Alex Scarrow - Time Riders

‘Yes, sir.’

Kramer continued into the darkness a while further, then once more drew up and checked thecatalogue stamp on a nearby box.

‘Three-zero-six,’ he wheezed, winded by the exertion.

Geology… very close now.

He walked swiftly, panning his torch across boxes that were increasing in size, from smallshoeboxes to crates that could fit an armchair, and even larger ones in which one might fit asmall car… or even a dinosaur .

He grinned. This was it, palaeontology.

It’s got to be somewhere here .

Kramer checked his watch. They had about twenty minutes left until the deadline he’dgiven expired. There was no guarantee the police were going to hold back until then, ofcourse. But he suspected they probably would, and then stall a while longer after that,fine-tuning their plans to storm the museum and take down the terrorists inside with theminimum amount of damage to the nation’s treasures.

He swung his torch from one box to the next, quickly scanning the catalogue numbers.

Getting close.

He clambered up on to the lowest crate and swiped the beam of his torch across the onesstacked on the shelf above.

‘Come on, come on,’ he found himself hissing, ‘where thehell is it?’

His eyes darted from one number to the next. ‘It’s got to be heresomewhere.’

It is, have faith.

As if in answer to a prayer, his torch spilled across a CRM-309 number. He quickly swung thetorch back and read the next four digits.

‘One… five… six… seven…’

He looked down at his notebook.

CRM-309-1567-2051.

He looked up at the crate again and his lean face creased with relief that the old man,Waldstein, had been smart enough not to smash up his machine as he’d publiclyclaimed… but instead to have secretly arranged to hide it down here while the museum wasbeing mothballed.

There, didn’t I say have faith?

Kramer nodded. His instinct always seemed spot on.

2001, New York

Liam looked unhappily at the graffiti-sprayed metal shutter. ‘Are you certainit’s safe to go back in there, Mr Foster?’

The old man nodded assuredly. ‘We left nothing on in the arch that the seeker couldleach from. No power for six hours. It’ll have faded to nothing by now.’

He grabbed the bottom of the metal shutter. ‘Liam, crank the manual winch at the sidethere, would you?’

Slowly, creaking noisily, they winched it up and found themselves staring into the ominouspitch-black interior of the archway.

From above the arch a deep rumble made the girls and Liam jump.

‘Train from Manhattan to Brooklyn,’ chuckled Foster, ‘runs over theWilliamsburg Bridge above. Come on, there’ll be no spooks in here now.’

The old man stepped inside, out of the litter-strewn backstreet, and disappeared into thethick darkness.

Maddy nodded at Liam. ‘You first.’

He managed a wavering smile. ‘There was me thinking ladiesfirst .’

‘Not in a million freaking years,’ she replied.

They heard a switch being thrown inside somewhere and immediately several flickeringfluorescent lights, dangling on dusty flex suspended from the archway’sceiling, winked to life, bathing a damp cold floor inside with a pale, unwelcoming glare.

Maddy made a face.

That’s our ‘field office’?

The floor was an uneven, cold concrete; stained with oil; gouged, scarred and pitted from alifetime of previous tenants. Across the floor she could see loops of thick cable running fromone side of the archway to the other. Inside she guessed it was just about big enough to parktwo single-decker buses tightly beside each other.

Along the left wall a bank of computer monitors haphazardly filled a grubby workbench. A fewyards along from it in the corner she could see a large perspex cylinder filled with liquid,like some kind of giant test tube.

The back wall was laced with entwined drooping cables hitched up off the floor on hooks andrunning towards a hole in the wall through which they disappeared. Beside the hole was asliding door of corrugated metal. She presumed that led to another room.

On the right she noticed the little brick alcove they’d awoken in several hours ago.Beside the alcove was a wooden kitchen table, and a scattering of mismatched chairs. A coupleof armchairs were arranged over a threadbare throw rug. Another alcove contained an electricstove, a kettle, a microwave and a skanky-looking sink. Beyond that, an open door led on to anuninviting toilet.

It reminded Maddy of her older brother’s grubby shared flat in Boston; all it neededwas a floor knee-deep in dirty laundry and discarded pizza boxes.

‘It’s a mess,’ said Maddy.

Foster stepped over a rats’ nest of network cables gaffer-taped to the floor.

‘It’s your home,’ he said. ‘Come on in.’

They stepped gingerly inside. Sal scooped her fringe out of her eyes and surveyed hersurroundings with a barely concealed expression of distaste on her face.

‘Can we decorate?’ she asked.

Foster laughed. ‘By all means. A few more cushions, posters and throw rugs won’tdo any harm. Sal — ’ he pointed — ‘would you hit that switchthere?’

She turned round and looked at the wall beside her. ‘This one?’

‘That’s right.’

She did so and, with a cranking whir, the metal shutter wound down behind them, clatteringnoisily as it hit the bottom.

While the three of them stood motionless, trying to find something to like about their newsurroundings, Foster strode across the floor, stepping carefully over snaking cables, towardsthe metal sliding door on the back wall.

‘What is all this stuff, Mr Foster?’ asked Liam, pointing towards the computermonitors on the workbench and the large cylindrical water tank.

‘All in good time, Liam. First, I’m going to acquaint you with the fourth memberof your team.’ He reached for a handle, slid back a locking bolt and pushed the doornoisily aside.

Sal, Maddy and Liam stepped cautiously towards Foster, looking through the opening into thedark space beyond.

‘Come on, nothing’s going to bite you,’ he said, waving them over.‘Your other team member’s in here.’

‘So, er… why’s our teammate hiding alone in a dark closet?’ askedMaddy suspiciously. ‘He’s not some kind of weird albino freak, is he?’

‘He’s…’ Foster hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps the best thing is forme to just introduce you. Follow me.’

He took a step into the darkness. Sal swallowed nervously as she heard hisshoes clacking across the hard floor inside.

‘We normally keep the lighting very low in here. The in-vitro candidates are verysensitive to bright lights, especially the smallest ones. Just a second…’

They heard Foster moving around, fiddling with something in the darkness. Then, very gently,a couple of wall lights began to glow red softly. With that, they could just make out half adozen tall cylinders in front of them, each about eight feet tall. As the soft crimson glowfrom the lights above increased, Maddy decided to lead the way in.

She could see tall cylinders of clear perspex. Inside each she could just about make out somedark, solid mass.

‘So, uh… what’s in those tubes?’

‘I’ll give you a little more light,’ Foster spoke in the gloom. They heardhim flick a switch and then, in the bottom of each cylinder, an orange spotlight winked on,illuminating the contents.

‘Oh my God!’ She recoiled. ‘That’s… utterly gross!’

Each cylinder contained what looked like a watery tomato soup in which floated a gooeysediment and strands of soft tissue that dangled and wafted like snot in a toilet bowl. In themiddle of the murky stew of the nearest tube floated something small and pale and curled up onitself. Strands of umbilical tissue connected to it so that it looked like a pale larva caughtin a glistening web of entrails.