by Rod Rees
‘If I do not cooperate then Crowley will have you executed.’
‘I am careless of that. I swore a long time ago that my life would be dedicated to the destruction of Heydrich, an ambition that will, it seems, be thwarted by my own father.’
‘Yours is a soul hardened by war, Trixie. You have been fighting for so long that you have forgotten that there are ways of opposing evil other than through violence.’ He coughed again. ‘I have little time left, Trixie, and I need to speak with the daughter I knew before … before all this madness began. I would ask that Trixie … do you trust me?’
The question was so unexpected that for a moment Trixie was stumped for an answer. Her first inclination was to say ‘No’ – there was only one person she truly trusted and that was Wysochi – but then she realised that this would be an unfair answer. Her father had always – always – stood by her and it had only been when she had refused his advice – his correct advice – that he had walked away from her.
‘I trust you, Father.’
‘Then why do you doubt me now?’
‘Because what you are doing is wrong.’
‘Is it?’
‘Of course. By helping to raise the Column to the top of the Pyramid you will fulfil the prophecies written in the Flagellum Hominum … you will make the Aryan races triumphant.’
‘As always, Trixie, your thought process is wonderfully RaTional, but your analysis denies the subtlety of the text. So I say again: do you trust me?’
For a moment Trixie stood silently staring at the wasted form of her father. Finally, reluctantly she uttered a single word, ‘Yes.’
‘Then you must promise me that you will do everything in your power to raise the Column.’
‘Father …’
‘Promise me!’
Trixie whispered a reply. ‘I promise.’
With a pained smile her father slumped back onto his cot. ‘Then come closer and I will tell you how the Column may be raised.’ Once Trixie had knelt down beside him and brought her ear next to his mouth he whispered his final secret. This done, he patted her on the hand and smiled. ‘Keep Wysochi near, Trixie, he is your salvation, and always remember—’ Her father never finished the sentence: with a sigh he closed his eyes and died.
Trixie in her time as a soldier had seen many men and women die, so many that she thought she was inured to death, but she had been wrong. As she watched the little remaining colour drain from her father’s cheeks and his body take on the contented stillness of those who had passed on to the Spirit World, she felt tears well up in her eyes. Once, long ago, she had sworn that she would never cry again, but now that cold resolve was shattered. Kneeling beside her father, she took his lifeless hand in hers and wept, distraught that she had ever thought to reject his love, his kindness and his understanding. And the worst of it was she hadn’t been able to raise the courage to tell her father just how much she had loved him.
But even as she knelt there, lost in her grief, she felt a presence behind her. ‘I hope for your sake, Miss Dashwood, that your father made you privy to the secrets of the Pyramid. If he didn’t, it will go hard—’
‘Damn your threats, Crowley. I will raise the Column.’
THE GATHERING, LAS VEGAS: THE REAL WORLD
Norma had never seen so many cars in all her life. They were still ten miles from Las Vegas and the road was absolutely jam-packed, so much so that their pickup hadn’t moved an inch in the last hour. But while she supposed the snarl-up wasn’t to be wondered at when six million Fun/Funs were intent on descending on the town, it was worrying … so worrying that Burl had gone to investigate.
‘We’ve ’ad it; the roads are swamped by bloody Fun/Funs,’ he advised when he trudged back to the truck ten minutes later. ‘The police are telling everybody to pull their cars off the road and park. They’re putting on buses to ferry people to the Gathering … people wiv invitations, that is.’
‘Maybe—’ Norma began but Burl cut her off.
‘Nah. Security ’round the Gathering is real tight. We’ll never get on a bus. Word is that to prevent gatecrashing all invitations – which we ’ave not got – will be verified against bioSignatures by the bus conductor. We’re fucked.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Norma.
‘Go and get some breakfast,’ was Burl’s reply. ‘There’s a feeding station up ahead. I fink we should park for a minute an’ sort out a plan over a cup of coffee and a stack ov pancakes.’
About ten thousand people had the same idea, but thanks to Burl’s indifference to the protests made about his queue-jumping it took them only half an hour to be served. They repaired to the back of the truck to eat their meal.
‘As I see it,’ began Norma as she sipped her coffee, ‘we’ve only got one option for getting into the SuperBowl and that’s “the Chutzpah Tactic”: I simply present myself at the headquarters of the Fun/Funs and demand to be taken to the Gathering.’
‘Taken to clink most likely,’ observed Burl as he dug into his pancakes. ‘Iffn this bloke Septimus Bole is ’alf as sharp as you says he is then the chances are that the Intelligence Bureau is looking for you, so all you’d be doing is their job for ’em. My guess is there’re gonna be more IB agents guarding the Gathering than flies on dog shit and the one place they’re sure to ’ave staked out is the Fun/Funs HQ.’
Oddie gave a nod. ‘I agree with Burl. Go calling on the Fun/Funs and you’ll really make Bole’s day.’
They were flummoxed: they couldn’t get in as attendees and they couldn’t do it by Norma using her status in the Fun/Funs. Norma took another, longer swig of her coffee and racked her brains for a solution, but try as she might, she couldn’t come up with one. Then Fate took a hand.
‘Excuse me, Miss, but would you be Norma Williams?’
A trickle of cold fear danced down Norma’s spine. She’d hoped the black wig and the shades she was wearing would be enough of a disguise to prevent her being identified by the badniks, but obviously she’d been wrong. Looking up from her coffee, she half-expected to see one of Bole’s thugs staring back at her, but it wasn’t. Instead it was a rather plump girl with a beaming smile on her face and an ‘I’m Going to the Gathering’ badge pinned to the shoulder of her rather lurid and very low-cut dress.
Norma blinked. ‘Sporting?’
‘Gor, that’s a miracle, that is! ’Ow’d ya know that was me name, Norma? Only me mum calls me that.’ And with that Sporting Chance gave Burl a shove with her bottom to make room for herself next to Norma on the back of the truck.
‘Oh, I’ve got quite a memory for names and faces.’
‘Must be one ’ell ov a memory given that we ain’t never met before.’ A frown crossed Sporting’s brow. ‘But yous is the real Norma Williams, ain’t ya?’
Norma gave a quick look around and, satisfied that she wouldn’t be overheard, answered. ‘Yes, I’m the real Norma Williams, in fact, they don’t come any realer than me.’
‘Gor, that’s mint that is,’ and Sporting pulled out a rather dog-eared programme from the bright yellow bag she had slung over her shoulder and pushed it towards Norma. ‘Would you sign me programme? It ain’t often I gets to meet a real star, like wot yous is, Norma.’ A thought seemed to strike Sporting. ‘Yous don’t mind me calling you Norma, does you, Norma?’
‘No, not at all. So you’re here to attend the Gathering?’
‘Oh, yeah, wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m here wiv the British delegation.’ She waved a hand to indicate the thousands of people sitting around them enjoying an al fresco breakfast. ‘There’s a couple ov ’undred thousand ov us Brits ’ere, ’opin’ to ’ave our addictions cured.’
‘And what’s your addiction?’ asked Oddie stiffly, not terribly taken with the way Sporting kept pressing her substantial breasts up against Burl’s arm, especially as Burl didn’t seem to mind.
Sporting coloured and shuffled her bottom. ‘I am besotted wiv the pleasures of the flesh.’
Bur
l started to laugh, but was silenced by a kick from Oddie.
‘Yus, I ’ope that by attending the Gathering God will allow me to find spiritual and sexual peace.’ She gave Norma an imploring look. ‘Tell you wot, Norma, would you say a few words? These people ’ave come a long way to sees you an’ it would mean an awful lot to them.’
TIME FACILITY, NEVADA: THE REAL WORLD
‘Prepare to be amazed!’ exclaimed Madden as he escorted Dong E and Rivets along the corridor leading to the TiME chamber. And Dong E was amazed, amazed what two weeks of being screwed senseless had done for the man’s attitude. Gone was the dour and dismal demeanour of a fortnight ago, replaced by one decidedly more frolicsome. He bounced along the corridor in a flurry of arms, legs and over-exuberance, looking and acting more like an excited schoolboy than a serious scientist. He made Dong E feel tired just to be in his presence, but then, she hadn’t been getting much sleep of late.
In contrast to Madden, Rivets looked a worried man. He hadn’t heard from Ella and therefore he didn’t know whether they would be able to do what they had planned. Time had run out. He’d barely uttered a word all morning.
Madden brought them to a halt in front of a door next to the library and placed his hand on a scanner pad. The door clicked open to reveal a spiral staircase beyond … a very long spiral staircase, so long that when they reached the bottom Dong E estimated they were at least two hundred feet below ground level. The three of them stepped off the staircase into a steel-lined vestibule, where they were confronted by two black-uniformed and heavily armed Intelligence Bureau agents who spent five minutes examining their IDs and scanning them for contraband.
‘You and Dr Vetsch are clear for entry, Professor Madden,’ confirmed the IB sergeant, ‘but Dr Dong E will have to remove her necklace.’
Dong E raised a protective hand to the necklace and gave Madden an imploring look. It was the one thing of hers that she’d refused to let Madden remove during their trysts. ‘I can’t, Sam. I promised I’d never take it off.’
Madden nodded his understanding. ‘Why can’t the doctor wear her necklace?’ he asked the guard.
‘Metal objects are not permitted inside the chamber, Professor.’
‘Are the beads in the doctor’s necklace solid?’
‘Yes, Professor.’
‘Oh, then I think we can make an exception in this case,’ said Madden in that supercilious tone that Dong E had come to detest. ‘That particular embargo is intended to prevent recording devices or weapons hidden inside hollow objects being taken into the chamber.’ With that Madden brushed the guards aside and stepped up to the circular vault door covering the far wall of the vestibule. Above the door was inscribed the ParaDigm tag Fortes modo tempus mutare possunt.
‘Only the strong can change time,’ Madden translated, ‘which, in view of what you are about to witness, is a very apt maxim.’
TERROR INCOGNITA: THE DEMI-MONDE
Captain Andrew Roberts was exhausted. Clement had put him in charge of ensuring that the six million pilgrims who had flooded into Terror Incognita on an armada of barges were transported from their landing site on the east of the island to the accommodation that had been built for them close to the Pyramid. It had been a logistical nightmare that had required him working twenty-hour days for the past week, but now on Fall Eve his task was complete and, dredging up his last reserves of energy, he stood, resplendent in his dress uniform, ready to attend the pre-Ceremony celebrations. And once these celebrations were over, it would be back to London to finish his book on the Great Pyramid, tonight’s events providing the final, dramatic chapter.
He couldn’t wait to see how the Column would be raised. Puzzle as he had, he had been unable to work out a solution as to how the Column would be lifted to the top of the Pyramid. And the more he studied the Flagellum Hominum and the more he stood gazing at the Pyramid, the more he had the nagging feeling that something was wrong … that Algernon Dashwood coming to the rescue with the answer to the enigma was a little too convenient. Roberts had seen hints of the strength hidden inside the man, and in his opinion he wasn’t the type to break as easily as he had.
‘Wool-gathering, Comrade Captain? That ain’t a quality best seen in military types. Us soldiers have gotta be on our toes all the time.’
General Clement had blindsided Roberts, but then that wasn’t to be wondered at: the man moved as quietly as a cat. Roberts gave him a crisp salute. ‘I apologise, Comrade General, I was just thinking about how Trixie Dashwood will move the Column up the Pyramid.’
‘Don’t you fret yourself on that score, Captain, that’s the responsibility of His Holiness Comrade Crowley, and he’s mighty welcome to it. That little exercise goes wrong and …’ Clement gave a horrible laugh. ‘Well, let’s not concern ourselves with Crowley. Let’s just move our asses over to the hospitality tent to meet the Great Leader. And ah gotta tell you there’s a parcel of fine-looking women in attendance, all of ’em fools for braid and medals.’ He gave Roberts a wink which did nothing to settle his nerves.
THE GATHERING, LAS VEGAS: THE REAL WORLD
While Jesus had entered Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey, Norma Williams entered the SuperBowl standing up on the back of a pickup truck, but though the mode of transport might have been very different, the one similarity was the enthusiasm evinced by the crowds towards their Messiah.
How Norma had found herself on the back of the truck had been a minor miracle. Her initial reaction had been to refuse Sporting’s request to address the British Fun/Funs but Oddie had insisted she speak. Immediately the word had rippled out through the packed crowd and she’d found herself being hoisted up onto the back of the truck and a megaphone thrust into her hands. It had escalated from there. Before she quite knew what was happening, she was surrounded by thousands of Fun/Funs, all of them chanting her name.
Thanks to all the speechifying she’d done in the Demi-Monde in support of Normalism, Norma was now a well-practised orator so she’d thanked everyone for coming to attend the Gathering and wished them God’s blessing in their attempt to rid themselves of their addictions. And there it would have ended if Oddie hadn’t hopped up beside Norma, taken the megaphone and addressed the crowd.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she shouted, ‘in order to show that we are an international fellowship of God-fearing men and women, Norma Williams has asked me to invite the British delegates to escort her into Las Vegas. Will you do that?’
The reply was a resounding – and very noisy – ‘Yes!’
A brilliant idea: confronted by tens of thousands of laughing and cheering Fun/Funs who were intent on walking beside Norma’s truck as it made its way slowly to the arena, the police simply bowed to the inevitable and pulled the barriers away. And whilst she found the adulation a little overwhelming, Norma did her best to play the part of the Messiah, waving and shaking hands for all she was worth, knowing that, surrounded as the truck was by thousands of her disciples, it was impossible for ParaDigm’s security forces to move against her. Do that and there would be a riot, so all they could do as she was driven past was stare at her in impotent fury.
TERROR INCOGNITA: THE DEMI-MONDE
Aleister Crowley allowed his dresser to make the final adjustment to the vestments he had had made for this, the most important night of his life. As he stood examining himself in the mirror, he decided that he was bedecked in a manner befitting the majesty of the ceremony he would be conducting in just a few minutes’ time.
‘You have the copy of the Flagellum Hominum?’ he asked his aide.
‘Yes, Your Holiness, and the excerpts you will be reading are marked.’
Crowley checked his watch. ‘Very well … I wish to be informed as soon as the signal rocket is seen.’
TIME FACILITY, NEVADA: THE REAL WORLD
It took over a minute for Madden to dial the correct combinations into the two locks securing the huge door guarding TiME, then with a grunt he hauled it back to reveal the vast cavern bey
ond … so vast that when the three of them stepped inside, the sound of their footsteps on the steel floor echoed around them. As best Dong E could make out in the darkness, they were standing on an observation balcony situated halfway up one of the cavern’s huge walls.
‘Let there be light,’ shouted Madden and immediately the cavern was drenched in a brilliantly hard light, revealing a steel-sheathed hall with a floor area the size of perhaps a dozen football pitches and a ceiling that stretched at least fifty yards above their heads. As the door sighed shut behind them, Madden stretched his arms wide. ‘May I introduce you to TiME #03. Welcome to the future,’ he laughed, ‘or perhaps that should rather be, welcome to the past.’
CAIRO, THE NOIRVILLE SECTOR: THE DEMI-MONDE
David Crockett checked his watch. Algernon Dashwood had put him in charge of leading the Polish workers from Terror Incognita to the safety of Cairo, where they had been given sanctuary by the People’s Free Democratic Republic of NoirVille. The orders he had been given by the major were that he would launch a rocket from NoirVille at eight o’clock on Fall Eve but that he would do so only when he was confident that he and his ten thousand charges were free and not being pursued by the SS.
‘Is everything set, Sergeant?’
‘Sure is, Captain,’ answered Butch Cassidy, ‘just waiting on your command.’
Another quick look at his watch. ‘Okay, Butch, light the touchpaper.’ It was an order that Crockett gave with a heavy heart as it was one that would condemn the major and his daughter to certain death.
There was a whoosh and the rocket arched skywards leaving a trail of blue flame in its wake.
MOUNT YAMANTAU, BASHKORTOSTAN: THE REAL WORLD
A hand shaking her shoulder brought Ella back to consciousness. The truck she was riding in stopped and the hood was yanked from her head. She blinked and flinched back: it was night but a savagely sharp spotlight was glaring through the truck’s windscreen.
‘We’re here, Miss Thomas,’ said Zolotov.