RICHARD UNGAR
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
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Copyright © 2012 by Richard Ungar.
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Published simultaneously in Canada. Printed in the United States of America.
Design by Marikka Tamura and Annie Ericsson. Text set in Minion.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ungar, Richard (Richard Glenn).
Time snatchers / Richard Ungar.
p. cm.
Summary: Thirteen-year-old orphan Caleb is a “time snatcher” who travels through history stealing valuable artifacts from the past for high-paying clients of his ruthless guardian.
[1. Time travel—Fiction. 2. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 3. Orphans—Fiction. 4. Crime—Fiction. 5. Science fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.U425Ti 2012
[Fic]—dc22
2011008017
ISBN: 978-1-101-56112-6
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
In memory of Philip Azimov
Table of Contents
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May 4, 2060, 7:16 P.M.
The Great Hall of the People, Beijing, China
I can’t stop crying.
I’d like to say that it’s the sight of the leaders of the two most powerful nations in the world shaking hands that’s got my faucets going. But to be honest, which I’ll admit is not a quality that most people connect with thieves, it’s my allergies that are making me teary.
It’s always like this for me in the spring. Especially when I’m around daffodils. And there must be ten thousand or more of the nasty yellow things, all prim and pretty for the special state visit of the president of the United States, here to ink the Great Friendship treaty with the president of China. I’m no expert on world politics, but I think the only reason the U.S. and China are becoming best friends is so they can buy each other’s stuff at half price.
I move upwind of the flowers. You’d think that in a city square ten times the size of Yankee Stadium I could find a little elbow room. The only available spot is shoulder to shoulder with some Boy Scouts wearing gray uniforms with yellow neckerchiefs who are probably attending this historic event just to score merit badges. But who am I to talk? The reason for my visit to Beijing isn’t any more noble. In fact, if those shiny-booted soldiers flanking the leaders knew the truth about why I’m here, they’d lead me away in handcuffs.
From my new spot, I’ve got a great view of one of the ten jumbo screens set up in the square. But as far as seeing the actual, breathing leaders, they’re not much bigger than specks. It might seem silly to travel all this way only to be watching the two great men on TV, but I don’t really mind. After all, they’re not why I came.
I’m much more interested in the building behind them: the Great Hall of the People. Personally, I would have named it the Great Big Hall of the People. The place is massive. Each of those tall gray marble pillars must weigh a ton. The odd thing is that it doesn’t fit in with any of the nearby buildings. The Great Hall is boxy and severe, while all the other buildings have sloping roofs and lots of curves. Don’t get me wrong. I like boxy and severe. Considering what I’ve come here to do, the flat roof is a definite bonus.
It’s drizzling, but no one in the huge crowd seems to mind. They’re all snapping pictures like crazy, and I don’t blame them. After all, it’s a truly historic occasion. The start of a golden era in U.S. and China relations isn’t something that happens every day.
The leaders are making their way down the front steps of the Great Hall shaking hands with each other’s second-in-command, third-in-command and fourth-in-command. I wonder what it must be like to be fourth-in-command of one of the strongest nations on earth. I suppose you have to be the patient sort. I mean, a lot of people ahead of you have to quit their jobs in order for you to rule the world.
I scan the crowd, looking for anyone who might cause trouble for me when it’s time to carry out the mission. You can never be too careful in my business. People generally don’t like to have their stuff stolen, so I like to do things under the radar. In this case, that means waiting a bit for the tourist count to go down and the honor guard with the cute but sharp bayonets at the ends of their rifles to go home for tea and dumplings.
Of course, I can’t wait forever. If I’ve learned anything about traveling through time, it’s that it’s tough on the body. After about fifty continuous minutes in the past, time fog sets in: you start feeling dizzy, your thoughts become jumbled, your motor functions start slowing down, and even putting one step in front of the other requires a huge effort. After three hours, your lungs shut down and you literally die from lack of oxygen. The longest I’ve been in the past at one stretch is fifty-seven minutes, and it’s a record I’m not keen on breaking. The only cure for time fog is to go back to the present, which for me means 2061, and stay there until it clears. That could take hours or, for a really bad case, a whole day.
That’s why Uncle has set a thirty-minute time limit on all missions to the past. Trust me, it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart; it was more because if we all started dropping
dead from time fog, he wouldn’t have anyone left to steal for him.
So the rule is if a snatch isn’t completed within a half hour, it’s recorded as a failed mission. On your first failed mission, you only get hauled into Uncle’s office and given a lecture. But if it happens twice in the same month, things can get a lot nastier; how much nastier depends on Uncle’s mood at the time. And three strikes is the worst: that’ll earn you a stint in the Barrens, a desolate and unforgiving wilderness where one month is the longest anyone has survived without going insane or dying.
A giggle catches my attention, and I turn to see a young boy wearing a red T-shirt that says BEIJING 2060, with a picture of a panda bear on it. He runs past me into the outstretched arms of his father. I watch, spellbound, as the father catches the boy and lifts him up high in the air before bringing him gently down to earth. The boy’s mother is following him and, after he lands, they’re all laughing and hugging each other.
My heart skips a beat. I wonder what that boy is feeling right now. Safe and secure, I bet. It must be amazing. To know you are loved. To know you are part of a real family.
I don’t have any of that.
No mother. No father. No brothers or sisters. Given up for adoption at the ripe old age of three. Yup. That’s me. Caleb the orphan, time-traveling thief. And seeing as I’m thirteen now, that means I’ve been family-less for ten years … but who’s counting?
Sure, I’ve got a roof over my head and three square meals a day, thanks to Uncle. And there is some companionship, if you can call it that, with the other time thieves, who are all more or less my age. But it would be a real stretch to call us a family.
I can remember a time when things were different. Uncle acted like a real uncle and used to take me and the four others he adopted on field trips to the zoo to see the cloned snow leopards and the talking chimps that swore at you if you got too close. And there were other fun outings to museums, art galleries and concerts—not only in the U.S. but all over the world. Uncle liked to say that we were being “worldschooled,” not homeschooled. He even had a name for us—his five orphantastics.
But a few years ago, everything changed. Uncle became moody and unpredictable. One minute he could be charming, and the next minute, he’d be getting out a pocket knife and reaching for your finger. My theory is that he’s always been crazy but just hid it better when we were young. Abbie, my longtime snatch partner and closest friend ever since we were small—correction, only friend since we were small—thinks he had some kind of nervous breakdown. Whatever the cause, it’s really stressful to be around him. So I try to keep my distance. Unfortunately that’s next to impossible, seeing as I live under his roof and he’s the type of boss who likes to keep close tabs on all of his “time snatchers,” as he calls us.
The crowd’s thinning. I’d better start looking busy or someone might wonder what I’m doing here. I take one last glance up at the roof of the Great Hall. There, fluttering in the breeze, is the thing I’ve traveled a year back in time and seven thousand miles west for: the first flag of the Great Friendship. To be honest, it’s nothing special: horizontal stripes of gold, red, blue and white—a combo of all of the colors in the Chinese and American flags. But I don’t care what it looks like. All I really care about is stealing it.
I head for the park across the street from the square. It’s sure taking a long time for that sun to go down. I could jump ahead in time a few minutes and get on with things, but who knows when I’ll be in China again? I might as well try to relax and enjoy being here.
Going to the park is a bit chancy with my allergies, but it’s either that or follow the noisy crowd to a place where the Chinese emperors used to hang out called the Forbidden City.
Entering the park through a gate flanked by two towering stone lions, I’m rewarded with quiet—exactly what I need before a mission. I stop for a moment on a wooden footbridge overlooking a small, still pond sprinkled with orchids. Not far away is a big grassy area where some adults in track suits are moving their arms and legs into graceful poses. Everything is so peaceful. Abbie would definitely love this place. But at the last second she got called in to be the third agent on a mission to 1671 England to steal the crown jewels from the Tower of London. So we’re in different centuries right now. It goes like that sometimes.
The light is finally fading. It’s time for me to do my thing. As I enter the square again, I become hyperaware of every little thing: the smell of those awful flowers, the laughter of a group of tourists. Even the feel of my footsteps on the concrete is magnified. Uncle says the Japanese have a word for this heightened sense of awareness: zanshin. But I just call it being sharp for the mission.
I hear a whirring sound and look up to see a helicopter. A big Russian job. It does a slow circle of the square and hovers for a moment right above the Great Hall before flying away.
There are only two tourist buses left in front of the Great Hall. I make sure no one’s on board, take up a position between them and crouch down. It’s possible someone could see me, but it’s not likely. After all, I’m really not that interesting to look at. At least not until I go poof and vanish.
What I see next makes me frown. The guys with the shiny boots and pointy rifles are still in position right outside the bronze entrance doors of the Great Hall. Then I remember that a special dinner honoring the two presidents is taking place inside.
Well, I’ll just have to work around them. Besides I don’t intend to go in. Only up.
I yawn and rub my eyes. Anyone watching would think I’m just another tourist dead on his feet from a full day of sightseeing. I even look the part: Great Friendship T-shirt, blue jeans, sandals and a green knapsack that has seen better days. But when I rub my eyes, I’m really adjusting my ocular implant to night vision. The closest member of the honor guard is about twenty yards away. I switch to high zoom and can easily see the tiny spot on the left side of his chin that he missed shaving this morning.
Noise from above makes me look up. The helicopter is back. Exactly five minutes after making its last round. All right, that means I have a little less than five minutes to do the snatch.
It’s showtime.
I tap my right wrist a few times. The tapping activates the time travel implant just under my skin. It’ll just be a short hop. Twenty yards ahead, one hundred feet up and four seconds forward in time.
Closing my eyes, I feel the familiar rush of a timeleap: three parts dizzy, four parts excited and two parts weird sensation of not knowing where I am.
I land, lying flat on my stomach on the roof. I can’t move. I’m still in time freeze mode: a state of total paralysis that happens after each leap through time. I’m not sure why it happens, but it has something to do with bodies adjusting to a new time/place. The good thing is that it doesn’t last long—two or three seconds, max. Of course, it’s all relative. Two or three seconds can go by awfully quickly when you land on a sandy beach in the summertime, but it can seem like forever when you turn up in the middle of a raging snowstorm wearing only your bathing suit.
The time freeze wears off but I stay still for a few seconds, listening. Just some faint traffic sounds coming from beyond the square. Rising to a low crouch, I glance around and get my bearings. I’m just about in the middle of the roof. Staying low, I crab walk my way toward the front of the building.
There, between the U.S. flag and the Chinese flag, is the flag of the Great Friendship. I lie back down on my belly and slither forward. Got to be extra careful now; I’m close to the front edge of the building, which means that the guards are right below. If I so much as sneeze, one of them is bound to hear me and say something … and odds are, it won’t be “God bless you.” Plus, even though I’d be surprised if the ancient Kalashnikovs they’re carrying actually worked, it’s not a chance I’m willing to take.
One more slither, and I’m there.
I hold up my left index finger. It’s seven thirty-eight P.M. local time, according to the readout under my f
ingernail. Oops. I had no idea it was that late.
I extend my right hand, place my fingertips on the flag and close my eyes, falling now into a deep meditative state. My fingers probe and compare the properties of the flag in my hand with the those of the original Great Friendship flag that were uploaded to my brain along with the rest of the mission data. The next moment, the answer comes back, and I breathe a little sigh of relief: it’s the real thing, all right—not a fake.
You never really know what you’re snatching until you do a scan. After all, the world’s full of thieves—not all of them time travelers—and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that another thief could have gotten here ahead of me and switched the original for a cheap replica. The last thing I’d want to do is bring a replica back to Headquarters. That’s a guaranteed failed mission.
No, the only thief I want switching the original for a cheap replica is me. Uncle’s big on keeping what we do real low-key, and the best way to do that is to make it look like no theft was ever committed.
Speaking of replicas, I pull one from my knapsack. Uncle’s assistant, Nassim, gave it to me for the mission. Personally, I think that it looks even better than the original, but no one’s paying me for my views on the subject. In fact, no one’s paying me for my snatches, either, unless you count the measly allowance Uncle gives out, which is hardly enough to buy afternoon snacks.
Money or no money, I have to admit that I love this part of my job. Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline right before a snatch. The more dangerous the mission, the greater the thrill. I’m not about to share this with Uncle, though. He’d probably find some way to take the fun out of it.
Laying the replica down, I feel around for the snaps holding the original to the pole. There are two of them. I try to unhook the snaps, but no go. I’ll have to cut the rope.
I pull my knife from my jeans pocket. This is the delicate part. Uncle’s clients are real picky types, and if I so much as nick the fabric, the customer will no doubt demand his money back. But that’s nothing compared to what Uncle will do to me if I mess up.
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