And the Rest Is History(91)

Normally she just stares at me, effortlessly giving me to understand I am less than the dirt beneath her feet. On this occasion, to my surprise, she seemed genuinely distressed. My alarm increased. What could possibly distress Mrs Partridge?

‘Mrs Partridge? What’s happening? Please tell me.’

She said gently, ‘I am unable to say,’ but whether she couldn’t or wouldn’t say, remained unclear.

‘Can’t this wait? said Tim. ‘We’re on our way out.’

She said, almost with sympathy, ‘I doubt, when you’ve heard what they have to say, that either of you will feel that an evening out is appropriate.’

I felt my stomach turn over.

Tim took my arm. ‘Come on, Max, let’s go and find out the worst. We can still go out afterwards.’

I looked at Mrs Partridge and the lack of expression on her face told me we wouldn’t be going out afterwards.

I turned to him. ‘Do you ever think we must be cursed?’

‘All the time. Don’t you?’ he said cheerfully.

‘What else could possibly go wrong?’

He shrugged. ‘No idea, but this is St Mary’s. Shall we go and find out?’

Commander Hay sat with Captain Ellis at the briefing table. Dr Bairstow stood by his desk, waiting. He too surveyed our unusually clean and tidy appearance. ‘I am very sorry to have interrupted your evening but I think, when Commander Hay has explained, you will understand why this could not wait until morning.’

Explained what? Understand what?

‘Please sit down. If you remember, at her request, I gave Commander Hay a copy of the footage from Hawking. Her people have spent some considerable time augmenting the tape and enhancing the quality. That done, they have subjected the improved tape to close analysis and scrutiny. And brought their findings for us to view this evening.’

‘Have you discovered something?’

‘We have.’

I looked at Dr Bairstow. ‘What? What have they found?’

‘I think you should sit down and see for yourself. I should warn you, you may find what you are about to see … unsettling.’

‘In what way?’

Peterson said, ‘Do you want me to remain, sir?’

‘Yes, please. I would like both of you to see this and let me have your thoughts afterwards.’

I began to have a very bad feeling about this.

I sat at the table. Dr Bairstow activated the screen, and here were the familiar images, considerably enhanced this time. They’d split the screen and at one and the same time I saw myself in close up and far away. Dr Bairstow ran the footage at normal speed until Markham appeared, and then he slowed it down. Right down.

I watched Markham race slowly down the hangar, arms pumping. I saw him push me out of the way. Now Dr Bairstow minimised the second image, the distant one from the camera in Leon’s office, and concentrated solely on the footage from the nearer camera.

I became aware my hands were clenched so tightly I was digging my nails into the palms of my hands. I looked down at the rows of little red crescents and made myself try to relax.

On screen, I had disappeared. It was just Ronan, Leon, Guthrie and Markham now. And, of course, the unseen Greta Van Owen.

Ronan stood in the doorway of his pod, just as I remembered.

Leon and Guthrie stood, guns raised, one or two paces from their own pod.

He slowed the film some more.

I saw Ronan bend his knees a little, preparing to hurl his bombs into the air.

Markham was closing but what could he do? If shooting Ronan was the answer, then Leon or Guthrie would already have done so.

Stupidly, I was holding my breath. As if that would make any difference. We all knew how this was going to end.

Beside me, Peterson stiffened and leaned forwards. A second later, I’d realised too. Markham wasn’t heading for Ronan. He was running, flat out, towards Leon and Guthrie.

Ronan made his last, defiant gesture, bowing to the camera, and then he straightened his arms hurling two, small, black objects high up into the air.

They slowed the film again. Now it was clicking on. Almost frame by frame. The quality was deteriorating with each passing moment, but I saw Markham, still travelling at speed, crash headlong into Leon and Guthrie. The force of the collision and his momentum carried all three of them back towards their pod.

Dr Bairstow stopped the film.

I turned my head to look at him. My neck hurt when I moved. I hadn’t realised I’d tensed every muscle.

He said, ‘We shall split the screen again and play the two angles simultaneously. You will need to watch very carefully.’

He took up the remote and the film started up again, advancing, frame by frame. Click by click.

On the left-hand screen, the three of them, just a tangle of limbs and bodies, fall backwards.

On the right-hand screen, Ronan has released his bombs. He stands for a moment, arms above his head, looking up, following their trajectory. And then – something new – he steps back into his pod. He vanishes from sight. His door is closing.

On the left, almost inch by inch, they’re falling. Falling back into the pod.

They say the onlooker sees most of the game. Had Markham, from far back in the hangar, realised what was about to happen? Was it possible that his objective was never Ronan, but Leon and Guthrie instead? He must have had less than a split second to make a decision and act on it. He gave his life trying to save them.