TimeSlip (5 page)

Ingrid nodded. “Of course.”

“Bloody vandals. You should see what they did to the Giant
Elk exhibit. It will take us months to put it back together.”

The director walked away. She hadn’t said a word about
David.

Ingrid’s office was a mess, even worse than the night
before. Jake looked around him ruefully. “I wouldn’t have done such a good job
of thrashing the place if I’d known that I had to clean it up again.”

It took them over an hour to sort out the chaos. A locksmith
arrived to repair the door, and by lunchtime the place was almost back to
normal. Ingrid had tried David’s number several times, but each time it went
straight through to voicemail. With nervous fingers, she tapped in Raoul’s
number, prepared to drop the phone if he answered. Nothing, just a voicemail
saying he wasn’t in the office. Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about
him, but she desperately needed to find out if David was dead or alive.

Jake sat opposite her, engrossed in a pile of magazines.
David’s office was on the next floor. She could just slip up the back stairs
and have a quick word with his secretary. There was no point in taking Jake
with her.

“I’m just going to the ladies’ room.”

“Want me to come along?”

Ingrid smiled and shook her head. She closed the door behind
her and headed for the stairs. The desk outside the curator’s office was empty,
but the light was on inside. Ingrid opened the door slowly. “David?”

“I’m afraid he’s not here, Ms. Sorrenson. Perhaps I can help
you.”

Raoul.

She didn’t notice the other man until he lifted her off her
feet. “Let me go, you bastard.”

“Tut tut. Language, Ms. Sorenson. You and I need to have a
little talk, but not here.” Raoul nodded to the other man. “Take her to the
car.”

Ingrid struggled in earnest, grinding her heel into his
foot. “You really are becoming a nuisance, Ms. Sorrenson.” She saw a fist
coming toward her, and then everything went black.

* * * * *

She woke up in a box. It was very dark, and she could smell
gas. When the box jerked forward, she rolled against a set of golf clubs. She
was in the trunk of a car and her hands were tied behind her back. Ingrid tried
to stretch. The side of her jaw ached where Raoul had struck her. The car hit a
bump on the road, throwing her against a hard, metal surface. She had no idea
how long she had been unconscious or where they were taking her.

Why on earth had she decided to play detective alone? Why
hadn’t she taken Jake with her? Ingrid wriggled her hands, trying to free them.
They were tied with some kind of thin plastic, and much as she tried to move
her wrists, the plastic stayed stubbornly tight. Sweat trickled down her spine
as she wriggled in vain.

She rolled onto her back, breathing heavily.
Stop
breathing like
that,
S
orrenson, you’re wasting air. Think. Just
think
. Maybe there was something in the trunk that she could use to cut the
bindings.
Oh yeah, like they’re going to leave a convenient knife in the
trunk along with the prisoner.
It was no good, she was stuck here. Her arms
were beginning to feel numb and she rolled onto her side again. This time Raoul
was definitely going to kill her and she would never see her viking again. A
single tear escaped and rolled down her face. Oh god, Strom.

The noise of other traffic lessened and the road surface
became lumpy and uneven. It sounded as if they had pulled onto a gravel drive.
The car pulled to a stop and Ingrid heard the doors opening. She closed her eyes.
She would have to play dead for a while longer. The man banged her head on the
door as he lifted her from the trunk and she winced, trying not to cry out. It
was lucky her hair was loose, because it covered the tears that streamed down
her face. That really hurt.

“Take her inside,” Raoul ordered.

The tiled floor in the hallway looked familiar. She was in
David’s house. He and his wife Barbara had hosted the last Christmas party.
What were they doing here? The man carried her upstairs and dumped her on the
bed. Ingrid made herself lie perfectly still until the door closed, and she
heard the sound of a key in the lock. Then she rolled over. There was someone
on the bed beside her. Ingrid shook her head, trying to clear her hair away
from her face.

The woman who lay beside her was gagged and bound. She had a
deep cut on her left temple and her eye was black and blue. Through the torn
edges of the woman’s silk blouse, Ingrid could see dark red welts. They looked
like burns. It was Barbara, David’s wife. Someone had beaten her mercilessly.
Blue eyes stared vacantly back at her. Barbara was dead.

Ingrid retched. She was going to be sick.

She rubbed her damp face as best as she could against the
edge of the quilt and lay back on the pillow, trying to stay as far away from
Barbara as possible. Poor Barbara and David. At least they were both at peace
now. They had been devoted to each other. Last Christmas, everyone from David’s
department in the museum had sat around a blazing fire downstairs, singing
Christmas carols, while Barbara played the piano. Although he usually avoided
family parties like the plague, Finn had surprised her by accepting her
invitation. It was their first Christmas like that since her father died.
Barbara had teased Finn gently about his intentions toward Ingrid, believing
that he was her boyfriend, and they didn’t have the heart to tell her the
truth. They had laughed about that on the snowy walk home.

Finn and Strom—the most important men in her life. How
utterly different they were and now she was going to lose both of them.

* * * * *

“What do you mean you’ve lost her,” Strom’s voice roared
down the telephone.

“I’m sorry,” Jake whispered. She said she was going to the
bathroom. It’s just across the hall, but she didn’t come back.”

“We’ll be right there.” The phone was slammed back into the
receiver with brutal force and Jake replaced his handset with trembling
fingers. Strom was going to kill him.

How could Ingrid do something so stupid? Jake had already
searched the other offices on the floor, but they were unoccupied. He ventured
through a small, wooden door and found another staircase. The next floor up was
quiet. A large meeting room took up half the space, and the rest was occupied
by David Martin, curator. That must be the guy Raoul killed last night. It was
strange that the office was still occupied.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Jake gave the secretary his most charming smile. “I’m
looking for my fiancée, Ingrid Sorrenson.”

The girl was a mine of information. David Martin was on sick
leave and Mr. Jasson would be using his office until he returned. No, she
hadn’t seen Ingrid, but then she had been on lunch for the past hour. Oh and
congratulations, Ingrid was such a lovely girl. And no, Mr. Jasson wouldn’t be
in the office this afternoon. He was at a meeting with his associate, Mr.
Cranton from head office.

Jake’s stomach clenched. Jorge Cranton was one of Raoul’s
henchmen. A vicious psychopath wanted for torture and murder, and they had
Ingrid.

Jake chatted amicably to the old guy on the security desk.
No, Ingrid hadn’t left yet. The only other exit was through the car park. Jake
needed to get a look at their security tapes, but the room was locked. There
was nothing for it. They would have to break into the museum again tonight.

In all the years he had known him, Jake had never seen Strom
so angry. They had started out the same year in Fleet Academy—him, Strom and
Pete. One history geek in their class had nicknamed them the vikings, on
account of Strom being so blond and their surnames. They had played that up all
through their years at the Academy, with the tattoos and the women, but Strom
had outclassed them all. He was the youngest Fleet Command captain ever, at
twenty seven, and he was promising to be even more brilliant than his dad,
General Hal Hallstrom. Strom and his father had barely spoken since that bitch
Leona dumped him. Strom could be colder than a glacier when he wanted to be,
and god help anyone who got on the wrong side of him, like now.

“Report,” the word came out in a rasp of barely controlled
fury. Pete nodded sympathetically at him. He was in deep shit.

“I’ve searched the building. Ingrid’s coat and bag are still
in her office and she didn’t leave by the usual exit.”

Strom growled and Jake continued nervously. “Raoul Jasson
was at the museum this morning. He’s been using David Martin’s office. Ingrid’s
buddy David is allegedly on sick leave. Raoul left at lunchtime with his
colleague Jorge Cranton.”

“Cranton is here?”

“I’m afraid so. Strom, I’m—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t say another word, Jake.”

Museum security had improved a little since the previous
night, but the new locks on the doors were no match for Pete’s prowess as an
unofficial locksmith. They piled into the security room and Jake searched
through the tapes from that day. There was no digi-search facility and they
would have to run the full tape until they found her.

Eight a.m., a dark-blue car approached the entrance to the
parking lot. The image was blurred, but it was definitely Raoul. The tape ran
on slowly. People arriving for work, the usual post and deliveries, and then
there was Jake and Ingrid and their tender kiss in the lobby. The next frame
was Jake dabbing at her face with a tissue, all immortalized on a grainy
security tape. Shit. Jake was afraid to look at Strom’s face.

“When this is over, you are dead.”

Jake nodded. There was nothing he could say.

The tape rolled on, lunch time. Raoul and a second man
appeared briefly on camera in the car park. The other man was carrying
something wrapped in a coat. He opened the trunk and put the package inside.
The dark-blue car left the car park shortly afterward.

Pete leaned toward the monitor. “Each of the cars has a
yellow badge on the windshield.”

“So?”

“So there must be a list of owners somewhere.”

The security office was searched swiftly. Pete was right.
Each badge number appeared on the master list. The blue car belonged to David
Martin.

“Okay. Raoul’s driving Martin’s car, but how does that help
us?”

“Maybe Raoul’s been helping himself to some of the curator’s
other things.”

Jake and Strom exchanged a silent glance. “Where is Human
Resources?”

“Martin, Martin, Martin.” Jake riffled through the filing
cabinet looking for his address, while Pete tried to hack the HR database.

Strom looked at the clock. It was almost nine p.m. Raoul and
Jorge had taken Ingrid eight hours ago. He clenched his hand into a fist. If
they harmed her, neither of them would live to see another day.

“Got it,” Pete shouted. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

Raoul had cracked her cheekbone with his first blow, but no
matter how much he slapped her, she refused to tell him anything. So many
questions, who was she working for? How many were on the team? What were their
names? Where were they staying? All interspersed with slaps and hair pulling.
In the end, Raoul had thrown her back onto the bed beside Barbara, and then she
had cried until she had no more tears left.

The sound of tires on gravel woke her. Ingrid heard voices
in the hallway and then the slamming of doors. A little while later came the
footsteps on the stairs, two pairs of them this time. This was going to be bad.

Ingrid sniffed loudly. She hadn’t even had a date with
Strom. The most attractive man she had met in years and she had barely got to
lay a finger on him. The stupid viking had been outside her room last night.
Why had she lain there? Why hadn’t she got out of bed and dragged Strom inside?
How could someone turn your life upside down in less than twenty four hours?

She giggled when she remembered the viking’s shocked face
when he met Finn this morning in her bedroom, still dressed in his costume from
the night before.
Oh god, she was turning hysterical
. She was laughing
out loud when the key turned in the lock. After that there was nothing to laugh
about.

“You’re sure this is the place?”

“That’s what the Sat Nav says. Twenty-first century heap of
junk.”

“Pull into the driveway, Pete, we’ll walk the rest of the
way.”

Jake delved into the trunk, pulling out the lightweight
amour and tossing it to Strom. They suited up in the shadow of a tree. This
looked like a class area. There was no sense in upsetting the neighbors. The
big guy was packing enough weapons to wipe out a small city. Jake prayed that
they would be on time.

“I’ll take point.” Strom’s tone brooked no argument. He was
going to kill someone, or maybe several someones.

Jake stretched out his hand, palm down. A kind of pre-battle
good luck ritual they had started at the academy. Pete placed his hand on top
of his and they both looked at Strom. The big guy reached out his hand and
placed it on top of theirs.

“Let’s go kill something.”

Staying in the shadow of the trees, they approached the
house. They could hear a TV blaring, but the curtains were open and they could
see no one inside. Strom could see a chink of light upstairs in a rear bedroom.
His hands gripped his weapon tighter. He raced across the open area until he
reached the back door. It was locked. Strom waved for Pete. They couldn’t
afford to alert Raoul that they were here.

Pete got the door opened in seconds. A twenty-first century
lock was no match for a twenty-sixth-century laser tool. Strom motioned them
into the kitchen. Raoul was dirtier than a Yarran boar—one of the filthiest
beasts he’d come across on his travels. Their stench was bad enough to knock
you out at fifty paces. The surfaces were littered with dishes and half
finished plates of food. Beer bottles littered the wooden table. They must have
had quite a party. There was a curious smell coming from the cupboard under the
stairs. Strom knew that particular stench far too well. They had found David
Martin.