by RR Haywood
‘Nice,’ Harry says, wiping his mouth after gulping it down in one go.
Safa shrugs and drinks it in one motion. She looks at Ben over the rim of the mug, almost laughing out loud at the earnest, interested expression on his face. Like the Ben that was here in the beginning. That Ben. The nice Ben.
‘Was it nice?’ Ben asks as soon as she lowers the mug.
‘Was,’ she says. ‘What was in it?’
‘Drugs,’ Doctor Watson says with a lift of his eyebrows as he turns away back to his table.
‘Do you feel anything?’ Ben asks, looking from Safa to Harry.
‘Only just drunk it,’ Safa says.
Ben nods. ‘Roger,’ he says and waits for a few seconds. ‘How about now?’
‘Plan,’ Miri says, drawing their attention.
‘Ready,’ Safa says, walking over to the table.
‘No plan,’ Miri says. ‘Fluid. Snatch mission. Two adult males. Have any of you been to Cavendish Manor?’
‘Negative,’ Safa says.
‘Negative,’ Ben says, earning a look from Safa.
‘No,’ Harry says.
Miri continues without a flicker of reaction. ‘Fluid. Go fast. Sweep through the target premises. Bertram is the priority. Get the son. Get Roland. Return through the Blue . . .’
‘The what?’ Ben asks.
‘Blue,’ Miri says.
‘Time machine,’ the doctor says from behind them.
‘Time machine is Blue now, is it?’ Safa asks, staring at Miri.
‘Affirmative,’ Miri says.
‘Blue is cool,’ Ben says, nodding happily.
‘TM is better,’ Safa says. ‘We’ll get Roland,’ she says, casting a look at Miri, ‘and his son, then back through the TM . . .’
‘Blue,’ Miri says.
‘TM,’ Safa says.
Silence.
‘Device is Blue,’ Miri says.
‘Yeah, it’s also a time machine,’ Safa says.
Silence.
‘Awkward,’ Ben mumbles.
‘Flip a coin?’ Doctor Watson suggests amiably.
‘You got a coin?’ Ben asks him.
‘Ah, no, afraid not,’ he says.
‘Harry, you got a coin, mate?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, shame. Miri? You got one?’
‘Blue,’ Miri says.
‘TM,’ Safa says.
‘Righto,’ Ben says. ‘Er . . . vote?’
‘Device is Blue.’
‘We called it the TM before you arrived,’ Safa says.
‘Did we?’ Ben asks, looking at Harry, who goes back to picking crumbs from his shirt.
‘You were depressed,’ Safa says, still looking at Miri.
‘Depressed, not deaf,’ Ben says.
‘I have authority. Device is Blue. Fluid mission to . . .’
‘Right,’ Safa says brightly, turning to face Ben and Harry. ‘Fluid mission. We go in, grab the two subject males and come straight back to the TM. Understood?’
‘Aye,’ Harry says, nodding eagerly.
‘Roger,’ Ben says. ‘Grab the two blokes and come back through the Blue.’
‘HAHA,’ Harry laughs, grinning widely at Safa and Ben. ‘It’s funny because he keeps saying roger,’ he explains, pointing at Ben.
‘Urgh,’ Safa says, shaking her head. ‘I’m starting to buzz . . . What was in that drink?’
‘I told you. Drugs,’ Doctor Watson says.
‘Feel awake now, I do,’ says Harry. ‘Oh aye, wide awake. You feel awake, Safa? I feel awake now. We should have a run when we get back . . . Safa? Ben? You up for a run later?’
‘What did you give us?’ Safa asks, looking from Harry to the doctor. ‘It’s like cocaine or something . . .’
‘Um, not exactly cocaine . . .’
‘What? You gave Mad Harry Madden cocaine before a live job . . .’
‘It’s not cocaine,’ the doctor says, staring into the bottom of his mug.
‘COCAINE,’ Harry booms as Safa’s body starts to tingle. Her vision grows sharper, clearer, her mind whizzing fast and wide awake. The pain in her skull gone and her limbs thrumming with energy.
‘Holy shit,’ Safa groans, shaking her head again.
‘Really wasn’t cocaine.’
‘Fucking was,’ Safa says, very loud and very fast. ‘What the fuck are you thinking? Fuck it. We’re going. We’re off. We’ll get moving. We’re ready . . . Ben? You ready? Keep that weapon in the holster . . . I can’t believe he gave us cocaine, the bloody idiot.’
‘S’not cocaine.’
Miri gets the stopwatch on her wrist zeroed and ready, then finally lifts her eyebrows at the utter shambles going on in front of her. Unfortunately there is no choice but to press on. Roland and his son have to be secured. They are more important than any of these three idiots grinning at each other. Ben hasn’t even had any drugs. Why is he so happy? The British are a strange folk, for sure.
Five
‘Roland Cavendish. Last picture taken in the year 2046, so he will have aged,’ Tango Two says, turning the 3D image so everyone in the room can see.
‘Cosmetic surgery,’ Bravo cuts in quickly. ‘He may look the same as that. Exactly the same.’
‘Understood,’ Tango Two says, frowning as she reduces the image and brings the next one blooming up from the tablet on the desk. ‘Bertram Cavendish. Son of Roland Cavendish. Twenty-five years old. Lives in the family home. Intel suggests Bertram is the inventor of the new weapons system. He is the primary target. Is that correct?’ she asks, looking at Alpha, who nods. ‘Also in the family home we have Maria Cavendish, known to family and friends as Ria – twenty-two years old, daughter of Roland – and Susan Cavendish, wife of Roland and mother to Bertram and Maria. Er, there are no orders regarding them?’
‘Bertram and Roland are the priority,’ Alpha says.
‘Understood,’ Tango Two says smartly before continuing. ‘We have several army regiments currently deploying a ring of steel around the property. They are not tasked with entry but to secure the area only.’ She blooms out the image of the manor house.
‘How many agents and operatives have we got to deploy?’ Alpha asks, reaching a hand into the hologram to turn the image.
‘Thirty-two, not including your team,’ Tango Two says immediately. ‘Eighteen fully operational, eight coming to the end of their extended basic training packages and the remaining six are basic trained only.’
‘Understood,’ Alpha says. ‘I’ll take it from here, Tango Two. Good brief. We have a four-sided target premises. We stick with basic tactical colour coding,’ he says, enlarging the image so everyone can see the hologram of the front of the manor house. ‘The front is white side. The right side is green. The rear is black. The left side is red. Blue is the roof. Everyone clear?’ A slight pause. A heartbeat and nothing more. ‘Eight to white. Eight to black. Eight to green. Seven to red . . .’
‘Forgive me,’ Tango Two says, looking from Alpha to Bravo and then down to Echo while rapidly assimilating why Alpha has made a mistake, ‘that is thirty-one. There is one unaccounted for.’
‘Can you fastrope?’
‘I can,’ she says without a flicker of reaction.
‘Training only or live deployment?’
‘Both.’
‘You’ll deploy with us. When is the heli arriving?’
‘Here now, half a mile away,’ Tango Two says, allowing one single surprised blink in reaction to the information that she, only a Two, will deploy with the five via fastrope.
‘Good skills,’ Alpha says, offering her a nod. Snatch missions are unpredictable. They have to extract male subjects, and male subjects nearly always respond more positively to females.
‘Ones will split to lead even teams,’ Bravo says, addressing the operatives. ‘Experienced Twos will assist their Ones. Is that clear? New operatives just out of basic will listen closely to their Ones and Twos. Is that also clear? The subjects are to be taken alive. All clea
r? Jolly good.’
The five take their kit to get changed in a back room, plunging the large, open-plan living quarters of the lodge into an awkward silence, with every Two wishing they were Tango and every One wishing she would piss off.
For her part, Tango Two feels the sudden pressure of being lifted to the top table but now not knowing if she should be issuing instructions, asking if everyone is ready or perhaps even going outside to avoid the thirty-one black-clad faces currently glaring at her.
She goes outside.
‘I bet she’s floating off the floor right now,’ Charlie says, stripping his smart business suit off. ‘She any good?’ he asks Delta.
‘Hmmm,’ Delta says, tugging the corner of his mouth down. ‘She’s thirty and still a Two, but she’s a woman, so . . .’
‘Good enough,’ Charlie says.
Bravo nods with understanding as he goes back to undressing. He thought he saw the flicker of a plan on Alpha’s face when they all saw Tango Two.
‘Have you checked in yet?’ Bravo asks.
‘Do it now,’ Alpha says, opening the door. ‘I need a secure line,’ he calls out and waits a few seconds for the former briefer to run down with the phone. The man remembers halfway that he has a bad knee and adds the limp for the final few steps. ‘You’re a cunt,’ Alpha says, taking the phone and closing the door in his face.
‘Who is?’ Mother asks as Alpha puts the phone to his ear and the other four wince.
‘The briefer,’ Alpha says honestly. ‘Faking a knee injury to avoid deployment. He needs Siberia for a few months.’
‘He’ll get Siberia for a few months,’ Mother says curtly before switching to her nice motherly tone. ‘So, Alfie darling. How are my boys holding up? Do put me on holo so I can see everyone.’
Alpha mouths sorry as he pulls the phone away and presses a button that balloons Mother into the air above the handset in perfect, pin-sharp definition. Her pinched face glaring beneath the greying hair cut short and austere. Mother sweeps her gaze over the five half-dressed men and to the last they hold still. All respectful. All quiet and all waiting for her to speak.
‘Nice holiday, boys?’ Mother asks, her smile chilling the blood in their veins.
‘Ma’am,’ Bravo says, dipping his head.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Charlie mumbles.
‘Mother,’ Delta mutters.
‘WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?’ Mother snaps before Echo can reply. ‘Berlin is a mess. Have you seen it? You do not want to see it. It looks like fucking Beirut in the 1980s . . .’
The five wait. Charlie with one leg in his trousers. Echo in his boxers with the bandage on his arm.
‘Jesus H Christ. How on earth did that go wrong?’
‘Unknown opposition prepped the warehouse,’ Alpha says. ‘Blew it as we approached.’
‘Professional?’
‘Definitely,’ says Echo, the explosive expert amongst them. ‘Charges and accelerants used in the room holding the device . . . but, er . . .’ He pauses.
‘What?’ Mother demands.
‘Looked like it was C4,’ Echo says politely. ‘Old way of doing it, ma’am.’
‘They’ve got a fucking time machine,’ Mother’s states icily. ‘They can use fucking dynamite taken from the dead fingers of Davy fucking Crockett at the fucking Alamo if they want. What about the rest of the street? You were only meant to destroy the observation points, not the whole fucking neighbourhood!’
‘Er, sorry, ma’am,’ Echo says, ‘but that wasn’t us.’
‘What?’
Alpha clears his throat, bringing Mother’s glare back to him. ‘That wasn’t us. We blew the observation point only. The warehouse and the street was someone else.’
‘Fuck me,’ Mother mutters, looking away from Alpha to something in her room. ‘They have a time machine. Every agent in that street is either dead or seriously injured . . . Shit and shit and FUCKING SHIT.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Alpha says.
Mother leans forward, lowering her tone. ‘I’ve got the fucking Prime Minister calling me every five fucking minutes. She has every other world leader calling her every five fucking minutes, all wanting to know if we have found it. Russia are pointing nukes at us. America are pointing half of theirs back at Russia, some at China and a few are now facing in our direction, gentlemen. We’ve got fucking NATO literally shitting themselves and every intelligence agency in the world and no doubt every fucking satellite now positioned over my fucking head! This is blown. We are blown. They know we went after it, which is bad enough, but we cannot confirm or deny, which makes them all think we HAVE A FUCKING TIME MACHINE!’
The five stay silent. Not a muscle twitches.
Mother rubs her forehead and sighs heavy and long to force the harsh tone into something ever so slightly softer. ‘Plan?’
‘Ground assault using thirty-one operatives attacking all sides of the target premises while we fastrope down on to a balcony on the white side,’ Alpha says. ‘Army on the perimeter for the ring of steel.’
‘I’m looking at the target premises now,’ the hologram image of Mother says while looking away to the side.
‘Ma’am,’ Alpha says, ‘Tango Two is here. Said this is her patch. She briefed us.’
‘Oh, that is so nice for you,’ Mother says, still looking away to the side. ‘I wish I could be happier, but I’m a bit busy picking up the pieces of a major European city currently in a state of emergency from a whole bloody street that just blew up during a gunfight for a fucking time machine . . .’
‘We’re taking Tango Two in with us,’ Alpha says.
Mother switches that hawk-eyed look back to the room. ‘Good. Use her. Use anything you need to use,’ she says plainly, which is about as nice a tone as Mother gives when she is not impersonating an actual mother. ‘I have two attack helicopters ready in Portsmouth naval base. Flight time less than ten minutes. They will be overhead as the assault commences. Do you require further resources? I have Special Forces serials on standby and will start moving them towards. In short, gentlemen, I have every man and his dog capable of holding a shotgun ready to assist you.’
The four look at Alpha in reaction to the fact that Mother wants to bring gunships to a fistfight. That is how serious this is now. That is how big it is.
‘I think we have enough now,’ Alpha says carefully, trying to figure out how two attack helicopters fit into a basic snatch mission.
‘Alive at all costs, but better dead than left,’ Mother says.
‘Ma’am,’ Alpha says in response, now knowing she wants the whole bloody house flattened if it means preventing anyone getting back through any device. ‘Are you monitoring live time?’ he asks.
‘Satellite is being positioned and I will be monitoring . . . And gentlemen? I will not be the only one monitoring this now. This has gone up the food chain. Do you understand? The PM is convening an emergency meeting for the Cabinet Office to eat cucumber sandwiches while they watch you. Good luck. I will be here for anything you need. Do not fail. Bring Tango Two up to speed on everything. She signed the waiver to be used as a honey trap. Use her if you need to. A female can still do things a male cannot.’
The hologram cuts off instantly, leaving a heavy silence that hangs in the room as the five take stock and process everything she just said.
Five minutes later, the five march out into the main room. What they wear is identical to everyone else, and they select the same sidearms and submachine guns from the crates, yet they stand out. The aura oozes from them. The way they keep their masks rolled up like hats, the way they carry themselves and the complete confidence each conveys. The way each issues orders to everyone else with the supreme knowledge that they have authority. The operatives know they just spoke with Mother too. They had a personal conversation with Mother. That happened. Nobody ever talks to Mother unless they are being promoted or something has gone very seriously wrong.
‘Ready?’ Alpha asks, stepping outside to see Tango Two waiting
by a black four-by-four with darkened windows.
‘Ready,’ Tango Two says, reaching up to start rolling her mask down.
‘Leave it up,’ Alpha says quietly as he walks over. ‘Sets us apart,’ he adds when Tango Two drops her hands to watch the operatives all piling out from the lodge. She suppresses any reaction to the micro-nuance that something so small works so well and he was right. Everyone else has their masks already down, as per procedure. Only the five refrain, and now her too.
They gather at their vehicle, pausing as everyone else loads up.
‘Do you know the way to the heli from here?’ Bravo asks.
‘I do,’ Tango Two says.
‘Out,’ Charlie says, opening the door. The driver complies instantly, rushing off towards the lodge. ‘You drive,’ Charlie says, looking at Tango Two.
She climbs in and works quickly to adjust the seat. Alpha takes the front passenger position, the other four go into the rear. Tango Two pulls away, following a different route to the other vehicles and sensing something else is going on.
‘Mother wants you brought up to speed,’ Alpha says after a few seconds’ pause.
‘Okay.’ Tango Two stares ahead through the windscreen.
‘What do you know?’
She glances at him, sensing this is an integrity test. ‘Just what we’ve been told, sir.’
‘Alpha, not sir.’
‘Sorry. Just what we were told, Alpha.’
‘No rumours?’
‘Something to do with an advanced weapons system that everyone else wants,’ she says honestly.
‘Worked then,’ Bravo says from the back.
‘Worked?’ Tango Two asks, her eyes darting to the rear-view mirror to see Bravo smiling at her.
‘False rumours generated to hide the truth,’ Alpha explains. ‘Time machine. Confirmed to be in existence and in use. Actively in use, I might add. Berlin was a sort of staging area they were using. We did not know who. We launched the strike today, but that staging area was rigged to detonate . . . Watch the road, Tango Two.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Roland Cavendish died in 2046, but is still alive now . . . at the same age he was when he died in 2046.’