Chapter 20
Cynda studied the grid pattern on her watch dial, fidgeting while the painstaking process unfolded. Once the passive ESR Chip had been triggered, the five interfaces worked in unison to triangulate its position.
“This is taking forever,” Mr. Spider groused.
He was right. Something told her that if Theo was still alive, he didn’t have that much time. According to her interface, he was in a particular section of Whitechapel—an area she knew intimately. The dial changed again—down to a few streets.
“Screw this,” she said, and performed a side-hop into a nearby alley.
The Angel Pub on Whitechapel High Street was packed, a raucous din cascading out the front door. Watching the dial’s reaction, Cynda edged past the watering hole and farther down the street.
Then she stopped and waited until the dial updated. The location was behind her. She hurried back and then continued down the street. Again, the location was behind her. This time she turned left into Angel Alley, the noisome passage at the side of the pub. Like most of the alleys in Whitechapel, this one doubled as a latrine for those who wanted to make room for one more pint.
“This is really bad,” the spider lamented, ducking under her shawl. His voice muffled, he added, “Makes all my eyes water.”
Cynda covered her nose with a handkerchief, moving resolutely forward. The passage was narrow, bordered on both sides by brick buildings. A perfect place for an ambush. Only the thought of Theo kept her going.
Partway along, she passed a pile of refuse, a tattered tarp piled up against the wall. The dial was still catching up, recalibrating her position in relation to the other interfaces, bouncing signals between each of them and 2058’s advanced technology. It was like trying to make a phone call to Mars using a piece of string and two coconuts.
“Come on!” she snarled. He was here somewhere. The grid pattern refreshed itself. She spun around and hurried back, only to stop at the trash pile. On impulse, she illuminated it with the glow from her watch. Three fingers were barely visible protruding from the edge of the canvas. Frantic, Cynda yanked back the tarp.
“Theo!” He was curled in the fetal position, his clothes shredded. She knelt and touched his hand. Cold.
One finger slowly uncurled in response.
“Yes!” She yanked the Dinky Doc out of her pocket and placed it against his neck. Hypothermia. Profound shock. Multiple internal injuries. Any other man would be dead, it was just his superior physical condition that had kept him alive this long.
“And you,” the spider remarked, crawling out from under the shawl. “Love is a powerful reason to hang around.”
Still, that edge was quickly fading. To her horror, Theo’s body began to shift form, becoming what he might have looked liked as a boy. Then he changed to a face she knew well: Chris. Her heart nearly stopped.
“Not good,” Mr. Spider said.
“No kidding.” Transitives shifted like that when they were losing control, like Keats that night in the carriage. When they’re dying.
She let the Dinky Doc do what it thought best.
“Come on, Theo.” He shifted again, to her form, and then back to himself. “Come on, guy. You can make it.”
Boot steps crunched in the passageway. She tensed.
“Lassiter?”
She signed in relief: it was Hopkins. “Here!” she called out. “I found him!”
The junior Rover skidded to a halt at her side, dropping to his knees. Between the two of them, they hauled Theo to a seated position. She winced at the sight. His left arm dangled uselessly. Blood had clotted on one side of his face from a jagged cut, and it appeared his nose was broken. Blood stained his shirt, his trousers, even his boots.
“Oh my God.” Hopkins swallowed hard. “We need to get him home.”
“No,” she replied. “He’s too cold for the transfer. We’ll take him to Alastair. Once he’s stabilized, then we can move him.”
A low moan issued from the torn man’s mouth. “Ja…cynda?”
She moved in close. “You got it in one.”
“Cope…land,” he murmured. “Neuro…”
“Neuro-blocker?”
A faint nod.
“That’s how he got me,” Hopkins explained. “I was trying to get my breath one minute, and the next I had a bullet in the heart. I can still hear him laughing.”
Fury spiraled within her, coiling like a venomous snake. Copeland didn’t have the guts to fight man to man, so he’d downed his victims with technology.
“He’ll do the same to you if you’re not careful,” Mr. Spider advised, looking down from her shoulder at the wounded man.
We’ll see.
“Why didn’t Copeland just kill him?” Hopkins whispered.
To her chagrin, Theo overheard the question. “Don’t know,” he gasped. “Gave them money. Told them to…” he coughed hard, “throw me in Thames.”
Like Chris.
“Put me in wagon. They got drunk. I escaped.” He turned slowly toward her, trying to peer at her through his swollen eyelids. “Knew you’d…find me.”
Her heart trembled. “Damn right. Stay alive, okay? You die on me, and I’ll be really pissed.”
The swollen eyelids blinked slowly, painfully. “Too much…paperwork.” Her laughter was a trade-off for tears. Cynda pressed the Dinky Doc to his neck once more. The readings had marginally improved. At least he wasn’t shifting in front of Hopkins.
More boots in the passageway as the other Guv agents arrived. Cynda was grateful when Hopkins took charge, ordering them to find some way to get the wounded man to Alastair’s house.
“We’ll get things squared away,” the junior Rover assured her.
“Thanks.”
He marched off, barking orders just like Klein.
As they waited, Cynda wrapped her shawl around Theo and cradled him in her arms, trying to instill warmth. She cautiously brushed a kiss against his cheek, tears springing into her eyes. If things had played out differently, she would be holding his corpse right now.
“In case you’ve forgotten, we have unfinished business you and I,” she whispered into his ear. That no longer seemed enough. After a thick gulp of air, she tried again. “I love you, Theo.”
His bloodshot eyes opened, trying to focus on her face. He attempted a smile, cracking the dried blood on his cheeks. “Then it was…worth it.”
“Only if you live.” He nodded and closed his eyes again.
She gave him a hefty dose of painkiller, whispering encouraging words until he fell asleep. All the while, the ants raged inside her, demanding retribution.
Finding a coach this late at night hadn’t been an option, so the Guv agents had commandeered a wagon. The driver didn’t seem to mind, not with a shiny sovereign in his hand. Thanks to the medication, Theo was blissfully unaware of his surroundings. As they prepared to lift him, Cynda tugged on Hopkins’ sleeve.
“Treat him like a corpse. We don’t know who’s watching. I want Copeland to think he’s dead. And don’t contact 2058 yet. We need to sort things out first.”
The junior Rover nodded. “We’ll get him settled, and then you and I will hunt down that bastard together.”
“Works for me.”
Hopkins stepped aside and instructed his men on the move. A minute or so later, they were carrying Theo down the passageway on the tarp. By then, a few of the pub’s patrons had gathered on the street.
“Did the Ripper get ’im?” someone asked, deep in his cups.
“No,” Hopkins replied, tersely. He tossed the man a coin with his free hand. “Have a pint in his honor, God rest his soul.” The rest of the gawkers followed the beneficiary back into the pub to spend his newfound wealth.
Once Theo was in place, she covered him with a blanket one of the agents had scrounged. Hopkins and the others fanned out around the wagon like it was a funeral cortege, their faces grim.
Perfect.
As the wagon began to move forward, Cynda slipped back into Angel Alley and triggered her interface. Hopkins would see to Theo, guard him with his life. It was time to dangle the bait.
Cynda barely made it back to her hotel room when her interface started buzzing. The message was from Hopkins, demanding to know where she’d gone.
She ignored it. Instead she logged onto GuvNet.
You find him? Ralph asked.
Yes. Before Ralph asked anything further, she typed, One down, one to go. Send that message to everyone with an interface, no matter the time period. You understand?
What does it mean? Ralph asked.
Don’t worry about that. Make sure all the TPB Rovers receive it.
That’s just egging them on.
I know what I’m doing. Leave my interface open to all incoming messages.
You’re acting weird. What are you up to?
Settling a score.
She was pulling on the trousers when her interface lit up. Another message from Hopkins. She blanked that one as well. We’re not ready yet, guy.
Then came the one she’d been waiting for.
Morrisey went down like a girl. I expected better.
Copeland. “I knew you couldn’t resist the bait.” She triggered the watch so it would project the keyboard on the desk.
Morrisey for Rover One. That’s the deal appeared in the air above her watch.
We’ve got TEM. You have no leverage.
There was a long pause.
Help Guv burn TPB. It’s your only chance, she offered.
A longer silence. She began to wonder if she’d lost the connection.
When and where?
“I knew you’d bite.” She gave him the instructions.
Come alone or I’m gone, was the response.
Deal. She closed the link, then began to log into GuvNet. Ralph needed to send her a few supplies, including a spare interface.
“You can’t possibly believe he’s going to turn himself in,” Mr. Spider shouted inches away from her ear.
“Ouch! Easy on the eardrums, okay? I know he’s not turning himself in. I just need to slap a time band on his wrist and he’s in ’058.”
“You have to touch him to do that.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she replied. “He’ll want to get close.”
“Why are you so sure?”
She eyed her delusion. “I’m the reason the plot failed. As bad as he wants Defoe, he craves payback.”
“Get Hopkins in on this,” Mr. Spider warned. “You can’t do this alone.”
“I never intended to.”