Death of Time (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 4) 2nd Edition.: A thrilling, psychological, Mystery and Suspense, sci-fi detective thriller. (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy)

by Gerry A. Saunders

  “So, Cedrick said you’re not married. How come?”

  “I was married, once,” he replied his voice sounding sad. “It was a year after we married.

  My wife, Alesha, went into a jeweller's shop. But, unbeknown to her, a robbery was taking place. She was shot and died on the spot. It was just bad luck.”

  “I’m sorry Micky.”

  “My ‘talent’ was weak then, not like now,” he added and paused. “But I eventually found her murderer and brought him to justice.”

  “But, you didn’t kill him?”

  “I certainly felt like it. But no. As for seeing another woman. I haven’t, until now, found anyone I can…”

  He stopped talking and found her eyes fixed on his.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone has, almost, said to me,” she smiled. “Bedtime, I think.”

  “Yes, it’s been a long day.”

  He got up turned off his anti-listening device, and both went to their separate bedrooms.

  Chapter 7.

  Trapped.

  Next morning they ate a simple breakfast and filled up with coffee ready for the day’s work.

  They had decided that Charlie would start searching the web for information on high-powered lasers while Micky made contact with the people he thought might be able to help them.

  Needing more room than the bedroom afforded him, he moved his laptop out into the dining area so that he could work at the table. Then connected his laptop to the mains supply.

  “Charlie,” he called. “I know your Wi-Fi reception is excellent, but I think I’d prefer to use your broadband outlet. OK?”

  “Sure, it’s next to the phone.”

  “Ok, I see it,” he replied as he connected ‘Emma’ his specially encrypted comm's box, between his laptop and the broadband outlet socket. He then placed the anti-listening device on the table and turned it on.

  His first call was to Cedrick, at the criminal investigation department of SEID, in the States.

  Cedrick’s face appeared on Micky’s laptop screen.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said, looking rather sleepy.

  “Hello Cedrick, see you’re grumpy as usual. Don’t tell me. It’s only five o’clock in the morning. Have I woken you?”

  “Yes, why couldn’t you have phoned me later?”

  “Because I’m working, and you’re just wasting time in bed. Probably dreaming something weird.”

  “I need my sleep, even if you don’t. What do you want anyway?”

  “I’ve sent an encrypted request for some information I urgently need, and which you’ll have to search for. I reckon it’s gonna be really hard to get.”

  “And is everything detailed in the request?”

  “Yes.”

  “So when do you need it by?”

  “Yesterday. It might have saved the life of a friend of Charlie’s.”

  “OK,” Cedrick replied as Micky saw him starting to get out of his bed.

  Oops, Micky thought. “I didn’t mean right this minute Cedric,” he said.

  “No. I’ll get up now, and start organizing. I’ll need to pull in a few favours in the morning. But, this once only, Micky,” he warned.

  “Thanks, Cedrick,” Micky finished and broke the connection.

  Then he contacted his friend at Aldermaston’s Special Weapons research division.

  “Hello Tommy,” he said, greeting his friend as his face came up on his screen.

  “Hi, ratbag. You obviously want something from me?”

  “Of course old buddy.”

  “Have you got ‘Emma’ on?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  He lost Tommy for a couple of seconds as the scrambler system relocked.

  “Okay Micky, go ahead.”

  “Particle beam weapons. How far are we from producing something handheld?”

  “Wow, at least a hundred, maybe two hundred years.”

  “Why Tommy? What’s holding things up?”

  “Two things really,” he replied “One. The accelerator that would be required to produce in the order of 20 megavolts would need to pulse at somewhere around 40 to 50 thousand Amperes.”

  “That high?”

  “Yes, Micky. Plus, the accelerator’s muzzle-coil would also have to be really efficient to keep the beam tight. Otherwise, the beam wouldn’t hold together, it would just lose cohesion and spread until it eventually became ineffective.”

  “And, the second thing?”

  “The power-supply. Now that would be a real problem for us.”

  “Solvable?”

  “Eventually, yes. But Micky, it would need to be able to supply sufficient power to enable each massive pulse to be easily generated.

  So the PSU would have to be something like a fusion reactor. But it would have to be pretty small, the size of a lemon, for instance.”

  “Don’t get me wrong Micky, the general principals are okay. And two or three groups are working on both of these things. But the experimental units are massive.”

  “I understand Tommy. And, am I right in thinking that we haven’t even got a working fusion reactor yet?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, totally out of the question for now?”

  “Absolutely. As I said, it’s gonna take between a hundred to two-hundred years. Pulsed power technology is only just in its teens.”

  “OK, I’ll have to think of something else, then.”

  “What about Laser weapons, handheld again?”

  “They’re closer Micky. Even so, nobody has anything that’s powerful enough to be of any real use at the moment.”

  “Is it a power-source problem again?”

  “Yes. With existing technology, it’s not feasible for a handheld laser to burn through a victim’s body.

  Industrial lasers are a different kettle of fish. But they are far too big, and, of course, they have to be backed up with massive power supplies.”

  “Well, I guess I’m out of luck.”

  “Yep, it looks like it.”

  “Thanks, Tommy, I knew you would have an answer, even if it’s not quite what I was hoping for.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I’ll come to see you one of these days.”

  “I look forward to that, but I won’t hold my breath,” Tommy said smiling and ended the contact.

  Charlie came over to him. “Sounds like a blind alley?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  “Well, we know what the weapon isn’t.”

  “Then how does the serial killer produce the purple beam that we saw?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Charlie.” Just then, a strange sensation surged through Micky’s mind, causing an immediate reaction from his body and he found himself on his feet.

  He sensed an instance of heightened ‘emotion’ which sent him flying, in a fluid motion, right across the room.

  And, at the same time as he went, he instinctively grabbed Charlie and took her with him, as a purple bolt of energy shot up and through the floor. Just missing them.

  A small canister followed the bolt of energy. It hit the ceiling then dropped to the floor all the time venting gas into the room.

  Micky shakily stood up, then fell back down.

  The last thing he remembered was seeing the sun shining through a 4 cm hole that the beam had made in both Charlie’s ceiling and the roof above.

  Consciousness returned slowly to Micky with millions of minute sparkling dots popping in his brain.

  When he felt that he had enough strength, both mentally and physically, he began probing his surroundings. Quickly realizing that he was on his back, in a box or coffin-like container.

  Plus, something or someone else was squeezed in with him. He felt with his hands, yes, someone warm and curvaceous.

  “Charlie, are you all right?”

  No response.

  “Charlie?”

  There was still no response from her, s
o he ‘felt’ around in her mind. It was OK. She was alive and her emotional level was healthy. So she just hadn’t come around yet.

  Charlie was on her side facing him with her body pushed against him by the side of the box. So to give her more room he tried to move his body a bit.

  ‘Not much chance,’ he decided. ‘We’re just like two sardines packed in a can.'

  Then he began a personal search which he found challenging. They were packed so tightly into the coffin-like box that his movements were restricted. From the feel of their clothing, they both seemed to be dressed in the same clothes they were wearing earlier. So that was good news.

  Their ‘prison’ was a box, it felt as if it was made of wood, and definitely had a lid that moved slightly when he pushed against it.

  A small amount of light was entering the box, casting an eerie glow. He could see that the light was coming through a thin crack in the wood. He couldn’t quite see through the crack, but he could smell ozone or at least water. That meant they were probably near the sea.

  He began searching mentally and found three other people, all with healthy emotional levels, but quite a distance from them.

  “Wake up, Charlie,” he quietly said.

  She began to stir.

  “Charlie, don’t speak.”

  She suddenly woke up and fear flooded her mind, so much so, that Micky’s head throbbed at the sensations emanating from her mind to his.

  “Shush, It’ll be all right,” he soothed.

  At this, she physically and mentally relaxed, trying to cuddle into him.

  Micky gently disentangled himself from her and started to find a way out of this prison.

  The lid was the obvious choice, so he pushed upwards at one end, the top pivoted slightly.

  He then tried pushing it up at the other end. That pivoted, in the same way.

  “Good, just one securing bolt I bet.”

  Then he pushed upwards at the centre of the lid, as hard as the limited space allowed, but it held firm.

  “Damn it.”

  Two more attempts, and still no luck.

  “Micky, are we dead?” Charlie whispered. Now fully awake.

  “No of course not. Shush.”

  Then he tried something new. He’d used this mental Houdini type act successfully before, but always in a safe environment.

  He placed the fingers of his left hand on the wood. Placing them on the side, and in the centre where the bolt or lock should be. Then he concentrated his mind on the lock arrangement.

  “It’s a bolt, but which way does it open?” He grunted aloud.

  “It’s natural to open a bolt from the left to right,” Charlie added feeling brighter.

  “OK, so it’s right to left, from this side.”

  “Hope it’s not the old style, where you rotate the bolt before locking it.”

  “Shush, Charlie.”

  He concentrated as hard as he could. Then sensed a greenish tint around his fingers. This was good news. It only happened when he tried, and succeeded, in using ‘Kinetics’ to move something. He held his high-level of concentration, and the sweat started to run down into his eyes.

  Then, after a few moments the metal bolt moved, ever so slightly. He relaxed his mind for a moment to recoup his energy. Then concentrated carefully once more.

  This time, the bolt went right back and the securing flap sprang out.

  Again he relaxed momentarily, needing to regain his energy once again before, hopefully, lifting the lid and getting away.

  He took a deep breath, then lifted the lid slightly, noticing that the greenish colour had gone from around his fingers. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that something had helped him when he desperately needed it.

  He glanced around to see where they were and what or who was around them.

  The three men he had sensed, were there, sitting on what appeared to be a wharf some distance away. They had their backs to him and seemed to be in the middle of a tea-break.

  Micky and Charlie slowly got out of the box, which to their surprise was on the back of a small vehicle. He knew both of them would feel stiff at first after having been cramped up together for so long, but they would soon recover.

  He saw several large bags of sand stacked on the lorry’s flat-bed. He checked that the men hadn’t moved then quietly placed the bags of sand inside the box, closed the lid and slid the bolt back into its locked position.

  “Let’s go,” he murmured to Charlie.

  He jumped down off the lorry, then helped her down, both being as quiet as they could. The men still hadn’t moved.

  Slowly, and carefully they moved away from the small wharf area and through some trees, using them for cover.

  Once they were out of sight of the men, they stopped to check their clothing. At least they still had their mobile phones. Luckily, Micky’s still had his backup wallet, which held money and a fake ID.

  Charlie’s mobile phone was up to full power. “We’ll go to Fred first,” she said, now fully recovered.

  A few paces more and they came out to the main road, with a bridge close on the left.

  “The area looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t recognize the wharf,” Charlie remarked.

  Luckily, a Taxi was approaching. She hailed it, and they got, in with Charlie giving the driver their destination.

  “Belgravia Police Station, Buckingham Palace Road.”

  “Right, Miss.”

  “Where are we?” she asked him not seeing anything familiar.

  “The junction of Chelsea Bridge and Grosvenor Road,” he replied as they headed off. “The road sign’s over there.”

  “Now I remember, there was a small landing area on that side of the Bridge. It must have been enlarged.”

  Chapter 8.

  A Link.

  “Charlie, what are you doing back here so soon?”

  “Trouble Albert, We need to see Fred urgently.”

  The desk Sergeant picked up the phone, spoke for a moment, then put it down. “Fred’s on his way, Charlie. You both look like you’ve been through the wringer,” he added, looking at them properly for the first time.

  “Feels like it Albert,” Micky agreed.

  Fred came out. “Come on through you two, Albert, VIP clearance.”

  Albert pressed the VIP button.

  “Thanks, Albert.” Charlie acknowledged as they followed Fred inside.

  “We’ve sorted out your driver Charlie, the incidence should stay out of the papers.”

  Then looking at them again, said, “By the way, you two look a mess.”

  “Fred, you don’t know the half-of-it.”

  “Then you’d better tell me,” he said closing his office door behind them.

  Charlie looked at Micky, who just nodded agreement for her to tell the story.

  “Basically Fred, we’ve been shot at, gassed, and sealed in a wooden ‘coffin’ then carried off on a lorry to be sent on to goodness knows where? We certainly don’t know.”

  “Is that all,” Fred replied.

  “Fred!”

  “Sorry, just trying to calm you both Charlie. So, what do you want us to do?”

  “First, send some of your men to the wharf at the junction of Chelsea Bridge and Grosvenor Road.

  When we escaped from the wooden box three men were sitting relatively close to the lorry. They looked like they were comfortably settled into a tea-break so didn’t notice us escaping. They must have taken us there. So get your men to check if the three men are still there, and detain them.”

  “Are trees blocking the view of the wharf from the road?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Ok.” Fred picked up his phone. “Micky, do you think we need armed response?”

  “Well, I didn’t see any weapons but I didn’t really have a view all around. So your officers should be careful just in case they are armed. If they’re there, the lorry will be as well.”

  Micky paused then added. “Your men should find a coff
in-like box on the back of it. We loaded it with some bags of sand we found on the lorry, in the hope they’d think we were still in the box when they lifted it.”

  Ok, said Fred and phoned the dispatch department to arrange for some of his officers to go to the bridge. Then made a second call.

  “Fred here. I need an armed escort to take Charlie and Micky back to her apartment. We also need the forensic officers to check the situation in the flat below them. It’s possible there’s another fatality. Yes,” he added “Probably the serial killer, it’s the same weapon.”

  Fred listened for a while. “Hang on a moment,” he said and turned to speak to them.

  “We think it would be better for you both if we put you in a safe-house for the time being.”

  “That would be good Fred. But first we need to check Charlie’s apartment over to see if anything is missing.”

  “And pick-up some of my things,” Charlie added.

  “Ok,” Fred said, then continued speaking on the phone and after an extended discussion put the phone down.

  “They’ll be here in about three minutes. The response team’s captain has been briefed on the situation and has schematics of the building.

  You just need to show them where the apartment that the shot came from is located. I assume that it was directly below yours Charlie. Yes?”

  She nodded agreement at Fred.

  Ok, then once you’ve sorted everything there, they’ll drop you off at the safehouse, then you’ll be able to sit back and relax for a while. You both need a break by the look of you.”

  Then he picked up his phone again to check the situation at the Chelsea Bridge Wharf.

  “That’s good,” he said when he’d finished talking on the phone. “The three men were still on the wharf and, funnily enough, seemed surprised to see that the box only held sandbags. It was still bolted, by the way.”

  “So they did expect to see our bodies in there.”

  “I think so. Anyway, they’re bringing them in for questioning.”

  Albert buzzed. “The armed escorts are here Fred.”

  “Thanks, Albert. Ready then?” He asked them.