Alex Scarrow - The Doomsday Code

Bob and Becks looked at each other and exchanged a nod.

‘Shall we?’ He rubbed his cold hands together. ‘And maybe whoever’s over there can rustle us up a nice bacon sandwich or so.’

2001, New York

‘So what happens now?’ asked Adam.

Maddy pointed to the displacement machinery. ‘We get ready to open up the portal again in about half an hour … it should be fully recharged by then.’

He looked confused. ‘I thought you said we give them anhour before bringing them back?’

‘Time doesn’t run the same,’ said Sal. ‘That sort of confused me at first as well.’

‘For them an hour will pass,’ said Maddy, ‘but doesn’t mean we need to wait an hour. In about thirty minutes we’ll be charged up. I could send you back in time to some point and arrange to bring you back a whole week later. But the moment after I sent you, I could tap in the timestamp for one week later and open up the portal again. For you a week would’ve passed. For us here, just a few seconds. It’s not, like, symmetrical, if you see what I mean?’

He nodded. ‘I get it.’

She turned to the desk mic. ‘Bob, can you set the data for the first return window?’

› Affirmative, Maddy.

She turned back to Adam. ‘Knowing them, they’ll probably miss the first window anyway.’ She huffed a laugh. ‘I don’t know why I bother.’

Adam looked at the desk cluttered with soda cans, pizza boxes and scraps of paper. ‘It’s almost as messy as my apartment.’

Sal sighed. ‘I clean up — Maddy’s the untidy one.’

He sat down beside them and stared at the monitors. ‘So you’re patched into the Internet?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Maddy clicked with a mouse and minimized a couple of dialogue boxes on one of the monitors. ‘Access to pretty much every linked database in the world, I think.’

‘Good God,’ he said, pointing at one of the screens, ‘is that — is that what I think it is?’

‘The White House intranet? Yup.’

‘You’ve actually hacked into it?’

‘I’d like to say I managed to do that myself — ’ she chuckled — ‘but the field office has always had a line in since we joined.’ She clicked the mouse. ‘For a laugh I go rooting around in President Bush’s email inbox.’ She giggled. ‘He likes sending pictures of cats doing funny things to his buddies. Check it out.’

Adam sputtered laughter at an image of a sleeping kitten on a window-sill with a tiny Yankees baseball cap perched on its head.

‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ uttered Adam.

She smiled and clicked the mouse to close the president’s inbox; she knew there were emails buried in there that hinted about tomorrow’s events — events a person from the present shouldn’t know about. Not today, anyway. She needn’t have worried, though; Adam’s mind was swimming around elsewhere. He turned to look at the perspex tube and the rack of wires on the floor beside it.

‘So, Maddy, you said we can actually talk to them? While they’re in the past?’

‘Uh-huh. If we know where and when they are, it means we can aim a precise beam of tachyon particles at the point in space they would have been in eight-hundred-and-whatever years ago. The support units are — ’

‘The big ape and the tall girl who nearly broke my finger.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, them … They can both detect tachyon particles. They have embedded tech in their heads. They’re sort of clones with computers for brains.’

‘But they can’t send tachyon beams back to us,’ said Sal.

‘Why not?’

‘The energy it requires,’ said Maddy. ‘And they’d need a transmitter. Can’t fit all of that and a supercomputer in their heads.’

‘So how do they talk back to you?’

‘They can’t. We sort of operate blind on that front. We just have to hope they’re sticking to the plan.’

‘But they can talk to us,’ said Sal. ‘Kind of.’

Maddy winced a little. She really didn’t want Adam knowing too much about the way they did things.

‘Liam did it last time,’ continued Sal. ‘He left a message for us to find all the way back in the late Cret -’

‘Yes,’ Maddy cut in, stepping lightly on Sal’s toes to shut her up. No need for Adam to know just how far back in time their technology could take a person. ‘Yes. We’ve used what we call drop points before. A document or some kind of artefact that we know they can interact with in the past and that we know to closely observe in the present.’

Adam’s face creased thoughtfully for a moment. ‘So … that’s what you think the Voynich Manuscript is? Something somebody’s using to communicate with the future?’

She nodded. ‘Uh-huh. It might be. We just need to know.’

He shook his head silently. ‘I just … this is … I’m struggling here to take this all in.’

Maddy clacked her tongue. ‘It’s a lot. I was kind of the same at first.’

‘Me too,’ said Sal.

Adam grinned. ‘I knew — all this time I knew you were … for real. That I wasn’t mad. But this really is … absolutely — ’

‘Incredible?’

He giggled like an over-sugared toddler. ‘Yes. My God, that’s it. That’s the only word that does this any justice. Incredible .’

Sal sighed. ‘You get used to it after a while.’

1194, Kirklees Priory, Yorkshire

They watched from either side of the path, mouths slung open in curious ‘o’s — a dozen monks who’d been tending lanes of withered grapevines as Liam, flanked by his two support units, strode up the dirt path towards the priory’s main entrance.

‘Morning!’ called out Liam self-consciously.

One of the monks dropped his basket and scrambled across the vegetable gardens towards a nearby barn, stammering Latin blessings to himself. The others shrank back, their eyes darting nervously across all three of them, but lingering unhappily on Becks.

Standing in the doorway was a young lad. Liam guessed he was a year younger than himself, watching them approach, fear making his eyes comically round.

‘Ye … c-c-canaught entre h-h-hier!’ the boy stammered.

Liam cocked his head then turned to Becks. ‘Did he just say we can’t enter here?’

‘Affirmative.’

‘Well, it’s not so hard, then, this Old English.’ He turned back to the young man, wearing the white robe and black apron of a Cistercian monk. ‘Can … you … understand … me?’ he said slowly.

The boy swallowed, eyes darting left and right, and up at Bob’s expressionless big-boned face. Eventually his shaking head nodded. ‘A-aye …’

Liam relaxed a little. This is going to be easier than I thought.

‘We’re after someone called Cabot. He’s supposed to live here. Do you know him?’

The boy’s eyes narrowed.

‘This is Kirklees Priory, right? We got the right place, have we?’

‘Kirk-laigh,’ the boy uttered.

‘Yes, Kirklees Priory? This place?’

The boy nodded slowly. ‘Aye, Kirk-laigh.’

‘And Cabot? Is there a man called Cabot living here?’

The frowning again.

‘Information,’ uttered Becks quietly.

‘What?’

‘Your pronunciation of the name may be incorrect.’

‘Well then, how would you say it?’

‘Try Car - boh .’

The boy’s eyes widened at the sound of that. ‘S-seek ye … S-Sebastien Cabot?’

Liam shrugged. ‘Aye, that’s him.’

The boy pointed a wobbling finger towards a low, thatched stable on the far side of the gardens. ‘Yonder … B-Brother Sebastien tends to the h-horses.’

Liam handed the boy a broad smile. ‘Thanking you.’