A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's) (25 page)

Beside me, Markham rammed home his last clip and grinned at me. I turned my head to Peterson. ‘Still no regrets?’

‘No,’ he said, checking his stun gun was still on his belt. ‘You?’

I did not think of Leon. If he was dead then nothing mattered very much anyway. ‘No,’ and left it at that.

The barricade was in splinters. There was nothing to stop them getting in and we’d never hold them. The best we could do was a final all-out blaze of glory. Typical St Mary’s. When the chips are down we don’t whine and we don’t run – we do some damage.

‘Right,’ said Guthrie. ‘On my mark. Straight down the stairs – fan out to each side of the Hall, and nail the bastards as they come through the vestibule. Everyone set?’

Peterson slapped my helmet and I slapped Markham’s. I picked up my blaster. We rose to a crouch – ready to go.

‘Steady,’ said Guthrie. ‘Mark!’

I leaped to my feet, took one pace forward, and crashed heavily to the ground as someone grabbed my ankle. At least two people ran straight over the top of me. What the hell …?

I rolled over and very nearly blew Mrs Partridge’s head off. Why was she still here? Why was she hanging on to my ankle?

We glared at each other as people ran past.

I tried to pull my leg away, desperate to be with the others in their last moments. ‘Let me go.’

She shook her head and pointed down the gallery.

I saw just the slightest flicker of movement in the gloom on the other side of the gallery. Bitchface Barclay. I hadn’t given her a thought. What was she up to? Could be anything. She could be taking a message. Or going for fresh ammo. Or looking for a better position. Even running away.

No, she wasn’t doing any of those things. Now I knew why I kept thinking of the Spartans and betrayal. She was making sure that whatever happened to anyone else, she came out a winner.

I hesitated.

Below, down in the Hall, I heard the battle roar – ‘St Mary’s!’

Ian Guthrie led the charge, firing as he went. Markham was at his shoulder. Peterson, Van Owen, Dieter, they were all there. No one held back. My heart broke with pride and grief. The noise was overwhelming. Like the Thunderchild, St Mary’s was going down with all guns blazing. I should be down there with them. It wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference, but that wasn’t the point.

I kicked out again. ‘Let me go.’

I must have hurt her, but she wouldn’t release me.

I heard her clearly over all the racket. ‘You wanted to know why you are here. You are here for Justice.’ I could hear the capital letter.

Now? Now she tells me …?

She relinquished her hold and crawled away into the shadows before I could say anything. Her calm assumption that I would abandon my colleagues and friends to do her bidding was breathtaking. Who did she think I was?

I was the person who would sort out Isabella Barclay, that’s who she thought I was.

I handed my blaster to Prentiss as she ran past, because her need was greater than mine. She grabbed it and was gone.

I moved around the gallery, hugging the wall, crunching over the remains of the banisters, shattered doors, and lumps of plaster. Glancing down into the Hall, I could see there was nothing I could do. My presence would not have made the slightest difference.

The Time Police were pouring in through the vestibule.

I saw something arc through the air and with a clap that hurt my ears, Ian Guthrie was blown backwards. He hit the wall with tremendous impact and lay very still. The same blast flattened Evans who disappeared under a pile of rubble.

On the other side of the room, Markham, who had escaped the worst of it, flung himself at an enormous black figure. He was casually batted aside. The last I saw of him, three more Time Police were converging on him.

Peterson got the furthest, nearly reaching the doors before a hail of something spun him around, and he fell to the floor.

I had to move. I could do nothing for anyone down there, but up here …

Trying to combine speed and invisibility, I slipped into R & D. Some of the wounded had been brought in here. Hunter was working on someone and shouting instructions to someone else at the same time. She saw me, paled, and said, ‘Markham?’

I couldn’t find any words, so I just nodded. She’d find out soon enough.

All these old rooms had connecting doors. I worked my way through Wardrobe, finally emerging in the short corridor that led to the Boss’s office.

Below me, I could hear gunfire, people shouting, and the crump of another explosion. I hesitated, still feeling I should be back there, standing with the rest of St Mary’s and defending my unit as they went down one by one.

‘You are defending your unit,’ said the stupid voice in my head. ‘Something’s not right. Stop pissing about and find out what it is.’

Mrs Partridge’s office was still empty. Bare shelves, bare tables. With typical Mrs Partridge thoroughness, she’d even emptied the waste bin. Moving as silently as I could, I eased around the door. Barclay was talking. Of course she was talking. She was always bloody talking.

Dr Bairstow stood at his desk in front of the window. Sounds of battle came up through the floor. Why was he here instead of with his unit?

One of the big blasters was propped against the wall behind him, just out of his reach. He was in full battle kit and by the expression on his face, in no mood to take prisoners.

I slid further into the room, desperate to see what was going on and hidden, I hoped, in shadow.

Another explosion brought part of the ceiling down somewhere behind me. I heard lumps of plaster clatter to the floor but I didn’t dare take my eyes from the scene in front of me.

She held a gun on him. Behind her, the safe door stood ajar. Whatever was going on here, I was too late.

As I watched, she reached into the safe and twisted something. Behind her, on the wall, a small panel snicked open. She moved carefully across the room, trying to cover him and retrieve whatever was in there at the same time.

He stood perfectly still. I saw his eyes drift towards his blaster. She saw it too, saying sharply, ‘No. Put both your hands flat on the desk.’

‘What are you doing, Miss Barclay?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! What does it look as if I’m doing?’

‘It looks as if you are taking advantage of the situation to make your long-planned move to assume control of this unit.’

‘Well done. And?’

‘And what?’

‘Aren’t you going to say “Over my dead body” or something equally ludicrous and dramatic?’

‘No.’

‘Shame,’ she said. ‘Come in, Maxwell.’

I didn’t move.

‘Come in – or I shoot him now instead of later.’

I walked slowly into the room. I had nothing – no weapon and no plan, but I wasn’t going to leave Dr Bairstow to face this alone. If, somehow, I could buy him a few vital moments, I would do it gladly. I couldn’t care less what happened to me, but I did care what happened to Dr Bairstow and to St Mary’s. If, somehow, I could take this bitch with me …

‘Gun on the floor.’

‘I’m not armed,’ I said, regretting now that I’d given my blaster away and holding up my hands.

‘Stand over there. Right over there. By the window.’

I complied.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘I’m going to remove the data stick. You cannot prevent this. The only thing I have to do then is decide whether I shoot you both now, or later.’

Not at all would be my first choice.

‘Give it up, Izzie. You’ll never get out of the building alive.’

‘I don’t intend to get out of the building at all. While everyone is battling it out downstairs, I’m up here heroically defending Dr Bairstow from assassination. I find you trying to steal vital data concerning our remote site. Bravely, I intervene. We will struggle. The gun will go off, tragically killing Dr Bairstow. I wrest it from you, and in the struggle, I shoot you dead. Who will blame me? I shall be a heroine. Should the Time Police prevail, possession of this information will render me more than acceptable to them. Should St Mary’s win, I fought to defend Dr Bairstow from someone half the unit still considers an imposter. In either case, I shall be appointed Director of St Mary’s. Which will be very pleasant, but not half as pleasant as killing both of you.’

Doctor Bairstow raised his head.

‘Whatever did we do to you, Isabella? As far as I know, we welcomed you here. You were one of us and yet you’ve been selling us out for years. You’re how they knew that Maxwell had returned to St Mary’s.’

Her face twisted. Deliberately or not, he’d touched a nerve.

‘She’s not Maxwell. Maxwell is dead. Why can’t any of you believe that? We all saw the body, for God’s sake. She’s dead, I tell you.’

The gun swivelled to me. ‘I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Maxwell. You’re just some tramp Leon picked up from somewhere, when he should have been  looking at me.’

Below us, the sounds of battle redoubled. I had to finish this quickly. People were dying out there. I needed to provoke her into doing something stupid and then when she shot me, with luck, Dr Bairstow could shoot her. Not my favourite plan, but better than nothing.

I said wearily, ‘Oh, we’re not back to that again, are we? He’s not interested, Izzie. You said it yourself. He’d rather be with some tramp off the street than with you. Anyone would.’

I really must try for a career in the Peace Corps.

She was too angry to speak. In her world, I should be begging for my life and I wasn’t. I swept on.

‘You’re wasting your time. He never even sees you if I’m in the room. You could drape yourself naked at his feet and he’d still step over you to get to me.’

‘Shut up!’

‘She’s right, Isabella,’ said Dr Bairstow, quite calmly for a man trapped in a room between two snarling redheads. ‘In fact, St Mary’s doesn’t want you, either. You may consider your employment at an end.’

Her gun came up and her eyes flashed dangerously. ‘We’ll see about that. You are about to be caught in an unfortunate accident and she’s going down with her face blown off.’

‘And you’re going to be Director of St Mary’s and Leon is going to fall into your arms,’ I interrupted. ‘And no one will ever know what a two-faced, scum-sucking, piss-boilingly treacherous bitch you really are. And always have been.’

‘I would not, if I were you, Isabella, assume that the Time Police will welcome you back into their fold. They didn’t seem too pleased with you the last time they were here.’

‘They’ll come round when I give them this.’

She flourished the stick. The location of our remote site. With our pods. And our archive. Everything they needed to start again. They could just wipe us out and start elsewhere.

‘It’s encrypted,’ I said, desperately.

She smirked. ‘And I’m Head of IT. Without this – without your pods and your archive, St Mary’s does not exist. We take this and re-establish elsewhere. Under the leadership of someone who appreciates the true potential of time-travel.’

She really shouldn’t have used those words. They’re like a red rag to Dr Bairstow’s bull. He made an involuntary movement.

She jumped and fired, frightening herself as much as everyone else and at that range, even she couldn’t miss.

He crumpled to the floor.

I should have leaped there and then, but for one fatal moment, I was so shocked I couldn’t move at all.

She shot Dr Bairstow!

He lay on his side, with his bad leg twisted beneath him, still gripping his stick.

I couldn’t believe what she’d done. I couldn’t believe she would shoot Dr Bairstow.

Neither, it seemed, could she, standing open-mouthed, staring at the still body at her feet, eyes wide with shock.

I tried to press home the advantage, saying gently, ‘Yes, it’s not so easy to kill someone close up, is it, Izzie? Much easier to do it from a distance.’ I looked around the room. ‘Shame there’s no gas fire.’

She dragged her gaze from the unmoving Dr Bairstow. ‘What?’

‘You know – a gas fire. You light them and they give off heat.’

She stared at me.

‘Or, in some cases, you light them and they give off carbon monoxide. Not normally, of course. You usually have to shove a bird’s nest down the chimney first and then top it up with a bucket full of twigs and gravel and soot. Having done that, you sit back, wait until the cooler weather, and practise your grief-stricken expression. Oh – and remove the battery from the detector, of course. It’s all a bit of a waste of time if you forget to do that.’

If she’d been white before, she was grey, now. The hand holding her gun was vibrating uncontrollably. Was I about to have my face blown off by accident?

Even over all the clamour downstairs, I could hear her whisper. ‘Who are you? For God’s sake, who are you?’

A voice that wasn’t my own said, ‘I am Justice and I have come for you.’

She stepped back and then made a desperate attempt to recover, dragging her eyes from Dr Bairstow, swallowing hard, and standing straighter.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything.’

‘Yes, you did. And I’m not the only one who knows, either.’

She was getting herself under control again.

‘Oh, really? You’re going to try to buy your life by saying that if anything happens to you then this other person will go to the authorities? Good luck with that. You have no proof. There is no proof.’

‘Oh, God, Izzie, concentrate, will you? This is me. I don’t care about the bloody authorities. And I certainly don’t care about proof. And neither does the other person. So know this. If anything happens to me, she will come for you. Silently. Out of the dark. And you’ll never see it coming. And you’ll never know anything about it.’

The words jerked out between cold, stiff lips. Quiet, deadly, little words in a quiet, deadly, little voice that was, nevertheless, perfectly audible above the noise below.

She backed up until she was a good, safe distance away from me. She had the winning hand and she knew it.

The data she carried was priceless. She could bargain her way out of any situation and she would. Beginning with the demand to be the new Director of the new St Mary’s. The first steps on the road to God knew what. This was no longer about Leon. Or me. Or the other Maxwell. Or even the Time Police. She had to be stopped.