by RR Haywood
A pretty woman with blonde-ringlet hair walks briskly from a room, rushing into the hallway to grab her heavy overcoat from the wooden stand. She barely glances at Alpha and Bravo but the bags under her eyes speak of the tension and stress.
‘Closed,’ she says firmly. ‘Air raid . . . Can’t you hear it?’
‘Yes, miss,’ Alpha says. ‘We need to see Herr Weber . . .’
‘Air raid,’ she says emphatically as the building shakes from a nearby explosion.
‘Is he here?’ Alpha asks.
She tuts, huffs, puts her coat on and rushes past to the front door. ‘Upstairs.’ She falters as Charlie, Delta and Echo step inside then continues on with her head down. She doesn’t care who they are. She doesn’t care for anything other than taking her son to the shelter.
Alpha and Bravo share a look while Delta leans over to admire the woman’s backside as she runs out. He nods as he looks back at the others. ‘Nice,’ he mutters.
‘Skinny,’ Charlie says.
‘War on,’ Delta says. ‘Hadn’t you noticed?’
‘Delta, Echo, stay downstairs. Charlie, you come up and wait outside,’ Alpha orders.
A swift climb to the top floor. A series of plain wooden doors each with a nameplate on the wall beside it. They pass several people running down the stairs while tugging on winter coats. Harassed, scared and rushing for the safety of the shelters. None of them ask who the three are.
‘That one,’ Bravo says, nodding ahead to the nameplate beside the closed door, which opens to a small bald-headed man bustling out, doing the same as everyone else and tugging a winter coat on as dust rains down amidst the cacophony of booms and bangs from outside.
‘Herr Weber?’ Alpha asks.
The small man barely glances at them. His face a mask of panic.
‘Air raid. Get to shelter,’ he says quickly.
‘I need a moment of your time,’ Alpha says, stepping in front of Herr Weber, blocking his path to the stairs.
‘Who are you? There’s an air raid on . . . Come on, move!’
‘A moment, Herr Weber,’ Alpha says as Bravo and Charlie close in from the sides.
That does it. That gets the small man’s attention. He blinks up at Alpha, then across to Bravo and Charlie. Healthy strong men. Tall and broad-shouldered with intelligent eyes. ‘What?’ Herr Weber blurts. ‘What do you want?’
‘Something for you,’ Alpha says, ushering the man back inside his office. Bravo goes in with them as Charlie closes the door and holds position outside, nodding politely to the other office dwellers rushing from their rooms.
A wooden desk piled with papers and books. Shelves filled with more reference material. Science journals. Physics. Chemistry. The walls filled with sheets of paper and chalkboards etched with equations. The building tremors again from a detonation too close for Herr Weber’s comfort. He turns back to the door as Alpha pulls a folded clutch of papers from an inside pocket and holds them out. Herr Weber balks, blinking in confusion then flinching at another booming detonation.
‘What is this?’
‘Look,’ Alpha says with a warm smile.
‘Good god, man, we’ll be bombed any minute,’ Herr Weber says, snatching the papers away. ‘What is it?’ he asks impatiently, unfolding the sheets to read the front page. He glances quickly, tutting and becoming increasingly angry. Equations fill the sheets. Chemical compositions. Gobbledegook to most people, but Herr Weber is not most people, but, still, the panic of the air raid stops him from focussing.
‘Slow down and read it properly now, old chap,’ Bravo says in perfect English, which makes Herr Weber’s head snap up as the blood drains from his face.
‘English?’
‘Oh, do read the bloody papers,’ Bravo groans. ‘There’s a war on, don’t you know.’
Herr Weber glances down to the front sheet. His heart hammering. He reads a few lines and blinks rapidly while wondering how to summon help. Then he stops wondering how to summon help and reads on. By the third page he looks up to the smiling face of Bravo and glances over to Alpha walking round his office and for a second the hope of victory shines in his eyes until he hears the bombers and fighters outside and feels the building shake.
‘It’s too late,’ Herr Weber says sadly. ‘The theory is clear, yes it can be done but . . . now? Even if I can convince the Führer that this is possible how do I convince him to allocate men and resources? The Russians are already in Germany . . . The war is over . . .’
‘Thing is,’ Bravo says, his cultured voice holding Herr Weber rapt and frozen, ‘it’s not just theory, old chap. We’ve got one.’
‘You have one?’ Herr Weber gasps in English, his accent thick.
‘Oh, we do,’ Bravo says. ‘Would you like it?’
‘Like it?’ Herr Weber whispers.
‘But of course,’ Bravo says happily. ‘Anything to help, old chap.’
‘Tell you what,’ Alpha says from the other side of the office, ‘we’ll trade it for this . . .’
‘Rodders? Is that you pissing about?’
‘No, it’s me,’ Alpha says, pushing the door open. ‘Just got back . . .’
‘Oh my god,’ Kate says, rushing up from behind her desk. ‘So sorry, I thought it was Rodders, I mean Rodney . . .’
‘It’s fine,’ Alpha says, taking another step into her office.
‘Nice suit,’ she scoffs before wincing yet again. ‘Jesus. I get so nervous around you. It’s like words just come out . . .’
‘It’s fine. Stop apologising,’ he says.
‘I’m not normally like this. No, well, I am. I mean I’m always like this but you make me worse . . . Oh my god, I can’t stop talking. Er, so . . . How was it then? Did you get bombed?’ She trails off, affecting a mock serious look that makes him smile.
‘It’s fine,’ Alpha says. ‘I found this.’ He holds up the object in his hand.
‘Oh my god . . .’ Kate blurts, rushing out from behind the desk. ‘Is that a Zeiss?’
‘I think it is,’ Alpha says, knowing fully well what it is.
‘A Zeiss? Carl Zeiss? Can I see it? Oh my god, it is! It’s a Carl Zeiss microscope . . .’
‘I think it’s old too.’
‘Old? Are you taking the piss, Alpha? This is from the eighteen sixties . . . It’s all brass and shiny.’
‘Good,’ Alpha says. ‘Well, enjoy it.’
‘Eh? You what? Is it for me?’
‘I knew you liked the sword so . . .’
‘Is this an integrity test? Because I will so fail if it is. Mother said nothing can come back and the whole cross-contamination thing and . . .’
‘It’s fine,’ Alpha says casually as he walks to the door. ‘I’m Alpha.’
‘That’s so hot,’ she mumbles, then instantly squeezes her eyes closed in shame as he laughs and closes the door, before moving down the corridor to Mother’s office.
‘Well?’ Mother asks, staring expectantly. ‘Report.’
‘Herr Weber accepts our kind offer,’ Alpha says, the humour fading from his expression.
‘I bet he fucking does,’ Mother whispers, her eyes blazing in the gloom of her office.
‘Have you made the announcement yet?’ he asks.
‘Are you questioning me, Alpha?’
‘No, Mother. I am not.’
‘I give orders. I do not make announcements and, no, I have not given my orders yet. Why? What have you heard?’
‘I haven’t heard anything. I was just asking, Mother.’
She holds the glare on him, suspicion etched on her face as she grabs a tablet from her desk, activates the screen and holds it close to her mouth.
‘All personnel will report to the briefing room immediately.’
Her harsh voice blasts from speakers throughout the complex. An order given like she is making a statement to Alpha, who watches on impassively.
‘I’ll give them the good news now,’ she tells him with a humourless grin.
A bare fifteen m
inutes later she stands on the stage and to say the silence in the room is heavy would be an understatement.
‘It’s gone very quiet in here.’ Bravo’s voice sails out from the front row as he turns to look behind him with a cheery nod that earns a few weak smiles. ‘They’re still there, Alpha . . . I thought they’d all snuck out.’
Mother acknowledges the perfect timing with a very discreet head dip to Bravo when he faces back to the front.
‘Questions?’ she snaps, bringing every head in the room looking back towards her. ‘No? Good. You have your orders and instructions. Speak to your section heads if you have questions, section heads can report to Gunjeep. I do not want to be disturbed with petty queries. You will all work hard to achieve our objective. Are we clear? I said, are we clear?’
Nods and murmurs come back as her cold gaze sweeps the tiered audience. ‘Good. Gunjeep?’ She walks off and out, slamming the door as Gunjeep takes his place at the podium and allows a moment of pensive reflection before speaking.
‘We must all do our bit,’ he says with a serious expression. ‘Terrorism cannot ever be allowed to, er . . . to win. We’re here to save the world, which is no easy task . . . but . . . we have the best minds here and you’ve all been psychometrically tested to ensure you can cope . . . Apart from Kate, of course . . .’ he adds with a weak grin. ‘Mother has assured me that whatever we do can be reset after . . .’ He pauses to nod, clearly unsure of his own words. ‘So work hard, support each other and we’ll get through it . . .’ He trails off to a sudden awkward silence as Alpha reads the non-verbal tells coming from the chief technician that suggest the man had no idea what Mother’s plan was until now. None of them did and the shock is palpable.
‘How do we reset something like that?’ someone asks from the tiered seats.
Alpha twists round to look. Everyone does. All of them looking to Doctor Holmes, who looks from Gunjeep to Alpha.
‘We have a time machine, Doctor Holmes,’ Bravo replies, his deep, rich voice so full of humour. ‘We just go back and stop it.’
‘It’s that simple?’ Doctor Holmes asks, and in that minute she speaks for everyone.
‘Things are never that simple,’ Bravo snorts with an endearing roll of his eyes. ‘But do remember our dear Maggie Sanderson came here and happily slaughtered you all, eh? We can’t let that happen, can we? No. Now, what’s this I hear about an evening of themed entertainment?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Gunjeep says, rallying to project a greater air of confidence. ‘We shall prevail. Now, I hope you’re all coming to my Star Trek night? Yes? Yes? Nod at me then, you stupid bastards . . . haha! That’s better.’ He grins round at the wan faces nodding slowly with shock and worry. ‘It’s the original series and the chefs, well, I say chefs but more the people that burn our food . . . Oh, I am sorry, Janet. You are a wonderful cook . . .’
‘Nicely done,’ Alpha whispers, leaning towards Bravo as Gunjeep carries on.
‘Happy to help,’ Bravo whispers back.
‘Right, get on with it then,’ Gunjeep calls out, clapping his hands. ‘Work hard, support each other and we’ll get through it.’
‘People are very odd,’ Charlie murmurs a few moments later as the five agents stand together, listening to the chats around them that talk about the Star Trek night as much as about the mission defined by Mother.
‘They are,’ Delta replies softly.
‘Hi!’ Kate says, beaming at the five men and just about the only person now brave enough to approach them. ‘Oh my god, Mother is sooo scary,’ she whispers, then double takes at their serious expressions. ‘Please don’t say she’s standing behind me.’
‘She is,’ Bravo says.
‘I am so sorry,’ Kate blurts, spinning round to apologise to thin air. ‘Oh you,’ she exclaims, slapping Bravo’s shoulder. ‘I thought some poo came out then . . . Are you all going to the Star Trek night?’
‘I am sorry, my dear, are you asking the five most highly trained agents in the British Secret Service if they are going to a movie night?’
‘Ooh, sounds really bad when you say it like that, Bravo,’ she says, biting her bottom lip in instant angst.
‘We’re not going,’ Alpha says.
‘Apparently we are not going,’ Bravo relays to Kate. ‘Doesn’t do for us to fraternise. Tends to lead to random heads of history departments walking up and punching us in the arms . . .’
‘I get that,’ Kate says seriously. ‘I totally get that . . . Oh, that’s me!’
‘She’s quick,’ Charlie jokes.
‘She is,’ Delta says.
‘So mean,’ she says, still smiling at them all. ‘But listen, I hate Star Trek . . . like totally hate it. What are you guys doing? Can we say we’ve got history stuff to do and I’ll hang with you?’
Those five most highly trained agents in the British Secret Service find themselves rendered mute and stupid at such a question being asked of them.
‘I’m researching bombs and things,’ Echo says, looking at the other four.
‘Bombs and things?’ Delta asks.
‘Yeah, the mission . . . bombs and things,’ Echo says.
‘Sure,’ Alpha says to Kate. ‘Come over. We’ve got work to do but it’s fine.’
‘Great! I’ll keep it on the Q T too,’ she whispers, winks, nods and pats the side of her nose before heading off.
‘What?’ Alpha asks as the other four look at him. ‘I can’t stand Star Trek either.’
‘I quite like Star Trek,’ Charlie says. ‘Never seen the original on holo . . .’
‘And to think we once trained armies in Africa,’ Bravo says with a dramatic tut.
‘Right, on with it,’ Alpha says. ‘Lot to do . . .’
An understatement if ever one was said. A lot to do does not cover it and every person in the complex is put to work.
It is an awful thing they plan for but, as they are often reminded, they were murdered in cold blood and anything changed can be reset, and so the horror of the thing they plan for lessens until it simply becomes the job at hand and the days soon start going by in a blur of activity.
Problems arise as they always will. The mission cannot go ahead without understanding weather patterns, but such things are the expertise of meteorologists, and with space at a premium within the complex none were selected for the project. Short straws are drawn and the bearded physics guys are tasked with learning the new subject, but that means close liaison with Rodney in the history department for the specified date and, in turn, the history department has to understand many things not related to history in order to choose that date, so they work with the engineers, physicists, chemists, biologists, doctors, IT specialists and programmers to start building an idea of just how they do what Mother ordered.
The Star Trek night soon comes and those attending, which equates to ninety-five per cent of the entire staff, soon gather in varying costumes in the briefing theatre for the buffet meal and a rare allowance of wine and beers with Gunjeep dressed as Captain Kirk proudly putting the holo series on.
It’s that night that Kate is exposed to the true genius and utter capability of the agents with an outstanding foray into their world with an infiltration by the five agents and Kate into the theatre, to snaffle food and drinks while in a double disguise of other complex workers dressed outlandishly as characters from Star Trek. It works too. They go in, mingle, chat, steal food and drink then exfil back to the agents’ quarters for their own mini party.
That the five men bond in such a way is unheard of within their world. That they share jokes is one thing, but the fact they adopt Kate into their fold as they work towards a thing of such magnitude is akin to Tango Two seeing the world through new eyes and choosing, of her own free will, to stay with Safa and the others.
Besides, Kate gets on with everyone and by the agents keeping her on side it means they have a steady flow of intelligence of the internal workings of the complex. They are agents after all.
They know, t
hrough Kate, that one of the physics guys is having sex with the redhead from the medical wing and that Gerry and one of the Portal Observation Specialists keep sneaking into each other’s rooms at night. They learn that pretty much everyone is having sex with everyone else.
‘Because, you know, we all got injected so no babies,’ Kate told them one day over coffee while imparting a fresh round of delicious gossip. ‘Ooh, anyway, so you know Jenny? Jenny? She’s got the big boobs? You know Jenny . . . You do know her. She works in Gunjeep’s department. Yes, her, so Roger, one of the technicians? He’s got the little beard? Anyway, so he has this thing for her and keeps, like, appearing wherever she is, but she is totally smitten with Echo . . .’
‘Oh, that one,’ Echo said. ‘I keep seeing her in the gym.’
‘She is so into you,’ Kate said. ‘Like, oh my god, she hates that I’m friends with you all.’
‘You’re our informant, my dear, not our friend,’ Bravo said.
‘Oh, you sod,’ she said, whacking him in the arm with a laugh.
Days turn into weeks and while Mother becomes increasingly hostile and overtly paranoid that the Roman Affa situation still hasn’t gained a reaction, the mission starts taking shape, becoming defined with rules and established principles. Dates are chosen, disagreed on, scrapped and chosen again and Mother purveys all with an intrusive eye while Alpha grows closer to Kate, spending more time in her company.
‘You like her?’ Mother asked during a routine intelligence meeting with Mother during which they compared the intel received from Kate against that which Mother knows from her sources.
‘Kate? She’s okay,’ Alpha said mildly. ‘She could be a good cover. She’s intelligent too underneath that excitability.’
‘Good,’ Mother said. ‘Use her as you see fit.’
‘. . . Oh my god, that’s so good . . . say it . . . say it . . . please say it . . . come on, say it for me . . .’
‘I’m Alpha,’ Alpha said, gripping Kate’s backside while thrusting at her bent over his bed in his private room the previous night.