by RR Haywood
‘And after,’ she cuts in. ‘From Holborn.’
‘So you must be the same, from what you did at Downing Street.’
She nods, thinking. ‘The press knew who I was. I was posted on the front door once . . . just once . . .’ she adds sourly.
‘Ah,’ Ben says, realising what she means.
‘What?’ Harry asks.
‘They keep loads of reporters and photographers outside the Prime Minister’s house,’ Ben explains. ‘Safa is, er . . . well, forgive me being blunt, but she’s very attractive . . . I don’t mean that to sound weird . . .’
‘It’s fine,’ she says. ‘I’m not vain but I get it all the time. My eyes.’
‘Beautiful eyes,’ Harry says without any trace of weirdness.
‘Press went crazy when they saw me. I was in the papers and on the Internet for ages . . . the Cleopatra Copper,’ she snorts humourlessly.
‘The inter what?’ Harry asks.
‘Give it a rest,’ Safa groans.
‘The Internet,’ Ben says to Harry. ‘Er . . . do you know what computers are?’
‘Are you really explaining the Internet?’ she asks.
‘Computing devices?’ Harry says.
‘They got much smaller and a lot more powerful,’ Ben explains as Safa once more rolls her eyes and huffs. ‘They pretty much ran the world . . . someone figured out how to connect them all . . . like telephones, I guess, but each computer could hold information, lots and lots of information, and every other computer could have access to all of them and the information they hold. We put satellites in space too . . .’
‘Ach,’ Harry says disbelievingly.
‘We did,’ Ben says. ‘Space shuttles that took communication devices into low orbit around the planet. That meant we had phones and computers without wires.’
‘Like radios?’
‘Yeah, kind of,’ Ben says. ‘Mobile phones that use cellular technology . . .’
‘You were asking for a mobile,’ Harry says, looking at Ben. ‘Didn’t understand it . . .’
‘Everyone has a phone now,’ Safa adds, then blinks. ‘Why am I telling you?’ She scowls, but Ben knows what she means. It’s the sense of self emanating from Harry. Like an utter belief that he is who he says he is. He isn’t panicking or trying to convince them but is just calm and resolute. Just how Harry Madden would be in such a situation.
‘So what now?’ Safa asks. ‘We going back out for round two?’
‘Door will be locked,’ Harry says, getting gingerly to his feet and walking over to the exit door, which he rattles a few times. ‘Aye, ’tis.’
‘Fair enough,’ Safa says. ‘I’d lock it after that. What I want to know,’ she adds with a look down at herself, ‘is who changed our clothes?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Ben says, looking down at his own clean clothes. ‘No bloodstains . . . and we’ve been washed too, by the looks of it.’
‘Better be a woman that’s done me,’ she says, scowling.
‘I’m sure it was,’ Ben says quickly. ‘They wouldn’t do that, would they?’
‘Depends on who they are,’ Safa says. ‘Who were those men anyway?’
‘Guards,’ Harry says as though the answer is obvious.
‘Well, yeah, but . . .’ Safa says then stops. ‘Not German guards though . . . I mean . . .’
‘They were German,’ Harry says. ‘German guards.’
‘Yes, but not World War Two German guards. Just . . . oh bollocks. I have no idea.’
‘Oh shit,’ Ben says suddenly, leaning forward on his chair. ‘That man . . .’
‘Er, which one?’ Safa asks.
‘The man in the room,’ Ben says quickly.
‘And again which one?’ Safa asks.
‘The dark-haired one . . . the English bloke. Him. I saw him!’
‘Yeah,’ Safa says slowly. ‘We all saw him, Ben.’
‘No! I saw him in London. At work. Before . . . I saw him before . . . the morning . . . in the morning before Holborn . . .’
‘What?’ Safa snaps as Harry looks on with interest.
‘At my work,’ Ben says. ‘He was in the lift when I got to work but he had a suit on. Er . . . he asked me if I worked at Hallows and . . . that’s the name of my firm,’ he adds.
‘I know it is,’ Safa says flatly. ‘So does half the world.’
‘It was him. It was. We spoke and he . . . yeah, it was him. Fuck! What’s he doing here?’
‘Maybe it’s his house,’ Safa says, then stares back at the looks coming from the other two. ‘That was a joke.’
‘It’s not a house,’ Ben says.
‘I said it was a joke,’ Safa says.
‘Did either of you see him?’ Ben asks.
Harry shakes his head. Safa just stares at Ben. ‘Holborn was five years ago . . .’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Five years ago.’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Five years ago.’
‘Yester—’
‘Stop,’ Harry says.
‘So what did he say to you?’ Safa asks. ‘Five years ago.’
‘Oh, you mean yesterday? Well, I said hello and he said hello. Then I asked him if he was going to Hallows and he said he was but didn’t say anything else . . . no, he asked me if I worked there, yeah, that’s right, we shook hands and I gave him my name but he never said his . . . he did look at the way I was dressed though.’
‘Why?’ she asks.
‘I was in jeans and a shirt instead of a suit, for going down the Underground later.’
‘Did you tell him you were going into the Underground?’ Harry asks.
‘Er, Christ, I don’t remember but probably not . . . I didn’t know who he was so I wouldn’t say anything about a case or investigation.’
‘Five years ago,’ Safa mutters.
‘Think mine’s bad?’ Ben asks. ‘Harry’s from nineteen forty-three,’ he adds with a nod to Harry.
Another silence, but this one is filled with the sound of cogs turning in heads at the implication of all three being from different times. Ben glances at Safa, who lifts her eyebrows and looks over at Harry, who shrugs.
‘I’m not saying it,’ Ben tells them both.
‘One of us has to,’ Safa says.
‘You do it then,’ Ben says.
‘Me? No way. Harry?’
He sighs and looks round as though completely disinterested. ‘We’re in a Boche POW camp.’
‘What?’ Ben asks.
‘Spoke German. I heard them,’ Harry says.
‘Yeah,’ Ben says slowly. ‘That’s not what I was thinking.’
‘What then?’ Harry asks.
‘Ben?’ Safa asks, prompting him.
‘You’re the copper,’ Ben replies, trying to evade saying it.
‘Doesn’t make any difference,’ she mutters. ‘Fine, I’ll say it then.’
‘Go on then,’ Ben says when she doesn’t say it.
She looks away, rolling her eyes. ‘Feels stupid.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Ben groans. ‘Time travel . . . there, I said it.’
‘What?’ she says, screwing her face up. ‘Time travel?’
‘Eh? Wasn’t that what you were thinking?’
‘No! I was going to say we’re dead.’
‘Dead? What . . . dead? Like, actually dead?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What kind of being dead is this?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never been dead before.’
‘It’s a shit afterlife if we’re dead.’
‘Harry died in Norway and you died in Holborn and I must have died in Downing Street . . .’
‘Yeah but we aren’t actually dead.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, like, we got in a massive punch-up for one thing. And I don’t see any angels flying about or pearly gates or devils with pitchforks or clouds or the baby Jesus singing hymns with Moses while explaining how his mother was a virgin. And my face hurts from being punched
repeatedly. And although I haven’t actually read the Bible or any other religious book I don’t think it mentions anything about being punched repeatedly . . .’
‘Vikings?’ Harry adds helpfully.
‘But . . .’ Ben stammers. ‘No . . . bloody no . . . just bloody no . . .’
‘You don’t think we’re dead then?’ Safa asks.
‘Oh my God! What kind of copper are you? We wake up drugged and you instantly think we’re all dead?’
‘Well,’ she says defensively. ‘What, then?’
‘I just said it . . .’
‘Time travel?’
‘Well yeah.’ Ben shrugs, but feels instantly stupid. ‘Or kidnapped and drugged and, like, brainwashed so we actually believe who we think we are.’
‘That’s a better one,’ she says quickly.
‘Yeah? Better than being dead too?’
‘It’s more likely,’ Safa says. ‘The brainwashing thing, I mean.’
‘No it’s not,’ Ben says, hardly believing their reactions. ‘It’s least bloody likely . . . I’d choose the being dead afterlife shitty dream before I chose that one.’
‘Why?’ she asks. ‘Time travel is made-up. It’s fiction . . . like zombies or . . . or vampires or . . .’
‘You can’t drug someone and then make them believe completely and wholly that they’re someone else . . . with that person’s memories and feelings and . . . and knowledge and . . . and stuff . . . you couldn’t do it once, let alone twice.’
‘Schizophrenics?’ Safa asks.
‘Seriously?’ Ben says, shaking his head slowly. ‘No, that’s not . . . just no. I am me. Do you believe you are you?’
‘Yes.’ She nods instantly.
‘Harry?’
‘Been through this.’
‘So who is drugged and brainwashed? I know I’m not . . . so that can only mean you two are . . .’
‘Well—’ she goes to say.
‘And,’ Ben cuts her off, ‘we’re not talking about two normal people either but two people with exceptional memories and knowledge . . . you’d have to be already vulnerable and susceptible to even remotely suggest anything like planting a memory . . .’
‘People get false memories all the time,’ Safa says. Silence again as she reflects on a lifetime of memories and experiences. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m not brainwashed.’
‘Nor me,’ Ben says.
‘But it’s not time travel,’ she says.
Ben sighs and sinks down into his chair. ‘I dunno what’s going on,’ he admits. ‘What other—’ He gets cut off by Harry waving his hand and moving swiftly to the door.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Harrys says, moving back a few steps from the sound of footsteps getting closer, the steady dull thump of boots on the bare concrete in the corridor outside.
‘Er, hello? Are you awake in there?’ a male voice calls out, followed by a gentle knock on the door. Harry turns, looking from Ben to Safa almost as though he’s waiting for orders.
‘We are,’ Safa calls back, wincing as she stands up.
‘All of you?’ the man asks.
‘All of us,’ Safa says.
‘We don’t want any trouble,’ Ben calls out. ‘We just want to know what’s going on.’
‘Nor do we,’ the voice says meekly. ‘If we open the door, will you attack us?’
‘No,’ Ben calls out.
‘Mr Ryder? Was that you?’ the voice asks.
‘Yeah it’s me.’
‘What about Miss Patel and Mr Madden?’ he asks.
‘They’re right here,’ Ben says.
‘Cor, fuck me,’ the man mutters. ‘I don’t want to do it. You do it.’
‘Me?’ another voice says. ‘Sod off, my nose has been broken three times in the last—’
‘So it’s already broke then. Go on, Malc. You do it.’
‘No!’ Malc hisses. ‘You do it.’
‘I can’t. I’m scared,’ the other voice says.
‘We won’t attack you,’ Ben calls out, looking at the other two. ‘Will we?’
‘Er, no,’ Safa says.
‘I will,’ Harry says.
‘Harry,’ Ben groans.
‘Sod that. I ain’t opening it,’ one of the voices mutters.
‘We’re not opening it if Mr Madden is going to attack us,’ the other voice calls out.
‘Harry,’ Ben says. ‘I just want to get out of here.’
‘We’re in a Boche camp,’ Harry says, rolling his shoulders to prepare for the fight. ‘They get what’s coming to ’em.’ He turns to look at Ben and Safa. ‘You two get back against that wall . . . or go in one of the other rooms. Right, you dirty Boche, Ben and Safa don’t want to fight so leave them out of it . . . just me . . .’
‘We’re not in Germany,’ Malcolm calls out. ‘Mr Madden, none of this is what you think it is.’
‘Mind games,’ Harry tuts.
‘Do the window,’ the other voice whispers.
‘We can prove it,’ Malcolm blurts. ‘But please stay calm.’
‘I’m calm,’ Harry says, dropping into the same low voice he had yesterday.
‘Shit,’ Ben mutters as Harry gets ready to fight whoever is about to come through.
‘Harry,’ Safa says quickly. ‘We’re not at war with Germany.’
‘You coming?’ Harry calls out.
‘We’re going to show you,’ Malcolm says.
‘COME ON,’ Harry roars at the door.
‘Harry,’ Safa says tightly. ‘Come back from the door . . .’
They turn quickly at the sound of the metal shutter behind them starting to rise.
‘They’re coming in through the window . . .’
‘We’re not coming through the window, Mr Madden,’ Malcolm calls. ‘Please just stay calm. Everything will be explained.’
‘What’s going on?’ Safa asks, glancing at Ben. Her face fixed with a grim expression.
‘I don’t know,’ Ben replies. ‘We’ll stay together though, yeah?’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Harry?’
‘It might be a gas attack . . . they pump gas into the rooms . . .’
‘We’re not in Germany,’ Safa snaps. ‘We’re not at war . . .’
The motor hums gently, pulling up the metal shutter that clacks noisily like a slow-moving train. Daylight spills through the narrow gap at the bottom that widens slowly. They stay by the chairs with Harry closest to the door. All three of them watching the sliver of light grow wider as the shutter pulls up to reveal a thick pane of glass. It keeps going up as Harry steps closer to Ben and Safa and pauses. A green splash of grass comes into view. Thick and lush-looking. The side of a hill with a steep turf bank on the left side. The shutter clacks and they stare motionless as the view opens up to show the bank stretching off into the distance and what looks like a steep drop to the right side.
‘Blue skies,’ Safa says, ducking down to see under the shutter. It goes higher until a gloriously deep blue sky comes into view with perfect white fluffy clouds sailing high. It looks normal, nice but normal.
‘Go to the window,’ Malcolm calls out. ‘Look down the hill.’
‘Trap,’ Harry mutters.
‘I’ll go,’ Safa says, moving towards the window.
‘Miss, let me . . .’
‘I said I’ll go,’ Safa says, waving a hand at him. She reaches the window and looks first to the left then ahead and finally to the right and down the hill. She freezes. Not a muscle twitches. She doesn’t blink but just stares with her heart thumping so loud she swears the other two must be able to hear it.
‘Fuck . . .’ she whispers.
‘What?’ Ben asks.
‘Oh my fucking God . . . fuck . . . fuck . . .’
‘What?’ Ben asks again.
‘Look.’ She barely breathes the word but lifts a shaking hand to point down to the right side. Ben glances at Harry and they both weave round the chairs to join her and look down into a huge, magnificent sweeping valley. They have the
same reaction as Safa and both stare frozen to the spot, unable to move.
‘What the fuck are they?’ Safa eventually asks.
‘They’re . . .’ Ben says, swallowing.
‘Are they?’
‘Er . . . they look like it,’ Ben says.
‘I see,’ she replies calmly.
‘Aye,’ Harry mutters.
‘Yes,’ Safa says.
‘Indeed,’ Ben says.
‘Aye,’ Harry says.
‘Fuck,’ Safa says.
‘Indeed,’ Ben says.
‘Aye,’ Harry says.
‘Outside,’ she says, ‘they’re . . .’
‘Indeed,’ Ben says, and finally pulls his gaze away from the window to look at her. In the surrealness of the moment he takes in the cat-like shape of her eyes.
‘Outside,’ she whispers, ‘they’re dinosaurs.’
Ten
Extracted. Drugged. Waking up in a bunker. Fighting. Beaten. Drugged again. Waking up again. A slight shift in the perception of each in the belief that the other two believe they are who they say they are. Confusion. Fear. Anxiety. Disorientation and now dinosaurs.
‘Actual dinosaurs,’ Ben murmurs.
‘Outside,’ Safa whispers into the silence of the room. ‘Actual dinosaurs outside.’
They stare through a thick pane of glass at a huge open vista of a view. Lush grass, long and vividly green. Everything is vivid and striking in colour and depth of hue. It could be the drugs in their bodies and that sense of disorientation, but right at that second they see the sky in a shade of blue none of them have ever seen before, so pure, deep and rich.
They look out from the side of a very big hill with flat ground outside that drops away in a long sweep down to a wide valley floor full of thickets of trees the size of which Safa never thought possible. Wide plains between the forests and the unmistakable sight of long-legged, long-necked dinosaurs. Hundreds. Big ones, smaller ones and what look like baby ones staying close to the rest.
They stay silent, staring dumbfounded out the window to the grey-coloured beasts in the valley below and Ben thinks of elephants. The same shades of grey and they also look peaceful like elephants do, like they’re content to just plod about munching on grass and reaching up to eat the leaves from the trees. ‘Shit.’ Ben makes the connection as his eyes finally start sending the right messages to his brain. ‘The trees. Look at the trees.’