The Master of Time

by David Wingrove

  Just the kind of thing Reichenau would get involved in.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, looking to Svetov. ‘Let’s go there now. Before he can vanish them away!’

  390

  Little men. That’s what they turn out to be. Worker bees in the great Time War, lacking even a single thing of interest to tell us about their Master.

  We drug them, question them again, but there’s nothing new. Reichenau never confided in these men, and that tells us something about him. Something we didn’t know before that moment.

  He’s a trickster, yes, but also a cautious man as far as whom he chooses to trust.

  Oh, and when I say we learn nothing, that’s not entirely true. We know now where this pair have been in Time – and when – and, knowing that, we can draw up a chart of their movements and, from that, get some idea of the pattern of Reichenau’s meddling.

  If pattern there is.

  I leave Tupayeva in charge and jump out of there, Svetov hot on my toes.

  ‘What now?’ the big Russian asks.

  I look to him, then climb down from the platform. ‘I don’t know about you, Arkadi, but I need some sleep.’

  Indeed, I’m feeling quite exhausted. Let the veche deal with things for a time. Only I need something to keep those dreams I’ve been having at bay.

  Urte gives me something which, she says, will knock me out cold, but before I’ve had the chance to take it, more news comes in from Nomonhan.

  A third agent has been taken, this time one of Reichenau’s lieutenants, in overall charge of their operations on the Russian–Japanese border. Svetov says he’ll deal with it, but I’m curious to find out just what this new agent knows that Kabanov and Postovsky don’t. It’s likely that he’d have much greater contact with Reichenau, and at least some small inkling of what his overall scheme is. So Svetov and I go back together, to find that the agent they’ve taken is an old colleague of Svetov’s.

  ‘Nikita!’ Svetov exclaims, as we meet the man. ‘What is this?’

  Only the man won’t meet his old friend’s eyes. Nor answer his question, it seems. He sits there at the desk, his hands and feet chained together, and says nothing.

  Oh, he knows we’ll get the truth from him, but he’s not going to betray his Master easily.

  Svetov turns to me. ‘This is Nikita Kaminski, Otto. I’ve worked with him back in the time of Catherine the Great, and in the Mechanist Age. He was a good man. Reliable. This …’

  And he throws his hands up expressively, as if to say he can’t understand what his old friend is doing here, working for our enemy.

  ‘Did he have one of the pendants?’ I ask, and Tupayeva, who’s standing at the back of the tent, confirms that he did, and that they’ve taken it from him, as from the other two.

  I look to her. ‘Have you begun the interrogation?’

  ‘No, Meister. I thought you’d want to do that. I thought this one might just know something about your girls. And maybe …’

  I turn to Kaminski, who still won’t look at us. ‘Well, Nikita? Do you know anything?’

  His shoulders seem to set more stubbornly. He’ll talk – even he knows that – but not until he’s forced to.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, tired of all of this, not in the least hopeful that he will have information about Katerina. ‘Get Diedrich here. Let’s see what this one knows.’

  While we wait, I sit, facing Kaminski, looking directly into his face. He’s a tall, rather emaciated man with the look of a peasant about him, but right now he’s trying to seem remote from things, defiant. Only I’ll break him if I have to. Make him babble like a baby.

  Svetov stands behind me, putting his hand on my shoulders. ‘What do you think we should do with him, when we’ve finished with him, Meister?’

  ‘I’d feed him to the wolves,’ Tupayeva says from the shadows.

  ‘That would be a blessing,’ Diedrich says, appearing suddenly in the air to one side of the desk. He puts his case down on the desk and, getting straight to work, sorts through endless ampoules until he finds what he’s been looking for. ‘I’d keep him alive,’ Diedrich says, never for a moment looking at Kaminski. ‘Keep him in torment every waking second.’

  ‘He can do it,’ I say, speaking to Kaminski. ‘He can make your life hell, Nikita. I only have to authorise it.’

  ‘And he would,’ Svetov says. ‘If it meant you were hiding Katerina from him.’

  If I expected him to react to that, I was wrong, and – even before we begin the interrogation – I know that there’s one thing that he doesn’t know, and that’s where Katerina is.

  And maybe none of Reichenau’s men – no, nor Reichenau himself – know where she and my other darlings are. Maybe only Kolya knows that. If Kolya’s still operating in Time after we’d shut down Four-Oh.

  I raise a hand. ‘Okay. Let’s stop it there.’

  Diedrich looks to me, puzzled. ‘Meister?’

  ‘Let’s put him in a cage. Guard him day and night, and see who his Master sends to rescue him. That’s if he does.’

  ‘But Meister …’

  I turn back to our prisoner. ‘Nikita. Why didn’t you jump out of there when you knew your fellow agents had been taken? Why didn’t you go and report the fact to your Master, Reichenau? And why were my people able to take you so easily?’

  Stubborn, he says nothing, but I can see – can read in his body language – that I’ve struck close to the gold. I lean closer, a sudden certainty in my voice.

  ‘We’ve shut you down, haven’t we? When we closed down Four-Oh, we cut you off from him, didn’t we? Trapped you where you were, in the timelines.’

  He wants to say no. To tell me where to stick my theory. Only I’m right. Kaminski, and all the rest of the rebels who form Reichenau’s rag-bag army, are trapped in the worlds they’re operating in. If we can find out where they are then we can take them, team by team. Maybe even Reichenau himself.

  ‘Svetov …’

  ‘Yes, Meister?’

  ‘Get this one back to Moscow Central, then question him thoroughly. Tell him if he gives me what I want then we’ll be easy on him. If not …’

  I can see just how much that irritates Kaminski, talking about him as if he’s not there in the room with me, but I know what I’m doing.

  ‘I’ll leave it to you.’

  And I jump.

  Back to Moscow Central … to find that it’s partly true. News has come. Our shutting down of Four-Oh has brought Reichenau’s activities to a grinding halt. Or so it seems from the handful of rebels we’ve captured.

  And among those captives is one I’ve met before. One I should, I guess, have known would be working for Reichenau in the field. Heinrich.

  Yes, Heinrich, Reichenau’s right-hand man from the twenty-eighth century.

  Telling Svetov to put the others in the cells, I decide to question Heinrich alone.

  391

  ‘Do you know me?’

  Heinrich looks up, meeting my eyes. It’s a lazy gesture, as if he need not bother to answer, only he does. ‘I know you, Otto Behr.’

  It’s unexpected, but I continue.

  ‘You have two choices,’ I say. ‘You can talk freely or we can drug you and torture you. I don’t mind which, to be honest.’

  He looks down at his shackled hands, then back at me. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Everything you know.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About your Master. About Reichenau.’

  ‘You want a lot.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve all the time in the world to listen.’

  He considers that, then nods. ‘So what specifically?’

  ‘About the kidnappings …’

  I’m watching him very closely as I ask, hoping for some small reaction, something I can latch on to. Only his puzzlement is genuine and I feel a stomach-wrenching sense of hopelessness wash through me.

  I would have sworn that he would know.

  ‘Your Master had no involvement, is that wha
t you’re saying? That he didn’t help Kolya in any way?’

  ‘Help him? No. My Master would have nothing to do with him.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Absolutely. He hates him. You can’t imagine just how much he hates him.’

  As Kolya hates me, I think. But this is interesting. ‘Hates?’

  ‘For what Kolya did to him, partly. For making him share a body with a total stranger. But there was an element of envy in there, too.’

  ‘And Kolya? Did he hate him back?’

  Heinrich laughs. ‘Kolya? No, but that’s it, you see. That’s what Reichenau hated the most. His father’s complete indifference to him. That’s what irks him most … that he doesn’t care.’

  I sit back, shocked by the revelation. If it’s true, that is. Only why shouldn’t it be? It would explain a lot, after all.

  I change tack.

  ‘Is it true, then, that Kolya is defending certain parts of Time against Reichenau’s attempts to change them? Segments of Time where he’s got a … let’s call it a personal investment.’

  ‘Where his “brothers” are, you mean?’

  He nods. ‘You can’t imagine how many times he’s tried to penetrate Kolya’s defences. And do you know how many times he’s managed to succeed? Not once. Not a single fucking time.’

  ‘Then you don’t know where he is?’

  ‘Oh, we know where he is, all right. It’s getting there that’s difficult. Go in and he changes it. Instantly.’

  I pause, my heart thudding in my chest. ‘Do you have the time coordinates?’

  ‘You want them?’

  I nod, chilled suddenly. For this is the closest we have come. But Heinrich isn’t finished.

  ‘I can give you them. All of them we know, that is. Only it won’t help you. Not unless he wants you to meet him.’

  And maybe I should leave it at that. Only I have one last question.

  ‘Does Kolya have his own power source?’

  Heinrich sits back, relaxed now. ‘As for power sources, I don’t properly know, though I’d guess that he does. He certainly has his own platform. We tried to infiltrate it, you know, like we did Four-Oh, only he knew what we were up to. It’s his paranoia, so Reichenau says. It makes him wise to such tricks.’

  392

  ‘Well?’

  There are four of us sat in the lecture theatre, having watched the recording of my interview with Heinrich – Ernst, Master Schnorr, Zarah and, of course, myself – and we all have differing opinions on how much we should trust what Heinrich’s said.

  Ernst is cynical. ‘It’s a tissue of misinformation,’ he says, ‘designed to lead us astray while Reichenau slips away, his schemes intact. No, Otto … Heinrich was Reichenau’s man without a doubt – obedient to the letter – and why should that have changed? Why should he be giving away his Master’s secrets so cheaply?’

  ‘Because the situation has changed and our friend Heinrich’s a pragmatist?’ Zarah answers him, keen to get on with things and end the debate.

  ‘Master Schnorr?’ I ask. ‘What do you think?’

  Old Schnorr pulls at his beard, considering matters, then shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I simply don’t know. Reichenau hating Kolya … well, that makes a lot of sense … Only … well, Ernst has a point. It all felt too easy. Heinrich answered everything like he’d been rehearsed. And we all know how much Reichenau likes to play games and set traps and create mazes. So …’

  ‘So he was lying,’ Ernst chips in, and I have to admit, watching it a second – and third – time it seemed more and more artificial. Like he was playing a role. Reichenau’s man to the last. Only …

  ‘I think there’s an element of truth in there,’ I say. ‘That bit about Reichenau hating Kolya. I can imagine that. And it fits with other information we’ve received. Which is why I think we should use the information Master Schnorr has obtained about Kolya and go after him. Forget Reichenau a moment. Let’s go for the greater threat.’

  Ernst starts forward, as if he’s about to challenge me, then stops, lowering his eyes.

  ‘You have something you want to say, Ernst?’

  Only Ernst knows what’s going through my head. He knows, from long experience, from being close to me all these years, that going after Kolya is only an excuse. What I really want is…

  But then you know that.

  Zarah looks to me, her eyes sympathetic. ‘Otto’s right. Reichenau can wait. We’ve disempowered him. Locked him up and thrown away the key. So what better time to go after Kolya?’

  There’s a moment’s silence, then Old Schnorr speaks up. ‘What Heinrich said, about how difficult it is to get to Kolya. Do you think that’s true?’

  ‘I don’t know. All we have is Heinrich’s word.’

  ‘The word of a liar.’

  ‘True, but …’ I hesitate, then lay out my plan. ‘As I said, we use the information Master Schnorr has compiled on Kolya and make a series of concerted attacks on Kolya’s ancestors throughout Time. We keep hitting them and hitting them, slowly wearing them down, using up Kolya’s forces until he’s forced to confront us directly.’

  ‘And then?’ Ernst asks.

  I smile. ‘And then we crush him like a bug.’

  Only even as I say it, even as I smile, imagining killing the bastard, the shadow of their absence falls over me once more.

  But what if he kills them, Otto? What if he waits until the last and then kills them anyway?

  But no one asks that question. No one but the dark voice in my head.

  393

  Svetov, when he hears there’s to be an operation, smiles broadly, showing his strong white teeth. ‘Okay! Let’s get the bastard!’ Only it’s not the bastard he really wants to go after. For some reason – and it seems fairly general – the majority of our people would rather be finishing off Reichenau than going after Kolya. Maybe it’s just that awful, fear-inspiring double head of his, but …

  As far as our people are concerned, Reichenau is Number One on the wanted list, with Kolya a distant, unthreatening Two. They don’t like him, sure – after all, didn’t Kolya steal Katerina and the girls? – but there’s no heat in their dislike, no passion. Their hatred is almost entirely impersonal.

  Maybe that’s because – quite literally – Kolya keeps himself to himself. He doesn’t meddle, after all, and when it comes right down to it, it’s hard to hate what you never confront.

  Put simply: Kolya provokes a cold, abstract revulsion; Reichenau a dark, emotional hatred.

  Only I’ve seen behind Kolya’s eyes. Seen the bitterness and paranoia there, the intense and spiteful hatred that’s like molten magma welling up in him. Oh, he seems rational enough, only he’s not. No, he’s far more dangerous than Reichenau. Far more deadly. Why, if what Heinrich says is true, and Reichenau can’t touch him, then maybe we would do well not to take him on.

  Only I must.

  Ernst comes to me late in the evening and says what he couldn’t say earlier, in the presence of Zarah and Old Schnorr, his voice gentle but firm.

  ‘I know how much it must hurt, Otto, but you can’t use your girls as an excuse to formulate policy,’ he says. ‘You did that once before and look where it got us!’

  ‘It got me Katerina.’

  ‘And lost her. Not to speak of the girls. Besides … were we to throw every last man – and woman – against Kolya, my guess is that he’d simply slip aside, outflank us and maybe attack the platform itself. And then where would we be?’

  I look down, trying to control my feelings. Ernst should not have come. He might be right, but what does that mean, faced, as I am, by such potential loss? No, I’m right, as I was right at the very beginning, to let my heart guide me in these matters.

  I mean, isn’t that why Time is shaped the way it now is? Because of she and I? Because we risked everything for love?

  Well, then … enough of caution. Enough of waiting for someone to give me the yes to go ahead.

  Eno
ugh …

  ‘Otto, I—’

  ‘No,’ I say, ocean depths of feeling shaping the word. ‘Go away now, Ernst and leave me be. It’s my choice now, not yours.’

  ‘But Otto, I—’

  ‘Go,’ I say. And, faced with the finality of the word, he goes.

  394

  And returns, a mere two hours later, bringing bad news.

  There has been a brawl in one of the bars of Moscow Central, between German and Russian agents, and while no one has been badly hurt, feelings are running high. Idleness, it seems, is as great a threat to us as any of our enemies.

  The news depresses me, and, alone in Yastryeb’s rooms, I feel at my lowest ebb. More than that, I find I have changed my mind again about what to do.

  I pace the room anxiously. Ernst is right. We can’t just throw all of our forces against Kolya. To do so would be to forget everything we’ve ever learned from the Game. Oh, it might be that the Game will one day fade from collective memory and be forgotten, but while we still have enemies to fight …

  Until then we must use what we know. It isn’t just a case of attacking our enemies where they’re weak, but anticipating where they might attack us.

  I stop, facing Master Yastryeb’s shelves, then gasp, astonished, for there, directly in front of me, is the photo album, the one I first glimpsed in Reichenau’s room in Werkstatte 9.

  I take it down, surprised to find it here in this room. How in Urd’s name did it get here? Who brought it? Did one of the agents find it and bring it back for Yastryeb?

  I sit down and, my hands trembling, open it.

  And catch my breath, for there, in that first photograph, is Katerina, beside me, outside our house – our dacha – there in Cherdiechnost. She is dressed in a long white cotton dress, her hand in mine, one of our baby daughters – Martha – just behind us, to our right.

  And then there’s me.

  Gods, I look so Russian in that shot, dressed in my white full-length linen Tolstovka shirt, my features hidden behind a full growth of beard, my skin burned dark by the sun.