TimeSplash (11 page)

“No one survived,” Klaatu pointed out.

Sniper’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Klaatu. “Yeah, but that Korean bastard was the first to do it! His fucking teknik got him there, didn’t she? While you’re still pissing about doing your sums.”

Klaatu didn’t rise to the bait. He was well used to Sniper’s tantrums. In the end, he knew, Sniper trusted him. In the end, they both knew they’d pull it off, while other teams rushed at it and got themselves killed.

“Kuem Dong-Min was a good brick,” Klaatu said, remembering the young man’s quick smile and intelligent eyes. They’d met him about a year ago in Singapore just after the gigarange formulae had first hit the net. Dong-Min’s tag had been Jimmy—after James Dean. His uberteknik was a Chinese girl, Wu Yanmei, who was even younger than Klaatu but who had a mind that had thrilled him more than her pert, young body. Klaatu had fantasised about Yanmei ever since that meeting, believing that she might be the only woman on Earth who would understand the loneliness and isolation that went with such an intellect as his. But she too had died in Beijing.

“I wish people would shut up about fucking Beijing,” Sniper said. Klaatu could only sympathise with that statement. Every vidlog, every netsheet, every conversation in every bar was about Beijing. It had shocked the world far, far more than Ommen had, and now every cop on the planet would be hunting every brick who might stand even a remote chance of doing the same to some other major capital. He and Sniper had probably been bumped up to public enemies one and two by now. Beijing had made the world a very dangerous place for both of them.

“You want to give up on Berlin?” Klaatu asked. “Go dark for a while? Let things settle down?”

Sniper frowned heavily. Obviously the idea had occurred to him. Obviously he didn’t like it. “And let some creep like Flash do London first?”

“So we’re still on?”

“Of course we are. You think I’m scared of the cops?” He brightened suddenly, grinning like a shark. “They got our shipment of F-Twos at Dover.”

Klaatu smiled too. “They must think they are such clever little policemen. And the real shipment?”

“Delivered right on time. It’s in the warehouse at Neukölln-Südring. Twenty top-of-the-range reactors. Four hundred megawatts of mayhem just waiting to be unleashed!”

Klaatu’s smile brightened. “There, you see? It is all coming together. You are going to blow this town off the map, my friend! Be sure to say hello to Herr Hitler for me when you get to 1936.”

* * * *

Jay looked again at his watch. He had had too much to drink, he was bored, and he wasn’t at all sure what part of town he was in or how to get back to his new lodgings. Joe, his new best friend, was missing in action, having disappeared onto the dance floor with a beautiful young woman fifteen minutes ago. All in all, it looked like time to be on his way.

It wasn’t as if he really knew the bloke. Joe had been there in the office when Jay arrived yesterday—a young man of about Jay’s age and build. In a manic display of extraversion, Joe had embraced Jay as if he had found a long-lost brother. Self-importantly, the strange fellow had led Jay around the building introducing him to people who seemed confused and alarmed by the honour, and showing him where to find essential services.

Eventually, his head spinning from the constant flow of chatter, Jay had stopped him and said, “Look, I don’t mean to be funny, but who are you?”

Taken aback, the young man had declared, “I am José María Alejandro García de la Peña y del Bosque. We are in the same unit. I will be your friend and guide.” He winked. “You can call me Joe. It makes it easier for you, eh?”

Jay was still confused. “This is a new unit, right? They just formed it like last week, yeah?”

“
Sí
!” Joe seemed pleased that Jay knew so much. “I arrived yesterday from the Servicio de Información de la Guardia Civil.”

Jay blinked in astonishment, not because this seriously over-friendly nuisance was part of Spain’s national intelligence service, but because he’d let himself be so easily swept along by him.

“You only got here yesterday?” he had demanded, temper rising.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Joe had said, airily. “You’ll soon learn the ropes. You won’t feel like the new boy forever. Not with me to help you.”

And now Jay was out on the town with him. Definitely time to go. But Joe miraculously appeared out of the crowd just in time to forestall Jay’s departure.

“Hey, Jay-Kay!” Joe shouted. Another annoying trait. He grinned from ear to ear and leaned in to speak privately. Even so, he had to raise his voice above the dance music.

“I’m sorry I was so long, man,” Joe yelled. Their brief acquaintance made the apology sound less than sincere. “Some chicas like to play hard to get. You know? But this…” He held up a hand so Jay could see the netID written on his palm. “This will be worth the effort. Eh?”

Jay didn’t doubt it. “Look, Joe, I’ve got to go find my digs and get some sleep. The boss is in tomorrow and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.”

Joe waved a hand. “Ah, you worry too much. I, José María Alejandro García de la Peña y del Bosque, will look after you. Are you not my friend? Shall we not stand together against the forces of evil, shoulder to shoulder, protecting the weak and needy?”

Jay sighed. He was beginning to see why the Guardia Civil had wanted Joe out of the country. Joe had also had too much to drink. But, unlike Jay, the young Spaniard seemed to be enjoying the sensation. It was time to act decisively.

“Joe, my new and enigmatic friend,” he said. It irritated him that the crazy guy’s speaking style seemed to be rubbing off on him. He made an effort to sound normal. “I’ve gotta go, mate. Good night and good luck with the—” He flashed his palm at Joe. “— señorita.”

Joe protested in grandiose terms, emphasising his arguments with a great deal of arm-waving, but Jay turned his face to the exit and made his way carefully through the dancing throng. Unfortunately, Joe was equally determined and followed him, keeping up a continuous stream of persuasion in his wake.

Growing annoyed with this at last, Jay turned on him to tell him to shut up and bugger off, but Joe was just one pace behind and walked straight into him, knocking Jay backward into a dancing couple. The couple, both men as it happened, went sprawling into others and, by the time they had been pushed and shoved and sworn at a few times, the larger of them rounded on Jay—who had just begun to stutter out a profuse apology—and pushed him in the chest so hard he went flying into Joe, who barely managed to keep them both on their feet.

“Hey, it was an accident,” Jay complained, untangling himself and glaring at the big dancer. The dancer squared off against Jay, shouting insults at him in a language that could have been Walloon for all Jay knew. All around them, the other dancers moved back, giving them space. Jay noticed this with annoyance. What did they think was going to happen? Jay wasn’t going to start a fight with a stranger in a club. Besides, he thought, the big guy was about twice his size and looked like he might be made of rock.

He was about to make some kind of pacifying gesture and back off when Joe came to stand in front of him, putting his hands on Jay’s chest as if trying to hold him back.

“Now, now, my friend,” the Spaniard said. “You must not lose your temper. You must…”

And in a move so fast Jay could barely follow it, Joe spun around and whacked the big guy in the jaw with a beautiful roundhouse punch. There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone watched the guy pirouette and fall to the ground like a felled redwood. Even as his victim toppled, Joe turned to Jay with a happy grin. Over Joe’s shoulder, Jay saw the big guy’s dancing partner launch himself at Joe’s back.

Then everything erupted into shouting and movement—mostly directed at Joe, whose attack on the big guy was clearly not popular with the locals. Jay reached for his badge. Time to assert his authority and calm the situation. But it was not there. It was in his jacket, which he had left behind at the bar.

As Joe went down under the weight of several angry Belgians, Jay cursed all crazy young men, and dived into the fray to save him.

* * * *

Marie Vermeulen met Acting Superintendent Jacques Bauchet in the cavernous foyer and led him up in the lift. She noticed him eyeing her discreetly as they went up. A woman of about his own age, she prided herself on having a good figure and dressing well. She made a point of holding herself with a certain poise which she believed men admired. Her face was attractive, with prominent cheekbones and large dark eyes. She was fairly sure her new boss would like what he saw. When she reached out to press the button for their floor, he took the opportunity to sneak a quick look at her left hand, no doubt looking for a wedding ring. She smiled to herself. Men were so obvious when they tried to be circumspect.

She was less guarded in her inspection of Bauchet. She looked him over quite blatantly in the lift, seeing a tall, angular man in his mid-forties, not especially handsome but with a striking look, broad brows and a beaked nose, deep-set eyes, and thin, ascetic lips. His hands were large and bony. He could have looked mean, even cruel, except that the smile he gave her when he saw her studying him revealed something warm and gentle within. She smiled back, partly in relief. She showed him his office and watched as he put both hands on his desk and leaned heavily on them. It was eight-thirty in the morning and he had come straight from the airport. Since the announcement of his new assignment—and temporary promotion—he had had two dozen meetings and only whatever sleep he could snatch on flights and train journeys between European capitals. She knew that because, as his new PA, she had arranged his schedule. Now, at last, he had reached his office and he could get down to work, although he looked as if he might not stay awake long enough.

His colleague, Sergeant Colbert, was attending a meeting elsewhere, she told him when he asked. She brought him coffee. She produced the personnel files for his senior staff. She explained building security. She gave him the keys to an apartment nearby and to the car that was waiting for him in the garage below. She showed him how to access the unit’s file system and comms and informed him that Chief Superintendent Kohl would be happy to see him for lunch.

“Is that all?” he asked. He sounded so weary her heart went out to him.

“You’ve had enough, Superintendent?”

“My head is reeling,” he said. “You’ll probably have to tell me everything again, I’m afraid. But some other time.”

“That won’t be a problem, sir.”

She felt a sudden urge to flirt with him, to say something teasing or suggestive, but clamped down on it immediately, shocked at herself. Unprofessional conduct had never been one of her vices.

Marie saw a frown come down like a blind over what until then had been an open and friendly expression, and puzzled at it. Had he seen something in her own expression? She must be more careful.

“There is just one more thing that I do need to bring up, sir. A staff discipline matter.”

“What? Already?” He looked down at the coffee half-drunk on his desk. She could almost hear him thinking, not one cup of coffee into his first day and there was trouble with his staff!

“The local police arrested two of the new recruits last night in a club in town. It seems there had been a—”

A roar of laughter from the big open-plan area beyond the office door interrupted her. Bauchet glanced enquiringly at her and she shrugged. A man’s voice could be heard from the direction of the laughter, apparently telling a story.

“Detective Inspector Moretti dealt with the Brussels police and the two young men in question have been released. DI Moretti thought you might like to have a word—”

Another outbreak of laughter from the people outside stopped Marie again. This time, Bauchet rose from behind his desk and went out through the door. Marie followed close behind.

“Set up a meeting for me, would you, Marie,” he said pleasantly as they crossed the room.

“Everyone on my team, from Detective Sergeant upwards, in about half an hour.”

A small crowd of people, mostly young, mostly male, were gathered around a good-looking olive-skinned young man who was grinning and talking animatedly.

“And then, what do you think?” he asked his cheerful listeners in a strong Spanish accent. He had a bruised face and a bandage around his right hand. “My saviour, the great hero Jay Kennedy, he finds he has left his badge behind in his jacket at the bar!” He threw up his hands in an exaggerated gesture of incredulity and his audience laughed appreciatively. A second young man, blushing hotly, began protesting but this only caused more laughter. This one had a cut above one eye and a red, swollen ear.

Bauchet stepped up to the edge of the group looking stern. “What is going on here?”

Everyone stopped and stared at him with expressions of curiosity, wariness, or, as they noticed Marie standing at his shoulder and put two and two together, alarm.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Bauchet said in measured tones, his hawk-like gaze moving from one to another of the little gathering. “I am Superintendent Jacques Bauchet, lately of the Paris Préfecture de Police, and, as of two days ago, head of the Temporal Crimes Unit of Europol.”