Downtime

by James Allen

  I kept my voice low as I ducked into a dim storage area stuffed with more treasures, but harboring no sign of life. "Hard. Yeah." I crouched down behind a stack of crates. "Twenty minutes. I'll call you back. Swear to God."

  "Yeah, you go ahead and call back. Leave a voice message. See what it gets you."

  Under the brittle anger, his voice had roughened with emotion that took the edge off my concentration. "Reese, I'm not doing this to hurt you, for God's sake. I swear I'm not. Just let me call you back."

  Reese was quiet too long. I was going to have to hang up on him, as much as I hated to do it. But then he spoke just as I was lowering the phone. "You know something, even if you live to be ninety, you still won't get it. You won't know why you're all alone and lonely. Maybe you had a tough break when you were a kid and maybe now you think you've got to save the world to make up for not being able to save him. But your whole life is just about chasing the bad guys. There's got to be more than that."

  "Yeah, you're right."

  "I'm right?"

  I put the phone to my ear. "You're right. My life is about chasing the bad guys. And right now you've got to let me do it." I jabbed the button with my thumb, disconnecting, and hit the power to make sure nothing else would break my concentration. I heard soft cursing in Russian, then the scuffle of a shoe on the straw-littered floor. I rose with my gun, ready for him. The door opened behind me and Nosik's eyes widened in alarm. He babbled something in Russian that I translated as a warning to his confederate behind me and I knew I was shit-deep in trouble. I started to turn, hoping to bring the confederate down before Nosik shot me. Even as I did, I heard Nosik cock the ancient piece and fire.

  So much for ending the day on a high note.

  Chapter Two

  After hours on the floor with nausea roiling in my gut and something that felt a lot colder than blood running too fast through my veins, I dragged open my bleary eyes to look at the cell phone's backlit display. Okay, it hadn't been hours; more like five minutes, but that was plenty of time to bleed to death. I jabbed the number for Leonard's cell and got an eardrum-shattering whine of serious static for my effort. "Goddamn it." Looking for service. Fucking fantastic. If you wanted to get anything done, you had to do it yourself.

  I fumbled a hand over my stomach, grimly determined to stop the bleeding however I had to -- and found none. I checked again, teeth clenched against very real nausea, but there was nothing to feel except smooth if clammy skin.

  What the hell? I could have sworn Nosik had blasted a hole through me...

  But apparently he had missed from just ten feet away. Maybe he needed glasses. Well, I wasn't getting any answers lying around on the floor all day. As I pushed myself onto hands and knees, I felt a distinct difference in the room, one I couldn't put a finger on. I hadn't passed out. I was fairly sure I hadn't. But tilting my head to peer to one side only confirmed my gut feeling. The light was different. Not brighter but -- warmer, like candlelight. Things were moved. Rearranged. And Nosik was nowhere in sight.

  An uneasy feeling prickled the length of my spine as my focus sharpened. Maybe I was too sick to stand up but I wasn't too sick to blow a few holes through Nosik's little helpers, if they were the ones waiting around to bag me. I gritted my teeth and forced myself back on my haunches -- and there they were, three of them. My uneasiness expanded to new dimensions at the sight of them. If these were Nosik's buddies, they'd fallen into an even deeper time warp than Nosik with his plaid trousers. They stood gathered in a tight group, looking less like foreign agents than museum employees of the type who were stuck in storage rooms to catalogue junk as dusty as they were.

  Then I realized none of them had tried for my gun, which lay on the floor just within reach. I grabbed it and lurched to my feet, telling myself on the way up that it wouldn't look professional to vomit in front of the enemy. As I hefted the Glock in a firmer grip, two of the three men fell back a step. The third, a leather-bound book open in his hands, stared at me with wide blue eyes and instinct told me he was the leader of this little gang of -- art thieves? Art theft was more popular than ever. Even drug cartels and arms dealers were getting into the act. But these guys didn't look like arms dealers any more than they looked like agents. They didn't even appear to be armed. Maybe they were just museum employees; but something out of the ordinary was going on. I took a shot at prompting a confession.

  "Guess I interrupted something. You gentlemen are aware of the minimum stretch for art theft these days?"

  The book clattered to the floor and, face lit with interest, he made a move in my direction. His cohorts grabbed him and tried to keep him back and he resisted with an impatient shake of his head. "Look at him, Derry." He nudged the well-padded ribs of the black-haired man doing most of the pulling. "An ordinary man, nothing more. No need to worry."

  His confidence did not persuade Derry, who said something I had trouble comprehending because of a brogue thick enough to cut with one very big knife. But I did catch a name. Ezra. The one who wasn't afraid of me, although judging by his comment, he was aware of my reputation.

  Keeping my firearm trained on him, I fished out my identification. "Special Agent Nash, gentlemen."

  "He's American," the thin blond fellow noted.

  "Very much so," Ezra said with a grave nod and leaned in for a closer look at the Glock. "A sort of pistol, is it?" He tapped a curious finger on the muzzle, apparently not in the least perturbed by the possibility of a taking a bullet in the head.

  Jesus, these guys weren't smart enough to be art thieves or museum employees. They needed to be locked up for their own safety as well as mine. "Okay, you three, maybe I didn't make myself clear. Nash, FBI. Now listen up--"

  "Agent you said?" Ezra looked dubious. "As in house?"

  Great. A joker. Maybe I'd shoot him after all. "Federal." I flashed the badge again. "As in government."

  His eyebrows rose. "You work for the government? By faith, we have conjured a demon."

  Derry's broad face contorted and the thin blond fellow broke into a twitchy smirk. It was a weird reaction for three guys who knew they were about to be arrested, and it was an annoying reaction. I appreciated the fact that some situations resisted evaluation, but I was about to do a little placement of suspects into the good old search position.

  "I hate to ruin your fun, gentlemen, but I'm going to have to take you in for questioning. I want you to line up, hands clasped behind your head. If you're planning to reach for ID, let me know so I don't have to break anyone's fingers."

  The threat normally inspired grumbling and the occasional sullen scowl. These guys resisted the norm right down the line. Three wide-eyed faces took me in with blank bemusement. I sighed, stomach still rumbling with discomfort, and took a handful of Ezra's coat to swing him around to face the others. "Like this, gentlemen." I lifted his hand to the top of his curly brown head, then let go to do the same with his other hand. As he started to lower them and turn to me, I jabbed the muzzle in his back. "Yes, it is a pistol and yes, I will use it if you force me to. I suggest you don't."

  "You're arresting us?"

  The guy was not taking his predicament seriously in the least. Wondering if I still had my cuffs with me, I kept the gun at his back. "I knew you'd catch on sooner or later, Ez, old chap. Keep your hands up, please."

  "Can he arrest us?" Derry whispered to Ezra.

  "How can he?" the thin blond asked with contempt. "He doesn't even belong here."

  "But he doesn't know that." Ezra snuck a look at me and I caught the sympathy in his eyes. I didn't know what his game was but I wasn't playing.

  "If you want a British agent to haul you in, I can arrange it." I snagged my phone and tried Leonard's number again, but the connection had gone dead. I couldn't get even get a whisper of static.

  Fed up, I pushed Ezra toward the door and persuaded the other two with a wave of my gun to line up behind him. I patted them down one by one. Not a gun on any of them or, unfortunately, a cell p
hone. "I would advise you gentlemen to stick together and keep quiet. If you want to know just how good a shot I am, making a run for it is one way to find out."

  There was no sign of Leonard or Nosik, but I noted with relief the museum was still open. And apparently Nosik's discharging his weapon hadn't perturbed anyone in particular. Then I noticed that the people roaming the exhibits looked as though they ought to be a part of one. The jeans, sneakers, and jackets I'd seen earlier had been traded for suits similar to the ones my art thieves wore, with boots and the sort of starched collar that was just one step away from neck brace. Long skirts draped feminine figures and feathers bounced above hats larger than dinner plates.

  The men wore hats, too, and I wasn't talking baseball cap. I didn't see an untucked shirt or pierced nose in sight. Probably someone was filming one of those sleeper period pictures my mom liked. I looked around for a movie camera and leading lady, but saw neither. I had to admit to myself this sure didn't feel like a movie set. There was a uniform sameness to the dark dresses and suits, and everyone seemed at home in the well-worn yards of fabric, as comfortable as I was in jeans and sweater.

  I hooked a hand around Ezra's arm and pulled him to face me. "What the hell's going on?"

  He looked me over with what I might have taken for concern if he'd known me from Adam. "You're a little shaken, I can imagine, sir."

  "Don't bullshit me." I was in no mood to be beguiled into giving up my gun and taking a little nap. I jabbed the firearm in his ribs. "You're the one who provided the manpower and the means. Who are you working for?"

  "Not manpower, precisely," he said, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "We -- rather, Henry-- "

  "Oh no you don't," the blond protested, hot with indignation. "I wasn't reading it properly, if you will recall. Leave it to the Latin expert--"

  "He never said he was expert," Derry cut in. "You were making such a mess of it. I could tell, clear as day, and you know what my Latin's like."

  "Well, if you'd hie yourself to Mass, you heathen," Ezra said in what was a private joke, judging by the smile he exchanged with Derry. Then he noticed I wasn't laughing and his smile faded. "You'll have to forgive us. We weren't expecting anything to come of it, really."

  "Come of what?"

  Silence descended as they shared a worried look. I kept quiet. Sometimes it was better to let suspects run off at the mouth and I felt confident this group could produce enough rope to hang themselves.

  "Oh saints," Derry groaned. "Kathleen!"

  "We meant no harm," Ezra said, but he didn't look any too happy, himself.

  The pinched line of Henry's mouth tightened further. "We aren't taking him home with us, I hope? How can we be so sure he's not a demon?"

  "The devil may assume a pleasing shape," Ezra commented, stealing a glance at me that was appreciative and then some. I managed to return the glance with indifference, concealing my surprise. Though I could see that he wasn't easily fazed, it took balls to flirt with a guy holding a gun on you. I'd run into the occasional raven who would do his job whether the target were male or female but I doubted Nosik had hired one for that purpose. My personal life wasn't common knowledge. That would make a risky business even riskier. And maybe this guy wasn't too bad on the eyes, but his chances of seducing me to get any kind of information out of me were nonexistent -- assuming he was even working for Nosik or anyone else, something I was beginning to doubt.

  If Nosik had somehow slipped me something to make me hallucinate, this was one hell of a solid and consistent hallucination. I glanced at my watch, only to see a row of zeros on the display. Damn, it had only been issued to me three weeks ago. I wondered if the camera in it was broken, too. First the cell, now my watch; not exactly something I could blame on Nosik, but a hell of a fluke, if he'd had nothing to do with it.

  But if he hadn't, who had? And what the hell was the plan? Because if they wanted to take me permanently out of the game, I wouldn't be standing here with a loaded gun and more or less the upper hand. Maybe I was already dead and this was Hell, where so many had invited me to go over the years. Whatever it was, I was the one out of place. Or out of time. And my instincts were failing me fast.

  Ezra laid a hand on my arm. "Are you all right?"

  I shook him off. I wasn't putting up with any of that winning-the-prisoner's-trust bullshit. I was no one's prisoner. "Let me see if I've got this. You want me to believe you were trying to cast some kind of magic spell to summon a demon and you ended up dragging me back through time?"

  Ezra cleared his throat. "I believe the Latin translates into something along the lines of one who brings knowledge of the future. Not a demon, necessarily. A man would certainly do. But why you in particular..." He shook his head, then changed the subject. "Must you do that?" He pushed gingerly at the gun in his ribs. "I'm not a danger to you."

  "Like hell you're not." I pushed back and pinned him against the wall. "Let's focus on the real world for a minute, all right? I want to know who you are, who you're working for, and what they want from me, in that order. I also want the name of the drug you guys slipped me to send me into the Twilight Zone." I tucked the gun muzzle under his chin. "By the way, what did you do with Leonard? And what the hell did you do to my phone and my watch?"

  Ezra stared at me in confusion. "Your phone? And your watch?" He peeled back a corner of my leather jacket. "You haven't--"

  "My watch." I twisted my wrist to show him the display. "Not working. And neither is my cell. I pass out in the twenty-first century and wake up in what looks like the nineteenth. Why? What do you want?"

  His eyes went wide. "It is the nineteenth. You said -- twenty-first?"

  This was nuts. I didn't have time to deal with lunatics. I had a Russian spy to hunt down. I sheathed my gun and left Larry, Moe, and Curly to deal with their mental problems on their own. Heading for the entrance, I figured I could find a pay phone and contact Leonard from there. That was assuming Nosik hadn't hauled him off for ransom or worse.

  Well aware that the sorcerer and his pals were following, I stepped outside, braced for the ice cold wind, to find the evening had turned comfortably cool and clear -- in the space of an hour. At the top of the steps I noted with a peculiarly detached feeling that what lay in front of my eyes was not at all what was supposed to be there. Stone and brick dominated, reminding me of the London I'd left behind, but the neon was gone and shadows loomed larger in the yellow glow of old-fashioned street lamps. The absence of real traffic, rumbling engines and blaring horns, was damned unnatural. I hoped devoutly that we were downwind from a barn and the smell assailing me would not be following everywhere I went. But judging by the number of horses at work in the road below, it was pretty much the scent du jour. I noticed with an inkling of amusement that despite everything, the tangle of carts and carriages and God knew what else were at a virtual standstill. Rush hour in the nineteenth century, replete with the shouts of irritated drivers expressing themselves in familiar language.

  "Mr. Nash?" Ezra pulled me from my dazed perusal with a firm grip on my arm. "You look a little pale. Please don't worry. We will get you home."

  Contending with a headache and lingering nausea, I found myself searching for a single thread of evidence that would unravel all the lies he'd been feeding me. One shred of proof. A plastic cup. A candy bar wrapper. A dropped coin with a twenty-first century -- hell, even twentieth century -- date stamped on it.

  "You'll get me home? When?"

  "Tomorrow?" Ezra suggested, after an inquiring glance at the others.

  "And until then?"

  "Yes..." Ezra looked at Derry. "Do you think she'll mind?"

  "Need you ask?" But Derry was grinning, so I assumed we weren't in too much trouble even if she did. "He'll stay with Henry."

  "Kathleen will not so much as allow him into the parlor in those clothes," Ezra said. "I'll loan him something suitable."

  "Loan him your room as well," Henry said. "You're the one who conjured him up."
>
  These guys knew how to bruise an ego. "I can stay in a hotel. And you're not stuffing me into one of those monkey suits. There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing."

  "I think it would be better if you stayed with us," Ezra said, amusement fading. "And Henry's right. You're here because of me."

  "He's here, thanks to all three of us," Derry countered. "And I still think this weather's had a hand in it. Look at that sky. Crimson as blood. There's no good in it."

  "It's only an atmospheric phenomenon," Ezra said as if he'd reiterated it several times already. "I suppose -- well, I suppose he should stay with me, after all."

  "Your enthusiasm is touching. Just drop me off at a hotel. I'll be fine."

  Ezra managed to look marginally abashed. "Mr. Nash, I do realize we've disrupted your life to a degree--"

  "Try a hundred and eighty. How the hell you did this, I don't know and I feel pretty confident I don't want to. I'm sure there's some explanation that doesn't go against all the laws of physics but right now, I'm too damned tired to burn off any more brain cells thinking about it. I'd just like some dinner and a place to crash. Sofa, bed, floor, I don't care." I would have preferred the hotel but being a little short of whatever coin was legal tender in this nightmare, it appeared I didn't have a choice.

  My little speech stymied their powers of comprehension. Derry leaned toward Ezra. "Crash?" he murmured.

  Ezra shook his head. "An interesting sort of English, but I think I gather the gist of it."

  "Kathleen won't like the pistol," Henry predicted.

  "And we'll none of us mention it," Derry said. "Now, Ezra, you loan him something to wear and he'll stay with me tonight. No one shall mind him on the bus, I think, and Kathleen will give him a bite to eat. There's ours," he added and suddenly we were all lurching down the steps in the gathering twilight into the raucous miasma of humanity that reminded me of a few Third World countries I'd been to.