The Ocean of Time (49 page)

I study it twice and then a third time, and then I laugh at its simplicity and elegance.

Only …

‘How will we know
when
?’ I ask him. ‘How will we know what point to jump in at?’

‘Ah,’ Phil says. ‘As I said, that’s the problem. And as yet, I’d say, you haven’t got an answer. Not until you find out more about Kolya.’ He shrugs, then. ‘Maybe you should go back, to Krasnogorsk, I mean, trace him back from there. See where he comes from. Find out what went on before that moment with the cart.’

Again, it’s so obvious it startles me. But I know why I haven’t considered it before now because there’s always been the barrier of Hecht. But now that’s gone. Or will have, soon. And when
I
am Master …

‘Phil, you don’t know what this means to me.’

Only, when Phil meets my eyes, I realise that he does. And when he reaches out and hugs me, I hug him back, manfully, like I’m hugging a brother knight.

It’s after three and I’m thinking of calling it a night and getting some sleep, when we hear the Tucker pull up outside. Phil lets Matteus in, and I can see at once that he’s excited. But, conscious that Kleo is in the house, I pull the door to, then tell him to speak quietly.

‘I’ve got our lead,’ he says, eyes gleaming.

‘Reichenau?’ I ask, my heart pounding suddenly.

‘No, Kolya. He’s here, in West Berkeley. I’ve got an address.’

‘
Here
?’ Phil looks dumbfounded.

‘Sure. We could go there now. It’s only …’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Right now we get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll go over there. Check things out.’

‘But—’

‘Another night won’t make a difference. And we need some sleep.’

Matteus desists, but he looks disappointed. He’s clearly hurried back with his news, hoping to see some action. But it’d do us no good to go sneaking about at this time of night. And besides, I want to sleep on this, because it doesn’t make a lot of sense, both Kolya
and
Reichenau being here. If they are.

I find out all I can from Matteus, then send him home. Phil wants to talk some more, but, grateful as I am to him, I send him off to bed. Then, alone in the room, I jump back to Four-Oh.

Maria is there, along with what looks like a night-shift. Most of the machines are untended, and I wonder what that means. Are all of our agents back here in Four-Oh?

But I’m in a hurry. I ask Maria what scope I have, and she tells me that as long as I stay in ’52 I can go where I like. I thank her, then go and track down Old Schnorr. He’s sleeping, but one of his assistants wakes him and he gets up and comes to greet me, pleased to see me. ‘I’ve found one,’ I say. ‘Either Kolya or one of his ancestors. In California, in 1952. I wondered if you had any information.’

Old Schnorr settles himself before his machine, pulls at his beard a moment, then looks up at me, a half smile on his lips. ‘1952, eh? I can’t remember anything, but we’ll check.’

I wait, and a few moments later he looks up at me again. ‘No. Nothing. Nothing in our records, anyway. Mind, there is a gap of one hundred and eighty years between 1847 and the next sighting in the 2030s. You want me to send one of my young men back to find out?’

‘No. It’s okay. I’m going back there myself. I’ll find out what I can and let you know.’

I thank him and am about to leave when he calls me back.

‘Otto, I had this made up for you. But you don’t have to read it all now. You can take it with you. It’s made from your DNA.’

‘Ah …’

I take the folder from him and bow my thanks.

‘Oh, and Otto …?’

‘Yes, Meister?’

‘Is it true … about Meister Hecht?’

I hesitate, then nod. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And nothing can be done?’

‘It seems not.’

But now that he’s raised it, I’m beginning to wonder. If I can get myself out of the mess of dying – if I
can
– then why can’t I pull the same trick for Hecht?

Why not? But right now it’s Kolya I’m interested in. Kolya who I want to find.

I jump in just after midnight, some three hours objective before I’m to find out the news about Kolya. It’s a big house and dark, not a single light to be seen in any of the dozen or so windows. The long, broad street is empty, the only sound the noise of a distant train. Across from me two of the big mansion-like houses show scattered lights, but there’s no sign of anyone.

I walk across the front lawn and make my way round the side of the building. The garden’s neat, the grass trimmed, everything in its right place. Moonlight falls on an affluent, well-ordered house. I go to the French windows at the back of the house and look inside. The curtains are open, giving me a view of a wealthy, suburban room. A big couch, a TV – bigger than Matteus’s, though not by much – and a huge rug. Minimalist, one might say. Or underfurnished. No sign of children.

I turn back, looking about me at the garden. No swings, no slides, no scooters, or anything a child might use. It makes me think of what Old Schnorr said to me, about Kolya kidnapping his past selves once they’d produced their link in his ancestral chain. Maybe that’s what this is. Only how is Reichenau involved? Because he must be involved somehow, especially as his man, Heinrich, is working at Kolya’s club. What is that deal? Is Heinrich
watching
Kolya? Has Reichenau placed him here for just that purpose?

There’s a single door at the back of the house. I try it, but it’s locked. I think of breaking a glass panel and letting myself in that way, then I notice that there’s an open window, one floor up – which I can easily reach if I climb up on to the top of the porch.

A minute later and I’m inside, in what looks like a guest bedroom. Again it’s spartanly furnished, like the minimum of effort has been made to make it look normal.

I walk across and pause a moment to listen. Nothing. I try the handle, then curse. It’s locked. I jump out, then jump back the other side of the door, emerging in a deeply shadowed hallway. I take a moment to accustom myself to the gloom, then move down the hallway towards the stairs. There are doors off to either side, every one of them closed. I try them, one after another and find that they’re all locked.

Why?
I ask myself, and the answer comes at once.
To delay. To slow someone like
me down if necessary
.

Yes, but why?

That’s part of my trouble. I haven’t got a handle on Kolya yet. I’ve only got what Old Schnorr has told me, about protecting himself through Time, and that seems a trifle … how shall we say … mad?

The use of acute intelligence to an utterly illogical end
.

I go downstairs, hearing nothing, not even the tick of a clock. There’s thick carpet beneath my feet wherever I go and not even the smallest creak of a floorboard, as if someone’s been very careful to attend to such details. Even so, I feel that there’s something here. Why have this house for no reason?

Downstairs the doors are pushed back, the rooms open for inspection. There’s a massive kitchen – state of the art for this time – and a ballroom of sorts. There’s a study, and two reception rooms, and a bathroom and, tucked away beyond the study, a small room with mirrors on the walls. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

The study intrigues me. The drawers to the desk are locked, of course, but there’s nothing on the desk itself, not even an ink jotter. As for the shelves of books, they’re fakes. Just fronts. Pull out a section of fake books and it’s like an old Hollywood set, nothing behind the surface.

So who is this for? Who is this meant to impress?
Who comes here?

But I’m convinced of one thing now. There’s no one here. Not now, anyway. I’m about to jump out of there when I decide I’ll make a mould of the one of the desk locks. I jump out, jump back.

I’m partway through making the mould when I hear a car draw up outside. I freeze, then crouch beside the table, expecting the front door to open at any moment, but there’s nothing, and when I peer out through the drawn curtains at the front of the house, it’s to see a car parked across the way, outside one of the neighbours’ houses.

I go back to the study, finish taking the mould, then jump straight out.

Having had the key made, I ought, perhaps, to have jumped straight back in. Only I needed a break, to sleep, for one thing, but also to read Old Schnorr’s file and let my impressions of the house settle. And so I go back to my room, in Four-Oh, returning to Phil’s just before dawn.

Phil’s clearly having trouble sleeping, because as soon as it’s light, he brings me in a coffee.

‘So what’s the plan?’ he asks, hovering in the doorway.

‘We visit Kolya’s house.’

Phil hesitates, then: ‘Who
is
this Kolya?’

I pick the file up off the floor and throw it across. ‘That’s what we know. Only there are a few gaps.’

Phil, who’s flicking through the pages, smiles at that. ‘There are
always
gaps.’ He pauses. ‘Is he dangerous?’

I nod, remembering how he looked. ‘I’d say so. And obsessive, which is always a bad sign.’

‘And, of course, he kills you.’ Phil laughs, as if that’s funny, and then he adds, ‘Maybe that’s why he was so mad.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When he made the swap, with Prince Nevsky. You said he was mad with you. That his eyes smouldered like he really hated you for something. Well, maybe that’s why. Because he killed you and you still survived.’

I stare at Phil. ‘You think so?’

‘Shit!
I’d
be mad!’

That’s true. So maybe it’s worked already. Maybe all of this is part of the loop as well.

I sip at my coffee, then look up. Phil’s looking at me strangely.

‘What?’

‘Just you,’ Phil says. ‘Just that you aren’t what I expected. I don’t know what I
did
expect, but not some fucked-up crazy German guy.’

‘Fucked up?’

‘Sure, Otto. Didn’t you know? You’re even more fucked up than me. I mean … like
degrees
more fucked up.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Well, Christ. I haven’t got any mad monks pursuing me through Time. And I haven’t fathered five daughters back in the thirteenth century. And I sure as hell haven’t got to work out some way of saving my own ass by jumping back and forth through time so that there’s three of me!’

It’s true, only I don’t like hearing it. Shrugging off the cover, I walk over to the window and, pulling the curtain back, look out into the Californian morning.

‘I didn’t mean any of those things to happen.’

‘No, but they did. And you ought to ask yourself sometime just why they did. Was it all an accident, or was it you, Otto?’

I turn and look at him. He’s not accusing me. I can see that. Quite the contrary, the guy actually feels for me. Only his truths are a little uncomfortable.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Of course you don’t. We never do. Not until much later. And usually it isn’t so important. Only, you
need
to know what you are, Otto.
Need
to know why you’re doing these things.’

I know why. I’m doing it for Katerina
.
Only is that the
all
of it?

I close my eyes and think of how blue hers are, and see her smile, and I know I would do
anything
simply to be with her. Only is that enough? Does that excuse me fucking up everyone else’s lives?

I turn and look to Phil, ready to argue my case, only right then Matteus arrives, the Tucker idling outside.

Timely
, I think, and, pulling on my jeans and shoes, go outside to greet him.

We get to the Kolya house an hour later. It looks very different in the daylight. No less imposing, but somehow less mysterious, much more suburban.

The key to the drawer in the desk is in my pocket. Making as if I’ve never been there before, I climb out of the Tucker and, walking across the grass, go directly to the front door and ring the bell.

The house is silent, empty. Beckoning to Matteus, I begin to walk round the back. Phil waits in the car, looking anxious.

The back garden, too, seems different. It’s a sunny, welcoming space in the morning sunlight. Nothing threatening. The window above the porch is still open. Climbing up, I go inside, then reappear a moment later at the back door, opening it for Matteus.

In the light, the house seems abandoned. There’s enough furniture left to sell it to a new buyer and no more. The kitchen cupboards are empty and when you reach up to run your finger along the top edge of a door, there’s a light coating of dust. Not enough to suggest long dereliction, but enough to confirm what I’d begun to think: that whatever happened here happened some while ago and is done with.

In other words, we’ve missed the boat.

I’m tempted to jump back three months, simply to find out who was here and what went on, but first I go through to the study and try the lock.

Matteus looks at me strangely. ‘Where did you get that?’

I half turn, even as the drawer slides out. ‘I had it made.’

I look back, and go very, very still, for there, staring up at me, is a picture of Katerina and I, standing in the sunlight on a jetty, while in the background Fyodor Mikhailovich Bakatin and his three sons pull hard at the oars, making their way back downriver.

Tatarinka
, I think, my heart thudding in my chest, my mouth suddenly dry.
That was taken in Tatarinka, seven centuries ago.

Matteus comes across. ‘Otto? Are you—’

He sees what I’m looking at and gives a sharp exhalation of breath. ‘Thor’s teeth—’

I lift the photo up. Beneath it is another, and another, all from that same long journey across northern Russia that Katerina and I once took. Shots of us on the river, or in this inn or that.

Taken by whom?
I wonder, and realise as I do that it must have been a long succession of different people.
Kolya’s people?

Or Reichenau’s?

But just what
is
the connection?

I pocket the photos, then dig deeper. There’s a map of Mineral County. I show it to Matteus and he grins, like it’s confirmed something he suspected. Beneath it is a notebook filled with what look like random numbers.