Extracted Trilogy (Book 2): Executed Page 3

‘Yes,’ Miri says.

  ‘Pens? What about the pens?’ Safa asks, seeing Ben do that move he does when he’s working things out. It catches her attention. The sight of him doing it. He hasn’t done that for months. ‘Ben? Who is she? Who are you? Where’s Roland? We don’t have time for this. Malcolm and Konrad are dead. Where are they?’

  ‘Roland said you were smart,’ Miri says to Ben.

  Safa shifts a step, positioning herself ready to move in front of Ben. ‘He is smart. What did you mean about the pens? Did Malcolm and Konrad die getting pens?’

  ‘Er, no. No, she doesn’t mean that,’ Ben says quietly.

  ‘If someone killed them for a pen, I’ll . . .’

  ‘It’s not about the pens,’ Ben says.

  ‘She said pens.’

  ‘Yes, but . . . No, she meant something else . . .’

  ‘We don’t even use pens . . .’

  ‘Got a pencil,’ Harry says, pulling one from his pocket.

  ‘Okay, stop,’ Ben says, looking at Harry and Safa. ‘No pens. There were no pens. She means who gets the pens . . . Got it? Where do the pens come from?’

  ‘From the fucking pen shop, obviously.’

  ‘No, Safa . . .’

  ‘Did you want my pencil, ma’am?’

  ‘All of these things are the pens,’ Ben says.

  ‘What!?’

  ‘The fruit, the equipment . . . all the stuff we use . . . They’re the pens . . .’

  ‘They’re not pens.’

  ‘No, Safa. I mean . . . so . . . Malc and Kon get everything we need, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but they don’t get . . .’

  ‘Forget the bloody pens, Safa.’

  ‘I would, but someone keeps on about them.’

  ‘Christ! Right. Listen. Malc and Kon get everything we need. We don’t know where from. We don’t know how. We never go with them. Roland gives them the money and they get it. They are not surveillance-trained or . . . or know how to use countermeasures to prevent anyone finding them . . . Am I on the right track here?’ Ben asks, glancing at Miri, who nods once. ‘So I’m guessing someone tracked them to Berlin, right?’ he asks Miri. This time she doesn’t nod, but then she doesn’t shake her head either. ‘So someone found us . . . them . . . where they are . . .’

  ‘Correct,’ Miri says.

  ‘How did you work that out from her saying about pens?’ Safa asks. ‘Who is she? Who are you?’ She fires the questions out, irritated at not knowing what’s going on.

  ‘Safa, let Ben explain,’ Doctor Watson says.

  ‘I told Roland to get someone from military intelligence. Someone who knows how to do the things Roland is incompetent at. Roland has got her . . .’ – he points at Miri – ‘I mean you, sorry.’

  ‘You know what ODNI is?’ Miri asks.

  Safa nods, once and curt, her dark eyes fixed on the older woman.

  ‘What’s that?’ Harry asks.

  ‘Office of Director of National Intelligence,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘I read a lot,’ he adds when everyone looks at him.

  ‘They oversee the whole intelligence community in the US,’ Safa says. ‘Which department are you from? CIA?’

  Miri shakes her head. ‘DIA,’ she says. ‘Defence Intelligence Agency,’ she adds, so Harry can understand. ‘Our remit was military intelligence. My background was military. Recruited during the Cold War.’

  ‘I’m not buying it. She could be anyone,’ Safa says. ‘Why isn’t Roland here to introduce you?’

  ‘I was extracted two days ago and Roland is not here because I told him to stay home and await further instruction. I have something . . .’ Miri says, leaning forward to reach round to her back. Safa stiffens. The grip on the chair tightening. Harry tenses, bunching power ready to launch at her. ‘Stand easy. No threat. Piece of paper to show you.’ She pulls a folded sheet from her back pocket and holds it out towards Ben. ‘Read it.’

  Tension in the room. Ben takes the folded piece of paper and moves back a step before opening it out to read the words written on one side. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and again his head drops as his hand comes up to rub his jaw.

  ‘What is it?’ Safa asks, still holding Miri locked in her gaze. ‘Read it out.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ben says, looking up to smile at Miri. He clears his throat and reads from the sheet.

  ‘Miri. Please do not be alarmed at finding this note on your door. My name is Ben Ryder . . .’ – he pauses at the surprised looks from Safa, Harry and the doctor – ‘Tomorrow night, a man will come to you. He will arrive through a blue light in your kitchen. His name is Roland Cavendish. His son, Bertram, invented time travel in the year 2061. This seems absurd. The only way I can prove it to you is to tell you we know you went to the diner today and saw two men who you believed to be of Russian or Eastern European origin. You believe those men have tracked you because of your former life. You are correct. They will come tomorrow night and cause an explosion in your house, which will later be blamed on a gas leak. Your body is not recovered. Your body is not recovered because you go back with Roland Cavendish to a bunker in the Cretaceous period, where you will meet me, Safa Patel, Harry Madden and Doctor John Watson. Again, this sounds utterly absurd, but I know, from you telling me, that you have not reported your cover being blown for your own personal reasons . . .’

  ‘Shit,’ Safa whispers.

  ‘There’s more,’ Ben says. ‘Something causes the world to end by 2111. Bertram discovered it during his tests. Roland extracted us from our times because the bloody idiot used a computer program to match heroes. The man is incompetent. He is not capable of running this. We need your help. Please go with Roland . . .’ Ben trails off, blinking several times. He clears his throat and looks up at Safa, then across to Harry. ‘Last bit to read out . . . It says, er . . . Well, it says, In order to put Safa and Harry’s minds at rest, tell them Safa’s favourite film is . . . er, well, it says The Ben Ryder Movie. And, er, her favourite food is now the lemon-lime fruit thing in the bunker, but Harry prefers the awful thing that stinks of cheesy feet. It also says Harry refuses to wear new boots, and the name of his first training sergeant when he joined the army was Gordon McTavish. He was Scottish, and had a tattoo of a snake on his right arm. Safa’s best friend before she joined the police was a girl called Tammy, but they lost contact when Safa joined up.’

  ‘Oh my god, it says that?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Yep,’ Ben says. ‘Few more too. Names of pets, schools. Stuff that someone wouldn’t know . . . It’s signed too. By us . . . All of us . . .’ He holds the sheet up and walks over to show Safa and Harry the signatures. Doctor Watson rises from his seat to join them.

  ‘Shit,’ Safa says slowly. ‘That your signature, Harry?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Ben? That yours?’

  ‘Yep. It’s my handwriting too . . . I mean, I wrote this . . . all of it . . . but, um, I haven’t written it yet.’

  ‘Head fuck,’ Safa mutters.

  ‘That is definitely my signature,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘And, good lord, yes, my dog was called Meredith . . .’

  ‘You called your dog Meredith?’ Safa asks.

  ‘If we re-extract Malcolm and Konrad, we confirm the existence of time travel to an enemy we do not know,’ Miri says, instantly businesslike. ‘The SA was attacked by either a PC or GA intent on securing the HB . . .’

  ‘The what?’ Ben cuts in, puzzled. Harry and Safa share his confused expression. ‘I didn’t get any of that.’

  ‘Nope,’ Safa says.

  ‘Not a word,’ Harry says.

  ‘Staging area,’ Miri says flatly. ‘The SA was attacked by what was either a private company or a government agency intent on securing the home base . . .’ She takes in the blank looks. ‘The warehouse in Berlin was the staging area.’

  ‘Ah, got it,’ Ben says quickly, clicking his fingers. ‘With you now. Yep. Staging area was Berlin . . . Er, what was the other stuff you said?’

  ‘Pri
vate company . . .’ Miri says.

  ‘What, like a shop?’

  ‘No,’ Miri says.

  ‘I’m not a soldier,’ Ben says, holding his hands up. ‘Insurance investigator.’

  ‘I know. Ben Ryder. You saved a woman and child when you were seventeen, and were taken into the British equivalent of the Witness Protection Programme under the name of Ben Calshott. You were engaged to Stephanie Myers, who denounced you as a wife-beater after your death, which was caused by an explosion at Holborn train station in London following an attack by environmental activists. Safa Patel’s parents are from Egypt and India. She joined the police following what you did when you were a kid, and then later moved into your equivalent of the Secret Service to protect the Prime Minister, having been influenced by your actions at Holborn. She died protecting him when the same environmental activists attacked Downing Street. Harry Madden, known as Mad Harry Madden. Commando deployed to a Norwegian fjord during the last world war. Information and knowledge. This is what I do.’

  Ben listens intently, mesmerised by the way Miri speaks. Her tone somehow flat, but with that American drawl, and the words come out hard and fast. The last thing she said was so American too. The overt expressionism so unique to Americans. This is what I do. In those few words, he surmises Roland has told her who they are.

  ‘I think she means a private military company,’ Doctor Watson says with relish. ‘Mercenaries. Guns for hire . . . rogues . . . The types of ne’er-do-wells likely to give their arms for the highest bidder in a world of shady deals in smoky back rooms,’ he adds with a big grin as everyone else in the room looks at him for a few seconds.

  ‘So,’ Ben says slowly, looking back at Miri. ‘The private military people attacked the warehouse in Berlin and killed Malc and Kon.’ He realises he doesn’t feel quite as bad as he should right now. Death isn’t what it was. They have a time machine. They can go back and get them. That translates to not being dead in Ben’s head.

  ‘Crossfire, was it?’ the doctor asks with a knowing nod. ‘Got to watch the angles in the old firefight, you know.’

  ‘So the home base is here, is it?’ Ben asks. Along with not feeling as bad as he should about Malc and Kon not being dead, he also doesn’t feel afraid or worried about the thought of armed people attacking a warehouse a hundred million years in the future. They are safe here. The one thing cemented in his mind is the complete impossibility of anyone ever finding them.

  ‘We have immediate work to do,’ Miri cuts in, placing the apple core on the table. She looks at the clothes Harry and Safa are wearing. ‘Your physical state. Report.’

  ‘Fit and ready to go, ma’am,’ Harry booms, coming to attention.

  ‘You’re not bloody ready to go,’ the doctor says. ‘Harry and Safa have been out of it for two days. They need rest.’

  ‘Belay the last from the good doctor,’ Harry says officially, still standing to attention. ‘Ready for duty.’

  ‘Belay that belay,’ Doctor Watson blusters. ‘They need rest . . .’

  ‘Had a good kip, ma’am. Ready to go,’ Harry counters.

  ‘What is it you require?’ Ben enquires politely.

  ‘Roland and his son. Extraction,’ Miri replies.

  ‘Oh, I can do that,’ Ben says lightly. ‘Doc’s right. Safa and Harry need rest.’

  ‘No way you’re going alone,’ Safa tells him.

  ‘Why not? It’s only Roland,’ Ben says.

  ‘Question,’ the doctor says. ‘Why do we need to extract Roland and his son? I mean, can’t they just come here?’

  ‘Bodies are evidence. Malcolm and Konrad will lead investigators to Roland. Roland’s son is the inventor. Not good. Need extracting.’

  ‘Right,’ Ben says. ‘Like I said, I can do that . . . Where are they?’

  ‘No,’ Safa says. ‘We’ll deploy as a team.’

  ‘No,’ the doctor says.

  ‘No,’ Miri says.

  ‘Too many no’s,’ Ben mumbles, his forehead wrinkling. ‘So where they are?’ he asks Miri.

  ‘Cavendish Manor. Hampshire. England.’

  ‘Got it. So I just pop back and ask them to come and stay here, easy. Er, did you say manor? The cheeky twat lives in a manor house and he keeps us in a nasty bunker . . .’

  ‘Roland and his son cannot stay here,’ Miri cuts across him.

  ‘I see,’ Ben says, nodding at her. ‘Sorry, not got a clue what you mean.’

  ‘They require extraction, but they will not be staying here. Mr Ryder will come with me.’

  ‘Mr Ryder will not go anywhere on his own,’ Safa says.

  ‘S’just Ben,’ Ben says.

  ‘I can do it, ma’am,’ Harry says, taking a step forward. ‘Ready to deploy. Feeling fine.’

  Miri looks at him, at his drawn expression and the tremble in his legs that he can’t disguise.

  ‘Miri,’ Ben says carefully, politely. ‘Listen, the whole time thing is confusing, but we’ve got a time machine. We can go in ten years and it won’t make a difference.’

  ‘Negative. Need extraction now. Will happen. Has to happen.’

  ‘Forgive me being rude,’ Ben says, ‘but you are wrong – it doesn’t have to happen now. Safa and Harry have been out of it for a couple of days. Let them get better, and we’ll all go in a few days. We’ve got a time machine . . .’

  ‘Understand me,’ Miri counters the second he stops talking. ‘In the timeline I just left, the people who attacked the SA are examining the bodies of Malcolm and Konrad. They will link those bodies to Roland. They will connect that Bertram is the device inventor. They will immediately deploy to Cavendish Manor. If they gain Bertram, they gain a time machine. If they gain a time machine, the whole integrity of the timeline is ruptured.’

  ‘That’s over a hundred million years in the future. We can go to Roland’s house whenever we want, and we can arrive at any time we choose. Those people are right now going to his house, but to us it doesn’t matter. We’ve got the device.’

  ‘Negative,’ Miri says, her voice hardening. ‘Once they gain a time machine, we lose.’

  ‘Right, and what I am saying is that we’ll always be able to go and get Bertram away from them because we have a time machine now.’

  ‘Negative. Deploy now.’

  ‘No. We can deploy when we want.’

  ‘My agreement with Roland confirms I have authority. Roland and his son need extraction. That will happen now. If not, this will go to the US military. This is too big for you. Too big for Roland. We have to react to that timeline in real time. None of this is tested. None of this is known. We cannot take the chance on a system we do not know. Do not take what you think you know from science fiction and apply it now, Mr Ryder. Do not assume a thing because you think you know.’

  ‘It’s common sense,’ Ben says, frustration showing.

  ‘It is common sense formed from opinions of a subject you think you know, but we are dealing with an unknown entity. We will react accordingly to negate any and all risks, no matter how slight or negligible you perceive them to be. I understand your concerns and views, Mr Ryder, but they are just that: they are opinions. There is risk, and we will negate that risk. We will deploy now to absolutely ensure the safety of Bertram Cavendish. Failure to comply means the whole mission goes to the US military.’

  Ben thinks to argue. To counter and persuade the woman she is wrong, but as much as he holds his beliefs strongly, so he can also see the validity of her argument, and the thought of a time machine going to any government, let alone the US government, is more a risk than anything else. He concedes and backs down, nodding to show supplication to her command. ‘Safa, I’ll be in and out. Like, super quick and super safe, and if it goes bent, then you and Harry can come rescue me . . . yeah? Good plan?’

  ‘Shit plan. No. I didn’t understand a word of what you both said. Is she being real? Does it need doing now?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, it does, but you and Harry have been in bed for . . .’

/>   ‘Doc, give me and Harry a shot,’ Safa says firmly.

  ‘A what?’ the doctor asks.

  ‘A shot. Give us a boost.’

  ‘A boost? No! You need rest, not . . .’

  ‘We’ll be manning up then. Harry, you fit?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Safa,’ Ben says carefully.

  ‘Safa, my arse,’ Safa says. There is no way she is letting Ben out on his own. He can handle a pistol and knows how to fight, but tactical awareness is an altogether different thing. ‘Get ready, we’ll deploy soon as we can. Doc, what can we take to help?’

  ‘Safa, I just said . . .’

  ‘I asked you a question,’ Safa snaps, switching the glare to the poor doctor.

  ‘Vit B make advances?’ Miri asks, earning a frosty look from the doctor.

  ‘They need rest,’ he asserts.

  ‘What’s vit B?’ Ben asks. ‘Like, B vitamins?’

  ‘Trials in my time,’ Miri says. ‘Natural energy boost. Does it work?’

  ‘They do not replace the healing process a body requires,’ the doctor says.

  ‘Do it,’ Safa orders. ‘We’ll get kitted.’

  Three

  To take five men out of a city in lockdown from what the public think is a terrorist incident, but what every intelligence agency, government and interested party believe to be the focal point of the hunt for the device, takes resources and power.

  ‘We have a lead on the device inventor.’

  That single phrase gives Mother more resources than she has ever had before. It gives her all the resources.

  Every agent deployed throughout the world is suddenly at her disposal. Every researcher. Every asset. Every snitch, mole, hacker and back-office worker are made available and ordered, without excuse or failing, to focus on a large, detached manor house an hour south of London.

  Commercial flights are out of the question. The five have literally just walked out of a gunfight and will be covered in trace chemicals that will register in the heightened airport security screening processes. That means a private jet has to be used, but filing a flight path with the aviation authorities creates an audit trail, and still does not circumvent customs and security services.