“All right, I’ll help you. First, you have to disappear. This guy, Armitage, may already be creating a new construct. He may also have access to your original body. We know that of he kills that, you can still live out your life here, but there is no way back. So he will be after you to finish the job. You have to sell up and go to the States. I’ll contact you there in due course. Go to Washington, under a new name, Ronald Reagan will do. What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing, I have sufficient funds to live.”
“You’ll find that you won’t be getting any more, so you’ll have to get a job. What can you do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then become a journalist. You’ll find it easy, with what little you know of the future, you’ll be able to get a nice little job writing about the events with a sharp insight as to the likely turn out of events. You should do nicely. And leave the boys alone, the Americans don’t like child molesters.”
“You’re American, aren’t you?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“I’m sorry, but your accent is very obvious. You’re not from this era?”
“Hey, when I come from, there’s a woman in the White House,” I lied.
“My God, so you must come from about 2057?”
“Hey, I ain’t telling you diddly squat.”
“I’m sorry. Are you going to undo me?”
“First, what happens at three o’clock in Oxford?”
“You know very well.”
“Pretend I don’t.”
“Sir Robert Peel is dining with some friends at Magdalene College. His terms as Prime Minister are crucial to this country, so he is the target. The ironic thing is that his Grace the Duke of Wellington is dining there also.”
“Do away with Peel, and set the law and order brigade back twenty years or so. Not a bad idea. Pity you ain’t gonna do it now,” I said.
“No, not now, please let me go.”
I looked at him and put my pistol back into the holster.
“I hadn’t realised that you were able to get people and objects through the barrier. No wonder we keep getting caught.”
“Look buddy, you’ve all been under observation from the moment your generators kicked in,” I said, bluffing.
“You know about our individual generators?”
“What am I, a quiz master? Of course. They give off a unique signature in the time/space continuum. We track you from the moment you engage.”
“I knew you were advanced, but not that far.”
“So, I want your generator. It’s useless to you now, as your erstwhile buddies are no longer your friends.”
Nodding, he pointed to the wardrobe. “On the top shelf. With it gone, they can’t trace me, can they?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” I said, going over to the wardrobe and opening it. I took out the chunky device designed to be strapped to the agent’s chest by a basic harness. A single red light glowed at me from the centre of the small grey metallic box.
“What’s the red light mean?”
“Just that it’s on. I can’t turn it off. The light changes to green when we use it. To return we press the button, and our mind is sent back to our body again.”
As we watched the light went out.
“Looks like you can’t go back. They pulled your plug. What happens to your original body?”
“It dies, I think. I’m not sure,” he said, going rather pale.
“Okay, I’m gonna let you go. But you let me down, and I promise, It’s bye-bye balls!” I said, pointing my .45 at his testicles.
He crossed his legs and looked pained.
“May I know your name?”
“You may call me Officer Smith.”
He laughed, shortly and with little humour. “I’m sorry, it was a silly question,” he said.
“You bet your ass it was, boy.”
“Will I see you again?”
“You had better hope so. But I’ll be watching you, so step very carefully indeed.”
“How do I contact you?”
“If you write for a paper, then I’ll look out for your column. Once I see your name, I’ll be in touch. Don’t expect anything until at least 1820, as I will be otherwise occupied until then.”
“How will I know you?”
“I’ll use the name Jane Fonda, okay?”
This made him smile slightly. “What will you do?”
“My job. I’ll try to save your stupid British queer ass.”
“Thank you.”
“Shit boy, you’d better deliver.”
“I will.”
“They’ll try to kill you again, you know that?”
“Yes, will you be around to help?”
“Not all the time, I ain’t omnipresent.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I gotta take off. You take care now.”
“What about him?” he said, pointing to the body.
“I suggest the Thames. A lot of shit lands in there at this time of year.”
“What about the gunshots? People will have heard.”
“Look buster, I saved your dumb ass, do you want for me to wipe it as well? You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out!” I said, losing patience.
“Fine. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to this sort of thing.”
I unfastened his wrist, looping the handcuffs onto my belt.
“I have to go,” I said, and slipped downstairs and into the night before he could reply.
I was home within an hour, having dismantled and buried the generator in St. Helen’s Church graveyard. I had no way of getting it back to the Centre, so I didn’t want it cluttering up my life, so I took the name of the nearest deceased and hoped that I could some way transmit the information to those that needed to know.
I gratefully slipped into bed having packed my ‘uniform’ and weapon away in a secure place at the bottom of my wardrobe. I fell asleep almost immediately. I had a full day of work ahead of me tomorrow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Back to work
They left me with no alternative but to resort to my only means of communication at my disposal; the newspapers personal columns. It was a system that was used by our organisation and probably by the enemy too. We had a set code, utilising biblical references to impart information. Based on the King James Bible, it was a complicated system involving numbers and letters according to chapters and verses.
It took me the best part of the following morning to construct the correct advert, and then I had to arrange for it to get the next coach to London. I would be happy once there was a proper mail system in this country.
I took our carriage to Oxford at noon, with Oliver driving me for the first time. I took my letter to the Coach office, and the clerk assured me it would be in London by the following day.
It was walking distance to Magdalene College, and so I told Oliver to wait for me. With my trusty revolver in my large cloak pocket, and my hood up, I arrived outside the college at two forty five. I was much surprised to find a fair crowd gathered to cheer the Duke, I forgot that he was still the Hero of the Nation.
I suddenly got a fleeting glimpse of a tall man with a large moustache, and to my horror, I saw that it was the same man that I had killed in the early hours of this very morning.
My enemies were quick. They had obviously found Soames gone, assuming he was no longer reliable, so had hurried to re-construct Armes again to finish the job. I wondered whether Soames had a body to return to anymore. I doubted it.
As I was feverishly trying to work out how to deal with the problem, a squad of red-coated infantrymen marched round the corner, coming to a halt fifty yards away. This I found a relief, as I didn’t fancy using my pistol with all these people about. A tall young officer on a dapple-grey horse followed them, and I recognised him. It was Captain Pierce from that day in Paris.
He dismounted and I hurried over to him.