by Matt Hilton
‘It’s a moot point. Like I said, they’re out there alive and well and living different lives now.’
Heller surprised him by slipping her hand into his. He accepted the intimacy without question. Of all of humanity only he, Heller and Mina knew what had almost befallen them all. He was connected to both women now, and her hand in his was a comfort neither of them should be denied.
‘Terrence Semple is out there too,’ Heller said.
‘He’s no danger to us. When Mina and I intercepted his doppelgänger and took from him the Tempus blueprints, it effectively severed Semple’s inclusion in our timeline. We delivered the blueprints to Professor Docherty instead, and it was him who headed the project this time around. It was the only way that the breaches could be sealed, and to halt their destructive effect. Taking things back to source, we stopped that timeline from ever forming. Everything that happened there – apart from our memories – was consigned to limbo. It never happened. The versions of Coombs and Fox you think you killed: they don’t exist, and never will. Your conscience is clear.’
‘They don’t exist.’ Squeezing his hand, Heller asked, ‘Then how do you still exist, Rembrandt? When you stopped the assassination that led to the nuclear war and the formation of Old City, your friends from that dimension faded out of existence. By altering who developed the Tempus Project you also stopped our future from forming.’ She squeezed his hand a second time. ‘The dimension that gave us both life has gone and still you’re here. I’m here.’
Rembrandt shook his head, at a loss. ‘I’ve never given much credibility to the notion of God, but maybe there really is someone up there who likes me. Maybe He thought I deserved a break, eh? Maybe He needed you to stick around to get me home again.’
Heller squinted up at him. He winked, offering her a grin. ‘Perhaps He even has further plans for us, Elizabeth.’
Heller looked up at the sky. The lights of an airplane blinked overhead. Such a familiar sight to her, Rembrandt guessed, such a normal sight. He watched as she closed her eyes and exhaled once more.
‘Like you said, you’d go crazy if you thought about it too long. It’s probably best that we concentrate on something else. You said you had an idea about what to do about Mina?’
‘Maybe there’s a reason she didn’t fade out of existence,’ Rembrandt said. ‘Perhaps she deserves a break too.’
Chapter 46
March 2nd 1983
Euston Railway Station, London
‘Mina! What are you doing here? I thought…’
Mina was dressed in the clothing befitting a Detective Constable with the Metropolitan Police; a trouser suit, over a plain blouse, and flat, utilitarian shoes. Somewhere in the city was a Mina Feeney who was six years younger and a tad more jaded with her current employment. But Grace hadn’t seen her in two years so she might not be fully aware of the disparity in age or temperament with her sister in this timeline.
Grace Feeney was in London for a business meeting, having travelled down from their home city of Manchester on the early train. Three years younger than Mina, she still held that youthful glow, and was every bit as lovely as her sister. She was a couple of inches taller than Mina, but her high heels lent a couple inches more. She stood with her shoulders slightly hunched as she opened her arms to hug her unexpected greeter.
‘I heard you were coming into the city and being in the area thought I’d call by and say hi.’ Mina struggled to contain her tears. The last time she’d seen Grace her sister had been lying in a hospital bed, a cadaverous straw figure, seconds from death. She took her sister in her arms, kissing her on her cheek. She’d barely release the hug, unaware of the throng of humanity rushing past them, some for Euston Road and points beyond, others into the station. Grace also held on. When finally Mina slowly retracted from her sister, tears ran freely down her cheeks.
‘God, sis, it’s so good to see you,’ she said, her voice a whisper.
‘You too, Mina.’ Grace took a step back, scrutinizing her sister. ‘What’s with the short hair? Is that a Met thing?’
‘It’s easier to control when I’ve to get back into uniform. Don’t forget I’m only on attachment to CID. I’m not a full DC yet.’
‘The job seems to suit you. You look radiant. Oh, wait…’ Grace leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Is there some significant other I should know about?’
‘Just don’t tell Mom and Dad, yeah?’ Mina went along with the game. ‘Mom will plan to have me married off before I know it.’
‘So you do have a bloke? Or is that butch hairdo a sign of something else I should keep secret?’
Mina play-thumped her sister’s shoulder.
‘Give over. Yes, I’m seeing someone. I’m not sure what you’d make of him, he’s like one of a kind, you know?’
‘He’s a copper? Like you?’
‘In a manner of speaking…’
‘So what are my chances of meeting him?’
‘Sorry. Not on this trip, Grace.’
‘Another time then?’
‘Yeah.’
The sisters stood looking at each other.
Finally Grace broke the silence.
‘What is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s something wrong. I can always tell when you’re holding something back, Mina.’
Mina lowered her head. Gimlets of moisture beaded on her lashes. ‘I…I never got the opportunity to say goodbye, or that…that I loved you.’
Grace leaned in and held her. ‘Hell. You only moved to London, sis. It isn’t like it’s the end of the earth. And I knew that you loved me. Anyway, you’re saying it now, and it’s great to be able to say it back. I love you, too.’
‘You don’t know how much that means to me.’
Grace squeezed Mina, then released her.
‘So what are we going to do now the tearful reunion’s out of the way. I’ve time before I have to book into my hotel. Want to grab a coffee or something? You can tell me all about this mystery man of yours.’
‘I wish I could, but I can’t.’ Mina offered a sad smile. ‘In fact, I’m sorry, I have to be going. I just dropped by to say hi, but there’s someplace I have to be.’ She checked her watch. ‘Very soon.’
Grace was crestfallen. ‘I wish we could have had more time together. Look, I’m in town for two nights, we could…’
‘Sorry, Grace. I’m working on something very important at the moment, and there’s no way I can get away. But soon, yeah?’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’ The sisters hugged and kissed again, and then Mina turned towards the stairs that led down to the underground taxi station. She stopped. Grace had picked up her small suitcase, but hadn’t moved away. She was watching Mina still, and her eyes were glassy with tears, but a faint smile of joy played on her lips. They’d had less than two minutes together, but both sisters would treasure them.
‘I was going to take a taxi, too,’ Grace said, ‘but it’s not far to my hotel. It’s such a lovely day I think I’ll walk there instead.’
‘I think that’s a great idea,’ said Mina.
Grace waved, and Mina smiled. She was about to turn for the stairs when she stopped again.
‘Grace?’
‘Yeah?’
‘When you have your first child, don’t name her after me, OK. Mina’s such an old-fashioned name. Call her Melody or something sweet like that.’
‘I’m not pregnant,’ Grace said.
‘I’m sure that one day you will be,’ Mina said, and then turned away before Grace had the chance to ask what she was talking about.
As Mina went down the stairs to the subterranean car park the stinking exhaust fumes assaulted her nostrils.
‘One day you will be,’ she repeated at a whisper. ‘But this time it won’t be to a diseased rapist.’
Waiting for her on the elevated platform alongside the taxi queue was James Rembrandt. She caught him checking his watch, and then as he noticed her he
shook his head, scolding her mildly.
‘Sorry for cutting things so close, Chief,’ she said, moving alongside him.
‘It’s OK, but I’m starting to get some funny looks from the taxi supervisor over there. He’s probably wondering why I keep passing on a ride.’
Mina checked her watch. ‘We’ve still thirty seconds. Originally Grace got off her train, spent some time wandering around the station, then she grabbed a coffee from a stand outside before finding her way down to the taxi rank.’
‘You managed to subtly steer her away from here then?’
‘She’s walking to her hotel, her future has changed, everything will be different from here on in.’
‘So the mission’s a success?’ Rembrandt asked.
‘I still feel the vengeful type if that’s what you mean?’
‘Then it isn’t over.’ Rembrandt indicated a black Hackney cab approaching through the underground car park. In the driver’s position was a skinny, lank-haired man of mixed race. As he drew alongside them, Rembrandt leaned down and said, ‘Can you take us to Heathrow Airport, mate?’
The driver nodded sourly, jutting out his jaw. Rembrandt noted the Borstal ink on his left cheek, blue and faded now with age. The driver, Jacob Brown, was a repeat offender, a sex fiend and also the vessel of a ticking time bomb he was glad to share around.
This had all started with a rapist. Though Jacob Brown hadn’t also been a cannibal like the creature back in Old City, he was every bit as insidious a criminal. Warren Frome had died under Rembrandt’s heel, his trachea smashed to mush after the safe extraction of Laura Charles. Rembrandt would like to choke Jacob Brown in his own blood too, but this time he was happy to defer. After all, as she said, Mina was the vengeful one.
Containing her anger that she had her sister’s would-be rapist within three feet of her, Mina slid inside the back seat of the cab. Rembrandt was just about to duck inside after her, when he paused with his hand on the door.
Running down the steps ahead of her parents was a young girl. Blond haired and blue eyed, dressed a little boyish in a Chelsea football top and shorts and trainers. Beleaguered by suitcases and shopping bags her parents struggled to keep up with her pace. Her young mother, the spitting double of whom the little girl would grow up to be spoke with a Polish accent as she called to her daughter to slow down.
‘You’d best wait on your parents,’ Rembrandt urged the little girl as she came to a skidding halt a couple of feet away from him.
Wary of the big, scarred man, the little girl took a pace backwards, but then looked up at him with rekindled interest. Rembrandt watched the workings of her mind through the expressions flitting over her face. She was juggling with that sense of déjà vu that told her she recognized his face but from where, or how, she couldn’t fathom.
‘Stay safe and have a good life, Crystal,’ Rembrandt said and then slid inside the cab, alongside Mina. He closed the door and again met the little girl’s gaze as she peered back at him in some form of wonderment. She was probably trying to work out how he’d known her name. Rembrandt winked at her, and mouthed the words, ‘It’s magic.’
Jacob Brown steered the taxi up the ramp, and was immediately halted by cross traffic on the side street leading to Euston Road. ‘You said, Heathrow, yeah?’ he called without turning his head. He was too busy eyeing up Mina in the rear-view mirror.
‘Yes,’ Rembrandt said, ‘although there might be a brief stop off along the way. I’ll let you know where and when, OK?’
Rembrandt craned around. He could still see down the ramp to where the Kwolek family had replaced their position at the front of the small queue. Crystal was ignoring her mother’s exhortations to step back from the edge of the platform as she stared after the taxi. Her father finally laid down some of his bags and took the little girl’s hand. She was safe. She’d have a good life now. Out there Brent Walker, Harry Bowlam, Jamal Dhand and Benny Oxford would all be alive, blissfully unaware of their averted future lives. They were safe. They’d have good lives too.
Rembrandt placed his hand down by his side, and Mina turned hers over and laced fingers with him. He could feel her shivering with anticipation of what was to come. It was a mixture of excitement and loathing.
Now it was time to put things right for Mina. She too would have a safe and good life.
Jacob Brown wouldn’t.
Thanks (and a brief explanation):
Thank you to Luigi Bonomi, Thomas Stofer and, Sci-Fi legend John Jerrold, for all the invaluable advice and well-meaning criticism directed my way during the completion of this book. When I sat down to write TEMPUS: The Phoenix Man it was with a number of huge ‘what if?’ questions hanging in the air above my head. I’d long wondered if science had got it right, or if there was more to discover about what we already knew about time. I asked, what if popular understanding of time was wrong? What if all time only existed in the here and now, our past, present and future, all contemporaneous, but acting out on different dimensions? What if we discovered how to traverse those dimensions so that we could visit those other times and places? My theories are a paradigm shift and are most likely flawed, possibly ludicrous, but I thought, ‘Hell, this is speculative fiction! Can’t I just make this stuff up?’ Well, apparently not. Even something as high concept as my ideas needed to be grounded in reality and, dare I say it, science. Without the calming influence, and wise words from Messrs Bonomi, Stofer and Jerrold then this finished novel would have been wilder indeed. As it is, I’ve taken liberties with the laws of physics, but I hope you’ll allow me the lassitude for the sake of telling James Rembrandt’s story.
A special thank-you also goes to fellow author, and friend, Lee Hughes, for being an enthusiastic beta reader.
About Matt Hilton:
Matt Hilton quit his career as a police officer to pursue his love of writing tight, cinematic action thrillers. He is the author of the high-octane Joe Hunter thriller series, including his most recent novel ‘The Devil’s Anvil’ – Joe Hunter 10 - published in June 2015 by Hodder and Stoughton. His first book, ‘Dead Men’s Dust’, was shortlisted for the International Thriller Writers’ Debut Book of 2009 Award, and was a Sunday Times bestseller, also being named as a ‘thriller of the year 2009’ by The Daily Telegraph. Dead Men’s Dust was also a top ten Kindle bestseller in 2013. The Joe Hunter series is widely published by Hodder and Stoughton in UK territories, and by William Morrow and Company and Down and Out Books in the USA, and have been translated into German, Italian, Romanian and Bulgarian. As well as the Joe Hunter series, Matt has been published in a number of anthologies and collections, and has published novels in the supernatural/horror genre, namely ‘Preternatural’, ‘Dominion’, ‘Darkest Hour’ and ‘The Shadows Call’. Also, he has a brand new thriller series featuring Tess Grey and Nicolas “Po’boy” Villere debuting in November 2015, with ‘Blood Tracks’ from Severn House Publishers. He is currently working on the next Joe Hunter novel, as well as a stand-alone thriller novel.
www.matthiltonbooks.com
@MHiltonauthor
www.facebook/MattHiltonAuthor
Other Books by the Author
Joe Hunter thriller series:
Dead Men’s Dust
Judgement and Wrath
Slash and Burn
Cut and Run
Blood and Ashes
Dead Men’s Harvest
No Going Back
Rules of Honour
The Lawless Kind
The Devil’s Anvil
Joe Hunter short stories:
Joe Hunter: Six of the Best
Dead Fall
Red Stripes
Joe Hunter: Instant Justice
Tess Grey and Nicolas “Po’boy” Villere
Blood Tracks
Horror/Sci-Fi/Fantasy novels:
Dominion
Darkest Hour
Preternatural
The Shadows Call
Mark Darrow and the Stealer of Souls
T
empus: The Phoenix Man
Matt Hilton Short Story anthologies:
Dirk Ramm: Suited and Booted
One Twisted Voice
Matt Hilton short stories (in anthologies and collections):
Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol 1
Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol 2
Booze and Ooze
Blood Bath
Uncommon Assassins
Death Toll 2: Hard Targets
Holiday of the Dead
Grand Central Noir
Even More Tonto Short Stories
True Brit Grit
Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9
The Strand Magazine Issue XL 2013
The Noir Moon
SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest
Off The Record 2 – At The Movies
