He put in the classical CD he had found and turned up the volume until the strains of Debussy’s The Cathedral under the Sea transported him to an altogether lovelier and more mysterious place than the scruffy interior of his car. But he soon became dimly conscious of a noise, a rhythmic engine noise above the loud music, although he had not seen any other vehicles on the road for miles. He drove on, the hawthorn hedgerows flashing past him, their bare, thorny branches illuminated for an instant before disappearing into the engulfing darkness. It had been drizzling for a while, but now a real deluge was beginning. Fat raindrops rolled across the windscreen. The wipers scraped the glass out of time with the music and the headlights lit up sparkling ropes of rain. Inspector Wheeler leaned forward and peered out at the pitch-black countryside. Suddenly a light bounced off the rearview mirror, strong enough to dazzle him momentarily. He checked the road behind, but there was nothing there. It happened again. Then he realized that the noise of which he had been intermittently aware was becoming louder—or nearer. The uneasy feeling which he had been experiencing immediately intensified. He turned off the music and jammed his fingers on all four switches at once to open the electric windows and listen to what was going on. He heard his tires splattering over the wet tarmac, the grating of the rubber wipers on the windscreen, and then the whup-whup-whup of a helicopter. He thrust his head out of the window and looked up. A helicopter was mirroring the course of his car perhaps one hundred feet above him. A small warning light blinked on its tail. Inspector Wheeler looked away just in time—the road had swerved to the left and now he was driving on the wrong side of the road and was about to topple into a ditch. The tires squealed as he corrected his position.
Suddenly the car was caught in a perfect circle of dazzling light and a voice boomed out above him. It was a man’s voice, with an American accent.
“Sir, you’ve driven into a military exercise, please pull over.”
Inspector Wheeler was so astonished he carried on driving. The helicopter flew lower.
“Sir, for your own safety, please cooperate and stop your car.”
Inspector Wheeler put his foot on the brake and drew slowly to a halt. This was absurd! How could the military take over a country road like this? There hadn’t been any signs…. Surely he would have been informed!
The helicopter ascended vertically into the air, circled for a moment overhead and then landed twenty yards in front of him, its propellers rotating deafeningly over the open road. Finding himself once more in darkness, Inspector Wheeler stepped out of the car into the rainy night and was buffeted by the blast of wind that nearly knocked him off his feet. He was furious. And he was going to demand to speak to the pilot’s senior officer. The Inspector had taken only a few steps when the blinding beam of light was again directed straight at him. He covered his eyes and squinted through the gaps in his fingers.
“What on earth do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted.
The glass door of the helicopter slid open. He was expecting to see a figure in military uniform emerge. Instead, a slim, athletic man in jeans and a black leather jacket dropped lightly to the ground. His dark hair was scraped back in a ponytail, and when he stepped into the light, Inspector Wheeler saw something which made his blood run cold: The man sported an impressive scar on one cheek, a lurid white slash of a scar which started above one eyebrow and curved down to below his jaw.
The Tar Man! Inspector Wheeler did not hesitate. He turned on his heels and ran toward his car. The Tar Man immediately launched into a sprint, accelerating effortlessly so that by the time the policeman was at the car door he was upon him. Inspector Wheeler threw himself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. The Tar Man grabbed hold of the handle and pulled it open again. With both hands the policeman tugged at the door with every last ounce of his strength, and for a moment, the door remained half-open with neither of the two men gaining the advantage. Then the Tar Man lost his grip on the wet chrome and in that instant the policeman was able to pull the door shut and lock it. The Tar Man immediately started aiming high kicks at the driver’s window with his powerful legs but was taken aback when it would not break. Inspector Wheeler switched on the ignition and put the car into reverse. As the car careered backward, the Tar Man dived onto the hood. The Inspector steered sharply to one side, but the Tar Man grabbed hold of the wipers to avoid slipping off and pulled himself up again toward the glass, leering at him through the windscreen. Inspector Wheeler prepared to reverse diagonally across the road, but as he looked up their eyes met. In that split second, as the Tar Man’s eyes bore into him, the policeman sensed the chill of fear rise up in him and, to his shame, knew he had been unable to conceal it.
Suddenly, agile as an acrobat, the Tar Man jumped up and balanced on the center of the hood, hands on hips, and looked down at Inspector Wheeler.
“I would talk with you, policeman,” he shouted through the window. “Must I persuade you or will you accept my invitation?”
Inspector Wheeler jammed his foot on the accelerator pedal. The Tar Man leaped nimbly to the ground before he was thrown off and bounded back toward the helicopter. Inspector Wheeler turned the car in a full circle, came out of reverse gear, and drove off into the darkness at top speed. He needed to find cover as soon as possible, somewhere where a helicopter could not get at him. There was a small wood, not much more than a thicket, perhaps a mile or two away. Inspector Wheeler drove like he had never driven before. The countryside flew by and the needle of his speedometer soon flickered over maximum. Yet moments later he could sense the shuddering vibration of the helicopter behind him—and it was getting closer.
The machine hovered overhead like a hawk, still and deadly, waiting for the right moment to strike. Inspector Wheeler was in a cold sweat. How much longer before he reached the cover of trees? Then, to his horror, he saw the helicopter descending in front of him, blocking his path. Instinctively he braked hard to avoid crashing into it but instantly realized his mistake. He should have kept on going, for the pilot would assuredly have got out of the way in time. But it was too late now. A burned, acrid smell laced the air, the car went into a slow skid and finally came to a halt, sideways on, only feet away from the helicopter. Inspector Wheeler was thrown forward over the steering wheel and when he looked up he could discern the Tar Man and the ex-marine who flew the machine looking down at him, smiles of satisfaction on their faces. Anger began to win out over fear and Inspector Wheeler growled with rage. The Tar Man leaned over toward the microphone.
“Have you had enough sport, Inspector Wheeler, or shall we continue awhile? For my part, rarely have I been more diverted, yet I can see that you are no longer in the bloom of youth….”
Thin-lipped, Inspector Wheeler revved up the engine and pulled violently on the steering wheel, turning his car around in one smooth maneuver. He raced down the road the way that he had come, plunging ever deeper into the black countryside. The helicopter immediately took off and hovered only a few feet above the roof of the car. Trying to shake it off, the Inspector performed an emergency stop, immediately followed by a three-point turn, and set off again in the direction of the wood. He could see nothing but the rain teeming down like shining needles in front of his headlights. All at once the helicopter found him again, and, to his joy, as the beam of light was directed on him once more, he was able to distinguish, ghostly pale, the bare skeletons of winter trees a short distance away. If he had been riding a horse instead of driving a car he would have dug in his spurs and cracked his whip. Anything to get into the safety of the wood. As it was, he pushed down the accelerator pedal with all his might, uselessly, as his foot could not go any farther.
Moments later Inspector Wheeler penetrated the wood while, frustrated, the helicopter pilot was forced to make a rapid ascent. The Inspector released his foot from the accelerator and the car glided through the trees. His mobile phone, he realized, was in the pocket of his tweed coat in the trunk. He debated with himself whether or not he
wanted to risk getting out of the car and calling for reinforcements…. In the heat of the moment it seemed like a good idea to turn his headlights off to make tracking him more difficult.
BAM!
Something came crashing out of the darkness at him, and the car rocked violently forward and backward, throwing the Inspector, who was not wearing a safety belt, against the steering wheel. Pain stabbed at his forehead and garish colors clouded his vision, and in those few seconds before he lost consciousness he berated himself for his stupidity….
When he started to come round, a few minutes later, he pushed himself up and sat upright, dazed and nauseous. His rib cage ached where it had slammed into the steering wheel, and he felt a sharp pain in his neck. It was still night, but it was no longer pitch black, for the first thing he saw, in his rearview mirror, was light streaming into the wood from the helicopter. Walking away from the car into the light, and sharply silhouetted against it, was the figure of a tall, powerfully built man. The body of a young deer was draped around his shoulders. Its head flopped up and down with each stride. Dazed, the Inspector leaned back and rested his head on the neck rest. He rubbed his forehead, palmed his sore eyes, and groaned.
“I am fond of roast venison,” said a voice quietly from the back of the car.
Inspector Wheeler cried out and his whole body jolted with the awful shock of it. The Tar Man was behind him! He fumbled to reach the door handle, but the Tar Man had a cord around his neck before he could get a grip. He clutched at the Tar Man’s arms, trying to pull him off. He gasped for breath and kicked out futilely, feeling the cord burning into his skin and pressing against his windpipe.
“Keep still and I shall be gentle with you. Do you understand?”
Inspector Wheeler made a nodding movement with his head. The Tar Man relaxed his grip a little.
“What do you want?” asked the Inspector in a strangulated whisper.
“I have need of some intelligence. I seek an antigravity machine…. I believe you know of what I speak.”
Inspector Wheeler’s mind raced. The Tar Man wanted to get his hands on the antigravity machine! He was wreaking enough havoc in the twenty-first century with his ability to blur. He did not like to think what he could do with a time machine…. Initially he had been shocked when Dr. Pirretti said she intended destroying all evidence of their discovery of time travel. In that moment he totally understood her reasoning.
“Why are you asking me? If you want to know about an experimental machine you should be asking NASA….”
The cord tightened a notch.
“Inspector Wheeler, I would not for the world detain you any longer than need be, but please be assured that I shall squeeze the last breath out of your body if you do not tell me what I need to know. I shall, in any case, find it out one way or another. It is remarkable what means spies have at their disposal in your century….”
“In my century?” said Inspector Wheeler.
“Pray don’t try to hoodwink me, Inspector. You know precisely who I am and where I come from. And I have had you followed. Snippets of a conversation overheard not an hour since have already been conveyed to me. What I want to know is this: I am now of the opinion that there are two antigravity machines. Where are they?”
The cord tightened again. Inspector Wheeler remained still and silent.
“’Tis a pity that you display so little common sense and that I must resort to violence,” remarked the Tar Man. “But I am a man of my word.”
He pulled steadily on the cord until the policeman started to choke. He was not even aware of his arms and legs thudding against the window and the steering column, and soon he barely had the strength to struggle. His eyes were open, and as the functioning of his brain slowed down, it seemed to him that the roof of the car was a gray sea and that he was drowning in it….
“All right … !” he gasped.
The Tar Man loosened the cord at once and gave him a few seconds to recover.
“You and your kind would gladly wipe me from the face of the earth, would you not, Inspector Wheeler? That much hasn’t changed. But I shall show you more mercy than ever was shown to me. I give you a final chance.”
The Inspector spoke with difficulty and in a rasping voice. “I’ll tell you where they are, but it won’t do you any good. You can’t get at them…. Kate Dyer and Peter Schock’s father stole the first machine shortly after your arrival here. They went back to 1763 to find the boy. They haven’t been seen or heard of since. Dr. Pirretti brought a second version over from the States last week.”
“The States?”
“America. I witnessed Dr. Dyer return to the past only this morning. He means to rescue all three of them. But I don’t rate his chances.”
“Are there any other machines?”
“No.”
“And … what is the name of the handsome woman who was with you in the car this morning? This is not the first time our paths have crossed.”
Inspector Wheeler hesitated but realized that the information could be readily obtained—and his windpipe had taken enough punishment….
“Dr. Anita Pirretti of NASA.”
“Pirretti,” said the Tar Man, rolling his r’s. “Thank you, Inspector.”
The Tar Man withdrew his hands and slipped the cord from around the Inspector’s neck and got out of the car. Inspector Wheeler, trembling with shock and holding on to his throat with both hands, observed his nemesis depart in the rearview mirror and did not dare move until he saw him disappear into the helicopter which, seconds later, took off and was speeding over the desolate countryside back toward London.
Inspector Wheeler staggered to the back of his car and felt for his mobile phone deep in the pocket of his great tweed coat. “Nobody,” he croaked, “does that to Dan Wheeler and gets away with it….”
NINETEEN
THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR
In which the town of Arras suffers a violent thunderstorm and the party reaches its destination
Louis-Philippe did not appear at supper and the innkeeper told them that he had asked for something to be sent up to his room. Peter knocked at his door before retiring for the night, but there was no reply. Immediately on rising, at daybreak, Peter knocked at Louis-Philippe’s door again, only to find that he had already left, having hired a fast horse procured for him by the innkeeper. The atmosphere at breakfast was, in consequence, tense.
“If anything happens to him,” said Kate, looking around her to make sure she would not be overheard, “it will be our fault! He’s an aristocrat in the middle of the French Revolution!”
“It is a day’s ride to Arras and he is familiar with the route,” returned Peter. “I scarcely think he needs our protection…. And if he does, he should not have acted so irresponsibly.”
Mr. Schock and Hannah held their peace, even though both had been badly frightened and had spent half of the previous evening coping with wet clothes and arranging a passage for the Frenchwoman on the Dover packet. Kate could tell at a glance that Joshua was still as furious with her as she was with him. Before they left, the innkeeper’s wife remembered to tell them that the handsome young gentleman had asked her to pass on his compliments to them and, as he would be traveling on alone, to wish them a pleasant journey.
“That was kind of him to wish us a pleasant journey,” said Hannah.
“Yes, it certainly was,” said Kate pointedly.
The open carriage they had been obliged to hire was not comfortable. They felt every stone they rode over, although the quality of the gravel road impressed the English visitors; it was broad and paved in the middle and did not have the same number of bone-shaking potholes that they were accustomed to in England. At first they passed through a series of verdant valleys, but soon the countryside started to look parched and less fertile; they saw herds of swine grazing on the low hills and, occasionally, fields of thin cows. The laborers who worked the land appeared malnourished and worn down by their toil.
It was e
arly evening before they caught their first sight of Arras. When the town and its cathedral came into view in the far distance, a spontaneous cheer erupted from the coach, causing flocks of tiny birds to rise up from the scrubby undergrowth and the skittish mare to come to a halt. Everyone was exhausted from being jolted and shaken around the entire day and—despite the handkerchiefs which Hannah had tied around them—Peter’s hands were bleeding from pulling on the ropes that harnessed the horses to the dilapidated coach.
The sun was now hidden behind thick clouds, and the air was heavy and humid. Swallows swooped low in search of midges, and as the hours and miles passed by, the landscape took on an ominously dark cast. Billowing, purple clouds edged with yellow raced across the sky and a great, gusting wind blew up from the west. Soon they saw a flicker of lightning on the horizon and then, several seconds later, the first rumbles of thunder reached them. They saw gray curtains of rain appear which were headed in their direction. Forked lightning was now striking the countryside repeatedly, and thunder rolled across the landscape, so loud that Kate clapped her hands over her ears. Peter and Mr. Schock exchanged glances. This was a bad storm. Abruptly the wind dropped and the air felt curiously warm. Kate realized that the birds had stopped singing. All around them the countryside was enveloped in threatening stillness.
“We’re in the eye of the storm!” she murmured.
The horses stopped of their own volition and stood, ears pricked back, waiting…. Peter dropped the reins and for a moment no one spoke, looking around them, hardly daring to breathe. A second later several jagged flashes of electric blue streaked simultaneously across the heavens. It was instantly followed by an explosive crack of thunder. Kate jumped with the violence of it. Then the rain hit. It came at them in horizontal, icy sheets and lashed at them mercilessly. It set off the horses and before Peter could catch hold of the reins again, they were galloping, out of control, headed for some tall trees.
THE TIME THIEF Page 29
