Time Rovers 03 Madman's Dance (57 page)

“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.”

Like a military commander, Cynda chose familiar territory for the final battleground: Mitre Square, a poorly lit area in the City of London, surrounded mostly by warehouses. The last time she’d been here was nearly five weeks earlier, the night Kate Eddowes died. The night Cynda had actually seen the Ripper. There was still a stain where the woman’s mutilated body had rested, despite someone’s efforts to clean it away. Cynda laid a rose in the middle of the dark patch, remembering Kate’s laughter.

It was fitting that it would end here.

She popped open her watch. Eleven thirty-two. The constable on duty had just left the square on his beat and would return in about thirteen minutes. If all went well, the site would be empty on his next pass. If it went wrong, the Blue Bottle might discover a corpse or two.

Their enemy had amassed an impressively murderous resume, torturing Chris Stone, even trying to kill Hopkins, his own partner. Copeland had shot Defoe and beaten Theo nearly to death. Then just to cap his achievements, he’d tried to implement the fiery annihilation of history.

“Ambitious fellow, isn’t he?” Mr. Spider commented from his usual perch. He peered into the gloom, his multiple eyes glowing. “If I were you, I’d hang him from a web, suck his bones dry.”

“Too much work.”

“Not for me,” he boasted.

“Yeah, but he can’t see you.”

“That’s definitely an obstacle,” he admitted.

Cynda fidgeted. “Where’s Hopkins? He should be here by now.” To calm her nerves, she began her preparations. Stripping off her coat, she tossed it next to the Gladstone. The telescoping metal baton went into the back waistband of her trousers and the time band into a pocket. The spare interface was in that pocket, as well. If she was mortally wounded, Copeland would remove it so her body wouldn’t automatically forward to 2058. As long as he didn’t know about the backup interface, her plan might work.

Another check insured the e-skin patch was still attached to her left forearm. If Copeland proved true to form, she’d need that medication to counteract the effects of the Neural-blocker. She set the patch for Hopkins on top of her coat.

Mr. Spider crawled down her arm to read the information on the outside of the patch. “Did you see these side effects? Euphoria, hyperventilation, auditory and visual hallucinations. That’s just the short list,” he reported.

“None of them are as ugly as being dead,” she said, straightening up. “Hopkins? Where are you?” she grumbled. “We’re about out of time, guy.”

“Maybe he didn’t get the message,” Mr. Spider suggested.

“I sent it a half hour ago. Guv should have delivered it.”

Silence from her shoulder.

“Hopkins wouldn’t hang me out to dry,” she insisted. “He’s come through every time.”

“Hopkins did. How about Klein?”

“Don’t start with me.” She flipped open her interface and gave it a test wind. It lit up. Accessing the messages showed the one she’d sent earlier in the evening, but still no reply.

Spirals of light began to appear in the square, the visual precursor to a transfer. She looked away so they wouldn’t blind her. It had to be Copeland. She’d told Hopkins to arrive by foot.

“What are you going to do?” her delusion pressed. “Run or tough it out?”

Her mind told her to run for it. Copeland was too nasty for her to confront alone. Running away would give her and Theo a chance together.

“For how long?” she heard from her shoulder.

She saw the future with startling clarity.

“Copeland won’t quit,” she said. “He’ll come after me. He’ll go after Theo. He’ll keep killing until he finds Defoe for his masters.”

“That’s the way I see it.”

There was only one way to stop him—send him to Guv.

“It ends here.”

Cynda pressed the medication patch on her bare arm, feeling the seal break. The infusion of the neural stabilizing solution burned like wicked fire, making her grimace. She rolled down the sleeve and buttoned the cuff. Almost immediately, her heart rate sped up and her eyeballs began to feel bigger than their sockets.

She executed a particular set of windings on her interface and then buried it under the coat. If she’d gotten the sequence right, it would create an audible recording of what happened in the square. If she died, the interface would automatically forward itself to Guv before Copeland would know it existed. Though it wouldn’t save her life, his fate would be sealed.

The transfer effect began to fade. If the watchman at the Kearly and Tonge warehouse was paying attention, he’d just witnessed one helluva of a light show.

Cynda studied her enemy. In his left hand was the favored weapon of the Whitechapel killer—a double-bladed amputation knife. The blade was at least seven inches long.

“Pretty low tech,” she said.

“Fits the scene, don’t you think?” he called back, advancing toward her.

“Toss the knife away. You don’t need any more charges when you get home.”

“Who says I’m going home?”

“Me.”

He cocked his head. “You’re one ballsy bitch, I’ll give ya that.” He gestured with a free hand. “Where’s your backup?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

A shake of the head. “Don’t count on it. The message never made it. Time delayed. He’ll get it after you’re dead.”

Just trying to psyche me.
Unfortunately it was working.

“Why’d you kill Chris?” she asked, buying time for the medication to work. The way things were headed, the Neural-blocker was definitely on the menu.

“I didn’t. Mimes gave him too much chloral hydrate by accident.”

“It was a mistake?” she said, her concentration rattled.

Sensing her distraction, he took a few steps closer. “Stone wouldn’t tell us where to find Defoe, so I figured if the kid fell off the radar, they’d send you.”

Chris was bait?

Copeland edged sideways, closing. “You and Defoe were the only ones who could screw up the plan. I had my orders—deliver Rover One to my employers and you go back home a corpse. Problem solved.”

“Why would the Futures work with you?” she asked, moving to the right, like a hand on a clock dial. They were about nine feet apart now. She dug out the baton, letting it open to its full length.

“I’m the guy who gets things done.” He rolled his neck and shoulders, loosening up. “I’m amazed you found Morrisey,” he said. “How many pieces was he in?”

That didn’t deserve an answer. “The Ascendant’s dead.”

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t need him anymore.”

His right hand came up. A second later, the Neuro-blocker hit her center chest.

Cynda staggered back, feeling it flare through her like a bolt of electricity. She panicked when her breath tightened. Then it eased. The medication was working. Forcing a deep inhalation, she laughed so loud it echoed in the square.
Euphoria.
They’d not been lying about the side effects.

Copeland gaped at her. “How the hell—” He fumbled to reset the device.

“Don’t bother. It won’t touch me.” She beckoned to him again. “Put the toy away and let’s head home.”

For a half-second, she thought he’d give it another try and there was no guarantee extra hits wouldn’t take her out. To her relief, he dropped the device into a pocket. Then he closed the distance between them, playfully lunging at her. She jumped backward, overreacting, though he’d not been that close. The medication wasn’t helping on that front.

“Work on his brain,” Mr. Spider said. “Try to distract him.”

“You’re not doing very well, Copeland. You didn’t blow up London and you can’t find Rover One. I’d say your string is running out. You’ve only got one chance.”