All puff and posture. Smoke and mirrors. Bluffing it to the hilt.
Right up Stilson’s street.
The MCV ahead suddenly lurched upwards and glided over an abandoned cart left in the middle of the road. As they did the same, Rashim glanced down through the open turret hatchway at the passengers he could see crammed in down below. Approximately fifty of them, standing room only. They swayed queasily as their vehicle rose and dipped alarmingly, like a dinghy riding a rough sea. He was glad he was up here outside and not tucked away down there; he’d have thrown up by now. Hover-transports always made him travel-sick.
‘Sir!’
Rashim turned to the combat unit beside him. He was pointing dead ahead.
He followed the unit’s gloved finger and saw down the arrow-straight cobbled road, flanking rows of evenly spaced, tall, thin cypress trees like a welcoming guard of honour. Beyond them the first faint outline of the city; a long pale wall, and hovering above a sea of terracotta tile roofs that receded into a morning haze, a myriad of hairline threads of smoke from countless cooking fires and kilns, bakers, blacksmiths and tanneries stoked up for a day’s business climbed lazily towards a Mediterranean sky.
Rome.
‘Rashim, you hear me?’
It was Stilson. ‘Yes, I can hear you.’
‘Ready to give ’em a show they’ll never forget, eh?’
Rashim rolled his eyes. The vice-president sounded insufferably excited. ‘You really want to put that, uh… that music on?’
‘Goddammit! Yes, of course I do. Stick it on, man. As loud as you can!’
Reluctantly Rashim ducked down inside the hatch and nodded to the combat unit piloting the MCV. ‘Stilson says to put that music of his on now. Loudly.’
‘Affirmative.’
Almost immediately his ears were ringing from chest-thumping decibels of noise booming out of the vehicle’s PA system. Stilson’s choice of music, downloaded from his personal media digi-cube. Awful-sounding old stuff he called ‘rock music’.
The speakers mounted outside on the front of both MCVs blared and thumped, and a ragged-throated singer was screaming something about being born in the USA…
CHAPTER 17
2001, New York
Maddy set the tray down on the table between them. A strong, milky, sugary, frothy latte for her, and a fruit smoothie for Sal.
‘So?’ said Sal impatiently. ‘What is it about Liam?’
Maddy settled into the booth and leaned over the table, her voice low. ‘So, it’s something Foster told me about him. He’s…’ She shook her head. ‘This is so weird, it’s gonna really mess with your head, Sal.’
‘Jahulla! Maddy! Just tell me!’
‘Liam and Foster… they’re the same.’
She pulled a face. ‘What?’
‘The same. They’re the exact same person.’
Sal turned to look out of the window. There was a market outside: grocers, fishmongers and milling customers. They could have sat outside the cafe; it was certainly warm enough this Monday afternoon, but, with the market going on, far too noisy for their need to talk in hushed whispers.
‘The same?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Foster was once Liam.’
Sal’s mouth hung open. Catching flies, an expression her mom used to use.
Maddy nodded. ‘That’s right… give it a moment to sink in, Sal. It totally fried my head when Foster first told me.’
‘But what?… So that means…?’ Sal stopped, cocked her head and frowned, then tried again. ‘Are you saying Foster was young like Liam?’
‘Exactly like Liam.’
‘Foster’s been working for the agency since he was sixteen?’
‘Ahh, yeah, I guess… well, kind of.’
Sal chewed the top of her straw, nibbling ferociously at it. She stopped. ‘So this means Foster was once on the Titanic?’
Maddy nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘And he was recruited like Liam was?’
‘I guess.’
‘So then who recruited Foster?’
‘I don’t know… I don’t know!’ She looked down at her hands, playing with the handle of her teaspoon, stirring the frothy coffee unnecessarily. ‘Maybe another Foster?’
‘ Another Foster?’ Sal looked up at her. ‘Like it’s a loop or something? Like our archway field, but bigger? Looping round and round? Does that mean there are other us? Other you s and me s?’
Maddy shrugged. ‘I’m still trying to figure how this all works. Perhaps it was someone else who recruited Foster.’ She hesitated. ‘Waldstein even?’
‘This is so chutiya! This is really scaring me, Maddy. I don’t know what to believe, what to think.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a chutiya — crazy idea.’
‘What is?’
Sal shrugged.
‘Come on, Sal. What?’
‘Those two jackets? Liam being Foster?’ She looked up at Maddy. ‘Maybe… this is so totally chutiya, but maybe we’ve all been here before.’ A nervous, jittery half-smile flickered on to her face. ‘Maddy, the team that came before us. Do you remember Foster saying there was that team that died?’
Maddy’s coffee was midway between the table and her mouth. It stayed there. ‘Oh my God! You think that was us?’
Sal shrugged. ‘My diary… you know my diary?’
‘That notebook you’re always scribbling in, yeah.’
‘There were pages ripped out when I found it.’
‘I thought you bought it?’
‘No, I found it in the arch.’ She played with her straw. ‘I found it tucked in my bunk.’
‘And?’ Maddy shook her head. ‘These ripped-out pages…?’
‘I think it might have been me writing in the diary before.’
‘Oh…’ was all she could say. Then, ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of this.’
‘Me neither.’
The pair of them stared at each other. ‘We don’t know anything for sure, do we?’ said Sal finally. ‘We’re like little test rats in a lab.’
Maddy nodded. ‘Feels like that sometimes.’
She looked out of the window at the street outside. Not for the first time she wished she could just walk away from all of this; trade places with just about anyone out there on the street.
‘All I know is… I trust you, Sal. And I trust Liam too. As long as we’re honest with each other.’
Sal turned to her. ‘But you did keep things from us. The note from San Francisco with that Pandora message. And now this, Liam being Foster. You’ve lied to us! So how can — ’
‘I… you’re right.’ Maddy’s eyes dropped guiltily. ‘But I’m done with all the secrets. You know everything I know now.’
‘And you said that before too.’
