The film ended with a flicker, and a photograph of Schumann’s case file appeared in its place.
‘He was born in Potsdam, Brandenburg and went to study under Max Planck at the Humboldt University, from where he went on to become an extraordinarius professor of experimental and theoretical physics at the University of Berlin. In 11.933 he joined the Nazi party.’
The image was replaced with a propaganda film of one of Hitler’s massive rallies, thousands of soldiers marching in ranks ahead of tank divisions and missile launchers.
‘In 11.934 he was commissioned by the German army to research nuclear energy.’
Bartholomew waved his hand and the light from the projector faded.
‘Based on our latest calculations there is an eighty-three-point-four percent probability that he has been adjusted.’
‘Adjusted?’ asked Caitlin.
‘A term we use for individuals who’ve been given knowledge from the future.’
‘By what means?’
Nostradamus took over from Bartholomew. ‘We don’t know for sure. The last team that was sent in have gone dark — we’ve heard nothing from them in over a week — protocol dictates we send in a recovery team.’
Caitlin didn’t reply. She seemed lost in her thoughts.
‘What happens if Schumann has been adjusted?’ asked Josh.
‘A war to end all wars,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘The Third Reich would use their weapons to obliterate the Allied forces. The US would respond in kind and Hiroshima would be nothing more than a side-show compared to the devastation that followed.’
‘So, if you would like to get changed,’ Nostradamus said, waving at a door to his left, ‘we would like to be on our way.’
59
Chief MacKenzie
Chief MacKenzie sat with his feet up on his desk and cradled his tin cup, debating whether to pour himself another Cognac. It was a Remy Martin Black Pearl Louis XIII — worth a small fortune in the linear world, and something he’d been saving for special occasions.
Professor Eddington had presented it to him as part of his twenty-fifth anniversary, along with a gold tachyon, which he cherished, keeping it safely locked away in the velvet-lined presentation box in his drawer for the last four years.
One year away from retirement, he thought. One year, and he would have been bored out of his mind playing golf and restoring antique steam engines with all the other grumpy old farts.
He took the bottle and pulled the fancy fleur-de-lis stopper out with his teeth, pouring a large measure into the tin cup. It probably deserved a cut glass tumbler, but such delicate things tended to get broken in his workshop. He rolled the amber liquid around the bottom of the enamelled cup before knocking it back in one go.
MacKenzie chuckled to himself. He was celebrating a minor victory. He could still picture Ravana’s face: her cheeks burning with rage at the news that the Infinity Engine was missing.
She would never guess where it was; the founder was too canny. He’d been careful to plan for just this kind of scenario.
A polite tap on the door broke his reverie.
‘Enter,’ he called out, putting down the cup and taking a steel spanner from his workbench. Everyone on his detail had left for the day, so whoever wanted to speak to him wasn’t going to be from engineering.
The door swung back to reveal a group of Copernicans headed up by Juliana Makepiece, a woman he hadn’t seen or heard from in over ten years.
‘Hello George,’ she said through a wry smile, and holding up a bottle of sixty-two-year-old Dalmore whisky. ‘I wondered if you fancied a drink, for old times?’
The chief looked surprised. ‘T’were only twelve bottles ever made,’ he said, putting down the spanner and walking over to inspect the label. ‘Is this what you’ve been doing? Hunting down vintage whiskies?’
She shrugged. ‘Amongst other things. I’ve also got a twenty-five-year-old Pure Pot Still Whiskey from Nun’s Island — unopened.’
MacKenzie’s eyes widened, and he searched around for some extra cups. ‘Will your friends be staying?’
‘Oh, I think you’re going to want to join us,’ she smiled and tapped something on her wrist.
Suddenly, a pressure door appeared in the wall on the other side of the room.
‘So you finally built her?’ he said.
‘Oh yes,’ Juliana replied proudly, spinning the brass wheel. ‘Although I’ve still got a few concerns about the rudder that I could use your help with. But that can wait until later. We’ve more important things to discuss.’
60
Dressing
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Josh, buttoning up the black jacket of his Gestapo uniform.
Caitlin was frowning at herself in the mirror. She was wearing the dark grey uniform of a nurse, austere and practical, with a starched white apron decorated with a golden swastika.
‘Just once I would like to go in as an officer, or a doctor. Something that wasn’t so bloody far down the pecking order.’
Josh knew she wasn’t expecting an answer, but couldn’t help himself.
‘Nurses are important.’
‘I know, but you’re missing the point. Travelling back into history isn’t very empowering for a woman.’
‘What about Elizabeth or Victoria? They were pretty powerful.’
‘I’m not sure I can go on a mission as the Queen of England.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, I reckon you could pull it off.’
She smiled and helped him with his buttons. ‘You, on the other hand, look every bit the Aryan officer. Are you sure there isn’t any Nordic blood in your family?’
‘No idea, as mum never talked about it. Gran couldn’t remember what day it was, let alone who her parents were, and the jury’s still out on my dad.’
‘Maybe we should go back and visit them when they were younger. I’d like to meet her.’
‘Yeah, if we get through this.’
She kissed him. ‘When we get through this.’
‘So you think Fermi passed something on to Schumann?’
Caitlin frowned. ‘No, I think they’re looking at the wrong man, right time though.’
‘I’m still not sure why he’s doing it.’
She raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath. ‘He’s using their collective brains to help him improve his technology. Every discovery they make is one less for him, and the beauty is that he can keep going back and improving it. It does mean that he wasn’t able to reverse engineer the tachyon — which is good news for you.’
‘You’re never going to forget that are you?’
‘The fact that you gave away a quantum device to a quantum physicist? No, probably not.’
‘I didn’t give it away. I was out cold when he took it.’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘So we still haven’t discussed why you were there? We said there would be no more secrets.’
Josh had run out of excuses. ‘To steal some chemicals — for drugs.’
Caitlin looked genuinely shocked. ‘You were a drug dealer?’
‘No! A driver, that’s all — Lenin was into drugs.’
‘Lenin the clone?’
‘Yeah, I still don’t understand how he ended up there. It’s a long story —‘
There was a knock at the door.
‘We’re leaving in five,’ warned Bartholomew.
Caitlin turned to Josh and took his face in her hands. ‘Whatever it is, just promise me you’ll always tell me the truth — I can’t stand the thought of you hiding stuff from me. We have to trust each other.’
He pulled her close. ‘I will,’ he whispered, ‘when this is over, I promise I’ll tell you everything.’
61
Headbolt
Thomas was having trouble believing what he was hearing.
‘You shut down the whole thing?’ he repeated with a chuckle.
The chief’s eyes gleamed as he took another slug of whisky. ‘Sent everyone home. The boilers wi
ll be as cold as a polar bear’s nuts by now.’
‘Or Ravana’s heart!’ joked Thomas.
They all laughed, even Alixia, who had worn a permanent frown since they’d started this mission.
Juliana opened the Nun’s Island Whiskey and filled MacKenzie’s glass. ‘We need your help George,’ she said, sitting down opposite him.
They were in the galley of the Nautilus. It had taken them over an hour to satisfy the Chief’s fascination with the ship, and she’d only managed to keep him out of the engine room by promising to show him the plans and let him drive later.
‘Any friend of headbolt is a friend of mine!’ he said with a toast. ‘May your screws always turn clockwise!’
‘Headbolt?’ said Thomas to his wife.
‘Long story,’ she replied with a frown. ‘I’ll tell you later’.
‘We’ve been instructed by the founder to recover the Infinity Engine,’ said Alixia, getting right to the point.
The chief looked taken aback by her directness.
‘Have you indeed?’ he asked, seeming to sober up quickly. ‘And how exactly can I help you with that?’
‘By telling us where it is hidden?’ Alixia replied.
‘And you think I know where it is?’
‘You are cautious, that is to be expected, but we don’t have time for games. The founder gave us something to prove you can trust us.’
Juliana produced the carved wooden box.
The chief picked it up and examined it. ‘A fair copy, there’s no doubt it could be mistaken for the reliquary.’
‘The founder also told us that you would have a key — a locket — something personal he left with you.’
The chief nodded, tapping his pocket. ‘Aye, He did, and I’ll take you there, but it’ll cost you more than a bottle of whisky. I want to drive this beautiful ship.’
62
Heisenberg
[Nuclear Research Station, Haigerloch, Germany. Date:11.944]
The canteen was deserted when they appeared. The researchers of the eighth had done their job well, carefully selecting an entry point that would attract the least amount of attention. It was early morning, and the clock on the grey wall was showing just after two. The night shift wasn’t particularly hungry, and if the lingering smell of cabbage was anything to go by, Josh could understand why.
‘What are we looking for?’ he asked in German, opening some of the metal lockers that lined one side of the room and picking up the fleeting memories of the technicians who worked there.
‘Something to get us close to Schumann,’ replied Bartholomew, pulling out a Geiger counter which started clicking immediately. ‘This is a prototype reactor, built by his lead scientist, Heisenberg, and his team. They were secretly trying to create nuclear material.’
‘For a nuclear warhead?’ asked Caitlin.
‘Eventually,’ Bartholomew said, sweeping the device around the room.
‘Schumann had Heisenberg’s group moved out of Berlin because of the bombing,’ added one of his colleagues. ‘The allied forces knew that there was something under development and hit anything that looked slightly industrial.’
‘Radiation levels are minimal,’ Bartholomew said, tapping the dial. ‘Let’s go and check the main chamber.’
‘Is this even safe?’ asked Josh as he disappeared through the door.
They followed Bartholomew halfway down a long tunnel that looked like it had been carved out of the rock by hand. Metal doors were set back into the walls at regular intervals; like pressure doors from a ship, they had a central locking wheel and a small glass porthole.
Caitlin looked into one and stepped back, her face white as a sheet.
‘What?’
‘Don’t look,’ she warned, walking away.
Josh moved closer to the glass.
‘I warned you.’
The figure inside the room was hardly human, its blistered body covered with large opens sores all over its pale skin. It was blindly shuffling around the room like a zombie.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Radiation sickness,’ she replied, looking into another cell. ‘I’m guessing they’ve been using slave labour as part of their experiment.’
‘He’s one of ours,’ said Bartholomew gravely, looking through the porthole.
The reactor sat in the middle of a vast chamber. A large iron sphere surrounded by metal cylinders with wires and pipes winding out across the floor.
Bartholomew’s men had already taken out the guards who lay unconscious on the floor, their arms and legs bound together and their mouths gagged. Killing them wasn’t an option he’d explained before they left; this mission was to have a zero impact on the timeline.
‘Levels at thirty millisieverts and rising,’ reported one of the team, holding up the Geiger counter.
‘We have less than thirty minutes,’ warned Bartholomew, ‘let’s get this over with.’
The others began to scour the room, rifling through documents and journals looking for anything that directly referred to Schumann.
‘What happened to them after the war?’ asked Caitlin, as she walked around the reactor.
‘Operation ALSOS — in 11.945 the allies seized anything to do with the Nazi nuclear weapon project, including materials and personnel. Most were caught at Hechingen and shipped off to England.’
‘Why?’
‘To keep it out of the hands of the Russians. It was ground-breaking technology, and they all wanted a piece of it.’
‘And Schumann?’
‘That depends on the outcome. In this timeline he’s ridiculed as an incompetent, in another alternate he’s a hero whose weapon brings the western world to its knees before the Third Reich.’
‘And how do we make sure that doesn’t happen?’ asked Josh.
‘We find the reason and protect it.’
One of the team handed Bartholomew a well-thumbed journal, which he began to flick through. ‘It appears that Heisenberg has made more progress than he’s been reporting to his boss.’ He held up the page for them to see. ‘These calculations go far beyond the formula for Nuclear fission. They’re the basis of quantum mechanics, so whatever Heisenberg was developing it was more than a nuclear weapon.’
‘Forty millisieverts,’ intoned one of the team.
‘We need to go,’ Bartholomew said, moving to put the journal into his rucksack.
‘Aren’t you going to follow it?’ Josh asked, putting his hand on the book.
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘We recover the evidence. There’s a whole department back at base who need to analyse it and determine the best course of action.’
‘I don’t think we have time for that,’ Josh said, opening its timeline.
‘But the protocol dictates…’
63
Ahnenerbe
[Werfen, Salzburg, Austria. Date: January 11.944]
Josh put Heisenberg’s journal down and looked out of the window. It was winter, and the view of the snow-topped Alps took his breath away. The steep-sided valley was covered in a blanket of white, and it was like looking at one of those Christmas cards his Gran used to send his mum.
‘Hohenwerfen Castle,’ Caitlin said, looking up at the heraldic symbols above the baronial fireplace. ‘This once belonged to the Hapsburgs.’
Josh’s breath clouded the window pane, and as he wiped it clean he could feel the age of the lead latticework that held the stained glass in place; the smell of the solder as they sealed them in the panes flowed all the way back to the eleventh century.
The castle was quiet, almost too quiet. It was hard to believe that just a few floors below him a garrison of SS soldiers were busy polishing their jackboots.
Heisenberg had converted the medieval room into his personal study and Caitlin was busy examining the blackboards that were lined along the wall at the far end. They were covered in chalk formulae, hastily scrawled into every available inch of the green-black slate.
Josh wasn’
t surprised to find that Bartholomew’s team hadn’t followed them; they would stay on mission. Schumann was still the primary target, and the Augurs would focus on their original objective. He was impressed by their sense of duty; they were like an ultra-religious version of the SAS.
‘This is inspired!’ gushed Caitlin, tapping the board.
‘All his own work?’ asked Josh, the white squiggles reminding him too much of the painful maths lessons he’d endured at school. He loved numbers, but algebra and dyslexia did not mix well.
She traced her finger over the chalk marks. ‘Well, he certainly wrote it all. Whether someone was helping him, it’s hard to tell.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I’m not an expert, but you can see he’s using his theory of quantum matrices to map how the physical properties of particles evolve over time.’ She pointed to a bunch of symbols.
‘Obviously,’ agreed Josh, squinting at the tiny lines. ‘So what’s he trying to prove?’
‘It’s not nuclear fission, that’s for sure. This is closer to Schrödinger’s wave formulation.’
Josh was totally lost. He loved that Caitlin was so smart, so knowledgeable, but sometimes it made him wonder if she might think he was a bit thick.
‘Yeah, I must have missed that lesson.’
She laughed. ‘You don’t have to be good at everything,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘Do you want me to explain it to you?’
‘No, just work out what we need to do so we can leave,’ he said, and shivered. ‘This place reminds me of Dracula’s castle.’
She nodded and went back to the blackboard.
Josh wandered around the rest of the room, picking up random items of Heisenberg’s and browsing their timelines.
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