And the Rest Is History(12)

We leaned back against the rock, passing the flask between us, and saying nothing. Time passed, but I don’t think either of us was in any rush.

I don’t know when I first noticed it. I was absently staring out across the desert when I realised there was a problem with the sand. It was still blowing everywhere – sadly, that’s what sand does – but there was a small patch, slightly more than a hundred yards away, where it wasn’t blowing quite right. As if it was blowing around something. Something I couldn’t see.

There were two possibilities and both were good.

The first was that this was Ronan’s pod and that, finally, I had its location. The second was that this was Leon’s pod. As I mentioned, his pod has a camouflage device. High-def cameras feed info to the computer, which projects an image back again, making the pod virtually invisible. It sometimes has a bit of a problem with complicated backgrounds like leafy jungles, but a simple desert background would cause it no problems at all.

We have, occasionally, considered fitting similar devices to our own pods, but there are a number of arguments against this, not least because we often need to make a hasty exit. Imagine a group of historians – not the clearest thinkers at the best of times – racing in ever expanding circles shouting, ‘Where the bloody hell is the pod?’ as sundry armies, severe meteorological conditions, horrendous seismic activities and other catastrophes rain down upon them. To say nothing of a couple of harmless contemporaries walking smack into the side of an invisible pod after a night in the pub. So, on balance, we reckon we’re safer without it.

I tried not to smile. I should have guessed. Of course Dr Bairstow would send back-up. He hadn’t told me and that was fair enough. But I wasn’t alone. Leon – and, I suspected, Major Guthrie too, were out here with me, keeping an eye on things. I didn’t need them, but it was good to know they were here.

Not wanting Ronan to see where I was looking, I leaned back and closed my eyes. I was here at his invitation. I would leave him to take the initiative. And so, like an idiot, I sat in the desert and did nothing as the seconds counted down to disaster.

Finally, he handed me back the empty canteen. ‘Appreciated.’

‘You’re welcome. So – what now?’

He turned to face me. ‘I have two plans, actually. The first entails…’ He broke off to stare past me. ‘Who…?’

I twisted around.

From nowhere, I could see hazy black figures running towards us through the dust. I felt my mouth fall open with shock. No. No, no, no. This was so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to be here. This would ruin everything.

That patch of anomalous sand hadn’t been Ronan’s pod. It hadn’t been Leon’s either. It had been the Time Police. Waiting until it was safe to emerge and arrest us both.

I opened my mouth to warn him.

At the same time, I saw the realisation cross his face. He had been betrayed.

I stretched out a hand and said quickly, ‘No – it wasn’t St Mary’s,’ but it was too late. Too late to explain. Too late for everything.

He wrenched out his gun. His face was white. I could see the blue veins at his temples. His eyes were dark and empty and terrifying in a way I cannot describe. My stomach turned over. Suddenly, I was very, very afraid.

He said quietly and far more chillingly than screaming threats could ever be, ‘You traitorous ----’ using a really bad word. Hauling me to my feet, he raised his gun, jamming the barrel against my right eye.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I was going to die. I could feel my heart beating in my throat and the blood pounding in my head. I was going to die. Out here. In this blistering heat and emptiness. I was going to die.

And then, apparently he had second thoughts, because he lowered the gun again.

‘No, Maxwell. You’re going to live. Everyone else in your world will die, but you’ll live on. You’ll look back on today and wish I had killed you.’

Now that it was far too late, I knew beyond doubt that his offer had been genuine, because this was the face of a man who had revealed his inner self, in all its vulnerability. A man who had taken a step forwards if not towards friendship then at least towards peace. A man who had trusted me to do the right thing and now thought I’d betrayed him. There would never now be any sort of a deal. Any chance we might have had was gone for ever.

Voices were shouting to us to get down on our knees. To put our hands in the air. I shouted, ‘St Mary’s,’ and scrabbled for my pocket, but too late. I felt a familiar pain in my chest. The world swayed around me. The ground tilted. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. They had sonic weapons and they’d used them on us.

I began to run towards the Time Police, my legs feeling as if I was running through porridge. I had no control over them at all. I staggered a few steps sideways, tried again in a different direction, then another, and bumped into something hard that wasn’t rock. I remember thinking, now I find his bloody pod. I fumbled again for my pocket, but my arm wasn’t doing what I wanted it to. My last chance was fading and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I tried to speak, to call out, but those sonic weapons are bastards and I couldn’t get any part of me to do as it was told.

He managed to say, ‘Door.’ I caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking interior. He staggered inside. I tried to shout to him. To tell him to wait, but the door closed on my words. Hot sand and air blasted into my face as his pod jumped away. I was just outside the danger zone. The whole thing had taken only a few seconds. Far less time than it takes to describe. And then rough hands seized me and forced me face down into the sand.