A Symphony of Echoes (7 page)

I watched her put her head to the door and listen. I watched her lift the blaster. I watched her put her hand on the door handle. She went to push down.

I stepped out, lifted my gun, and shot her twice.

In the back.

The shots sounded like harmless little pops in the silent corridor. Not loud enough to do any real damage. But they did. She fell sideways, slid down the wall, and lay still.

I ran forward, kicked the blaster away, and stood looking down at her. Her eyes were open. She was conscious. I wanted her to see it was me. To know who had killed her.

Endless seconds passed as I waited for her to die.

Her mouth was full of blood. Her eyes blazed hatred. She said, thickly, ‘You … think you’ve … won. You’re wrong.’

She struggled to lift her head. ‘Let me … tell you how … you die …’

Enough. Every second she lingered in life was another opportunity for her to damage someone, somewhere.

I raised my gun and shot her again.

Now she was dead.

I leaned against the wall, took a couple of deep breaths, and with trembling hands, made my gun safe.

She was dead, but Katie and Leon would live. I tried not to think what would have happened if I had been five seconds later coming through the fire doors. Just five short seconds.

She would have been through the door. At that range, a blaster that size would have cut Katie Carr in half. The heat cauterises wounds so she might well have lived for a while. Maybe long enough to see Leon Farrell go up in flames. I know he was unconscious, but what was the possibility that his mind, at some level, would have been able to register that degree of pain? Paralysed. Unable even to scream … It takes a considerable time for the human body to burn. For how long would he have had to endure the agony? In my mind, I saw a burned and blackened figure on the bed; arms drawn up in that distinctive boxer pose …

I bent and put my hands on my knees, sucking in oxygen.

Some instinct made me look up and Katie Carr was watching me. I said nothing. What could I say?

She disappeared, returning seconds later with a wheelchair. I bent to lift the body but she pushed me aside, hauled Barclay to her feet in one professional movement, and let her fall naturally into the chair.

I went ahead and called up the lift. She tipped Barclay out of the chair and into the lift. I’ll never forget the noise her body made as it hit the floor. Leaning inside, I pushed the basement button.

I watched the doors close on Isabella Barclay.

I said, uncertainly, ‘Katie …’

Her young face gave nothing away. ‘I never saw a thing.’

She walked back to her patient.

Isabella Barclay was dead.

I couldn’t even begin to think how I would tell Leon – if I ever got the chance. 

Chapter Seven

Back in the men’s ward, I struggled to get myself together again. Time to think about other stuff afterwards. Concentrate on the now. I looked around.

An empty bedpan lay to hand. I suspected it had been destined for the first person through the door. Bedpan versus blaster. No prizes for guessing how that would have ended. I began to feel a little better. I liked Katie Carr.

‘What’s happening out there?’ she hissed.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘The cavalry has arrived. Both of them.’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t come alone. Everyone thought I would and I was going to, but my Boss had a better idea and sent two colleagues with me. They slipped down to the basement while I was distracting the bad guys by playing big-headed heroine. They brought weapons and explosives and took out the guards who were crouched over their monitors laughing at me being slapped around. They released your people and stood well back while they got on with it. I came back here to make sure you were safe.’

She said, ‘But your face – it’s all swollen.’

‘Well, to be fair, it was fairly swollen when I got here, so I’m not entitled to too much sympathy.’

‘So, we’re safe?’ she said, handing me an ice pack.

‘Probably. As you said, there weren’t that many of them.’

‘And there were only three of you?’

‘Yes, but each of us has the strength of ten. Except for me. I’ve just got the appetite of ten.’

I switched off the light and eased the door open a crack. ‘Come here, Katie. I’m going to shoot anyone coming up those stairs that we don’t recognise.ʼ I crouched and sighted on the stairs. ‘Ronan gave orders the Chief was to be woken. Has anyone been up here?’

‘No, I’ve seen no one at all.’

I sent thanks to the god of historians. Who was certainly on the ball today.

She started pulling things out of cupboards. ‘Med kits for the wounded.’

There was silence everywhere now. The shouting had stopped. So had the gunfire.

The silence dragged on and on. The lift started up. Beside me, Katie stiffened. The doors slid open. I lifted my gun and shouted, ‘Identify yourself.’

‘Max, it’s Ian. Stand down. I’ve got wounded.’

‘Come on out, Ian. Go, Katie.’

She trotted off and I could hear her giving directions. I closed the door and went to sit in the armchair, pulling the blanket over me. A few minutes later, Guthrie appeared. ‘It’s OK, Max. You can put the gun down.’

I smiled, threw back the blanket, and replaced my weapon.

‘Stand up,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, because that’s what we always say, but did it anyway. ‘See, nothing broken. Just a few bumps and bruises. No permanent damage.’ Nothing visible, anyway. ‘I told you it would work.’

‘What about …?’

‘I told you. It’s fine. Tim got there in plenty of time. She really was as thick as a brick, you know. If she’d just knocked me on the head and tied me to the table I’d have been in dead trouble, but she was so busy gloating and prolonging the agony that you were out of the basement long before anything terrible happened to me. Why do super-villains never learn? Don’t gloat – just shoot!’

A wave of nausea swept over me. I sat down heavily.

He didn’t notice. He was looking down at the bed. ‘The doctor will be here soon. There’s wounded out there and he’s treating them first.’

I nodded. ‘What about Ronan’s lot?’

‘Mostly dead. They’ve not found Ronan yet. Number Nine has gone so it looks as if he’s escaped again. There weren’t actually that many of them – as you so helpfully pointed out in your running commentary along the way. Most seemed to have died, either back in Alexandria or the Cretaceous. You think they would have got the message, wouldn’t you?’

He paused. ‘Barclay’s dead. We found her body in the lift. It looked as if she was trying to get away.’

I nodded. There was nothing to say.

He poured himself a glass of water. Combat makes you thirsty.

‘We have a problem.’

‘Of course we do,’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t be us if we didn’t. What heroic deeds do we have to perform now?’

He put the glass down. ‘Conditions in the basements were unbelievable, Max. Most of their senior staff are dead. Those that are still here are so young. Just trainees and junior members of staff. It’s hard to see how they can carry on. They just don’t have the experience. Many of them may not have the will.’

‘They must,’ I said. ‘They’ve got to get their pods back for one thing. Is their Chief still alive?’

‘She is. She’s nearly as tough as this one here. It must be the breed.’

Suddenly I thought I knew where he was going with this. This was a unit in trouble. Their Director was almost certainly dead – God knows what they had done with him or her. Their Chief Officers were almost all gone. Their historians and experienced staff were gone. Even their pods were gone. If they were to stand any chance of survival, they needed a leader; someone experienced, mature and competent – a rock on whom they could lean while they got themselves back together again. There was only one obvious candidate and he was unconscious on the bed in front of me.

It was so inevitable. He was perfect for the job. The only possible choice.

I was going to lose him.

Guthrie said nothing but looked closely at me. ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he said. ‘You must be tired.’

At that moment, the doctor came in.

He looked in need of treatment himself. Battered and blood-stained and exhausted. He looked at me and his tired face lightened. God knows why.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You must be Max. You’ve been in the wars a bit, by the look of you.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I looked like this when I got here. What about the Chief? Can you wake him up?’

‘Yes, I’ll start tonight. Come and see him tomorrow morning. Don’t expect him to know you. He won’t know who he is either, or even where he is, but that will pass. Now, will you go downstairs and show yourself? It would benefit them to see someone in charge.’

They were all grouped in the dining room. Stitched, bandaged, and worryingly quiet. I felt so helpless. I didn’t know what to do for them. We sat down and someone found us some tea. I took another ice pack for my face.

‘What’s going to happen to us?’ asked one.

‘Nothing. It’s all over now.’

‘No, I mean what’s going to happen to the unit?’

Well, this was encouraging. They were thinking of the future.

‘Now,’ I said, swallowing my fears about who would do it. ‘Right now, the unit pulls itself together, gets its pods back, and moves on.’

‘But how can that happen?’

‘Not sure yet, but it will. Let’s get ourselves something to eat.’

‘Will they come back?’

‘No, never. Your own people saw to that. Everyone here is safe now.’

‘But there’s hardly anyone left. And our Director’s gone. They could come back and do it all again.’ They all looked over their shoulders.

‘Look,’ I said, suddenly feeling very tired. ‘You can’t let this be the defining event of your lives.’

They stared at me.

‘This time last month, you were enjoying your lives, your jobs (I’m assuming), and everything was just fine. Now, it’s not and that’s understandable. But we can all get through this. Not now. Not tomorrow, either, but one day. We can’t let this one thing finish St Mary’s or we’re doing their job for them. If we can’t get past what’s happened to us, then they’ve won, even if they are dead or locked away for the rest of their lives. Would you rather they were thinking, ‘
Hey, look at us! We’re the people who finished St Mary’s!
’ Or, would you rather they knew that nothing they did had any impact at all and that you all went on to do great things? It’s no good moaning about what evil bastards they were. Men like that would see that as a compliment. Far better to regard them as an insignificant pimple on the arse of your success, don’t you think?’

A pause.

‘The arse of success?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s been a long day. Best I could come up with, but you know what I mean. Now, come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To get something to eat and meet the people who will keep you safe until you can do it for yourselves.’

Peterson and Guthrie were scarfing coffee and sandwiches.

‘People, I’d like you to meet Tim and Ian. They’re the reason we’re all safe today. You can trust them with your lives. I frequently do and they’ve never let me down. Tim, Ian, this is …’

I paused. They introduced themselves. I went off and came back with sandwiches. It had been hours. It was nearly morning. I was starving.

When I started listening again, Peterson was saying, ‘Yes, but you can trust her with your lives as well. She rescued the two of us from the Cretaceous period. And the man upstairs, as well. Single-handed, in a stolen pod. And she fought off a T-rex with just a pepper spray and bad language. You couldn’t be in better hands.’

Their eyes were like saucers. ‘What happened? Tell us.’

Tim leaned forward. ‘Well, you need to know she’d had a bit to drink, of course …’ and began to tell the tale. He did embroider it a little, but he got some smiles and then a laugh. Others drew closer to listen. Tension eased. I was actually a bit embarrassed and tried to move away, but Guthrie was blocking my chair and I couldn’t get out. I gave it up and finished my sandwiches. Then Tim’s, as well. Serve him right for talking too much. However, it seemed to have done the trick. They all looked more cheerful when he’d finished. I was scowling at the pair of them when Tim looked over my shoulder and said, softly, ‘Well, I’ll be buggered.’

‘Very probably,’ said Guthrie, dryly and turned to look.

Mrs Partridge was standing in the doorway. Only not our Mrs Partridge. This version had ash blonde hair. Mrs Partridge 2.0. I felt a huge relief. If the Muse of History were still here then not everything was lost.

I looked at the pair of them. How much did they know? How much was I supposed to know? I took the easy way out and said nothing.

Guthrie said, ‘Would you excuse us, please.’ He and Tim crossed the room to her. They talked together and then looked over at me. I was trying to carry on a conversation and watch what was going on at the same time. Because something was going on here. They were talking about keeping the Chief. I just knew it. I was desperate to join them and find out what was happening, but St Mary’s personnel crowded round, all of them seeking reassurance of some kind. I turned my back on the group by the door and concentrated on what was going on around me.

Their basic needs had been met. They were fed, warm, and safe. Now they needed a night’s sleep. Ideally, tomorrow someone would emerge and start putting it all back together again. Not the Chief, obviously. Major Guthrie would be a good choice. Tim could take charge of the trainees, and I could get the history department back on its feet again. I thought I might have a look at their assignment list and pick something simple and easy. Let them get a couple of assignments under their belt, so they could ease themselves back in. They’d need some sort of recruitment drive eventually, but not yet. It could be done. Maybe if we got things organised, they might not need a Director immediately. My heart sank. Yes, they would.

Around me, St Mary’s were still discussing my adventures in the Cretaceous. There were a few laughs. Someone said, quite wistfully, ‘That sounded like fun,’ and I suddenly thought,
Fun. That’s what they need. Something silly and enjoyable. Something to put the sparkle back in their days.

I said, ‘Get some sleep, guys. It always looks better in the morning,’ and wandered off into the kitchen to check there were enough people and provisions for breakfast. When I came out, Tim and Ian were waiting for me.

Major Guthrie said, ‘Max, have you got a minute?’

‘Yes,’ I said dismally, unable to think of an excuse. We sat down and I said, ‘Hello, Mrs Partridge. How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you, Miss Maxwell. Dr Maxwell, I should say.’

‘Please, call me Max. So, what can I do for all of you?’

There was a pause. I wondered who had been elected spokesperson. Mrs Partridge stirred. ‘Max, we’ve been talking and we have a course of action to which we hope you will agree. I’m not sure how you’ll take this, but I’d like you to think about it very carefully.’

Yes, my track record for thinking carefully was so good.

‘You might not like it, but I think you will see that it’s the only way forward. In fact, you might even have thought of it yourself.’

Well, I had, but I wasn’t going to make this easy for them. They were going to have to come right out and say it. She cleared her throat.

‘We feel, after careful consideration, that given the current state of disarray it would be better if we were back on our feet before looking for a new Director for St Mary’s. We want to keep this as quiet as possible. The last thing we need is someone seizing on this as an excuse to interfere. Obviously, there’s no one here presently capable of assuming the role, so it has to be one of you. There really is only one person who has the right attitude to guide the unit through its difficulties and so, what I am trying to say, Max, is that we think you should take over as Caretaker Director; at least for the next few weeks. What do you think?’

It didn’t go in at all. I was so fixated on them wanting the Chief that I didn’t actually hear it the first time round. I made her say it all again before I could find my voice.

‘But why me? Nearly everyone in this room is better qualified to do this. You can’t spend my entire working life calling me feckless and irresponsible and then tell me I’m just what the unit needs in a time of crisis.’

Major Guthrie interrupted. ‘Yes, but that’s just it, Max. They don’t need a normal Director. They need someone like you. They can identify with you. You’re one of them. You sent them to bed in a happy frame of mind. You’ve just organised breakfast.’

‘For God’s sake, you make me sound like their mother.’

‘Well, that’s not so far off, is it? They’re children; they’re frightened, shocked, and hurt. They don’t need a Dr Bairstow, they need a Max.’