by Jon Steele
Harper checked the action in the rear compartment. One of the guards was fitting an oxygen mask over Katherine Taylor’s face while another opened a valve releasing God-knows-what into her lungs. The lad’s cat had found his way back to her and curled up next to her on the gurney.
“Hey,” the roadie said, “she’s in good hands.”
Harper nodded. “How long have you known about this new potion?”
“Since you went in with the plastic chicken. As you may have gathered by smashing it to bits, it was more than it appeared.”
“What did it do?”
“It was a gizmo from Gobet’s biomechanics, the same guys who made your bioskin gloves. It collected and analyzed Katherine Taylor’s DNA signature floating around inside the warp. Flakes of skin, hair follicles, exhaled carbon dioxide. The data was uploaded on my onboard computers when I crashed through the perimeter. Results matched trace from—”
“Wait a sec. The egg timer I had to crank every fifteen minutes was a biotelemetry device?”
“And to keep you straight when we thought the time warp was operating at a four-to-one ratio like I told you at EPFL. But yeah, primarily it did other stuff.”
“You bastard.”
“Hey, don’t go there. They didn’t know if the thing would work, and I didn’t want to bore you with details. You had enough to worry about. And they couldn’t use a battery without igniting the ash cloud, so you had to power it the old-fashioned way.”
Harper stared at him. “You said you picked it up at a hardware store in Renens.”
“That particular hardware store is a front for Inspector Gobet’s biomechanics. Needless to say, Gobet isn’t pleased you broke his chicken. It was a one-off.”
“Too bloody bad.”
Just then the high trees beyond the windshield swayed and black dust kicked up from the black hole in the ground. Harper leaned forward, looked up at the starry night. A dark shadow drifted over the trees, then descended through the sky to blot out the stars. It was a Sikorsky-class helicopter landing in black ops mode without anti-collision or position lights. And though the main and tail rotors were spinning furiously, it was almost silent. It touched down in the middle of the road and the side hatch slid open. Red interior lights revealed the unmistakable form of the cop in the cashmere coat. He climbed out of the chopper followed by Mutt and Jeff. They marched toward the bus. Harper looked at Krinkle.
“I guess he really is pissed off.”
“He’s also Madame Taylor’s ticket out of here. There’s a hospital jet waiting in Spokane. Gobet’s taking her to Switzerland.”
“I thought we were waiting for orders to roll, I thought we were taking her. Your bus can get there in three and a half hours.”
Krinkle pressed a button on the dashboard. The high-pressure seals hissed and the door to the real world opened.
“Speed isn’t the problem, brother. It’s getting her out of here without the bad guys knowing she’s gone. Besides, you and I got another job. Look out, the squad needs to get by you.”
Harper turned around and saw the squad carrying Katherine through the bus. When she got closer, he saw her eyes looking at him. She was going deep, but she was trying to hold focus on Harper. Please.
“No, hang on. You can’t do this to her.”
“Step aside, Mr. Harper. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”
Harper turned to the voice calling from outside the bus. It was Inspector Gobet.
“Let me at least go with her, Inspector. She’s in bad shape, she needs me,” Harper said.
“You? You’re a killer, Mr. Harper, not a guardian angel. Trust me, you’re the last thing she needs.”
“For Christ’s sake, Inspector, she’s had enough.”
The Inspector glared. “Be that as it may, Mr. Harper, if you do not get out of the way right now, my men will drag you off the bus and remind you of your place. And Madame Taylor will still be put on the helicopter with me.”
Harper flashed Katherine in the bunker: Once upon a time the cop, you, and all your fucking friends crawled out of the same stinking gutter.
“Get stuffed,” Harper said.
Those were the last words he spoke till he came to, lying on the floor of the bus, his head throbbing to a heavy four-four beat. Krinkle was at his control panel with his headphones on; reel-to-reels were rolling and music was blaring through the speakers just like old times. The roadie noticed Harper regaining consciousness. He switched off the speakers, pulled off the headphones, spun around in his chair, and offered Harper a cup of steaming tea.
“What happened?” he said.
“I hit you with a little something to shut you the fuck up, much to the disappointment of Gobet’s muscle. They were anxious to beat the crap out of you. The guards carried Madame Taylor off the bus and away they flew, us too.”
“Where are we going?”
“Sixty-one north at one forty-nine west. More or less.”
“And that would be?”
“Alaska.”
Harper’s mind had fogged up and it took a couple seconds to work out the location on a map. He felt the back of his neck where the needle had jabbed him.
“You really like to jab people with needles, don’t you?”
“Me? Fuck no. Needles give me the creeps. But I needed to shut you the fuck up.”
Harper sat up against the wall, took the tea, had a sip. “What’s in the tea?”
“Essence of Ornithogalum umbellatum.”
“Tastes flowery.”
“It is. Star of Bethlehem, it’s called. I added a spoonful of organic honey to sweeten it. Drink it.”
“Orders from the cop?”
“Nope. It’s a homeopathic doodah Karoliina whipped up for me once. In the real world it helps dogs adjust to the sorrow of loss.”
“The sorrow of loss. In dogs.”
“Yup. Drink some more.”
Harper did, then he chuckled. “Your dream catcher prescribes you herbal remedies for sorrowful dogs?”
“Karoliina says the closest thing to a genuine angel on earth is a dog. Finish it.”
“If you say so.” Harper downed the brew.
“Feel better?” Krinkle said.
“Arf.”
“Good boy. Let’s go walkies.”
Harper blinked.
He was back in the office of Arctic X Air Services at the end of his sixth trip on the cosmic merry-go-round. He’d been looping through beforetimes, unable to get a lock on nowtimes. Finishing the article on the peaceniks at Qumran for a seventh time and setting the newspaper on the leather settee, he watched Krinkle continue with his breaking-and-entering rampage, on a computer this time, and asked him the meaning of this and that . . . And while you’re at it, what are we doing here? Harper felt the cosmic merry-go-round slam to a stop, aware of what had been causing him to loop through beforetimes. It was a single frame of Katherine Taylor on his timeline, a twenty-fourth of a second of real time. Not enough to see, but enough to cause a skip in his mental processing. She was staring at him with such agony in her eyes: Harper? The frame had lodged itself in his timeline like someone desperately holding on and not wishing to let go. But it was not her holding on, it was him holding on to her. Then the microchip embedded in the hippocampus region of his brain kicked in and began to erase the image so Harper could restart his mental processing and get on with the bloody job. As the image was wiped away, he felt something dig at his guts. The sorrow of loss it was.
“Right.”
He lifted the newspaper, read the byline under the headline.
Special to 24 Heures by Julian Magnolly in Jerusalem
He detected incoming lines of causality.
FOURTEEN
Katherine saw herself as the twelve-year-old girl she once was, wearing the white blouse, blue skirt, white socks, and black patent leather shoes of her school uniform. The noon bell had rung and she was with the other girls of her class, who in two perfectly formed lines followed Siste
r Superior through a long hall. The old nun wore a black habit and veil with a white coif fitted tight around her wrinkled face. She led her flock with determined steps, and Katherine watched the long rosary dangling from the nun’s belt. The black wooden beads and metal links rattled against the silver cross bearing the crucified Christ.
The hall opened to a colonnade running through a garden. It was late in the spring term; the air was fresh and the sun was warm. Katherine smelled orange blossoms and jasmine. In the middle of the garden a stone grotto sheltered the lifelike statue of the school’s patron, Our Lady of Peace, the Virgin Mother. She wore a white veil over her hair, and a white tunic with a gold belt, and there was a blue cloak over her shoulders. She held a small wooden cross in her arms. Three letters, IHS, were carved into the cross. She stood atop a rocky hill, and her bare right foot was crushing the head of a serpent. The statue’s ceramic blue eyes watched all passersby.
“Mother Mary is always watching you,” the old nun often said with a tone of admonishment for sins past and yet to be committed.
As she walked by the statue now, Katherine’s cheeks reddened with shame. Does Mother Mary know I touched myself last night? That I like the way it made me feel? Will she tell Jesus? At the end of the colonnade was the entrance to the chapel. Sister Superior held open the doors and her flock filed in. They walked up the aisle toward the altar where the Holy Eucharist was displayed in a gold monstrance. The girls genuflected and signed themselves, two by two, before taking their places in the front pews. They knelt, folded their hands, and waited to be led in prayer as their stomachs growled for lunch. Sister Superior knelt at the communion rail and made the sign of the cross. She gathered her rosary in her hands and kissed the body of Christ.
“The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary,” the old nun prayed.
The girls responded: “And she conceived of the Holy Spirit.”
Then together: “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb . . .”
Katherine jolted awake.
She was in bed in a dimly lit room. She sat up and looked at the lamp on a table in the far corner. It was the only source of light in the room, and she stared at it for long seconds before realizing the light was moving. Then she realized it wasn’t a lamp; it was a flame atop a candle, and the candle was standing inside a black lantern. Curled in a furry gray ball next to the lantern was Monsieur Booty. Katherine knew this place. It was the loge in the belfry of Lausanne Cathedral.
“Jesus.”
She sensed someone’s presence and she looked about the room. Across from her, in the shadows, she saw a small form. The form was dressed in black and had black hair. She stared deeper into the shadows until she saw sparks of candlelight reflected in a pair of almond-shaped and emerald-colored eyes. Katherine couldn’t find her breath.
“Marc?”
The form stepped into the light. Katherine saw a young woman in dark fatigues. The woman kicked out her right foot and stood at ease with her hands behind her back. She was of Asian descent.
“Who are you?” Katherine said.
“I’m Corporal Mai of the Swiss Guard, ma’am. I was keeping the watch.”
“Oh. I thought you were someone else.”
Katherine combed her hand through her hair. What was left of it felt clean, and her skin smelled clean, too. The grime had been cleaned from under her nails, and they’d been trimmed and polished. She was wearing a hospital gown of fine white cotton, like the sheets and duvet cover. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she made out the rest of the room. If not for the IV stand next to the bed and the clear tube running to the needle in her arm, she could be in one of the better suites at the Lausanne Palace Hotel. Thinking such a thing, she remembered the place she had been. Grover’s Mill and the house. She remembered all the dead. And Anne. Then she allowed herself to remember her kidnapped son. She waited for sorrow to crush her. Nothing. She looked at the fluid running into the needle. It had a purple tint and it glittered . . . No wonder. She looked at Corporal Mai.
“Where are the guys in white coats?”
“Ma’am?”
“Where am I?”
“I’m not authorized to answer any questions regarding your status, ma’am. Let me get Inspector Gobet. He’s outside.”
“Oh, him. Perfect. Should have known. Guess that’s why you were keeping an eye on me. Making sure I didn’t run away.”
Corporal Mai smiled. Embarrassed at her lapse in protocol, she quickly wiped the expression from her face.
“Did I say something funny?” Katherine said.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I wasn’t being rude. There’s a controller on the bed. One of the buttons raises the window shades. If you press it you’ll see why I was smiling.”
Katherine stared at the young woman. The smile was gone, but it hung in Katherine’s memory as a gentle thing. And for a quick moment Katherine saw Marc Rochat in Corporal Mai’s face.
“Maybe I will,” Katherine said.
“I’ll get Inspector Gobet.”
Corporal Mai turned around and walked to the door. Katherine watched her set the palm of her right hand to the wall just above the lantern. The door slid open.
Swish.
“Wait,” Katherine called.
Corporal Mai turned around. “Ma’am?”
Katherine pointed to the lantern. “Is that the same . . . ?” She could not finish the question.
Corporal Mai nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That’s Marc Rochat’s lantern. The exfil team found it.”
“The what?”
“The ones who went into the time warp to get you out, ma’am.”
Katherine tried to look beyond the young woman and out the door. It opened to a vestibule and another door.
“Oh.”
Corporal Mai left and the door closed behind her.
Katherine stared at the lantern and watched the flame sway from side to side. She sighed again, this time feeling something warm flow through her body. She watched the purple stuff drip into the needle.
“So it goes.”
She slid back down under the covers, watching Monsieur Booty sleep. She traced her cleaned and neatly trimmed nails along the sheets. She made little scratching sounds. The beast stretched, sat up, and looked at Katherine.
“Hey, fuzzface, come on over and be friendly.”
The cat leapt from the table and landed on the floor with a well-fed thud. It pranced over to her with its tail in the air, jumped onto the bed, and sank into the duvet. The beast stretched again, enjoying the sensation of comfort.
“Three hundred thread count of Egyptian cotton, pal. It’s the good stuff.”
She reached down and scratched the beast’s head. Monsieur Booty purred and rolled over. Katherine gently stroked the beast’s belly.
“Wow, looks like I’m not the only one who got a bath and her nails done. So, do you know where we are, Monsieur Booty? Huh? Do ya, do ya?”
Mew.
“Me neither. Let’s see.”
Katherine sat up, arranged the pillows against the headrest and the duvet around her hips. Monsieur Booty immediately claimed ownership of her lap and tapped his head against her hands for more scratchy-scratch.
“Yeah, yeah. Give me a second.”
She picked up the controller and saw four buttons: Emergency, Nurse, Lights, Windows.
“Eeny, meeny, miny . . .”
She pressed moe, and a whirring noise sounded as six oval-shaped shades, three to a side, were raised. The room was awash in pale blue light. She leaned over and looked out the closest window. She was suspended between heaven and earth.
“Holy cow, that is funny.”
She was on a jet, a big one. But the wings reflected the color of the sky and were almost invisible.
“Do you see what I see, Monsieur Booty?”
Mew.
“Good. Then I’m not completely nuts.”
Far below was an expanse of
blue-tinted ice that did not end. It only fell from view with the curvature of the earth. And in the direction the jet was flying, the sky glowed red, then streaks of light came from the other side of the world and hit her in the eyes.
“Wow.”
Swish.
She turned to see Inspector Gobet enter the bedroom with Corporal Mai at his heels. Watching him cross the room, Katherine thought he might be scum, but he was a snappy dresser. The dark gray, double-breasted suit was hand-tailored. Like the shirt and the handmade shoes. Katherine tagged his tie as Roberto Cavalli—one thousand bucks’ worth of pure silk. Weirdly, it was the same tint of purple as the liquid in the IV.
The cop stood a few steps short of the foot of the bed. Corporal Mai took her place in the room where the shadows used to be. Katherine watched her adopt that same at-ease stance and tune out. Katherine remembered all the Swiss Guard back in Grover’s Mill were like that. Anne was the best at it. Being there and not being there at the same time, Anne called it. Katherine always thought it was like being trained to disappear because, sometimes, that’s what they did. And it was always her son who saw them first. Finding one of the guards in a shadow was a game for him. It made him laugh. She could see his face just then. He was smiling. He was beautiful. . . . Max.
“How are you feeling, Madame Taylor?”
Inspector Gobet’s voice crept into her consciousness. Focusing on the cop’s face, Katherine saw the perfect mix of empathy and compassion. She held up the arm with the IV needle planted in the vein.
“I’m feeling exactly the way you want me to feel, aren’t I? I mean, I was just thinking about my son and I could see him in my head. I could even say his name to myself without sinking. Or without acting on the urge to jump out of bed and claw your fucking eyes out the moment I saw you. No, wait. I do want to claw your eyes out. And when I’m done with that, I’d like to strangle you with your pretty tie. But instead, I’m sitting here, thinking all will be well while making conversation with a walking piece of shit. That is how you want me to feel, isn’t it?”
