The Eternal War

never be fooled around with. In the pursuit of knowledge … there are s-some doors that should remain firmly closed. If there is a God … IF there is a God, then this technology, this knowledge should be for Him, and Him alone. I believe this.’

He paused and realized the next thing he was planning on saying would be tremendously stupid. Hadn’t that pilot specifically warned him not to mention this?

And now I am going to do just that?

His heart flipped in his chest. ‘What you did, what happened in Chicago in ’44, was very dangerous. But all that you have done s-since that, Mr Waldstein, has been the right thing. I believe your campaign to prevent further experimentation is all, literally all, that s-s-stands between mankind and …’ Joseph spread his hands as he fumbled to finish. What word to use? What word?

‘The end?’ Waldstein offered.

Joseph nodded. ‘Yes, that is it … yes … the end.’

Waldstein was perfectly still, his rheumy eyes giving away absolutely nothing, a tableau of silence that seemed to be lasting forever. Joseph was beginning to wonder whether he’d completely blown it by mentioning the Chicago incident when Waldstein finally stirred.

‘Joseph …’ he began, ‘I have a — what shall I call it? — a project that I am working on. And I would like you to be a part of it.’

‘A project?’

Waldstein nodded. ‘Something that requires absolute secrecy. A project that is of immense importance.’

Joseph’s jaw dropped open. ‘Work with you? I … I would be honoured … to …’ His mouth was flapping uselessly.

‘Don’t be so quick to accept, Joseph. This is a one-way ticket. Absolute secrecy. You would never be able to talk about this project to anyone, ever. You will be working with me in complete isolation.’

Waldstein’s intense gaze was on him, watching him closely, searching his face for the slightest hint of doubt. ‘Joseph, once you’re in on this — if I decide I can completely trust you — you must understand that there’ll be no walking away from this.’

Joseph wasn’t entirely sure what ‘no walking away’ actually meant. An implied threat of some sort? Waldstein was a billionaire, a powerful man. Not someone to cross.

Not that it mattered. Betraying confidentialities, stealing secrets for a commercial rival, was of absolutely no interest at all to Joseph. His passion was his science. A hunger for knowledge.

And this man, Waldstein … the Visionary. The Genius. To have such a privilege to meet the legend himself … and now the possibility of actually working alongside him. There was never going to be a moment’s doubt, not in Dr Joseph Olivera’s mind.

Absolutely no doubt, and yet burning curiosity prodded him to ask one last question. ‘Is there anything you could tell me … Mr Waldstein, about this project? The general nature of the work … perhaps?’

Waldstein steepled his fingers beneath his chin and closed his eyes in silent contemplation. Joseph took the moment to look around the enormous room, glowing from the flood of daylight streaming in through almost three- sixty degrees of panoramic spotless glass. This man with his portfolio of technology patents was fast on his way to becoming one of the richest men in the country. And yet there was a simplicity to this room and its comforts.

A bed.

A desk.

A couple of chairs. No more than that. After all, what more does a true genius want? The mind itself is the palace where all the real treasures, the works of art, the indulgences exist.

Presently Waldstein lowered his hands and opened his eyes. ‘The work, Joseph … is really quite simple. It is the business of saving mankind from itself.’

Beyond Waldstein’s narrow shoulders, Joseph caught a glimpse of the mint-green outline of the Statue of Liberty. So faint, she wavered and undulated in the distance — what? A mile away? — And, yes, Waldstein was right, she really did look as if she was standing directly on the water.

Like Jesus, walking on water.

‘So, tell me, Joseph, will you help me? Help me save mankind from itself?’

From the first moment he’d stepped into this room and come face to face with this brilliant man, there really was only ever going to be one answer Joseph could give.

‘Yes.’

CHAPTER 1

2001, New York

Sal stared at it through the grubby shop window.

She was standing outside Weisman’s Stage Surplus on a pavement filled with bric- a-brac that the owner had allowed to spill outside: an old five-foot dime-store Indian carved out of mahogany, a treasure play-chest full of children’s dressing-up clothes, dusty books stacked in greengrocer’s crates.

It was the store fifteen minutes away from their archway that she’d used to find suitable clothes for Liam, Bob and Becks’s recent mission. That last visit, she hadn’t been sure this little place would have what they’d need to go about their business anonymously in the twelfth century. But, surprisingly, among the laden racks of clothes reeking of mothballs and lavender soap, she’d managed to find enough bits and pieces for them to pass unnoticed as three grubby peasants.

A good place to use again, she’d noted as they’d made their way home through the backstreets of Brooklyn with their medieval costumes in plastic bags.

But today she wasn’t here looking through the dusty window at the pitifully sad-looking store display to find something for the others to wear. She was here because of the thing she was looking at now, the thing sitting on the rocking-chair just inside the window. A row of soft toys and dolls sat together on the worn wooden seat side by side like they were posing for a family photo. Several dolls, a clown that would give any child nightmares, an elephant with big ears, a frog with stuffing bursting from a torn seam … and one small sky-blue teddy bear with a single button eye and the loose strands of stitching where another button eye must have been once.

‘I know you,’ she whispered.

She’d spotted this teddy bear the last time she was here. But with one thing and another she’d forgotten about it, let it go.

Now here she was, drawn to the shop, drawn to gaze at this sad-looking bear. It reminded her of something. A digi-stream show from her time maybe? A character in an old cartoon? Something, a wisp of a memory that vanished from her mind like a curl of smoke as she reached out to grasp it.

Last night she’d had that dream — no, not dream … nightmare — again. The moment the old man — Foster — had pulled her out from certain death to be recruited to the agency. Their apartment block, one of the super-tall glass and steel tenement towers that you saw everywhere in Mumbai nowadays, was on fire and its steel superstructure had been buckling, preparing to collapse in on itself.

Nowadays? She checked herself. She came from 2026. Nowadays was where she was based, 2001. Her new home … of sorts.

Foster had plucked her from the very last seconds of her life. Given her a choice: to work for the agency or join her family and die in the flames of the collapsing building.

Some choice.

Not that she actually got to choose. Dadda had chosen for her, thrusting her towards the old man … Mama screaming and crying to hold her one more time.

Stop it! Stop it!

Sal bit her lip. She didn’t need to replay the memory again in her head. It was all still fresh enough, thanks.