Extracted Trilogy (Book 2): Executed

by R. R. Haywood

  ‘I’d love some, thank you,’ Tango Two says, offering that polite smile, while feeling a thrum of excitement inside. Her senses sharpen. Her eyes hardening as she follows Safa out the door to see her set of rooms are at the end of a long corridor lined with metal doors, all the same as hers. It feels empty and somehow new. She can’t say why, but she listens to what her senses are telling her.

  ‘Do you know what smurfs are?’ Safa asks, turning to walk backwards with that grin showing again.

  ‘Smurfs?’ Tango Two asks. ‘The little blue people?’ She catches glimpses into rooms identical to hers. One middle room with three blue chairs and doors leading to bedrooms.

  ‘That’s our rooms,’ Safa says, slowing to point in a door. Tango Two hesitates, feeling jarred and weird. She stops behind Safa and peers inside. She could grab Safa’s neck in a chokehold, but the memory of her fighting the five agents in Cavendish Manor once again swims through her mind. Safa is too tough. Too fast. Stay passive. She looks inside the rooms to show interest. The difference is striking. The same dimensions, but with rugs, bookshelves, lamps, paintings on the walls and soft furnishings, giving a lived-in feel.

  ‘Same as mine,’ Tango Two says.

  ‘Yep, all the same,’ Safa says, motioning up and down the corridor. ‘Have a look at these,’ she adds and walks on down to the next door. Tango Two follows, and again stops to peer in.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ she says softly. She knows the response was expected, so duly gives it, but she also means it. The rooms are amazing. Armchairs have replaced the blue chairs. The furnishings have been given thought, instead of the ad-hoc nature of the ones Safa just showed her.

  ‘Go in,’ Safa says, nodding at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tango Two says, still hesitant, as though fearing a trap. She blinks at seeing the first bedroom, which looks so cosy and warm. So snug. She tries to stiffen her resolve and remember why she is here. ‘Very nice,’ she says. ‘You share a set of rooms?’ she asks, suddenly thinking of all the empty ones she just saw.

  ‘Yep, woke up in there, so just kinda stayed really,’ Safa says. ‘Ben did these though, with Malc and Kon’s help. I think they did it actually, but it was Ben’s idea. Either that, or the famous Ben Ryder is good at soft furnishings.’

  ‘Quite,’ Tango Two says, smiling at Safa. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Stop cultivating me!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Six months . . . ish . . . Maybe a bit more, dunno. Anyway, stop spying. Did I tell you Miri wanted to call the time machine the Blue, but I said the TM was better? What do you think?’

  ‘Er, right, well, er, both have strong points, and I can see the equal benefits of . . .’

  ‘You’ll get splinters in your arse if you’re not careful.’

  Tango Two smiles back, still confused, but counting the rooms and working out the length of the corridor, noting the surface of the floor and how it echoes from the sound of Safa’s boots, but not from her bare feet. She follows Safa down to the next set of doors, feeling that weird conflicting sense of threat while the voice inside tells her there is no threat.

  A big room. A long table at one end. Cups, plates, cutlery and things to use as weapons. Her eyes sweep round, taking in the rough-hewn tables and chairs. This is where they eat. A training area on one side. Almost like a dojo, with soft mats on the floor. Boxing gloves, head guards, rubberised bats and sticks against the wall. Safa said they train for combat in the main room. Tango Two spots Ben Ryder and Harry Madden standing with the doctor at a table stacked high with money. US dollars. Lots of US dollars, used banknotes too, judging by the tang of grease hanging in the air. Safa just said smurfs. Smurfs are used to deposit illicit funds. They took a smurf out yesterday and backtracked to the main stash.

  Why do that? Why steal money? Is this a criminal operation? Terrorists? Fanatics? Government organisation? No government agency would use something as important as a time machine to disrupt a shitty money-laundering operation. It could be a terrorist organisation. Terrorists need money, but then criminals are easier to exploit than fanatics. The profiles of Safa, Ben and Harry don’t fit anything illegal or immoral. All three stand for decency, honesty and courage. But then greed and power can change anyone.

  With luck, this will be a bog-standard organised crime syndicate. She’ll put the charm on Ben or Harry first chance she gets. If that fails, she’ll go for the doctor. The thought repulses her. Ben and Harry are both physically attractive. The doctor isn’t, but then men are men, and Alpha said she must do whatever it takes. Tango Two has no idea why Mother ordered her to be killed, but if she can bust this operation, maybe she can erase whatever hostility against her has formed.

  ‘Look at you, still being a spy,’ Safa laughs. Tango Two immediately drops her eyes.

  ‘Good morning,’ Ben says, turning from the table at hearing Safa. ‘How you feeling?’

  ‘Er, fine, thank you,’ Tango Two says. She keeps her voice low and timid, and offers a glance up to Ben then across to Harry, playing on the stereotypes of big strong men needing to protect a vulnerable woman.

  ‘Hello, miss,’ Harry says, offering her a friendly nod.

  ‘Hello,’ she replies. She blinks several times. Emphasising her nerves, while knowing that fluttering, feminine eyelashes sends a subconscious signal to heterosexual men. She widens her eyes at the last second. Like a doe. Meek and bashful. Tiny variances of her body language that start planting seeds.

  ‘We stole loads of money from bad guys,’ Ben says, pointing at the huge pile of money.

  She nods, then lifts her head to peer over and to show the slenderness of her neck. She adopts an air of being impressed. Men like to be heroes. They seek validation of their exploits and derring-do. ‘Wow, that’s a lot of money.’

  ‘Want a coffee?’

  Tango Two feels a fresh jolt of surprise at realising Safa is at the main table and not immediately next to her. She has been left with space around her. She checks hips, seeing no pistols worn. ‘Er, yes. Yes, please,’ she says, flicking her gaze constantly to the three men at the table holding the money.

  ‘Poor Maurice,’ Ben says with a laugh. ‘Safa had this guy in an alleyway, Lucas . . . Little guy . . . She was asking him politely where the smurf house was when Maurice tried to intervene.’

  ‘I wasn’t polite.’

  ‘Huge,’ Ben says to Tango Two. ‘Maurice, I mean. Almost as big as Harry.’

  ‘Aye, big lad,’ Harry says.

  ‘Oh,’ Tango Two says in a tone suitable to show genuine interest while conveying a sense of worry at the topic of the conversation. This is good. They are relaxed and laughing. Not a hint of aggression or sullenness. Not a foul look from any of them.

  ‘So you okay then?’ Ben asks, softening his voice. ‘You look bruised. You sore?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am a little,’ she replies, touching the bruises on her face while offering a brave smile. ‘I’m fine though, really.’ Hurt, but brave. Vulnerable, but trying not to show her fear. Protect me. Help me. I am feminine. You are masculine.

  ‘You got me a cracker in the back of my head,’ Ben says, rubbing it with a wince. ‘Still bloody sore.’

  ‘I am so very sorry,’ she says earnestly. ‘I was following the orders given . . . Truly, I did not know who you were . . .’

  ‘Ah, it’s fine,’ Ben says, sensing her discomfort. ‘Safa got you a few times, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, she did,’ Tango Two says. She clocks the glances between Ben and Safa, and immediately detects the chemistry between them. She responds instantly by switching her gaze to Harry. ‘Were you hurt, sir?’

  ‘Ach, it’s Harry, miss,’ Harry says. His voice is so deep. So masculine. I am feminine. Protect me.

  ‘Harry, thank you,’ she says softly. ‘You look bruised.’

  ‘Had worse, miss.’

  He speaks simply and honestly, without a shred of boasting.

  ‘I’d say between ten and fifteen mill
ion dollars,’ Doctor Watson says after a thorough medical examination of the pile of money, which consisted of counting one wad then multiplying it by lots.

  ‘No way?’ Safa says from the table. ‘Fuck me, Roland would have a fit.’

  ‘Miri’s not Roland, that’s for sure,’ Ben says, looking back at the money.

  ‘Say that again,’ Safa says.

  ‘Miri’s not Roland, that’s for sure,’ Ben says, grinning at Safa tutting and calling him a twat.

  Miri is not Roland. Roland was in charge. Miri is now in charge. Tango Two wishes Roland was still in charge. It’s far easier to manipulate a man than a woman. There has been a recent change in leadership. Good. Easier to exploit.

  ‘Right,’ Safa says, walking over with two mugs, ‘that’s yours . . . but actually they’re both black with no sugar, so it doesn’t matter, but fuck it, have that one anyway.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t throw it in anyone’s face,’ Safa says.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And stop trying to honey-trap Ben and Harry.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Tango Two balks at the suggestion, staring wide-eyed in innocent response, then immediately worries she overplayed it.

  ‘We’ll go outside,’ Safa says, offering a grimace at the money. ‘That stinks. Do you want breakfast now or you okay for a minute?’

  ‘Money always does smell,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘Handled by so many people.’

  ‘I, er, I can wait . . . sure,’ Tango Two says quietly.

  ‘You coming out?’ Safa asks Ben and Harry.

  ‘Aye, I’ll have a smoke,’ Harry says.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll come out,’ Ben adds.

  Safa takes the lead. She is Safa. She always takes the lead. She goes through the doors into a second corridor, holding it open again for Tango Two, who in turn holds it open for Ben Ryder behind her. The surrealness of it hits again. She is holding a door open for Ben Ryder.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says, smiling nicely. She smiles back. Coy and shy. A quick flutter of lashes as she looks down and away.

  They walk through with Safa giving a running commentary. ‘That’s Malc and Kon’s rooms, which we’re leaving as they are UNTIL WE GO AND GET THEM . . .’

  ‘No,’ Miri’s voice comes from somewhere.

  ‘You’re in a good mood again, Safa,’ Ben says, grinning as Safa flicks him a middle finger.

  Flirting. That was flirting.

  ‘And that’s the portal room. Oh, I forgot to call you a shithead for killing Malc and Kon.’

  ‘I am so sorry for their loss, but it wasn’t me,’ Tango Two says, struggling to understand the jibe. It should be malicious and full of spite, but despite the foul language Safa uses, nothing she says is spiteful or malicious, just very direct. Safa has influence here. The way she speaks and moves. A sense of leadership about her. Be friends with her. Get her onside.

  ‘Anyway, so that’s the portal room where you first came in . . . And that’s Roland’s office, or at least it was. It’s now Miri’s office,’ she says.

  Tango Two stops behind Safa to look through the door at Miri behind a roughly made wooden desk. Sheets of paper stacked up. Notepads one on top of each other and a sizable stack of newspapers on the floor. She spots an ancient-looking electrical device on the desk. Like an old smartphone. It still has wires wrapped round it. No one uses wires anymore.

  Miri stares back, seeing the passive, easy way the agent looks round while scrutinising every detail. ‘Are you telling the prisoner our secrets, Miss Patel?’

  ‘Only the shit ones, Miri,’ Safa says, walking on. ‘So, this is important. This thing is a . . . a thing that makes it . . . so it . . . Ben, what is it?’

  ‘Filtration system,’ Ben says as Safa stops below the machine fitted to the sides and above a door at the end of the corridor. ‘That door leads outside,’ Ben explains. ‘We might have bacteria or things on us that could harm the world out there; likewise, we could take something from outside to another time era and cause harm . . .’

  ‘Cross-contamination,’ Tango Two says.

  ‘Exactly,’ Ben says. ‘We pause underneath that and it apparently neutralises anything harmful.’

  ‘Understood,’ Tango Two says. ‘Tech labs use them all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, Malc and Kon fitted them.’ Ben pauses, offering a downturned smile. ‘And we haven’t killed everyone yet . . . As far as we know anyway.’

  ‘You’ll love this,’ Safa says, pushing the door open. She pauses and walks through to the outside world. Tango Two follows. Staring up at the metal fittings that look like old air-conditioning units, then stepping through.

  ‘Round here,’ Safa calls out.

  Tango Two complies dutifully. Walking on springy stems that are like grass, but much thicker. The air too. She could eat it. It’s so gloriously pure. She walks round the edge of the bunker. Wooden chairs left outside. Weatherproof gun containers. No locks on them. A range set up for firing. A table at the side. She goes closer to Safa, knowing that is what she is expected to do, and looks down the side of the hill. All other thoughts cease. All worries fade. The view she saw from her window is a mere snapshot of this vista. The valley is so big. So wide. So long. So full of life.

  It’s like the air is taken from her lungs and the blood drains from her brain. Like her legs are suddenly not hers. She staggers in shock. A big hand on her elbow. A deep voice asking if she is okay. She blinks up at Harry, not faking the heavy blinking this time. She nods and looks back down the valley.

  ‘Takes a while to adjust,’ Ben says from close by.

  ‘Understatement,’ Safa mutters.

  The magnitude of it dwarfs her. The sheer incomprehension of being so far back in time that it renders her entire existence meaningless. She is a speck of dust and nothing more.

  The creatures are so big. Even at this distance, and without proper scale, she gets the measure of them. Long necks. Broad backs. Huge legs. Tails that go on forever.

  So many different types too. Big ones. Small ones. Single ones that look enormous in comparison to the others. Herds that cluster together. Shimmering lakes of water. Thickets and copses of trees. Wide-open spaces.

  Tango Two didn’t realise Ben was next to her. She can see the scar on his cheek. She looks to her other side at Safa. The shape of her eyes. The darker skin tone and pure black hair. She looks past her to Harry. When did he move away? The man is enormous. His chest is bloody massive. His bushy black beard and unruly dark hair. He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke out with the manner of a contented man, but she saw him fight. She saw him lift Alpha off his feet with one hand. Visions of him holding the operatives off at the top of the stairs fill her mind. The strength of the man. The vicious way he fought. Now he looks completely at ease, so calm and genial. He senses her watching, and turns to smile.

  ‘Did you want a cigarette, miss?’

  ‘No. No, thank you,’ she murmurs.

  Too many thoughts. Too many sensations. She faces forward and looks down to a world lost and now found again.

  ‘I don’t know why they tried to kill me,’ she says suddenly, without any idea she was going to say it. She feels instantly stupid and berates herself harshly inside. A loss of control brought on by the shock of being here.

  Ben frowns and goes to speak, but drops his head to scratch his jaw, and doesn’t notice Safa staring intently at him.

  Miri stands by the window in her office. A wire running from the single earphone in her left ear to the smartphone in her hand. Her cold grey eyes tracking the four outside.

  ‘Ah, bollocks,’ Safa says with a sudden groan. ‘We didn’t give Lucas his cut.’

  Fifteen

  Tango Two sleeps deeply. She lay in bed for a while thinking about the day. They spent a while outside staring in silence until a screech made her jump back. The others pointed up at two black objects plummeting towards them. At the last second, they both opened their wings and sailed over the ledge to swoop down the valley
side. They were like pterodactyls from the holomovies, with big, curved beaks and enormous wingspans. She couldn’t help but laugh in wonder at the sight, and ventured closer to the edge to watch them once again tuck their wings in to drop like missiles, then soar up on thermals, seemingly dancing round each other.

  She then listened as the other three told her about the time they ventured up into the forest and described the creatures they saw. The plants and bugs. A spider nest, then a small dinosaur that ate the spiders. She even pulled a sympathetic face at Harry shuddering in memory. Big men don’t like bugs sometimes.

  When they went back inside to get food, Miri was gone and the portal was shining blue and glorious. Ben asked the doctor where Miri was. He mumbled he didn’t know and went back to reading a newspaper. Safa then said they were eating outside because of the stench of the money.

  They later explained how they got the doctor from the ocean and how Harry and Safa died, but didn’t die because Ben went back for them. They were dead for ten days, but they were never dead because Ben went back to the exact time they were in the ocean.

  Throughout the day, she didn’t probe or ask questions other than to clarify points of the discussion. She also laughed a lot. The humour between them was very strong. The quasi-bantering, flirting abuse between Safa and Ben. The dry quips from Harry. Tango Two kept forgetting to flirt, and listened with rapt attention. When she did remember, it often felt too forced, too clumsy and too weird. Like the mere attempt was instantly deflected by the energy between them.

  From the whole of it, she understood that Ben suffered a reaction to the medication given when they first arrived. It made him decline into severe mental depression almost to the point of suicide. Something happened that started a fight between Harry and Ben. The fight ended badly, and Harry and Safa rescued the doctor to help Ben. This was only recently too. Is that something to exploit? To pit Ben against Harry. Maybe when the time is right, she can tell Harry she is scared of Ben, that he frightens her, the way he looks at her . . .

  The rest of the day was spent the same. She ate lunch and dinner with them and wasn’t locked in her room until evening, when Miri came back.