“What’s going on, Mister Mann?”
“Tonight I’m Harry. Got that? And these chaps here are military policemen. We’ve got more troops outside. A few hundred actually.”
“I didn’t see them,” Joe said ruefully.
“Well, that’s their job.” His accent was almost comically Spitfire-pilot, like Terry Thomas or David Niven. He was immensely reassuring to Joel, now he was here, and in command.
“You’ve come for Laura, haven’t you?”
“I certainly have, and about ruddy time. She has a Key.”
“I know about that.”
“Yes, more than you should, I dare say. The point is that it has a little radio gadget buried inside the plastic. It gives off a tiny signal—not much, but enough to pick up if you know what you’re looking for.”
“You tracked the Key.”
“Precisely. And as it happens, the Key, I presume still in Laura’s possession—”
“Yes.”
“—is just the other side of that wall.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. There aren’t that many tunnels under Liverpool, for heaven’s sake. And in a few minutes we’re going to go busting through the brickwork and then we’ll see what’s what. Eh?
“Now, look here, Joel. We know we’re dealing with some rum coves here. I’ve been finding out about them since Laura told me she was having trouble with Mort. We know they are calling themselves the ‘Hegemony.’ Warmongers—there’s always a few of those bally fools about. There’ve been rumours of some kind of conspiracy that might even cross the Iron Curtain. Now they’ve been whipping everybody up, forcing through evacuation and martial law, making the authorities overreact to the whole Cuba mess. There’s really been no need for all this, and now we’re going to sort it out. What I need to know from you is what we’re going to come up against on the other side of that wall.”
“I don’t know for sure,” Joel said. He couldn’t tell Harry that Miss Wells and the Minuteman were from the future. Laura’s dad or not, he just wouldn’t believe it, and they would all waste time. “They’re soldiers. A military organisation. I don’t know what they’ll have. But they’re armed.”
“Well, so are we,” Harry said grimly. “Private Cooper here is carrying what can only be described as a bazooka. Don’t ask where he’s hiding it. One reason for your pinched expression, eh, Hen-coop?”
“If you say so, sir.”
“We’re just waiting for this beat combination to start up their racket. They’re sure to be heard from the other side of this bally wall. That might distract our opponents while we blow in the brickwork, just for a second or two. Surprise, you see, Joel. A second can make all the difference.”
“The difference between life and death?” Joel asked.
Harry looked at him. “You know, you shouldn’t be here. Chaps like you are supposed to be protected from this sort of thing by chaps like me. You stick with me when the balloon goes up.”
Mickey Poole stepped forward. “What do you want us to do?”
Harry looked at him dubiously. “Thanks for the offer. Leave it to the professionals.”
“They’ve got our pals in there.” He glanced at Joel. “And our lead singer?”
Joel nodded.
Private Cooper murmured, “Extra bodies wouldn’t hurt, sir, if it comes to hand to hand. And besides, when we blow the walls in half this crowd of capering kids is going to fall through with us.”
Bert Muldoon growled, “Hand to hand? Fist to goolie more like.”
Mickey Poole grinned. “Woodbines to the rescue. They’ll make a film out of this.”
Joel saw that Billy Waddle was trying to back off. “What about you, Billy? Bern’s in there. With your kid inside her.”
“It wasn’t my fault. It’s up to the bird not to get up the duff.”
The other Woodbines glared at him.
Joel said, “You’ve run out on her once before. You going to run again?”
“All right, all right,” Billy said. “Count me in.”
Harry looked at the group on stage, who were still fixing their instruments, messing with their amps, mucking about with the crowd. “Take their time, don’t they?”
“That’s musicians for you,” Joel said.
“If you can call them that. Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.” Harry grinned at the dapper man. “Do you think your boys will make enough noise to cover us?”
“Oh, I think so. That’s the one thing they’re good at, above all else.”
“Thanks for all your help, Mr Epstein.”
That sardonic voice sounded from the stage again, now hugely amplified. “Well, we’re in tune. Or as much as we ever are. Thanks very much for coming. Or if you didn’t come, thanks for nothing, but you’re not here, so what do I care. The four minute warning’s just sounded, but George has been taking his slimming pills so we should be able to pack in a full set…”
The crowd roared, and surged forward again. On stage, smoke curling around them, the dazzling light caught the musicians’ hair and profiles. Before the stage, under the Cavern’s brick arches, shining young faces swayed like flowers.
“Our first number’s called ‘I Saw Her Standing There.’ One two three four!”
A guitar lick crashed down from the brick roof, and the group just launched themselves into the music. The song was a driving rocker, and the words, blunt and direct, were about sex and lust and joy. Everybody screamed, and the noise and the energy in the Cavern rose and rose.
Joel stopped thinking. He gave himself up to the music, and jumped and yelled with everybody else. Just for a few seconds he forgot everything in his complicated life except the primal force of the song. Just for a few seconds, he was at home.
The group crashed into a howling middle eight, and everybody screamed louder.
And it was back to business.
“This is it,” Harry yelled over the din. “Joel, you stay behind me. Behind me, got that? Cooper, you others, you know what to do.”
“Yes,
