Tempus: The Phoenix Man Page 11

  ‘Team. Stand to! Walker, stop waving that bloody sidearm around before you shoot one of us.’ Rembrandt stood to one side of the group, hands fisted on his hips. Then, with deliberate actions, he unsealed his visor and breathing apparatus and shucked the entire ensemble off his head. ‘You can take yours off if you wish.’

  The others glanced back and forth, bewildered yet, but also coming to slow realisation that the atmosphere wasn’t poisoned like the one they were used to. Kwolek was the first to undo her helmet and respirator. Tentatively she pulled the contraption off, and stood for a second or two gulping in fresh air. The rush of sweet oxygen made her woozy and she took a half step to one side before checking herself. Ox put out a hand to steady her, and she took it gratefully. She blinked in confusion. ‘Where…where are we, Chief?’

  ‘We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,’ whispered Harry Bowlam.

  Walker slid out of his helmet, tugging the tubes of his respirator down on to his shoulder. Blood dripped from his leg, pattering on the stark white platform. He wasn’t the only person bleeding. Kwolek and Bowlam also carried wounds. Bowlam was sprayed with gore, a slightly disconcerting sight considering where the blood had come from.

  Rembrandt turned at the soft hiss of pneumatic machinery. Behind him the entire wall shifted an inch, a shadowed curve marking the outline of the exit lock. ‘Store your weapons, and follow me,’ he said.

  Bowlam and Oxford pulled off their helmets and breathing apparatus. Sweat poured from Oxford’s hairline, making his bluff features slick. He gawped around the room, but his attention shifted to where Kwolek hung to his arm and he stirred in embarrassment. But he didn’t ease away, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Then his face went rigid, as realisation struck him. ‘Chief,’ he moaned, ‘I forgot to fetch the painting.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the painting, Ox,’ Rembrandt said. ‘It’s no longer important.’

  ‘But Guvnor Semple…’

  ‘Will be happy to see you alive and well,’ Rembrandt finished. He shifted his attention to the others. ‘Now, stow those weapons, and follow me. There are people outside who will help you. Despite what you’re about to see they are friends, so give them no trouble.’ He eyed Walker.

  The group whispered among themselves, but it was less than a soft buzz in Rembrandt’s hearing. They were confused, so he put up with the unconventional chatter. There would be a lot more to contend with before long but he trusted them all to come to terms with what they’d learn quickly enough. At least they hadn’t been jumped to this time and place from the middle of a frag grenade detonation like he had. Rembrandt led them through the opening door and into an airlock.

  It was a tight squeeze, the antechamber having been designed to hold fewer individuals than six. Rembrandt had them shuffle closer together as the door behind them closed with a whir of pneumatics. ‘OK, don’t be alarmed; we have to be sanitized,’ he said.

  Jets on the ceiling and walls sprayed a thin odorless, tasteless gas at them. The chamber filled rapidly, but - as if it was steam from dry ice - the gas evaporated quickly. There followed a prolonged flash of blue light, some kind of UV ray bathing them, followed a moment later by more of the gas. As the gas faded, the locks whirred on the outer door and Rembrandt lent his weight to it and shoved it open.

  Waiting outside were Doctor Heller and Major Coombs.

  ‘Welcome back, uh, Rembrandt,’ the major offered, still stumbling slightly over the name. He craned for a look at the group behind Rembrandt, his mouth pursing with interest. Rembrandt thought the man was checking them out with professional interest, but there might be more to his scrutiny. Perhaps he was checking faces to see if any doppelgänger lurked within the facility. ‘I see all went to plan. I wouldn’t have credited it with success, but I have to believe my own eyes.’

  ‘What’s the spiv talking about?’ Bowlam whispered in Rembrandt’s ear.

  ‘That’s “Major Spiv” to you, son,’ Coombs said.

  ‘Major? You’re military? But I thought-’ Actually Bowlam wasn’t sure what he thought, and he shut his mouth. As the others were doing, he checked out the room they were standing in, then the one beyond, which could be seen through large viewing windows. In the far room dozens of lab technicians worked at an array of computer equipment that far outstripped the technology they were used to.

  ‘Where are we, Chief?’ Kwolek asked, her voice still verging on whispers.

  ‘The frigging Death Star by the look of things,’ Walker said. ‘Jesus, Chief, did we step onto the set of Star Wars by accident?’

  Heller, who marked off items on a clipboard, eyed the group. She tallied numbers, then frowned at each face in turn. She switched her scrutiny to Rembrandt. ‘You said that four of your team were trapped in the catacombs, yet I count five people you’ve brought back.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to get to Jamal, and the others, in the time frame you allowed, Doctor. But I managed.’ Then, to Heller he said, ‘Where’s the professor? He’ll be happy to learn that his bucking the paradox loop theory isn’t bollocks.’

  ‘How so?’ Heller asked, with one eyebrow lifted archly.

  ‘Say hello to our very own Lazarus,’ Rembrandt nodded at a stunned looking Jamal Dhand. ‘He died, but walks again. My friend here is living proof that by altering the past it changes the future. Jamal was beheaded as part of the original event, but by going back prior to his death I was able to save him second time around. That, to me, means that time can be bucked. I guess it means that a second time line has been initiated, and in some parallel place Jamal did die; but as you can see, in this one, Jamal is alive and well, so it proves that we can alter fate.’

  Heller considered his words for a moment. Then she glanced at Jamal, whose wide-eyed expression told that her he was attempting to make sense of what he’d just heard and failing. Heller scribbled more notes on her clipboard.

  There was a fresh eruption of exclamations from the team as they began to take stock of what they were baring witness to. Words the likes of “paradox”, “jumped”, “time travel” and “beheaded” bandied around by voices high-pitched with incredulity.

  Rembrandt barked an order for silence. ‘Goddamnit, you’re a professional police unit, not a bunch of bloody frightened children. Now get a hold of your emotions and put a lid on it. All will be explained, but not right this second. First you’re going to go with the doctor here, to be checked over and given clearance.’

  ‘Clearance from what, Chief? It’s not as if I’ve got the friggin’ crabs,’ Walker said.

  ‘Clearance for duty,’ Rembrandt snapped. ‘You’re injured. So are Bowlam and Kwolek. And I need you all fighting fit.’

  ‘I’m uninjured, and so’s Ox,’ Jamal Dhand stated.

  ‘At first appearance, that might be the case, but I need you both to go with Doctor Heller. You’ll still need to be cleared.’

  Heller stepped in. ‘You were all brought here from a poisonous atmosphere, and the radioactivity is the least of our concerns. There’s a possibility that you are carrying bugs harmful to the personnel here, and to the public at large. Don’t worry, the treatment is basic, and you’ll soon be released to rejoin Sergeant Johnston soon.’

  ‘Who’s Sergeant Johnston?’ Bowlam demanded.

  ‘Sorry, slip of the tongue,’ Heller said with a flicker of apology to Rembrandt. ‘You will join your Chief for debriefing purposes.’

  Another clamor arose, and this time Rembrandt came down hard. ‘Do as you’re told,’ he said, his voice hard-edged. ‘The sooner the preliminaries are out of the way, the sooner we get to speak. Now go. The doctor’s team is waiting for you.’

  As if on cue, a couple of orderlies appeared at the observation window. One of them was holding a gadget that none but Heller or Coombs would recognise. It was an Ipad, and he held it up so that Heller could see the display of colours on screen. Mostly the colour green dominated the screen, but there were also hints of yellow and red. Heller appeared
satisfied and gave the order for the door to be opened.

  ‘Follow my assistants,’ she said. ‘Erm, Chief Rembrandt, as you have also been through the jump process, you’ll have to receive fresh clearance, too. On this occasion your exposure was for only a short period but…’

  ‘Yes. We’d best make sure I’m not contaminated,’ Rembrandt finished for her. It suited him, because he could lead by example, the way he always had with his team. He indicated the orderlies, and then marched towards them. ‘Let’s do this.’

  Chapter 14

  April 2nd 2018

  Ross-shire, Scotland

  The majestic scenery of the Scottish highlands was lost on Kelsey Muir. She’d driven the route between her hometown of Portree on the Isle of Skye and Inverness on too many occasions to find any beauty left in the twisting turning route that always had her on edge and promised a thumping headache before she reached home. It was one thing for tourists who had plenty of opportunity in order to enjoy the mountains and lochs at their leisure, quite another for someone who’d put in a hard day’s work who wished only to reach home before it was time to turn around and complete the route in reverse. Ordinarily her commute was long enough, without having to go cross-country on minor routes. A multi-vehicle pile-up on the A82 outside Drumnadrochit had meant she’d to find another way through the glens than the main road. Probably some loony rubbernecking for sight of the Loch Ness Monster had caused the crash and blocked the road. Idiot! Kelsey didn’t believe the Nessie myths, and rarely bothered looking over the loch when driving to or from work.

  The detour, taking her via minor tracks back to the A890, had added at least an hour to her already considerable journey time. More than once she’d considered turning back and finding a hotel in which to spend the night because it was looking like she wasn’t going to get home at a reasonable hour. But she’d discarded the notion. Better that she pushed on. She hadn’t seen her fiancé, Ronnie, for a week now, and she was determined that tonight they’d cuddle up in front of the TV together, catch up on all the programmes she’d Sky plussed, and maybe even open a bottle of wine or two. Hell, maybe she’d forego the TV and the wine and go straight for the cuddle and see where that led. After a week at sea, her fiancé would be up for it she was sure.

  It was dark. A light rain fell like gossamer through the beams of her headlights. The clouds were so low that even if she did look up at the hills she’d be unable to see their high crowns. It was almost as if an impenetrable dome had descended over the valley. At road level she felt hemmed in too; the stiffly regimented trees of Achnashellach Forest on either side made seeing anything beyond a few hundred feet impossible.

  A car went by on the other side of the road. Kelsey squinted at the glare of its headlights. She could make nothing of the model of the car, or its driver. Probably me, passing myself going back, she thought bitterly. It was an absurd notion and she shook it out of her mind as if it was a burr to be dislodged.

  The rain fell harder. She thumbed at the controls, abstractedly making a note to purchase new wipers on her return to Inverness. The rubbers were perished and merely smeared the rainwater as if it was greasy dishwater. She flicked the wipers up to full, hoping that the violence of the slashing blades would clear the screen. It didn’t help, but the battling wiper blades were synonymous with the anger she directed at the miles she’d yet to travel. Kelsey wasn’t normally foulmouthed, but in the privacy of her vehicle and her own aggravation she muttered a string of curses under her breath.

  Something caught the next curse in her throat.

  Kelsey gave the existence of UFO’s about the same amount of credibility as she did Nessie.

  But what other explanation was there for the glowing ember of light that suddenly dropped from out of the low-lying clouds to hover in her path, expanding outwards like the pulsing of an overworked heart?

  She stomped the brake pedal. It was an injudicious move considering the prevailing conditions, and the car fishtailed, the back wheels going into the ditch at the side of the road, the bumper tearing off on a larger boulder. Kelsey was left rocking, even after the car came to an abrupt halt. Her seatbelt had cinched tight, and she was unhurt, but the shock of the skid – and no less the appearance of the glaring ball of light – left her moaning. She peered now out of the driver’s side window, watching as the orb grew larger by the second. Tendrils of smoke writhed from the core of the burning sphere, and they looked as if they not only absorbed the falling rain, but also changed it to more of the same bilious smoke.

  The strange orb was barely a hundred feet distant. It appeared to belch, and within a heartbeat was twice the size. The pulsing smoky substance shrouded the fiery nucleus, but Kelsey was under no illusion that the outer cloak was every bit as harmful as the burning core. She wrestled with the gearstick, trying to find first.

  Finding the correct gear to get moving again meant little when her engine had died. Vaguely she thought of tales she’d heard of UFO encounters where witnesses swore that all power to their vehicles had cut out. But that wasn’t the problem here: when she’d crashed she’d merely stalled the engine. She scrabbled at the ignition key, frantic to get moving. The strange phenomenon pulsed again, and for the first time she felt the heat leach inside the car. It was warmth unlike anything she’d experienced before, more akin to being scalded by superheated gas than by the indirect heat of a bonfire.

  The burning sphere touched the road surface. If it had been a UFO, piloted by little green men, like the woo-woo ufologist crowd believed, then surely some kind of landing gear would have been deployed, but again all expectation was wrong. The flaming object appeared to sink into the tarmac, the tar bubbling and hissing around it as it settled to earth. More tendrils of smoke snaked from the core, almost sentient in the way they groped towards her like the fingers of a blind but animated corpse.

  Kelsey was twenty-seven years old, but she’d been a late learner when it came to driving. She had passed her test only two years ago, and her driving experience to date had been in following the twisting roads between Skye and Inverness, and little else. She’d never been in a collision before, and had no idea of what damage could have been caused by the crash. She wasn’t moving. The engine had started, but whined loudly as the rear wheels spun, throwing up mud and divots of coarse grass. Kelsey began whining in tune with the engine as the smoky tendrils writhed over her car. Within seconds the entire car was enveloped and the interior light from her dashboard the only illumination. Kelsey screamed: she’d always held an illogical fear of the dark.

  There was a rank smell. As if someone had struck a match, sulphurous and eye watering. Her skin prickled.

  Kelsey screamed Ronnie’s name, but she was beyond the help of her fiancé. She was beyond help from anyone.

  The car wouldn’t dislodge from the deep furrows her tyres were churning in the verge. Smoke and dust began to filter inside through the air intake ducts. Kelsey attempted to bat the vents shut, but it was hopeless. The dust found ingress and began to billow up around her face. Kelsey coughed, felt the motes of dust adhering to her lips and nostrils. She pinched her lips together – but she had to breathe. The smoke burned as it went down. She exhaled loudly, forgetting all about driving now. She threw open the door and battled to escape the choking confines of the car. Her seat belt, her saviour moments before, was now a hindrance that held her tightly in its embrace. She leaned across, blinded by the smoke and groped for the release catch. Another violent cough wracked her chest. It felt as if her lungs were on fire. It felt as if her skin was on fire!

  Kelsey didn’t make it from the car.

  She perished still twisted to one side, the safety belt catch locked tight. Her mouth was wedged open in an endless scream, but any sound entirely muffled by the cloying dirt in her throat.

  She was only the first to die.

  Chapter 15

  April 3rd 2018

  Tempus Facility, England

  Rembrandt sat in a mess hall in the subter
ranean Tempus Facility bunker. It was lunchtime and there were dozens of lab technicians, maintenance staff, a few security guards and dozens of military men and women chowing down on pre-prepared food served to them by a team of caterers from behind a stainless steel counter. There was little interaction between the different groups of people, each sticking closely to their own kind. Rembrandt sat apart from them all, at a large table he’d reserved by way of stern looks whenever anyone drifted in his direction.

  Last night had proven awkward when he’d met with his team and explained to them that they’d not only been jumped forward in time but also across dimensions. There had been a wild mixture of emotions displayed, ranging from disbelief, fear, regret, loss, anger and even relief, but all had been replaced by recrimination on more than one occasion. Ultimately they were happy to be alive – not least for Jamal Dhand whose death had been assured without Rembrandt’s intervention – but the overwhelming message was that given the opportunity they would have liked to have been offered a say in their collective fate.

  ‘So you’d rather I left you there to die?’ Rembrandt had asked.

  There’d been a moment of quiet reflection.

  Jamal Dhand had shaken his head, his freshly shampooed hair jutting wildly over the shoulders of his sweatshirt. ‘You know my beliefs, Chief. I understand the concept of reincarnation better than the others, but I’m not sure this was what was ordained for me.’

  ‘Who knows what was planned for any of us?’ Rembrandt countered. ‘Maybe this was always what was on the cards for us. I’ve told you that I wasn’t born to your time and place. It came as a shock to me, too; believe me. But had I not been sent there, then we wouldn’t have met; you wouldn’t have been teamed with me at The Castle; we wouldn’t have fought together, watched each others’ backs all those years; we wouldn’t be here now. But we are. Maybe that’s Karmic in its own way?’