‘All right. Dr Peterson? Would you like to begin?’
Tim hitched his chair a little closer. ‘Max, think back. You’re in Hawking. You’ve arrived back from Stamford Bridge. Do you remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happens next?’
I closed my eyes. ‘Dieter comes in. He’s shutting things down. I take my bag out of the locker. It’s heavy. I heave it over my shoulder. Dieter’s finished. He’s asking me how things went. I turn to speak to him.’
I stopped, confronted by more giant lumps of cotton wool. ‘That’s it.’
‘No, that’s very good, Max. Now, you’re in Hawking. What do you see? What can you smell?’
‘The Hawking smell. Concrete. Dust. Metal. Hot electrics.’
‘Good. What can you hear?’
‘People shouting to one another. Echoes in a big space. An electric drill somewhere. The radio’s playing the classics. Abba.’
And suddenly, without warning, I was there. In Hawking. And I remembered everything.
It all came crashing back. I remembered that last scene. Those final moments. My people up ahead, heading for the door. Techies dragging the thick black umbilicals across the floor towards Number Five. The big hangar doors slightly open, letting in light and a welcome shaft of rare sunlight. Hawking Hangar during a normal day.
Just before it was all gone for ever.
I jumped down off the plinth, dodged Mr Lindstrom’s grinning attempts to trip me with an umbilical, and set off for the far door and Sick Bay. Ahead of me, Bashford and Sykes were just passing through. I remember he held the door open for her. They were arguing about something or other and then, without any sort of warning, every alarm went off. Every light flashed above every plinth. The blue emergency lights strobed overhead. The red alarms over the blast doors came on, hooting and shrieking. With a boom that made the building shudder, the big interlocking blast doors crashed together.
I stood like an idiot wondering what the hell was going on. I think I thought one of the pods was about to blow. Which wasn’t so very wrong as things turned out. Dieter was shouting something but I couldn’t hear over the noise of the alarms. People raced for the open hangar door. Major evacuation. I saw Polly Perkins urging people through.
And then, off to my right, an unknown pod materialised. I stared. It was in a hell of a state. The casing was scorched and twisted and in some places it had disappeared altogether. It shouldn’t make any difference to the pod – the casing is purely cosmetic, but this level of damage outside gave every indication that all would not be well inside.
A fraction of a second later, another one appeared, directly opposite. This one I recognised. Squat and black and menacing. This was the Time Police. Which gave me a pretty good clue as to the occupant of the first pod.
I was right. The door slid open and Clive Ronan stood on the threshold. He was only about twenty feet away from me. He didn’t look good. I could see the tears in his jeans, the mud on his boots, and the sweat stains in his armpits. He hadn’t shaved in a very long time. He looked unkempt and exhausted. A wave of stale, foetid air billowed out of his pod. God knows what it must be like in there.
At that exact moment, the other pod’s door opened and there stood Leon and Guthrie. They were heavily armoured and helmeted but I knew who it was. They carried heavy-duty blasters. The big ones. Even over the shrieking alarms, I could hear them whining on full charge.
I could hardly believe it. They’d got him. They’d got Clive Ronan at last. They’d chased him up and down the timeline, all the way back to St Mary’s. How fitting that they should finally corner him here.
Ronan caught sight of me and smiled. He actually smiled, saying, ‘Excellent. Three birds with one stone.’
Neither Leon nor Guthrie spared me a glance. All their attention was on Ronan. They brought up their weapons with a snap and slowly moved towards him, yelling at him to surrender. That there was no escape. To put his hands in the air. Now.
I should have guessed. We should all have guessed. Ronan was far too calm. He was even smiling. Slowly, obediently, he raised his hands, just as he’d been told to do, and they weren’t empty. He held a small, round object in each hand. Occasionally, a small red light flickered ominously.
I had no idea what they could be, but they were enough to bring both Leon and Guthrie to a halt.
Someone must have switched off the alarms because sudden silence crashed down. Except for a tinny metallic voice.
‘Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen…’
A countdown.
Leon, apparently noticing me for the first time yelled, ‘Max, get out of here.’
Someone pushed me out of the way, and Markham, appearing out of nowhere, shouted, ‘Max. Go,’ and raced past me. He too was armed.
I flew back towards Dieter, still standing in the entrance to Number Five. ‘Do something, Dieter. For God’s sake. Help them.’
‘I am helping them,’ he said, grimly and grabbed my arm, dragging me into the pod.
He shouted, ‘Door,’ and then the world went white.
But for all the wrong reasons.
I faltered to a halt and looked at them. ‘Tell me what happened next.’
Peterson stared at his lap for a moment and then said, ‘Max, I’m so sorry.’
I said, ‘No,’ because I think I thought if I didn’t accept it then it couldn’t be true. I even wished I’d never said anything and continued in my happy state of cotton wool-filled ignorance. For the rest of my life. For ever.
He said again, ‘I’m so sorry, Max, but yes.’
‘No, you’re wrong.’
‘We’re not wrong.’
‘You must be. It’s Leon – he always – he never… There’s been a stupid mistake. You’ve missed something. Have you searched everywhere? Have you…?’
‘Max, there’s nothing left.’
‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, nothing left?’
‘Ronan had explosives. They went off. They destroyed him and his pod. He’s gone for ever.’
‘And Leon?’
‘They were too close, Max. Which we think was what Ronan intended. They were closing in. He probably had only one jump left and he couldn’t get away and so he jumped here, fully intending to do as much damage as possible.’
Three birds with one stone.
‘That’s what he meant, isn’t it? Three birds with one stone. Leon. Ian. And me.’
His face said there was more.
‘Tell me.’
‘Markham didn’t escape the blast, either.’
Too late, I remembered Markham, pushing me back to safety and running towards Ronan, gun drawn. Doing his job. He was doing his job and he died for it. With Leon. And Ian. But, sadly, not me.
I couldn’t take it in. ‘All of them. All three of them? All dead?’
He nodded.
‘And I lived,’ I said, bitterly.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … I know. I’ve been here and I know what you’re thinking and you can’t think that, Max. Not for one moment. You mustn’t. You have a little boy. You have duties and responsibilities. Dr Bairstow is devastated. The unit is in pieces. We stand or fall with you. I stand or fall with you. If anything should happen to you … I know how you feel. Many things have ended. Gone for ever. And carrying on without them seems too heavy a burden to bear. But you must, Max. We both must. Neither of us has the luxury of falling apart at the moment.’
Nurse Fortunata came in. She was carrying a tray of tea. Now I knew why there was no Hunter.
Dr Stone looked from one to the other of us. ‘If you can truthfully assure me that both of you are as well as could be expected, then I’ll leave you alone for an hour or so. Please use the time to talk to one another. Max, you need have no concerns over Matthew. He knows there’s been an accident in Hawking, but no more. He has no reason to assume his father was ever here. He’s happy and busy with Miss Lingoss. I advise you leave him with her for a day or so.’
Peterson nodded. ‘He couldn’t be in better hands, Max.’
I nodded. ‘I know. And you’re right. I will tell him. But not now.’
‘No, definitely not now. Give it a day or so.’