The Terminus Read online

  “Gary…”

  “And we can easily reach The Terminus where God’s gonna build his Research Institute. Find out what the hell’s going on for Arthry’s sake.”

  “Gary, you weren’t listening to Redfor, were you? Your girl… I don’t like to rub it in, mate, but seems you’ll not be seeing her again after what that dude said.”

  “Nope! Don’t believe him! Winding me up! Didn’t like the man, anyway. Hiding something from me.”

  “Think he’s gay?”

  “No idea. Just uneasy about him even if he is in with Arthry. Mike, you’ll see what I mean about the Retreat when we get there. With the Pentatron Tablet. Dunno who to trust. Except for…”

  Gary looked away from Mike.

  “Yeah, Professor Lover-boy! Except for the girl.”

  “They’re using her, the bastards. Whoever’s behind this had better watch out!” Gary paused, his face twisted by anger. “It’s all to do with The Terminus, Mike. Has to be!”

  “Gary, I’ll go anywhere if the place is guaranteed rat-free! Now, this theft business? Gonna want a diversion, right? Question is, where? Are you certain the time-specs are accurate to the nearest split second?”

  “Uhuh!” Garry nodded.

  “’Cos we’re gonna need split second timing. Got an idea, but let’s have a recky of the area first. Get a feel for the place.”

  “Mike, you sure you’ve never robbed a bank?”

  “Would do if it could buy me just a little time with a certain redhead. Right, here goes!”

  “I’ll buy the tickets, Mike! Found a load of dosh in Dad’s wallet. Borrowed a few notes... on loan, like.”

  “Waste of money! Leave the bullshitting to me.”

  As they walked up the steps to the British Museum, Gary agreed that letting Mike do all the talking was a wise joint decision. His friend sidled confidently up to the ticket desk.

  “Ahem! We be Romanian archaeology students. Arranged from our embassy, thank you. Big agreement with Professor… er…”

  He turned to Gary for inspiration.

  “What name he making, big professor man in London?”

  “Steven,” was Gary’s barely audible response. He was hopeless at faking any sort of accent.

  “Excuse me,” said the woman, eyeing the boys suspiciously. She picked up a phone, dialling a number whilst Gary stared at his feet. Mike thumped the ticket-booth with his fist.

  “No wanting making angry, Professor Steven man. He having plenty good connections in Romania. Plenty important archaeology in us country. Stones and bones, see! He needing us, big Professor Steven man.”

  The woman held up her hand to silence Mike. Struggling to suppress a grin, Gary feared his friend had gone too far.

  “Professor Steven?” she queried.

  “Having big famous in CERN international cooperation.”

  “Professor Steven works in CERN? How strange!”

  “Romania also! Making for much young brain development in Romania. Professor Steven have big puff if get angry. Very big puff. Go boom!”

  The woman raised her hand again. Mike shut up. Gary peered fixedly at the floor to shield his mounting mirth.

  “Okay! Right! They look harmless enough to me!” she said into the phone.

  Mike gave her the cheesiest of smiles and Gary covered a fake cough with his hand. The woman handed Mike two complimentary tickets.

  “Follow that corridor,” she said. Mike put on a blank expression. “Corridor? You don’t understand corridor?” she asked.

  “Long tube? Must crawl, I think.”

  “No, you won’t need to crawl. I’ll get an attendant to take you.”

  Mike offered another bewitching smile.

  “Many thankings from all of our deep hearts,” he said, adding a little bow.

  The ticket seller blushed.

  “A pleasure! I hope you enjoy the exhibition.” She beamed back at Mike. “I do like your uniforms. Very flash!”

  “Liking much colours going archaeology studies!” Mike informed her.

  “Quite,” she said, unable to conceal her amusement.

  Gary and Mike followed an attendant to the exhibition hall.

  “When making arrived here, famous Pentatron tablet?” Mike asked the man. He stopped and Gary walked on ahead, alone.

  “Thursday. No, I tell a lie. Wednesday. My day off. The thing was here when I got to work on Thursday. Took ’em two days to rig up the laser security. Biggest job they’ve ever had to do. You lads’ll know how important the object over there is, of course, being archaeology students. Good to see they’re training you lot young nowadays.”

  “Many police and much army I think to delivering here!” Mike suggested.

  “Oh no! Would only tempt armed robbers, ay? Security van at the back, three blokes with coshes, and Bob’s your uncle! After closing time, of course. This place is always teeming with people during opening hours, even with timed admissions. Not like when I was a lad, I can tell you.”

  “Is safer, many people going around, am thinking!” Mike said.

  “Suppose so!”

  “Having robbers sally forth not good if many people.”

  The attendant laughed.

  “Funny way of putting it, but yeah! Can’t have robbers ‘sallying forth’! So, where are you two from?”

  Mike paused. He noticed his friend, standing in front of a glass case containing the Pentatron Tablet.

  “Vampire man archaeology study place, ha ha!”

  “Pardon?”

  “He name of study place of archaeology. Romania. Vampire man!”

  The attendant scratched his head.

  “Vampire man? Dracula? Was he for real?”

  “So so! Big count. He name giving archaeology study place!”

  “Ah! The Count Dracula School of Archaeology, ay? Have to tell the missus that. Had no idea Dracula actually existed… or that he was into archaeology!”

  “Lot of things no must say. Bad vampire luck. Ooooh!”

  The attendant drew back when Mike waggled his fingers at him.

  “Okay! Right! Enough bad luck already, thanks. Look... your friend over there! Think he wants a word with you.”

  Mike sauntered over to Gary.

  “See that facial reconstruction?” the other boy whispered, looking at an artist’s impression of a big-eyed, goofy Atlantean. “Just like him. Teeth. This is beginning to make sense now. Got a time then?”

  “Wednesday… after closing. Round the back. Security van. Three guys with coshes.”

  “Heavies?”

  “Didn’t push my luck by asking, but I expect one bloke carried the thing and the others had coshes at the ready.”

  “Might be armed. Shooters and stuff!”

  “Security guards? Give over. No! Low key, the man said. To avoid attracting attention. Quick, though. Like you see in movies.”

  “So we go round the back? To

  Montague Place?”

  “Bet they had a decoy van at the main entrance? I would’ve!” said Mike.

  “Jesus, Mike. I’ve underestimated you. You sure Bellini’s not a Mafia name? P’raps we should rename you Michael Corleone! Mind you, don’t think your redhead’ll be too keen on a gangland mobster!”

  “Man, I’d give all my dosh to her for a better view of those legs!” chuckled Mike.

  “Before we leave, Mike, have a butcher’s at the facial reconstruction beside the skull. The spitting image of Teeth, I’m telling you. The guy I chased in Regent’s Park after he pinched my time-specs… and who I got your pair from when they netted Beetie. There has to be a link between Atlantis and the future! This is what the whole thing’s about!”

  “So you think they built a time machine a hundred thousand years ago? Blokes who were all eyes and teeth?”

  “Dunno. Only there’s gotta be a link.”

  “Okay Gary... first we go round to the main entrance. And immobilise the decoy.”

  “If you’re correct!”


  “Don’t flipping believe me, do you? Got your head stuck in science and maths books all the time. Not good for you. Out of touch with reality, pal!”

  Reality? Beetie? Christ, I have to get back to her soon… when- and wherever she is.

  As they stood in the doorway of an antiques shop opposite the British Museum, pretending to share an interest in Roman coins and ancient Egyptian junk, Gary again explained the time-specs to Mike, showing him how to reset the lenses should they get separated. He’d not travelled with a companion before and he was glad he’d be practising on Mike, not Beetie. Each pair was set for precisely the same moment the previous Wednesday, minutes prior to the museum closing time at five-thirty pm. Gary made a careful note of the setting for the precise point in the future to when he’d return. He noticed both lenses turn as black as empty space whilst he adjusted the milled edges of the diaphragms encircling the left lens. He was about to give Mike the thumbs up when his friend grabbed his arm.

  “Wait,” said the other boy. “Assuming we steal the bloody Pentatron Tablet, where do we go afterwards?”

  “To Arthry, of course!”

  “How?”

  Gary paused. He guessed what was troubling Mike.

  “You’ll find out.”

  “’Cos I ain’t coming with you if there’s giant bloody rats involved. Gotta draw a line somewhere, mate.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? And still alive? Been there twice already, Mike. Rats are the least of your problems in the future, I can tell you.”

  “I’ll face anything but giant rats!”

  “We’ll do a deal. First thing when we’re all back here, Beetie included, is to visit the hockey pitch on a Saturday morning. Right?”

  “Or giant spiders!” persisted Mike. “Do they have those, too?”

  “Spider-free zone, Mike. Okay?”

  “Hmmm!”

  “Mike, you did me proud back in the museum. Had ’em eating outa your hand, you did. Don’t let me down now.”

  “Us… not just you! Team work, Gary!”

  “Sure! Us! You ready?”

  They high-fived, and, as if choreographed, slipped on the time-specs together. For a fraction of a second Gary was standing alone at the same spot, the sunlight gone. Long enough for a wave of panic to disturb his senses, but in a flash Mike was at his side. The last visitors were leaving. Soon, a lanky museum guard appeared. He half-closed the main gate and, standing alone, peered up and down the street, repeatedly glancing at his watch.

  “Okay, he’ll be waiting for a van. I’ll stay here, Gary, and immobilise Slimmy Jimmy and the decoy lads as soon as they arrive. You go round to the

  Montague Place entrance at the back. I’ll join you when they’re frozen ducks. We travel back in time to avoid suspicion. Pentatron Tablet wouldn’t’ve meant a thing to anyone last month. Afterwards we go forwards to wherever. Right?”

  “Yeah! Thank God I roped you in!”

  “Call me ‘sir’ if you like!”

  “Oh, shut up!”

  Gary left Mike and headed off to

  Montague Place at the rear of the museum. As he turned a corner, a security van swept past in the direction of the main entrance. His faith in his friend increased by a quantum leap when, after running round the corner at the back, he spotted a second black van parked up on the pavement. Gary walked slowly past, glancing sideways. Three men, just as Mike had said. One looked back at him but he avoided the man’s gaze. After crossing over to the other side of the road, he took the mag-stunner from his pocket and held it up like a mobile phone. He began gesticulating and talking rubbish in simulated animated conversation, all the time keeping an eye on the van.

  The van door opened. A darkly-silhouetted, helmeted figure emerged and disappeared round to the back. Two men with coshes now stood, legs astride, on the pavement. Gary’s hand tightened around the mag-stunner, his forefinger stroking the activation button. The doors were opened and the man removed a case the size of a lap-top. He fiddled with something attached to a chain around his wrist and slipped his hand into his pocket. The key? One of the others slammed the van door.

  No time to worry about his friend. Gary aimed the mag-stunner and pressed the button. The man holding the case froze. Puzzled why the case-bearer had become a statue, one of the others began pulling at his frozen colleague. In an instant he, too, was immobilised. The third guard was hidden from view behind the van. Gary ran across the street, holding the mag-stunner like a gun. It was all too easy, until… WHAM! His face hit the ground and the mag-stunner flew from his hand. Dazed, his nose a focus of agony, he remained motionless for what seemed an age though would hardly have been more than a second. A heavy weight pressed down onto his spine, his arms yanked back like puppet limbs. Painfully, he turned his bruised face, enough to catch a glimpse of the security guard’s visor-shaded mug.

  “What the flaming…?” the man began.

  Everything went blank!

  On coming too, Gary was on the ground, his nose throbbing, his back against the wall in a narrow street leading to Tottenham Court Road.

  “Mother of God… what kept you, Mike?”

  Gary gingerly rubbed his nose then stared at his blood-covered hand.

  “Never mind! Let’s just get the hell out of here!” replied the other boy.

  A police car siren screamed somewhere in the distance.

  “Take ’em off together. Okay? Default set to the past again.”

  Gary, unable to think straight, did as instructed. A flash of light, and he and Mike were sitting in the same place in brilliant sunshine. The road was busy, and soon a huddle of people had gathered around.

  “Hey, cool! How did you come out of nowhere?” asked a lad whose girlfriend seemed distinctly uneasy about the sudden appearance of the two oddly-dressed youths.

  “Speed suits,” replied Mike. “Testing ’em out, only my friend took the corner too sharp and hit the wall.”

  “But… you materialised out of thin air. We’d have seen if…”

  “I mean like real speed, dude. So fast the human eye can’t detect any movement.”

  A gaggle of pretty Japanese girls had stopped and stood giggling. Mike grinned and asked for their e-mails, but, half-covering their mouths, they merely continued to giggle. The young man’s girlfriend pulled him away before he was able to ask more searching questions and the crowd gradually dispersed.

  “You’ve got the Pentatron tablet?” whispered Gary, staring at the case in Mike’s hand.

  “Yeah… but we’d better go further back in time before I do the explaining bit.”

  Gary thought his friend was curiously buoyant considering their predicament. When he started to fumble with the time-specs they were snatched away by Mike.

  Hey, what the heck…?”

  “I’m an expert now, Gary.”

  Mike twiddled the rings of the diaphragms on Gary’s specs a few times, the lenses went blank, and he handed them back.

  “All set!” he announced triumphantly. “A month ago! Before the Pentatron Tablet exhibition got set up.”

  “How about a hundred thousand years?” suggested Gary nursing his nose and now curious about ancient Atlantis.

  Mike perched the specs on his friend’s wounded olfactory appendage. Everything went dim. For a brief moment Gary was alone until Mike was beside him again.

  “Can you walk okay?” Mike asked.

  Gary stood.

  “No problem. Only my face! Hoped the pain would go away here in the past… in another time… but it hasn’t. Don’t you realise how important this is? Means we’ve got a true time-space wormhole. Matter remains unchanged.”

  “So?” queried Mike, as they headed for Tottenham Court Road tube station.

  “Oh, so what!” replied Gary irritably. “You don’t care a shit about science, do you?”

  “Got some skills, mate. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I achieved the impossible?”

  “What?”

  “Well… it was like this...�
��

  Mike proudly launched into a graphic account of how, having immobilised the other decoy security guard, he realised the case had to be chained to the one carrying the Pentatron Tablet, with the key in the man’s pocket being a dummy. He’d need a hairgrip to pick the lock, for in all probability the genuine key would’ve been sent by special delivery to top brass in the British Museum. It’s what he’d have done, anyway, he informed Gary. So where would he get such a thing?

  “I don’t think I’m gonna like what you’re about to tell me, Mike.”

  “My one chance, Gary! Been all over the place with these specs in the last quarter of an hour! You’re a real pal! Would never’ve done this without the little lesson you gave me. Anyway, I reckoned she’d have spare hairgrips ’cos her gorgeous red hair’s so long and she wouldn’t run around playing hockey with hair in her eyes, would she? So... listen to this. I go to the same pitch in the dead of night, a little adjustment to the specs and... oh, you should have seen her face when I appeared from nowhere in the middle of their game! Walked up to her… now, Gary, I’m not kidding, she stared at me like I’d just come out of a Hollywood movie… and…”

  Mike’s face went dreamy.

  “What?”

  “Bet you her legs are better than your girl’s!”

  “Get on with it!”

  “She just gazed at me all starry-eyed, and…”

  Gary shook his head in disbelief.

  “Well, I had this little piece prepared. ‘You have been chosen,’ I said, ‘because of all the beautiful girls in the world you are the most wondrous…’”

  “Wondrous? You flipping wanker!”

  “Good word, eh?”

  “Yeah… if you need something to make a girl puke!”

  “Told her how everything about her was pure perfection and that she had the best legs I’d ever seen. I said, as a messenger sent to save the world I’d personally selected her…”

  “Yes, yes… spill the beans!”

  “‘Can you lend me a hairgrip?’ I asked.”

  “And?”

  “The other girls… they pissed themselves with laughter. Can’t think why.”

  “Mikey pal, your technique stinks!”

  “She didn’t laugh! Took a hairgrip from her hair, held it out and…”

  “Oh stop rambling!” Gary was plainly bored by his friend’s narrative.