The Eternal War tr-4

by Alex Scarrow

  He collided with someone else and a moment later they were in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

  ‘What you doin’, fool?’

  A young dark-skinned face beneath the peak of a spotlessly white Yankees cap.

  Lincoln grimaced awkwardly, patting himself down to be sure he wasn’t bleeding from the Chinese woman’s ‘gunshot’ wound.

  ‘My apologies, I … I must have … I thought …’

  The young black man angrily pushed Lincoln’s gangly legs off him. He uttered a stream of words Lincoln couldn’t begin to fathom.

  ‘Like I say, I am sorry. I thought I had been shot by a … a small woman with a … well, with some curious weapon.’

  The young man looked at him as he got up, dusting himself down. He shook his head in half irritation, half bemusement. ‘You wanna jus’ watch out, a’ight?’

  Lincoln looked at the young black man. Noticed a ragged tear along the knee of his pale denim trousers.

  ‘Good Lord! I appear to have ripped your clothes! I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Uh? What? No, hey … that’s jus’ meant to be like — ’

  Lincoln shook his head, looking the young man up and down. ‘I have some small coin on me. You must allow me to at least recompense — ’

  ‘No, hey … that’s fine,’ waved the young man. ‘Jus’ watch out next time, a’ight?’

  ‘No, I insist,’ said Lincoln, digging into his own threadbare trousers. ‘Where’s your master? I’ll give the money to hi-’

  ‘Hey! What did you just say?’

  Lincoln froze, cocked an eyebrow. ‘Ahh! I see! My mistake, young man. You must be a freed negro, then?’

  Both police officers heard the call on the squad car’s radio.

  ‘We got a disturbance, corner of Mott Street and Canal Street. Caller said we got a pair of guys tangling like a pair of fighting cockerels.’

  Bill picked up the mic. ‘OK, we got it; we’re just round the corner.’ He stubbed his cigarette out, placed his cap on and straightened the peak in the car’s wing mirror. ‘Damn. Fun’s startin’ early tonight.’

  ‘Ain’t that right,’ Jim replied, tossing the uneaten half of his salt-beef bagel back in its paper bag and stuffing it into the car door’s side pocket. The beef was going to be cold by the time he got back to it and the mustard all soaked up into the bread.

  Great.

  He slapped on the siren and took the next left. ‘And sheesh … it’s only Monday fer cryin’ out loud.’

  Bill chuckled in his seat as the squad car sped down the busy street, the siren clearing a gap between both lanes of sluggish traffic.

  CHAPTER 18

  2001, New York

  ‘See anything?’

  Becks shook her head. ‘I see no one who matches his identity or similar.’

  Liam shucked his shoulders. ‘To be honest, I can’t imagine us spotting anyone similar. He’s an odd-looking fella, so he is.’

  Although he seemed to Liam to be an utterly peculiar individual — one moment manic and excitable as a child, the next curmudgeonly and as bad-tempered as a mule — there was something about him he found vaguely likeable. Perhaps it was because he seemed so honest. His over-the-top mannerisms, his loud voice, his thoroughly expressive face, seemed utterly incapable of masking whatever happened to be going through his mind. Lincoln appeared to be one of those people completely incapable of deceit.

  Or, as Liam’s Auntie Dot used to say, the poor fella wears his heart on his sleeve.

  He recalled one of the other lads on the Titanic being a bit like that, one of the junior stewards. Liam remembered thinking the lad wasn’t going to last long on the ship. Too ready with a muttered curse if he failed to get tipped. The chief steward said the lad was a bad penny. Trouble. Certainly not the kind of young man they wanted wearing a White Star uniform.

  Liam gazed at the winking lights of traffic backed up at an intersection and wondered if that lad was one of the lucky few who’d made it off the ship alive to be picked up later by the SS Carpathia.

  › Maddy?

  ‘Yes?’ she groaned. Her cold had chosen the last half an hour to get worse. Her head was pounding, her throat was rough, her arms felt like she’d been bench-pressing hundred-pound weights and her legs like they’d run a marathon.

  › There has just been an incident logged on the New York Police Department’s internal intranet system that I calculate as having a high relevancy factor.

  She pulled her chair along the table to face the webcam. ‘Whadya got?’

  › ‘19:31 hours. Disturbance on corner of Mott and Canal Street. One male, Caucasian, approximate age 22. Possibly a vagrant. Booked in using probable alias — Abraham Lincoln.’

  ‘Oh boy … We got him! What’s he gone and done now?’

  › Data entry originates from Precinct 5 police station.

  ‘Any idea where that is?’

  › Just a moment … searching.

  She snatched her inhaler off the desk and took a wheezy gasp from it; asthma and a cold — no, strike that, flu — oh, and a whole pile of unwelcome stress on top of that. She wondered how much punishment her frail body was supposed to be able to take.

  › 19 Elizabeth Street.

  Sal and Bob were probably closer. She dialled her number.

  ‘Sal?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ve got ourselves a winner. He’s only gone and got himself arrested already!’

  ‘Surprise, surprise.’

  ‘He’s being held at the precinct station over on Elizabeth Street. No more than five minutes from you, I think.’

  ‘You want Bob to go in and break him out or something?’

  ‘God no! That’ll kick up a mess we can do without. No, just go in and ask about him. Doesn’t sound like he’s done anything too serious. Say he’s your eccentric cousin or something and you’re there to take him home and give him a frikkin’ good talking to.’ She shrugged. ‘We might get lucky and they release him into your care.’

  ‘OK … I’ll give it a try.’

  Maddy hung up, settled back in her chair and groaned into a hankie before dialling Liam. It took him about two dozen rings before he finally answered.

  ‘Ah, so you managed to figure out how to answer it, then, Liam?’

  ‘Aye. Them silly little buttons on the front all look the same to me, so they do.’

  Her patient, long-suffering sigh rustled down the phone line before she proceeded to explain as quickly as she could where Lincoln was and that they’d best come home to the arch. She figured Sal wasn’t going to have much luck talking the police into releasing Lincoln. Chances were they’d probably let him out first thing tomorrow morning with a verbal warning if he hadn’t done anything too bad … on bail, if he had.

  She hung up and aimed a hang-dog look at the webcam. ‘Can I go get some bunk-time now, do you think, Bob?’

  › Recommendation: minimum four hours’ sleep. You are not functioning to your full ability. You look like total chudyah.

  Maddy smiled, surprised … and not a little impressed with computer-Bob. ‘Sal’s been teaching you more naughty words, hasn’t she?’

  › Affirmative.

  CHAPTER 19

  2001, New York

  ‘What’re you doing, Jim?’

  His friend looked up from the computer terminal and rolled his eyes. He’d undone the top button of his NYPD uniform tunic and rolled his sleeves up. Jim looked like a man who’d already clocked off shift and gone home. Only, of course, he hadn’t.

  ‘That fruitcake we picked up earlier in Chinatown just went and generated a bunch of paperwork for me.’

  Bill slumped down in his chair, facing him over their paired-up back-to-back desks. ‘What’s he gone and done now? I thought we were holding him overnight with a caution?’

  Jim scratched his nose with a pen, then ran a hand through his buzzcut blond hair. ‘Stupid idiot went and said some crazy stuff about the Twin Towers comin’ down. Said they was goin�
�� to explode an’ all.’ He sighed. ‘Which means with the FBI’s Threat Alert system on Amber, fer crissakes — ’ he shrugged — ‘I gotta go log it all in.’

  ‘Mind you …’ Bill shook his head. ‘He said a whole bunch of other crazy stuff too … What was it?’

  Jim chuckled. ‘Oh, you mean that he’s gonna be the president one day, that he’s been transported through time from 1830-whatever by a bunch of time-travellin’ kids … or somethin’?’

  Bill nodded. ‘And that name? Like something out of the Bible. Abraham Landon?’ He checked the screen in front of him. ‘Lincoln … Abraham no-middle-name Lincoln.’

  They looked at each other for a moment before Jim finally spoke. ‘Stupid goddarn name, uh? You see us ever havin’ a president with a dumb-soundin’ name like that?’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Not with that funny way he talks. Like a southern gentleman … like a pastor, a firebrand preacher or somethin’. Know what I mean? Tell you what, though, man, I can almost believe the crazy son-of-a-gun just stepped out of the Wild West.’

  Jim looked up at him. ‘What? You trying to say he isn’t a crazy loon needs lockin’ up in a room with no hard edges?’

  Bill snorted. ‘Nope, I’m sayin’ he could make a nice buck doin’ Crazy Preacher-o-grams.’

  ‘Yeah, right… Like that’s the first thing you gonna order for your pal’s bachelor night, uh?’

  ‘Come on, man, finish up … let some FBI pencil-neck go figure it out.’

  Jim nodded, pecking out a few more words on the keyboard before finally slapping a heavy hand on the desk. ‘Done!’

  Bill grinned. ‘One for the road, my man?’

  ‘A beer? Sure. But just the one. Don’t wanna — ’

  ‘Don’t wanna keep yer mamma up,’ parroted Bill with a well-worn smile. Same lame ol’ line. ‘Problem with you, Jim, ol’ buddy, is you need to come up with some new one-liners.’

  ‘Yeah? Or what? You gonna go find some other dumb sucker to partner up with?’

  They weaved their way out of the deserted precinct office, all cubicles and desks piled high with sitting paperwork.

  ‘Now you know me better than that, Jim … You an’ me, we’re like an ol’ married couple.’

  ‘Gross,’ Jim muttered as he grabbed his coat and kitbag. ‘Now I got a goddarn picture in my head gonna give me nightmares tonight.’

  CHAPTER 20

  2001, New York

  The sound of the cell door being unlocked and wrenched open roused Lincoln from his sleep. Bleary-eyed, he blinked back the glare of morning light spilling in through the slit window and looked up from the bunk at three men in dark suits crowding into the cell and staring down at him.

  ‘Abraham Lincoln?’

  He rubbed his tired eyes and lifted himself off the pillow on to one elbow. ‘Yes, that is I.’

  ‘You will come with us, please.’ A dry emotionless voice.

  Lincoln pulled himself up to a seated position and swung his legs off the bunk. His bare feet touched the cold floor. ‘Gentlemen,’ he started, ‘I have done nothing to deserve being incarcerated like this! Being treated like a — ’

  ‘Sir, you will put on your shoes and come with us now.’

  Lincoln’s face clouded with anger. ‘I will do no such thing, sir! Not until I receive, at the very least, an apology for — ’

  ‘All right,’ said one of the suits, his lips barely moving. ‘Cuff this scumbag.’

  The other two fell on him like a ton of breeze blocks, pinning him down on the bunk as he squirmed and thrashed beneath their weight.

  ‘THIS … IS … AN … OUTRAGE!’ he barked. ‘HOW DARE YOU — ’

  ‘Save it for later, pal,’ grunted one of the men lying on top of him, fumbling for his wrists. ‘You’re in for a world of hurt, buddy,’ said the other. ‘You filthy, murdering, terrorist sc-!’

  ‘Agent Belling, best keep your feelings to yourself, son. While you’re on FBI time, I expect a certain level of professionalism.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Now, get him up.’

  Between them the two men in suits hefted Lincoln off the bunk and turned him to face the third.

  ‘THIS IS A TRAVESTY — ’

  ‘I’d advise you to keep your mouth firmly shut, Mr Lincoln. Emotions are running very high this morning and the last thing me and my boys need to hear coming out of your mouth right now is a whole load of attitude.’

  ‘I INSIST YOU TELL ME — ’

  ‘A few minues ago a second plane just impacted with the other tower. ‘Last night you were logged making a claim the World Trade Center was coming down this morning.’

  Lincoln frowned. ‘Those two tall towers? Yes I — ’

  ‘A few minutes ago a second plane just impacted with the other tower.’ The FBI agent’s jaw set firmly. ‘You’re either a prophet … or a terrorist. Either way, we’ve got a whole bunch of questions for you.’

  He stepped backwards from the cell into the corridor. The other two men shuffled out of the cell with Lincoln wedged between them. ‘You’ve just been signed over to FBI custody.’ He smiled coolly. ‘Your sorry, murdering, terrorist, scumbag butt is ours now.’

  Maddy turned to the others, standing together on the forecourt outside the precinct station. ‘All right, it’s half past nine. I guess there’ll be some police clerical staff at their desks by now who can sign a release form for us.’

  She looked at Liam, Sal, Bob and Becks. ‘So … Liam, you come with me. The rest of you, just … just stay here.’

  ‘But what if they won’t let him go?’ asked Liam. He opened his mouth again and was about to point to both support units, Bob reaching inside an old mackintosh he was wearing to pull Foster’s old shotgun from the waistband of his trousers. Quite clearly eager to bring the thing out of retirement and use it once again.

  ‘No! We’re not shooting this place up! I said that already. If they say no, then we’ll just have to figure something else out.’ She pointed up at the sky, where a solitary column of dark smoke arced across the cloudless blue morning. ‘See that? Everyone’s watching the news. Everyone’s watching nine-eleven unfold. People are angry and very, very frightened … and that includes the cops. As far as they know, right now, this could be the first of a whole wave of terrorist attacks.’

  She took a fluttering edgy breath. Nervous. ‘The last thing we want to do this morning is kick up a disturbance, OK?’

  Liam shrugged. ‘All right.’

  She reached out and grabbed his arm. ‘Come on.’

  They climbed a couple of steps off the pavement and crossed a small forecourt that would normally have been filled with patrol cars and police bikes. Pretty much all of them were out this morning. Crowd control. Panic control.

  They stepped in through swing doors and ahead of them was a counter and a thick panel of perspex behind which two female uniformed officers and several plainclothes officers stood, all of them staring at a small portable TV perched on the corner of one of the desks beyond.

  Maddy stepped up and wrapped her knuckles lightly on the barrier. ‘Excuse me?’

  Maybe they heard, maybe they didn’t.

  ‘Excuse me!’

  One of the women in uniform managed to tear herself away from the screen. Maddy could see her eyes were red with tears. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered to Maddy, as if they were old friends, ‘it’s awful, isn’t it?’

  Maddy nodded. Right now, she felt disconnected from the disaster slowly developing at the south end of Manhattan, but she certainly remembered the emotions all around her back at school, while they, like these police officers, had sat and gasped and cried as they watched the flames climbing the sides of both the north and south towers.

  ‘We’re here to collect our … uh … well, our cousin. He was brought in last night and cautioned, I think.’

  The woman on the far side sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Right … yes …’ She seemed a little relieved to have something to put her mind to. ‘Gonna ne
ed a name, please.’

  ‘Madelaine Carter. And this is Liam O’Connor.’

  ‘No, I need the name of the arrested.’

  ‘Oh, right … it’s Abraham Lincoln.’

  The woman nodded. Pulled out a clipboard with a computer-generated event log clipped to it. ‘Lemmesee … lemmesee …’ Her finger ran down the printed page. ‘Abraham Lincoln? A D amp;D …’ She looked up at them. ‘Drunk and disorderly. Looks like he was booked in at ten fifteen last night.’

  ‘That’s him,’ sighed Liam. ‘He … uh … he does like a drink every now and then.’

  ‘Gets him into all kinds of trouble,’ added Maddy.

  ‘We’re going to give him a right telling off, so we are.’ Liam shook his head sternly. ‘I wouldn’t want to be him when we get the fool home.’

  The woman nodded absently. She picked out a reference number and began entering it on to a computer. ‘Going to need you to sign a release form. Are either of you members of his immediate fam-’ She stopped dead, her mouth slung open, her eyes on the screen. ‘It says the FBI came for him this morning.’ The policewoman looked up at them. ‘You just missed him. We transferred jurisdiction to them — about ten minutes ago.’

  Maddy swallowed nervously. That doesn’t sound good.

  She stared uncertainly up at Maddy and Liam, a look of growing suspicion in her eyes. ‘I … uh … you say you know this Abraham Lincoln? You’re associates of his?’

  Associates? That made them sound like … criminals.

  ‘We’re, like, family … sort of,’ she said with a faltering smile. ‘Uh, is there a problem?’

  The policewoman ignored her question. ‘Just one moment.’ She turned away from them, hurried across the front office to where the others were gathered, still staring at the small TV set.

  ‘Liam … something’s really wrong,’ hissed Maddy.

  The woman was saying something to the others, then suddenly all five heads turned from the TV to look their way.

  Oh crud.

  ‘I think we should leave,’ said Maddy.

  ‘I think you’re right.’