The Ocean of Time (45 page)

I walk through and stand there, looking at him. ‘I thought that’s what you did? I mean, write about that sort of thing?’

‘Fact that I write it, doesn’t mean I’m dumb. Doesn’t take a genius to work out that it makes no sense at all. I mean, if they were in our skies, we’d know about it. They wouldn’t go skulking around, appearing before a few hillbillies here and a few hillbillies there, would they now? As for abductions …’

‘Abductions?’

Phil sits up, looks at me squarely. ‘Aliens abducting people from their cars on deserted highways, doing tests on them up in their mother ships and then dumping them back on the highway in nothing but their vest and socks. Don’t you
love
that image?’

Phil chuckles, enjoying himself.

‘So you don’t believe any of that.’

‘No sirree. It’s all a crock of shit, if you ask me. If aliens have the technology to travel light years to get here, they aren’t going to skulk about and hide their light under a bushel, metaphorically speaking. They wouldn’t need to. Whether they were nasty or nice, they’d take the direct approach – Washington DC, I reckon, directly over the White House – either with all guns blasting or with a whole flying saucer full of doves. Pretty white doves with two heads a-piece …’

Again he laughs, and this time I laugh with him.

The door opens. It’s Matteus. ‘You guys having fun?’

I turn and smile at him. ‘We’re talking UFOs.’

‘UFOs?’

‘Sure. You got the map?’

‘Best I could get. Two inches to the mile. Said we were thinking of prospecting.’

‘Prospecting?’

‘Yeah, There are lots of mines in this region. Have been for over a hundred and fifty years. Before it was a state, even. Thought it would give us an excuse if the local sheriff’s department stopped us. I bought us some hard hats, too, and some other stuff, just for cover.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Thought we might drive as close as we can to the place, leave the car somewhere it won’t be seen, then go and sniff about.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ Phil says, that concerned look back in his face. ‘Is this going to be dangerous?’

Matteus looks at him straight. ‘If it were, I wouldn’t have brought you. We’re just going to have a little look, that’s all. See what we can see. But first off, let’s go and grab us some breakfast. I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.’

There’s a big wire fence, maybe ten feet tall, stretching away into the distance on both sides. Beyond it there’s nothing but sand and rocks and the odd patch of vegetation, and, in the near distance, a big escarpment of smooth, weather-sculpted rock. There’s no sign of a facility. But that doesn’t daunt Matteus.

‘It’s in there,’ he says. ‘Trust me. I know.’

‘You know because you’ve seen it?’

‘It’s there, I promise you. Just wait a second. I’ll go back to the car and get the cutters.’

As Matteus walks away, Phil looks to me. ‘How long have you two been friends?’

‘A long time. We were at school together, back in the homeland.’

‘Matt’s a German?’

‘Didn’t you know? His full name is Matteus. Matteus Johann.’

Phil turns, watching Matt as he walks over to the car and lifts the hood. ‘That makes sense of a whole number of things,’ Phil says quietly. ‘His ambivalence to the war, for a start.’

I nod, but say no more. But I know one thing: just as soon as this trip is over, I’m jumping back and changing things. I’m going to make sure that next time we come here Phil isn’t with us.

Matt’s back a moment later, a big pair of bolt cutters in one hand. He walks over to the fence, then, taking a grip, begins to cut through the wire, link by link. It takes about two minutes. He kicks the cut section of wire inward and is about to throw the cutters down when I stop him.

‘No. Keep those. We may need them if we don’t come out this way.’

‘But the car …’

‘We’ll find the car.’

Matteus hesitates, then nods and looks to Phil. ‘You ready, Phil?’

Phil doesn’t look sure; but then he nods and, before Matteus can stop him, ducks through the gap and over on to the other side of the fence. Matteus and I follow.

‘Which way?’ Phil says, keen now that he’s taken the first step.

Matteus stops and, handing me the cutters, takes the map from his back pocket and unfolds it. He studies it a moment, then points to our left – to the west, if I’ve got my directions right.

‘There. It ought to be just beyond that outcrop there.’

‘You’ve been here before?’

‘No. But this is where it is. You-know-who said it was.’

Hecht
, he means.

I’m surprised that there are no surveillance cameras, no guard towers or patrolling jeeps. It seems too quiet. It can’t be that important if it’s this easy to get in, can it?

Or maybe that’s it. Maybe if the security were tighter – more prominent – then people would be more curious. Especially the locals. Even so …

It takes us a full ten minutes to cross the open plain and reach the cover of the rocky escarpment. It’s like a scene from an old western – the kind where the baddy flees and gets holed up in a canyon and has to shoot it out, and when I say that, Matteus excitedly tells me that this is precisely where they film all of that TV and movie stuff – here and hereabouts.

Phil, however, is quiet. Too quiet, I think. Like he’s suddenly regretting his earlier bravado and wishes he was back in the car.

Matteus gets out the map again and, checking that he’s where he thinks he is, folds it again, tucks it into his back pocket, and begins to climb, making his way between the boulders up the steep, dusty slope. We follow. Halfway up we rest, looking back at the way we’ve come. You can’t see the breach in the fence from here, nor any sign of our passage.

Matteus has a knapsack on his back. Shrugging it off, he opens it and reaches in, bringing out a heavy water bottle. Uncapping it, he drinks, then passes it to Phil.

‘Where is it?’ I ask.

‘We should see it soon. Just over the brow.’

Phil takes a long swig and hands the bottle back. He wipes his mouth then frowns. ‘We aren’t trying to get inside, are we?’

‘
You
aren’t,’ Matteus says. ‘I want you to stay outside and keep watch.’ He dips into the knapsack and brings out a whistle on a string. ‘Anyone comes along, you blow this, twice.’

Phil takes the whistle uncertainly. For all he knows we’re spies. Russian spies, perhaps, or East German, which is just as bad.

Matteus caps the bottle and slips it back into the sack, then slings it back on to his shoulder. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

Matteus is right. It isn’t far away. But even he’s surprised how strangely futuristic it looks, staring down at it from half a mile distant.

‘Weird,’ Phil says, shaking his head. ‘That doesn’t look like it comes from our age. That’s real Buck Rogers stuff!’

Matteus puts down his binoculars, then hands them to me. It’s like he either hasn’t heard Phil, or Phil is no longer important.

‘What do you think?’

I put the glasses to my eyes and gently adjust the focus. From a distance it looks big and circular and shiny, like a grounded flying saucer, but through the glasses you can make out that what makes it appear so shiny are whole concentric rows of solar panels. Whatever else it is, it’s energy efficient, and that alone marks it out as something from the future.

I trail the glasses across the roof, looking for an entrance of some kind, then jerk back.

‘Thor’s teeth!’

‘
What
?’ Matteus says. ‘What is it?’

‘There’s a plaque,’ I say. ‘With the company name on it and a symbol – like the sign for infinity.’

‘The lazy eight.’

‘You know?’

‘There was a mine here by that name. It’s how it’s marked on the map.’

‘Right.’ But I’m remembering where I last saw that symbol. It was on the pendants around the necks of the two Russian agents that got blown up by Seydlitz and Kramer, after my failure in Christburg.

Yes, and the same symbol was on the flyleaf of the book of Russian folk takes Hecht had on his shelf. The lazy eight with the two arrows pointing towards the centre.

The exact same symbol as is on the building down below, brazen and open, like they don’t care who sees.

Or don’t think anyone will?

‘So?’ Matteus asks. ‘What does it mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, as if that’s true, but my pulse is racing now, because in the second or two between seeing the symbol and working out where I last saw it, I have my answer.

Only it can’t be possible. Surely?

‘We need to get inside,’ I say.

‘Right.’

‘Only …’ I lower the glasses. ‘I think you should stay here with Phil. If I don’t come back …’

Matteus stares at me, about to argue, but right then the matter is decided for us. Far to our right, where the fence is breached by a gate, behind which are two sentry boxes and a traffic barrier, a little cavalcade of four big black sedans has drawn up.

We watch as about a dozen guards emerge from the boxes either side. They’re carrying heavy armaments, and as each car draws up, one of the guards looks inside while the others stand back, guns trained.

As the first car moves through, I expect it to travel on the half mile to the installation, but it pulls aside and waits, its engine idling, while the next car is processed, and only when all four have been examined and okayed, does the little convoy roll on, the four big black cars like a funeral procession.

At least, that’s the impression that comes to my mind. Death. This has to do with death.

As the cars pull up on the far side of the dome-like building, I train the binoculars on the leading car. More guards have emerged from inside the building – unarmed this time. Not so much guards, it seems, as attendants. Going to the back door of the first car, they open it and begin to help the occupants out.

Five of them in all, no, six, stepping out into the bright desert sunlight; each of them dressed in white, prison-like attire. Men and women, blinking up at the brightness.

‘They’re cuffed,’ I say.

The other cars are emptying out now. I train the binoculars and see that their occupants are wearing the same white one-piece uniforms, and that every last one of them is cuffed.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Matteus asks quietly. ‘I thought—’

‘Experiments,’ Phil says. ‘There’ve been rumours.’

We both look to him.

‘Rumours?’ Matteus asks.

‘Yeah,’ Phil says, nodding to himself. ‘About prisoners. Rumour is they offer them parole in exchange for their participation in medical tests.
Experiments
. Things the courts won’t let them do legally. Things they can’t do on rats and dogs. Things they need
humans
for.’

‘New drugs,’ Matteus says. ‘It makes sense …’

But I know better. And even if I don’t know exactly why they’re there, I
do
know who’s behind this now. Reichenau.

Matteus looks to me. ‘You still want to go in alone?’

‘No. I don’t think we should go in at all. I think we should get out of here. Before we’re seen.’

‘But …’

‘But what?’ I look to Phil, then back to Matteus. ‘There’s only one way of getting in and out of there safely, and I think you know what I’m talking about. But I don’t think Phil here’s ready for that information yet, do you?’

Phil’s face wrinkles. ‘What information?’

‘Nothing,’ Matteus says defensively. ‘Tricks of the trade, that’s all.’

‘So you two
are
agents.’

‘Of a kind,’ I say, and glare at Matteus, angry at him for having put us in this situation. Down below the prisoners have been led inside and the big sedans are slowly turning, making their way in tight procession back to the gate.

It’s hot, even in the shadow of the rocks. Matteus passes the bottle round again. This time I sip, then pour some over my brow and sluice my face. That done, I look to Matteus again. ‘You know what I think? I think we ought to find out where those sedans come from. Ask a few questions. Discover just who’s making the deals. Going in there … that isn’t an option.’

Matteus, I can see, wants to argue. He wants some action. But even he knows it would be stupid to try. Not if there
are
armed guards and only one way in and out of the place. Nor can we jump in – not with Phil looking on.

‘Let’s head back to the car,’ I say. ‘Circle round north where those gates are, and stop off at a few of the towns heading east, find out if they saw those sedans passing through.’ I pause, then. ‘Is there anything marked? You know … a prison?’

‘Nothing,’ Matteus says.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Where
is
the state penitentiary?’

‘I don’t know. Carson City, maybe? Wherever it is, it’s not on this map.’

I turn back, staring at the building, trying to work out what’s the best way to tackle this situation. The desert’s empty now, no sign of the sedans.

I’m about to turn back, to give instructions, when there’s a sudden pulse, like a compressive bending of the air, emanating directly from the centre of the building, and a feeling like the air pressure has just changed, making my ears pop.

In fact, everything feels strange. I have an impulse to speak, but before I can, before the message goes from my brain to the muscles of my mouth and throat, everything goes black – an intense, impenetrable blackness.

For a count of three, that’s all there is. It’s as if the air surrounding me has congealed. And then, like someone’s switched the light back on, we’re back as we were.

Only not, because all three of us fall instantly to the ground, as if we’re puppets and our strings have been cut. There’s a moment when we just lay there, stunned by what’s happened, and then Matteus laughs in amazement. Not only he, but all three of us, are now sporting a two-day growth of stubble.

‘Christ!’ Phil says, close to babbling. ‘What
was
that? Did we all fall asleep or something?’

Time
, I think, getting to my feet and beginning to brush myself down.
They’re manipulating time
. And then I realise what that means and look to Matteus.