Day of the Assassins jc-1

by Johnny O'Brien

  But Jack kept his nerve. “Wait for it…”

  He reached into his own coat and pulled out the pistol that he had been given earlier in the game. He held it in both hands and levelled it directly at Princip, who was by now pointing his own gun into the large car.

  Angus was apoplectic. “Shoot him!”

  Jack pressed the button on his controller once. The pistol jerked in his hands on the screen and Princip collapsed to the ground.

  “You got him! You got him!”

  They had completed the level. They had foiled the assassination and thereby stopped the countdown to the First World War. They had changed history, but they would not know exactly how they had changed it until the next level. In his excitement, Angus leaped onto the armchair. The big old springs inside the chair absorbed his weight, but then unexpectedly rebounded. Angus suddenly found himself flying over the back of the armchair and towards an old bookcase that stood against one wall of the cellar. Jack turned away from the game just in time to see Angus’s large frame crash headlong into the bookcase. There was an explosion of splintering wood and collapsing shelves as he made contact. Then, the entire structure started to move. With a huge crash, the bookcase, its contents and Angus landed in a heap of rubble, wood and dust.

  Missing Sim

  As the air cleared, Jack peered into the gloom over his friend’s prostrate body. The bookcase had fallen backwards through a thin partition into… Jack was not quite sure what.

  Angus groaned and pulled himself to his feet. “What happened?”

  “I got him, like you said, but…”

  Jack had put down his controller and had already stepped over Angus and the bookcase and into the opening next to the cellar.

  Gingerly, Angus got to his feet wiping off the dust from his shirt and trousers. As the air cleared, a mysterious annex to the cellar took shape. It looked like a… library. The hole in the cellar wall had opened up onto a narrow balcony, which housed an upper section that swept completely around a small oval room. From this upper section you could reach the lower room by a spiral staircase. The lower floor was well below the level of the adjoining cellar where they had been battling with Point-of-Departure.

  The upper level of the library was packed with books from floor to ceiling — although it looked like there were gaps where some books were missing. In the lower level of the library, there were papers and journals stacked haphazardly. The walls of the lower level were also plastered with large panels of brown paper to which an extraordinary array of photographs, diagrams and stapled notes were attached. In some places, large felt-tipped arrows were scrawled, connecting one section to another. There were scribbles and crossings out everywhere. In some cases, different-coloured string had been used to interconnect various items and above each main panel of paper there was a large label. These labels were the only things that seemed to exercise any kind of order on the messy workings pinned on the wallcharts beneath. From right to left along the wall, the labels for each wallchart could be read in sequence: ‘Timeline Simulation 0103’, ‘Timeline Simulation 0104’, ‘Timeline Simulation 0105’, and so on, all the way up to ‘Timeline Simulation 0109’.

  “What is this place?”

  “Looks like a kind of control room…” Jack replied.

  “Or something out of Crime Scene Investigation.”

  “Yeah — all those weird maps, pictures, photos, notes… kind of linked together…”

  “And what the hell is a Timeline Simulation?”

  “No clue…” Jack looked along the wall at the various sheets. About halfway down the room he noticed that there seemed to be a whole wallchart missing — just the bare wall and plaster remained behind, pockmarked by the Blu-Tack that had been used to attach the sheet to the wall.

  “Funny…” Jack said. “Simulation 0107 seems to be missing…”

  Angus shrugged. “Come on — let’s take a closer look.”

  They rushed down the spiral staircase to the lower level. They had not noticed that a dim light had automatically come on as they entered the library. Soon they were in the midst of the lower room and it felt like they were drowning in a sea of paper, books, diagrams, pictures and notes. It was as if they had entered the brain of some ghostly intellect and caught it in the midst of solving some mind-bendingly difficult puzzle.

  Opposite the wallcharts, there was a series of floor-to-ceiling shelves and glass cabinets.

  “Look at all this stuff…”

  Each shelf and each cabinet seemed to be stuffed full of all sorts of historical paraphernalia. Jack had done enough history with Pendelshape to realise that much of it was military in nature — possibly from the world wars. He spotted a trench telescope, some medals, old maps, at least five different sorts of shell casings, uniforms, plus an array of rusty-looking revolvers and other equipment.

  “Amazing, do you think any of it can still be used?” Angus said, hopefully.

  Between two of the glass cabinets there was a large easel to which was pinned a map. Jack recognised it immediately from one of Pendelshape’s recent lessons — an old map of the Balkans. Just like the wallcharts opposite, various notes, photographs and diagrams were pinned to it. Some were connected to specific points by hand-drawn lines. The cities of Sarajevo and Belgrade were marked, but most of the other names he could neither recognise nor pronounce. The pictures pinned around the map included some sort of fortress in a town called ‘Doboj’ quite near Sarajevo and a picture of a country church or monastery.

  “What about that?” Angus was staring towards the far end of the library, his eyes on sticks. There, in the shadows, was a low steel platform set at about waist height. It was perhaps half a metre across and surrounded by eight curved pieces of metal that looped up from the floor, bulged out around the central platform and then rejoined at the top. The whole thing was encased in a canopy of thick green glass. Around the platform there was an intricate arrangement of metal pipework, cabling and wires. There were two main work areas next to the platform, housing an array of oscilloscopes, tools and old computer equipment, but in terms of the overall arrangement of all this technology, the platform was at the centre of things and therefore seemed in some way important.

  They moved over to the laboratory area at the far end of the library. As with the other objects, it was clear that a number of pieces of equipment had been removed. There were large spaces in the control panels where multicoloured wires hung loose, spaghetti-like, from empty metal framing.

  “Look at this thing.” Jack was examining the steel platform inside the thick glass canopy. He suddenly realised that a strange metal object had been left on the platform between a set of symmetrical markings etched into the steel surface of the platform. As he peered closer, Jack put out a finger to touch the glass. Suddenly the whole casing swung silently back from the platform. He snatched back his hand.

  “Help! It’s moving!”

  Soon the canopy had rolled back completely and the boys had a chance to study the object before them. It was a piece of flat shiny metal. One end was pointed. It looked incredibly sharp. The other end was clasped around a narrower splintered piece of cylindrical wood. Angus picked up the object. It was very much heavier than it looked.

  “Kind of a spike?” Angus said.

  “Here, look, it’s got an inscription…” Jack said.

  “What does it say?”

  “No idea — the metal has a sort of brown stain on it, too.”

  “Lots of history stuff in here — maybe it’s another antique?”

  “We should take it to Pendelshape. He’ll know.” Jack placed the object in his pocket.

  After a while, Angus said, “Maybe all this is to do with your father, don’t you think? You said he was some sort of scientist, didn’t you? And into history.”

  “Yes. But I don’t know why it’s all hidden away down here… And such a mess.” Then he added resentfully, “I don’t know why Mum hasn’t said anything about it before. I’ll go and get h
er.”

  But he didn’t have to. Having heard the commotion, Mrs Christie had arrived on the scene and was on the balcony looking down at them.

  “Looks like you’ve made a bit of a discovery.”

  “What is all this Mum?” Jack looked up at her expectantly.

  His mum shrugged. “It’s your father’s old workshop. When he left he took some things with him, but he wanted the rest left alone and… well, we closed it off.”

  “But…”

  There was a pause. “Sorry I didn’t say anything,” she sighed. “With your father’s work, it was best not to get involved.”

  A Message

  Dr Neil Pendelshape slurped from a mug of tea as he inspected the artefact. The mug had a slogan on it that read, ‘Historians do it after the event’. Nobody quite knew how old the head of the history department was — but judging by the crow’s feet around his deep-set eyes and the cropped grey hair, he had to be well into his fifties. He wore a tweed jacket, which struggled to cover a squat, portly frame. Pendelshape didn’t go in for the open neck fashion of the younger teachers. Jack had never seen him without a tie. He would march around the History department as if it was his personal property — always in control. Jack had never heard him raise his voice, let alone lose his temper, yet discipline was never a problem.

  Jack proudly presented the artefact to Pendelshape after school. He and Angus had spent quite a bit of time the previous evening exploring his father’s extraordinary library and workshop. To Jack’s dismay, his mum had continued to be coy about the discovery. She had said that she had been “meaning to clear it all out” for some time; and that she “had always meant to tell him that it was there”, but over time, and being so busy, had “kind of forgotten”. Jack did not understand this at all. But as he and Angus had inspected each of the artefacts and the mysterious wallcharts and all the strange equipment in turn, he’d begun to feel a sneaking sense of pride that all of this had once belonged to his own dad.

  Pendelshape listened to the boys’ revelations with quiet interest. But as the story unfolded, his brow furrowed. He nodded thoughtfully and looked at the lump of steel more closely, with a magnifying glass taken from his desk. He studied the stem of splintered wood first and then carefully worked his way up to the arrow-shaped tip. He was staring intently, his nose millimetres from the object. His face flushed momentarily and a small bead of sweat slowly formed on his forehead. They had expected Pendelshape to be excited. But instead he looked increasingly… worried.

  “So what is it, sir?” Angus asked.

  “It’s the tip of a lance.”

  Pendelshape thrust the magnifying glass over to Jack and pointed a finger at some lettering on one edge of the arrow-shaped lance head.

  “I can see the letters, sir. But I don’t know what they mean.”

  “Let me translate. It reads, ‘By God’s Grace — F.J.’”

  Jack stared blankly at Pendelshape. “F.J.?”

  “Franz Joseph.”

  Jack remembered the name but Angus shrugged, none the wiser.

  Pendelshape rolled his eyes. “It means, boys, that we have here the ceremonial lance tip of one of the life guards of the Emperor of Austria.” His voice trailed off thoughtfully. “Or, to give him his proper name: Emperor of Austria, King of Jerusalem, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Bohemia, Galicia, Lodomeria, Illyria and Croatia, Archduke of Austria, and Duke, Markgraf, Prince or Count of some thirty other places in the Austro-Hungarian Dual Monarchy… indeed.” He smiled grimly and snorted, “They don’t give them titles like that any more!”

  “Indeed.” Angus said. Pendelshape narrowed his eyes and looked back at him sharply, trying to decide whether Angus was taking the mickey. Jack pressed on before he could make up his mind.

  “Sorry, sir, I didn’t think there were any empires left; I mean Austria is not an empire… do they even have a king?”

  Pendelshape was impressed, “Very good Jack. You’re absolutely right, but of course, this artefact is not modern. In fact, it is at least ninety years old…”

  “And what’s that funny brown staining on the metal, sir?” Angus asked.

  Pendelshape delayed his response, rubbed the back of his neck, and then said, matter-of-factly, “It’s blood.”

  Jack’s heart jumped and he glanced at Angus.

  Pendelshape stared out towards the window, deep in thought. A sparkling autumn day had gradually been enveloped by clouds that had rolled down from the hills. Suddenly, Pendelshape seemed to come to a decision about something. He stood up and kicked a rusty fan heater — it rumbled into life and reluctantly started to exhale tepid air into the classroom.

  “The Schonbrunn raid,” Pendelshape finally muttered. “It might well be…”

  “Sorry, sir — what’s that?” Jack asked.

  “Little is known about it — some people think it did not happen at all — that it is just a myth. Apparently, there was some sort of raid on the Palace of Schonbrunn in Vienna — a few days before the assassination of Franz Ferdinand in 1914. The Austro-Hungarian government was very embarrassed about an attack at the very heart of the empire. They tried to erase any evidence that it took place. The story goes that Austrian lancers took on a group of Serbian rebels in the gardens of Schonbrunn itself. There were a number of casualties.”

  “You think this lance could somehow be linked to this… raid?”

  Pendelshape shrugged. “Well, the design is distinctive and places it quite accurately at that time… and…”

  “What?”

  “It would certainly be an important historical find if we could place the lance to that date… it might even be evidence that the raid did indeed happen.”

  “Wonder how Dad came to have it in his workshop…” Jack said.

  “Yes — Jack…” Pendelshape said thoughtfully, “I would be interested to know that too.”

  The room fell silent for a moment. Finally, Pendelshape announced, “Well, school’s finished for today. I suggest you two stay around for an hour or so. Maybe do your homework in the library. I will go to the staffroom and phone a few colleagues, make some enquiries. Let’s see if we can find out exactly what the piece is and perhaps discover its value — maybe even test my theory. That might be interesting, don’t you think?” He looked at his watch, “Why don’t you come back at, say, five or so?”

  Jack looked at Angus with an enthusiastic nod. Angus shrugged.

  “Great. Thanks, sir. If you’re sure.” And with that they left Pendelshape as he picked up his magnifying glass and looked at the lance head.

  As they left the classroom, Jack turned to Angus, “Pretty cool, eh? What do you want to do, then?”

  “Not go to the library for a start.”

  “Agreed. Gino’s?”

  “Nah. Boyle will be there — remember — four o’clock, Friday… and it’s Friday 13th — unlucky — I can’t face that lot.”

  They walked slowly down the austere Victorian corridor past the old classrooms, wondering how to kill an hour.

  “Watch out. Trouble ahead.” Angus suddenly said, and nodded in the direction of the far corridor as two burly uniformed figures approached.

  “The terrible twins. What have we done to deserve this?”

  Sure enough, the two school janitors, Tony Smith and Gordon MacFarlane, approached as they checked each of the empty classrooms before locking up for the evening. Tony was tall, with a ramrod back and puffed-out chest and, as ever, he was immaculately turned out. Gordon was shorter and stockier, but also strode around with the authority of an ex-army officer. Both men were feared and to be avoided due to the pleasure they took in enforcing the pettiest of school rules and their habit of dispensing discipline with the maximum level of sarcasm. There was a rumour in the school that Tony and Gordon were ex-SAS — a notion that neither janitor made any effort to dispel. There was another rumour, too, that they were actually ex-traffic wardens. This was the story that Jack and Angus thought more likely.

&
nbsp; The boys looked for some way to avoid the two men. But it was too late. Soon the two large figures were looming over them, Tony peering down at Jack over a carefully trimmed moustache, an eager twinkle in his eye.

  “Well now, what do we have here?” Tony said.

  “One waif and one stray,” Gordon chimed.

  “It’s Mr Christie and Mr Jud, is it not?”

  “Yes Mr Smith,” Jack said.

  Tony turned to Gordon and impersonated Jack’s voice mockingly, “Yes Mr Smith.”

  Gordon laughed and repeated in a squeaky voice, “Yes Mr Smith…”

  Tony said, “Remind me, Mr MacFarlane, what is the penalty for loitering in school grounds twenty minutes after the final bell, outside the designated zones?”

  Gordon turned back to Tony taking his time to consider the answer. “Mmm… I don’t know, Mr Smith. Outside the designated zones, I think the penalty might be a detention… but actually, we could make up any penalty we want.”

  Tony looked back down at Jack. “Shall we do that boys… shall we make up a penalty?”

  “But… we were going to the library…”

  Gordon exhaled sceptically making a sort of drawn-out ‘psshht’ sound as he did so. Thankfully, just at that moment, Pendelshape emerged from his classroom and marched down the corridor towards them.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen, anything I can help you with?”

  Tony and Gordon’s manner changed instantly. It was as if the sergeant major had appeared and they snapped to attention.

  “Good afternoon, Dr Pendelshape. I believe these are your pupils?” Tony said obsequiously.

  “Yes, Tony, they’re with me. They were just off to the library — weren’t you?”

  “No problem, sir — we were just closing down for the night. You know the rules, sir.”

  “Very good — you can leave my room open for a little longer… I have the keys.”

  “Sir.” And with that Tony and Gordon slunk off in disappointment.

  “Right lads — along to the library — and I’ll make those calls.”