TimeSplash (15 page)

He smiled back at her, his eyes bright, having dropped a couple of tabs himself. A thrill went through Sandra, knowing she’d be his. “Soon,” he promised her, his large hand stroking the curve of her hip. “The night is still young.”

One of the blondes leaned across—the other one had disappeared somewhere—and said,

“Why don’t we make it a threesome?” She put a hand lightly on Sandra’s thigh and pushed up the hem of her dress.

Sandra looked into the woman’s lovely, smiling face and thought, Why not? It might be fun. But her head was full of the anticipation of how Flash would take her, ravage her body, how she would surrender to his strength and be his bitch. She ran a hand over his chest. “Just me tonight,” she told him. “We can play about later, but tonight I want to give you something special.”

Flash turned to the blonde with a look of mock regret and shrugged helplessly. “I’ve a feeling Patty here is all I’ll be able to handle tonight, love. Sorry.”

The blond pouted but didn’t argue.

“You won’t regret it,” Sandra murmured into his ear.

Her head was reeling; her body felt like it was floating. At some point in the evening, she got up to dance. She had always danced well, and the tai chi training she had done lately had made her even more supple and sinuous. A group of strange men gathered around and danced with her, but she kept her eyes on Flash and Flash kept his eyes on her.

When Flash took her home to his luxurious apartment in Chelsea, she was dizzy with happiness. She had drunk more and taken more tempus from the little silver box and she was as high as she could ever remember being. But, most of all, she was full of the joy of having found this strong, powerful man who would keep her safe and give her a home and adore her and make love to her with ferocious need.

They fell into bed, tearing off their clothes, and Sandra yielded her eager body to his, adrift in a sea of whirling, surging pleasure.

* * * *

Jay woke early, wishing he could go back to sleep.

Yesterday, by the time the team had been assembled and they’d got themselves to the airport, Marie had had to shift their reservation to a much later flight. So they arrived in Berlin too late to do anything except go to their hotel, check in, disperse to their rooms, and reassemble in the bar for a bout of desultory and joyless drinking that even Joe’s extravert bonhomie could not enliven. Like Jay, most of them went to their rooms late, watched vids, and read the novels they’d packed until exhaustion overcame them in the small hours.

They breakfasted as a group and then went to the impressive Federal Police Headquarters, newly relocated from Potsdam and now commanding an imposing position on Bulgarische Strasse, overlooking Treptower Park and the broad River Spree. The building was a gorgeous post-Adjustment extravaganza, with whole storeys on madly cantilevered projections, looking like it had grown there from an alien seed pod, obeying a physics very different from the one with which most Earthlings were familiar. They disembarked from their three taxis and stared in amazement at the astonishing, gravity-defying structure with open mouths until Kappelhoff chivvied them back into action and got them inside.

They were greeted by a senior officer in the Bundespolizei who very quickly handed them over to Chief Inspector Kaplan from GSG 9, the Federal Police’s elite anti-terrorism group. Kaplan was to be their main liaison for the operation.

He took them on a ride in one of the building’s many transport pods, moving horizontally and vertically in a complex route that eventually led to a disappointingly ordinary open-plan office where they were to be based.

Within half an hour, a briefing was underway to bring a roomful of the local police up to speed with Jay’s findings. Then they were being briefed in return on a wide range of matters which may or may not be related to the existence of a plot by timesplashers to destroy Berlin. By lunchtime, Jay was exhausted, confused and wishing he’d had a few more hours’ sleep. There was an awful lot of liaising going on, most of it at levels well above that of a young Detective Constable. As the local intelligence was sifted and assessed, correlated with international intel and fed into the operational planning process, Jay found himself sitting in an empty office with Joe, trying to think of something useful to do.

“We should be out on the streets,” Joe said, breaking a silence that had lasted an uncomfortably long time. “That’s why they have people like us, right? Young people. So we can go out there and get into the scene and put our ears to the ground, right?”

Jay had to agree. That’s why even the Europol team was full of young men and women. But he wasn’t going to concede anything. Not to Joe.

The young Spaniard looked at his British colleague with exasperation all over his face. “You know, I had you all wrong. I thought you were okay. It is very rare I misjudge a person but I will admit, I made a mistake in your case. You, my friend, are a backroom boy. You are a delver into databases, a wizard on the compatch, a reader of reports, whereas I, José Maria Alejandro Garcia de la Peña y del Bosque, am a man of action.” As if to demonstrate, he jumped to his feet and turned to face Jay. “I am going out there to find out what is going on in this city. You, my clerical friend, can stay here and think up elegant net queries.” And with that, he turned up his nose and walked out of the room.

Jay stared after him in disbelief. The guy was stark staring mad in Jay’s opinion—and definitely in line for disciplinary action.

Still, he had a point. Sitting around in a BPOL office wasn’t going to help anybody, whereas making contact with the local bricks and asking a few questions might just make some difference. All the same, he wasn’t about to go AWOL like Joe had just done and risk being sent home on the next flight. Instead, he settled in front of one of the as-yet-untouched workstations and pulled up a display. He needed to know more before he went out into the streets, and a review of the local lowlifes might be a good place to start. Then maybe he could check up on places where twenty or more F2 generators could be delivered and stored. After that, he’d look at movements of heavy duty electrical equipment in and around the city. It might even be worth checking hotels for guests with Polish accents…

It occurred to him that thinking up elegant net queries was exactly what he was doing. But that just made him angrier, that Joe should think something so sensible was some kind of character flaw. We’ll see who gets to Sniper first, he told himself. We’ll see.

* * * *

When Sandra woke the next morning she wished she were dead. It wasn’t just the pain in her head, the nausea and the deep weariness in all her limbs, it was the memory of how she had behaved, what she had said and done, and, worst of all, what she had felt. It was mid-morning according to her compatch. Flash was still sprawled across the huge bed beside her, satin sheets tangled about his naked body. Carefully, quietly, she got out of bed. She felt so sick standing up that she only managed a few paces before she had to sit down again in the first chair she passed. She was naked too. “Oh God,” she whispered to herself. “You fucking idiot!”

She had thought herself so clever, so determined and bold. Yet, at the first opportunity, she had reverted to the stupid, craven child she had always been, desperately giving herself to the first man she found who had the swagger and strength to make her feel safe.

And what was she now? Was she still the huntress she had been yesterday, a stalking Nemesis, doing whatever it took to set herself free from fear? Or was she Flash’s bitch, another in a series of pathetic creatures whose life was to pander and please him in return for his protection and his reflected status? She could be, she thought, and felt the thought tempt her. She could stay here and be this man’s pet.

Despising herself, she dragged herself to her feet and made herself leave the room. Her muscles trembled and her throat closed against the nausea but her physical distress was nothing compared to the feelings of shame and self-disgust that filled her. She saw her dress on the floor as she passed through the bedroom door. It was torn and useless. She remembered Flash ripping it off her and thinking in a wild ecstasy that it didn’t matter, that he would get her new ones, better ones. All that had mattered was that he wanted her so much—and that he would soon have her.

Despair hit her like a fist to the chest and she leaned on the kitchen counter to save herself from falling down. She’d had her chance to find Sniper and had blown it, choosing instead to gratify her childish longing for security and love. That’s how Dr. Mason at the Institute had put it. He had explained the damage her early years of neglect and rejection had done to her psyche, how her self-esteem was dangerously low, how she sought the validation of powerful men, how she would barter her body—the only thing she believed anyone valued—in a doomed attempt to gain their love. He had told her how vulnerable she was to people like Sniper and wasn’t he just right! So much of what he had said came back to her now as she leant against the counter, naked and trembling, with tears running down her face. In response to all his insights and his concern, what had she done? She had flirted with him. In fact, she had tried so hard to seduce him, he had taken himself off her case and that old witch Dr. Brannigan had taken over. At the time, she had seen it as a victory, as proof that he couldn’t resist her.

With a little jolt, she realised how long she had been standing there in Flash’s kitchen. This was crazy. She had to get out of there before he woke up. She also realised that her mind was made up. She must go. Otherwise she would lose herself utterly and stay lost forever. She would find another way of tracking Sniper. She’d have to.

Yet, before she could leave, she needed clothes and she needed money. And that meant going back to the bedroom.

Trying to control her breathing, stepping with absolutely silent tread, she re-entered the room. Flash lay just as she had last seen him, face down on the bed, arms and legs spread. She paused to be sure he wasn’t stirring, then made her way across the room to where his trousers were lying on the floor. She found his wallet in the back pocket and she removed it gently before going on to the dressing room. She grabbed a pair of jeans and put them on, rolling the legs up until they fit, tying them tight at the waist with a cord from a dressing gown. She put the wallet in the pocket and pulled on a t-shirt and then a thick jumper. A startled creature stared furtively at her from one of the big mirrors that lined the room, buried in outsize clothes, eyes and cheeks streaked with spoilt mascara, hair wild and unkempt. She looked a mess and she was still barefoot, but at least she wouldn’t freeze. It would do to get her back to her hotel room. She could put her high-heeled sandals on once she was well clear of the apartment.

“Not a good look on you.”

She whirled around to find Flash leaning against the door frame. Her heart raced as she judged her chances of getting past him and away.

“So what’s going on, Patty?”

“I just want to go,” she said.

He pushed his lip up as if he were considering it, but shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Not after all we’ve come to mean to one another.”

Sandra’s fear was turning to anger. “Piss off. You can’t keep me here. I’ll send your clothes back when I get to my room.”

Flash stood upright, filling the doorway, his muscular arms hanging ready at his sides. “First you’re going to explain to me what last night was all about, love.”

Sandra stepped away from the wall to give herself room to move. “It wasn’t about anything. I… I just…”

“You just wanted a shag, is that it?” She nodded, dumbly. “And the fact that you’re an old friend of Sniper’s is just pure coincidence, like?” He took a step toward her and she took a step back.

“What’s Sniper got to do with it?”

“You tell me, love. First I have his snotty little teknik over here giving me a load of crap, then I’m ambushed by his fucking bitch.” He took another step. “Not that I minded getting lucky, but now it’s time for you to tell me why, pet.”

He took another quick step and lashed out at her with his fist. Moving even faster than he did, Sandra stepped aside and deflected the blow, smoothly shifting her balance into a defensive tai chi posture. She swallowed hard. The blow had almost struck her. Deflecting it had been pure luck. The strength behind it had been terrifying.

Nevertheless, Flash stepped back. Her defence and the fact that she now stood poised and ready for another attack had puzzled him at least. He stood there watching her for a few moments. Then a grin slowly spread across his face. “Well, well,” he said. “Little Patty’s a fucking ninja.”

The idea seemed to please him rather than deter him. She wished she had spent the last two years studying karate instead of tai chi. Tai chi was as “soft” a martial art as they came. Flash began moving around her, watching carefully as she adjusted her balance and shifted her stance. “So why did Sniper send his little kung fu queen to get into my bed, eh? What sort of game is he playing, Patty?”

“This has got nothing to do with Sn—”

He struck at her again. Again she parried the blow, but this time he struck again and again. Sandra kept up a desperate defence, backing away between racks of suits until she hit a wall and had nowhere else to go. Flash was huge and relentless as he pressed his attack and Sandra knew she couldn’t hold him off any longer. The first blow that struck her would knock her to the ground, break her jaw, finish her off.