions you may have. Sleep well, and good luck.”
Uncle’s image starts to fade away. When the pinpoint of light disappears, I let out a long breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding.
“Dmitri will go with you,” says Luca when Abbie and I meet up with him at breakfast. “The replica stone, made to the exact specifications of the original, will remain in the courtyard of the Compound until right before the snatch. At that time, using the new technology Uncle mentioned last night, Dmitri will remotely retrieve the replica and arrange for its instantaneous transport to the snatch zone.”
Wow. Remote accessing a replica from another century. Who would have thought that was possible?
“You and Abbie will take anti-time-fog pills for this mission,” Luca continues. “They’re good for three hours, which is the same as the mission length. If you stay in the past longer than that, you’ll be susceptible to time fog.”
I nod. I wonder why Uncle’s giving us so long? Regardless, I’ll be thankful for the pills. Time fog is definitely no fun. Lucky for the recruits, since they don’t have wrist implants, they don’t have to worry about getting it.
“The mission data is being uploaded to your . . . Hold on one second,” says Luca. He looks away for a moment and then turns to face us. Uncle must be talking to him over his mindpatch.
“There will be a small change in the mission,” he says. “You will take all of your recruits with you.”
What? Uncle said this was going to be a regular mission. Obviously we need Dmitri, but Razor is bound to cause trouble, and Judith and Gerhard will just be two more recruits to worry about. Then it occurs to me. It wasn’t Uncle who mindpatched Luca. It was Frank! He wants us to fail. And what better way is there to do that than to make us take all of the recruits along?
“Finally,” continues Luca, “on this mission, you will be snatching from three other thieves. They may be armed.”
May be armed? What kind of intel is that? In any case, three armed thieves against two veteran time snatchers shouldn’t pose a problem . . .
Until you factor in Razor and Dmitri, that is.
Christmas Day, 1950, 1:59 A.M.
Westminster Abbey
London, England
Operation Coronation
We land a minute apart in an alley two blocks from Westminster Abbey. I check my fingernail. One minute to two o’clock in the morning, London time. Just about any second now . . . and there it is. The most famous clock tower bell in the world, Big Ben, begins to chime.
I go over the mission data in my head. The three thieves are college students—two guys and a girl. They will already be inside Westminster when we arrive there in five minutes. At precisely 2:10 A.M. local time, or ten minutes from now, they will lift the stone from its place in the Coronation Chair inside Edward the Confessor’s Chapel and proceed toward the southeast door at Poets’ Corner. However, at 2:20 A.M., a night watchman on his rounds will come too close for comfort and the thieves will abandon the stone on the floor of Poets’ Corner, only ten feet from the exit door. At precisely 2:45 A.M., they will reenter Westminster and complete the snatch.
So our window to complete the snatch will be twenty-five minutes—from 2:20 A.M., when they leave the stone, to 2:45 A.M., when they return to retrieve it.
I feel a rush of adrenaline and look over at the others. Abbie is stretching and Razor looks to be still time frozen, but Dmitri is already up and about, fiddling with something he has pulled from his pocket. Judith is watching Gerhard collect small stones and place them in perfectly straight lines. Each of us is wearing a heavy coat and winter boots for this mission, which is a good thing, because there is a definite nip in the air.
“What is that you’re holding, Dmitri?” I ask.
“You will soon see,” he answers evasively.
“Ready to rock,” announces Razor. “Get it, Dim? ‘Rock,’ as in ‘Stone’ of Destiny.”
Dmitri doesn’t appear to hear. He just keeps playing with his contraption.
“Okay,” I say. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We walk two blocks to Westminster Abbey. When we arrive, we split up—Judith and Gerhard, you’ll go with Abbie to a position near the night watchman’s station by the west door. Razor and Dmitri will come with me to the door at Poets’ Corner. When we get there, we sit tight until after the night watchman has made his rounds and the thieves have left.
“The first part of this mission is surveillance only. And you must observe not only with your eyes but also with your brain,” I say, throwing in an Uncle-ism.
“The brain does not have the capacity for observation,” says Dmitri. “It is inaccurate to speak of it in such a context.”
“All right, then forget that part,” I say. “Just watch what’s going on, okay?” I refuse to get into an argument with Dmitri over words.
“There’s something else you should all know,” I say. “This isn’t a training mission. Uncle is treating this as a regular mission. Which means that each of you will get credit if the mission succeeds . . . but if it fails, there will be punishment.”
“What kind of punishment?” says Razor.
“I don’t know. That’s up to Uncle . . . and Frank,” I say. “But trust me, it won’t be pretty.”
The recruits are silent for a moment and then Judith’s hand goes up.
“Why do they call it Poets’ Corner?” she asks.
“Lemme handle that one,” Razor says, turning to Judith. “It’s simple, Judy. It’s called that because that’s where they bury the really bad poets. They bury them alive, right under the floor. So, if I were you, I’d be keeping a low profile on this mission.”
Judith hisses at Razor, who ignores her.
“No more discussion,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We walk in silence, keeping to the shadows. After a few minutes, we round a corner and the two enormous towers of the west front of Westminster loom in front of us.
“Stay cool, Cale,” mindspeaks Abbie as we split up. She goes off with her recruits to find a hiding place with a view of the night watchman’s station. Razor, Dmitri and I continue along toward Poets’ Corner.
We pass a white car parked in the lane. I feel its hood as we walk by. Still warm.
Poets’ Corner comes into view. My heart skips a beat when I see a broken padlock lying on the ground next to the door. There’s no question: the thieves are inside.
I lead the recruits to a line of low sheds right across from the door and sit down to wait.
“Got any munchies?” Razor asks.
“No,” I say.
“This is boring,” she says.
I try to ignore her.
“I can’t take this anymore,” Razor says after about five seconds. “Why do we have to wait out here?”
“Because that’s the way we planned it,” I say.
A car engine starts up. That can’t be! The car parked in the lane was empty when we passed it. Also, no one has come out of the Poets’ Corner door, and the only other way for someone to approach the car is from the other side of Westminster, which wouldn’t have happened without Abbie noticing and mindpatching me.
Dmitri is chuckling softly.
“What did you do?” I ask, already guessing the answer.
“Drive it around, Dim!” Razor whispers.
“That is possible,” he says. “But to do so, I will need to be inside or in closer proximity to the vehicle.”
“How about the horn, then?” Razor says. “Give us a toot!”
“Don’t!” I mindshout. “Close it off, Dmitri. That’s their getaway car!”
“Exactly!” says Razor. “We don’t want them getting away, now do we? Trust me on this one, Dim’s got the right idea.”
I glare at her. Doesn’t she ge
t it that the stakes are a lot higher for this mission than all the others we’ve been on?
“No more car starting,” I say, grabbing the device from Dmitri. “Both of you, just watch the door.”
The next moment, I hear, “Hey, look at that!” and before I know it, I’m falling for the oldest trick in the book. By the time I look back at Razor, she’s already across the lane and halfway through the door.
“Come back!” I shout over her mindpatch, trying to inject as much threat as I can. She looks back once and smiles before disappearing inside.
I want to cry. My life is over. Maybe I can cut a deal with the thieves. I’ll trade them Razor and Dmitri for the Stone of Destiny. Better yet—I’ll give them Razor and Dmitri and they can also keep the stone.
Enough self-pity. I’ve got a decision to make. Go after Razor or stay put? And if I go after her, what do I do with Dmitri?
Just then I hear another noise. A creaking sound.
“Don’t turn anything on, and don’t move anything,” I whisper to Dmitri.
“Indubitably, I—”
“And don’t speak!”
Seconds later, the door to Poets’ Corner opens from the inside. A girl who looks about eighteen or twenty years old stands in the doorway. My first impression is that she doesn’t look at all like a thief. For one thing, she’s wearing high heels that must make a terrible racket when she walks. And second, a bright yellow scarf is wrapped around her neck—certainly not standard issue for thieves who work at night. She steps out of the shadow of the doorway, struggling to carry something bundled up in a sweater.
It can’t be! It’s too small to be the Stone of Destiny.
“Do you see her?” Razor says over my mindpatch.
“Yes,” I say. “Stay out of sight!”
“Don’t worry about me,” says Razor. “I’ve got a great hiding spot. Right next to the tomb of some dead guy. Looks like they must have dropped it.”
“What do you mean?” I say.
“She’s only got a piece of it.”
Time Trapped Page 15
