Return to Wardate

by Bill Cornwell

  Nuttall was presumably listening to her every word so she had to be careful what she said to the interrogators. She couldn’t spill the beans. She couldn’t mention the fact that everyone one was subconsciously programmed and could be made to do anything by an ultrasound sound emitted by her mouth. All she could say was that she just happened to be there whilst the robbery was taking place. Naturally this wasn’t enough of an explanation. She dearly wanted to tell them everything but she couldn’t - not until she had figured out a way of ousting Nuttall from inside her head.

  The holding room, as confinements went, wasn’t all that bad. She was well looked after and had a comfy bed. The officers, guards and staff were all nice and friendly – some of the officers, guards and staff were a little too friendly. All in all she quite happily could have stayed there for weeks but she knew eventually she have to make a move. She could no longer have a friendly chat with Barton and thoughts of Adam were particularly upsetting. A visit by her fairy Godmother was seriously overdue - never more so did she need her now.

  What was mildly puzzling was the lack of response from the top USA officials. After all, she had saved the world from world war III and/or Armageddon which hadn’t been particularly easy. To do this, she had been dropped out of a plane from some ridiculous height, frozen to death in the coldest place on Earth, shot at and generally been put out and maltreated - and this was the thanks she got. Surely the defence secretary, the vice President or event he President would have taken the initiative and straightened things out and got her released. But then it dawned on her, this time it wasn’t just war, destruction and perhaps Armageddon, the US reserves were now down by 18 billion dollars and that was altogether more serious, they really were pist off this time.

  On the forth day she was told that she was to be collected and taken elsewhere. Most likely to a more secure prison. Shortly, a secure police van awaited her presence. Just one officer with a large moustache and baldish head mostly hidden with a police cap escorted her into the back of the van. The van then drove off erratically with Madeline in almost complete darkness in the back.

  Madeline had been in this position before but that time she was chained up. This time she was free to use any weapon she wanted. She decided that if she was lauched two feet in the air once more, she would act. It happened; it wasn’t going to be particularly good for the driver.

  ‘Nuttall, do you know where they’re taking me? Nuttall!’

  No reply came back, this was very interesting indeed. At that moment the van screeched to a halt. Seconds later the rear door slightly opened, the officer squeezed through the gap and closed the door behind him. For a few seconds both the officer and Madeline were in almost total darkness.

  ‘Doesn’t this thing have windows?’ complained Madeline.

  ‘No but there’s a light switch somewhere…’

  The voice sounded definitely familiar but it was disguised using a fake Irish accent.

  ‘Arr… he we are,’ said the officer, finding the light switch.

  Madeline was dazzled for a few seconds but quickly the large moustache and ill fitting cap came into view. The officer said no more, he didn’t have to. The removal of the false moustache and cap said it all.

  ‘Well… you took your time!’

  Adam couldn’t really say much for a moment, Madeline’s lips were getting in the way. Eventually he got a word in…

  ‘Tell me I’m good.’

  ‘You’re good… How did you… Nuttall, he’s bad… he’s listening!’

  ‘No he isn’t. We’re totally screened, even covered the windows up in tin foil!’

  ‘Thank God for that! Nuttall you’re a bastard, a shitting putrid turd and I’m going to kill you painfully and slowly! God, that felt good.’

  Nothing came back. Her head was silent, not even a tremble from her nemesis.

  ‘So how…?’ said Madeline very nearly speechless.

  ‘How did I escape?’

  ‘Well, yes. Last time I saw you, you were getting in a cab with Zol… Pidem and that Bream woman.’

  ‘Strange pair… I asked them if they knew a decent hotel where I could stay. They said they’d take me to one. Whilst in the back seat I thought I’d go online and read up on this Zol Pidem chap. Turns out he’s one of the riches people in the world, a multi billionaire, he owns more gold than Britain.

  ‘So that’s what the gold heist was all about!’ said Madeline thoughtfully.

  ‘It seems so; he’s certainly benefited from the increase the value of gold. Anyway, he’s a clever chap, went to Cambridge university, did a paper on…’

  ‘…The subliminal effects of ultrasound over large distances by any chance?’

  interrupted Madeline.

  ‘Oh, you knew.’

  ‘Had to do something to pass the time away.’

  ‘Well, when I found all that out, I suspected he was most likely behind all this brainwashing. I had to get out. First set of traffic lights on red and I made a run for it. Since then I’ve been keeping a low profile.’

  ‘You could have let me know.’

  Madeline played back the recording of Adam clearly in pain. The sound projected from Madeline’s open mouth:

  ‘Madeline… please… save the world. I love you… and… always will… my darling,’‘My Darling! I never say that! Sounds nothing like me anyway, fancy falling for that,’ said Adam.

  ‘Well next time I won’t… even if it is you!’

  The banter gave way to matters a little closer to their hearts – well not exactly their hearts but what was between their legs. They both knew they hadn’t a lot of time together – they had to make the most of it. There was nothing soft in the back of the police van but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t particularly clean either but as long as Madeline was on top, that didn’t matter either.

  Madeline did occasionally wonder why she was so ravenous for sex… making love, as she would always call it. Of course it had to be with Adam… most of the time. If she didn’t know better, it was though she was on heat… all the time. Perhaps androids don’t have a sexual cycle - just permanently receptive, she thought.

  ‘Can’t be out of radio contact too long or Nuttall will get suspicious. You know he’s got Barton…’ said Madeline.

  ‘Thought he might have,’ said Adam.

  ‘And he’s threatened to cook me in my tank if I don’t tow the line.’

  ‘Figured as much.’

  ‘Anything else you’ve worked out?’ asked Madeline curtly.’

  ‘Well, that £60,000 watch… saw the exact same one on eBay for £150. Pretty obvious he was trying to trick you.’

  ‘You’re getting a right old Sherlock, aren’t you?’

  ‘I suppose I better make tracks, where do you reckon I should start?’

  ‘I can recommend Barton’s Meats in Buxton… Do you mind if I keep the van?’ Madeline gently pleaded.

  ‘Now how did I know you were going to ask that? …Okay, time to duff me up.’ Adam winced in prepared for pain.

  Of course, Madeline couldn’t possibly do that. She put his moustache and cap back on, gave him another lingering kiss and pushed him very gently out of the back door.

  Madeline now had transport. She was in the cab on a hard uncomfortable seat behind a huge steering wheel – it was almost better than the Volvo. Not being screened anymore, Nuttall came through her audio inside her head.

  ‘About time you got out of there, got another little test for you.’

  ‘Surely not another robbery… I’ll have no part in killing anyone.’

  ‘You’re an assassin for heavens sake!’

  ‘I need to hate my prey first – right now, there is someone I could easily kill.’

  ‘A pleasant drive to Cincinnati. The Reds are playing the Giants the day after tomorrow. Pick up your ticket at the Hilton. I’ve booked you a room there.’

  Chapter 36: The Reds and the Yankees

  Madeline knew absolutely nothing about American bas
eball – football – basket ball – whatever. She knew almost as much about British football and that’s how she intended it to stay. Naturally she had never been to a football match in her life so the ticket would be completely wasted on her. Perhaps I’ll give it to some poor unfortunate tramp outside the ground, she though but she somehow knew Nuttall wouldn’t allow that. However, there was an up side. If she got a move on, she had a whole day to do a bit of shopping in Cincinnati. This was obviously a place she had never been to but she had yet to discover a town or city that didn’t have lots of women’s clothes shops. Once more her bottomless credit card came out of her inside pocket. It had been a while since she last used it so she would certainly make up for that. Occasionally she had wondered if it was actually been paid off or if eventually it would reach the credit limit and then just stop working.

  Grey and Maroon was her current colour – it was becoming slightly dated – well over a week old, it was time for a rethink. Eventually after many, many shops and department stores, she was back to red and if she hadn’t been red before, now was a good time: A small red leather jacket without tassels this time. Red knee high boots and a pale orange lace, mostly see through, short tight dress finished off her outfit. Red was very apt as she was going to see the Cincinnati Reds play the Yankees, whoever either of them were. She had no bias what-so-ever so her outfit decided for her, the one to support.

  After this lovely day she flagged down a taxi to take her back to the Hilton – the van had been wisely left on the hotel car park. Naturally, she had no cash on her, just a bottomless credit card, so she paid for the fare with Nuttall’s $100,000 watch. The taxi driver was more than pleased. He had seen the very same watch on eBay but had been out bid on it in the last two seconds – so bloody annoying!

  For a change she decided to spend the evening down at the bar.

  Even though she loved Adam to bits and would never two time him, strictly speaking, she wasn’t Poppy – certainly not Poppy’s body and why shouldn’t others enjoy the view. This was of course, outrageous and conceited behaviour but time was moving on, she was no spring chicken anymore – well actually she was, she didn’t age but she really had to start enjoying life even if she was someone’s puppet.

  A problem arising (if it was a problem) was that somehow Madeline Bull was getting well known. She had a reputation, a feisty, flamboyant one. She always seemed to be around when ever there was a major incident happening, evil men killed, Armageddon’s averted and gold bullion stolen. Obviously, no one thought for a moment that she, a stunningly beautiful, flirtatious seductive femme fatale, was in any way connected with the incidents and was in fact an automaton, android, robot killing machine.

  It wasn’t long before the paparazzi were gathering, camera flashes going off like a lightening storm and various News channel vehicles drawing up outside. They all wanted to know about the up to the minute Madeline Bull fashion style. Everyone previously thought that red and orange would clash liked hell… but no, actually they didn’t. Madeline had pulled it off perfectly. Red and orange together, were now in.

  She refused to give any interviews, comments or advice on fashion; that wasn’t in her job description.

  Then she woke up, she had fallen asleep in the room’s comfy chair – It was a good thing that she had woken up because it was now time for bed.

  The next day she had a restful free morning before the afternoon game. She got up late, it was the best night’s sleep she’d had in a while, even androids need comfy pillows. This luxurious room had all the necessary requirements: a stunning view from the window, a television and most important - a rug. She had read somewhere in her schematics that certain routine maintenance had to be done on her body, especially after using explosive motion and been frozen to death. Basically her joints had to be fully mobilised to circulate lubricant – a kind of yoga for androids. The last time she did such a thing, she got so knotted up that the room maid had to straighten her out. This time she would try and keep track on where her limbs went. Her hips took most of the strain in explosive motion so that’s where she would concentrate her movements. It wasn’t really stretching because her legs just went anywhere effortlessly.

  She sat naked in the splits position and effortlessly lifted both legs above her head – one leg up behind her and the other up in front of her. She remembered doing this particular surreal inhuman yoga position to convince Mikael Ottis that she was an android. This evoked painful memories, poor Mikael; she as good as killed him. He would still be alive if it wasn’t for her. With a release of pent up indignation she swung her legs rapidly straight up and down several times to circulate the oil. Unfortunately on the forth lift, both legs went up too fast. The leg behind her back popped out of joint and with momentum flopped loosely past her shoulder in front of her. The leg in front did the same and flopped loosely behind her. Her muscles were so over stretched that they didn’t respond to restore her to normality.

  As is always the case, it was that time of the morning – it happened again. The maid burst in to the room and immediately saw the incredible act that Madeline was performing.

  ‘Oh… My… God! That… is… fuckin a – mazing. Does that hurt Miss?’ said the maid.

  ‘No, no… perhaps just a little. Think I’ve gone a little too far,’ said Madeline.

  ‘Little too far!? I didn’t know legs could fuckin do that Miss, scuse me language .’

  ‘If you could just help me…’

  The maid carefully lifted Madeline’s legs back into place. Both went back with an audible pop-clunk. Madeline lowered her legs, jumped up and once again, grabbed the sheet off the bed to cover herself up.

  ‘Thanks… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone,’ said Madeline.

  ‘No, of course, don’t worry Miss. Madeline Bull isn’t it! Fuckin-ell, I follow all your fashion. You’re a very talented person – now even more fuckin talented than I thought! Scuse me language.’ said the maid.

  Of course she would talk but Madeline didn’t really care if she did.

  She was early for the game and if truth be known, she was slightly excited. She had a good seat with a clear view of the whole of the stadium. Naturally it crossed her mind why Nuttall would want her at the game but she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. Either he was up to no good… again or perhaps he just wanted Madeline to experience the delights of American baseball.

  After a wild and colourful performance from acrobats and dancing troupes the game eventually started. Well actually it didn’t, now it was the turn of the players to enter the stadium and parade about to deafening cheers and boos. Then the game started, well actually it didn’t, now it was the turn of the mascots and cheer girls to prance about to very loud music – then, at last the game really did start. A ball was thrown by a player wearing a dark blue cap and a player in red cap hit it with a long wooden stick and started running.

  ‘It’s rounders!’ shouted Madeline to the annoyance of all around her.

  They kept doing this for a while and a voice over the PA system started talking about ‘runs’.

  ‘It is, it’s bloody rounders!’ shouted Madeline.

  The runs built up steadily and then suddenly they swapped around and a player with a red cap starting throwing the ball.

  (At this point I must apologise to all baseball fans if in any way I have disparaged your obviously wonderful game – Author)

  Immediately, the feeling that Madeline had experienced before, began again. Her mouth involuntarily opened widely and an unexplained power drain was indicated in her sight. She was emitting an ultrasound brainwashing… sound. There was nothing Madeline could do about it, her mouth and other bits of her were being violated. She was now doing, again, the same thing that the horns did in Antarctica only on a much smaller scale.

  Whatever the hidden message was, the effect was dramatic. The chap wearing a dark blue cap with the bat, missed the ball completely. Then a burly chap wearing a red cap and kitted out
with all manner of protection, behind him, caught the ball with an oversized glove. The spectators went wild – out with the first throw.

  Madeline wanted to say, ‘he isn’t very good, is he?’ but couldn’t, it was almost impossible to talk with her mouth wide open. The players with the red caps had no such problems. Throughout the game they hit the ball, every time, out of the ballpark. To cut a long story short, bypassing the wildness and unrest of the spectators, the hysterical babble from the commentator on the public address system, the frustration, the anger and the opposing jubilation, the final score was 210 – 2 to the Reds. It was a result completely unrivalled, unheard of and… inconceivable. Madeline was so wrapped up in the moment that she didn’t notice her mouth close.

  It was something Nuttall had installed somewhere down in Madeline’s throat that had made this score happen but, quite rightly, as far as she was concerned, it was nothing to do with her.

  ‘Nuttall, you’re just an old romantic,’ said Madeline.

  ‘Merely an experiment to see how effective you are in a crowd.’

  ‘And you’re not a Reds supporter then?’

  Other people were now occupying the room in the nondescript motel. As usual, the Vixen News channel was tuned in on the television. Carol, the Newsreader was visibly excited.

  ‘Well, well, what a game. For those of you who haven’t heard – where’ve you been, Mars? The Reds beat the Yankees 210, 2. That’s what I said, two hundred and ten to two. Let’s go over to Berny outside the Great American Ballpark to see what he made of it. Berny is this unprecedented?’

  ‘Certainly is, Carol. Certainly is. It’s so improbably that all the Yankees are now being tested for drugs but why O why would you take drugs to worsen your performance?’ said Berny.

  ‘It’s becoming a very strange week, the gold bullion robbery and now this,’ said Carol.