Time Snatchers (4 page)

“Well, then, what kind of
for
do you mean?” she asks.

“You know,” I say. “One, two, three, four.”

“Five, six, seven, eight,” says Phoebe agreeably.

Except that she’s not being agreeable. She’s being difficult. Which would be fine if she were keeping intruders from nosing around Timeless Treasures Headquarters. But right now it’s just plain annoying.

“Phoebe, I’ve just come back from China, and I’m hot, tired and thirsty, and I’ve got to report in. So can you please take me up to the fourth floor?”

A long moment of silence passes. I know what she’s doing. In baseball it’s called icing the hitter. She’s trying to throw my balance off, to remind me how big and important she is and how small and insignificant I am. I suppose it’s possible I’m reading too much into her little act. Maybe a human quality like nastiness is really beyond her. I mean, when you get right down to it, all she is is a bunch of
DNA-saturated synthetic neuro-dendrites with a few microchips—and not even top-of-the-line, either.

“Well … okay,” says Phoebe, finally. “Since you said please.”

When the doors whoosh open, I step out into a dingy reception area. Cracks run through the walls, and the paint has peeled away in places to show swatches of green-striped wallpaper. A water pipe pokes through near the ceiling, although it looks like someone has made a halfhearted attempt to hide it by painting it the same mustard yellow as the walls. A threadbare sofa that might once have been white sits forlornly under a slightly crooked sign that says
NEW BEIJING EXPORT COMPANY
.

The sign, like the crummy reception area, is all just a front.

I flop down on the couch and reach a hand underneath. Every time I do this, I cringe, thinking my fingers are going to encounter a lumpy mass of used Great Friendship Extra Chew Bubble Gum. Luckily, the only thing I feel is the Access button. I press it, and the south wall slides back, revealing the real reception area for Timeless Treasures.

Except today there’s not a lot of revealing going on. In fact, it’s pitch-black. Not even the dim light from the fake reception area has managed to penetrate the gloom beyond the wall. If I could, I’d switch to night vision, but my ocular implant doesn’t work inside Headquarters. I stand and take two blind steps forward. The wall slides closed behind me.

All of my senses kick into high alert as I brace myself for the inevitable attack.

Ten seconds go by.

Could I be wrong? Maybe the attack isn’t coming.

Twenty seconds pass. Still nothing.

Maybe … and then something like iron grips my neck and throat. The assault is so swift I don’t have time to even breathe.

“Four letters,” a husky voice whispers. “Chinese sailing vessel dating from ancient times or food containing zero nutritional value.”

I’d like to help Nassim out with his crossword puzzle, but the mechanics of the situation make it impossible for me to grunt, let alone utter a four-letter word.

He must realize it too, because he eases his grip slightly.

“H-hello, Nassim,” I splutter. “I’m reporting in.”

The large man releases me. He snaps his fingers and the reception area swims into focus. The first thing I see, floating in front of me, is a three-foot-high hologram of the company logo, a snake wrapped around an hourglass. Just above the logo in floating orange neon letters is Uncle’s inspirational message of the week:
A failed snatch is like half a sneeze
.

Uncle may have some faults, but I’ve got to admit he’s got a certain way with words.

I rub my neck while Nassim flips open his handheld. He’s the latest in Uncle’s string of personal assistants/bodyguards. He also tutors us time snatchers on karate, including at no extra charge, surprise attacks that are virtually impossible to defend against.

The word around Timeless Treasures is that Nassim knows twenty-seven different ways to immobilize an opponent using only his left thumb. According to Abbie, he made some bad bets at the racetrack, and Uncle bailed him out. Now he owes Uncle a pile of money, which he’ll never be able to repay on his paltry salary. But I’d be surprised if he and his deadly thumb manage to last even another month. Next week, Nassim will have been with Uncle six months, which is usually when Uncle dumps his assistants.

“Ah, yes, the Beijing mission. Kindly hand it over,” says Nassim.

So polite. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who was throttling me just a moment ago.

“I … I don’t have anything for you,” I say.

“How can that be?” says Nassim, his eyes narrowing. “Did you not complete the snatch?”

“Well, when I got to the snatch zone, the Great Friendship flag wasn’t there.”

Nassim’s crossword-puzzle-solving fingers are twitching. He doesn’t like surprises. They mess up his paperwork. For a long moment, he just looks at me, saying nothing.

“Someone else must have snatched it,” I say finally to break the silence.

I don’t like lying to Nassim. He’s a decent guy. But if I tell him that Frank and I were going at it again, he’ll have no choice but to go straight to Uncle with the news. And Uncle isn’t the sympathetic type.

“I’ll have to record it as a failed snatch,” says Nassim.

I nod. It’s not so bad—yet. Thankfully, I’ve got no other failed snatches this month.

“Please wait in the lounge while I complete my report,” he says.

I nod again, and just before I turn to go, I whisper, “Junk,” in answer to Nassim’s crossword puzzle clue. He rewards me with a toothy grin and a clap on the back that sends a fresh jolt of pain up to my poor neck.

I walk down the hall to the lounge. It’s a combination of living room, dining room and mission briefing room. It also has a large walk-in closet with a full wardrobe of clothing for different centuries and places and cubbyholes for each time snatcher where Nassim puts our clothes for upcoming missions. But since he doesn’t know
much about women’s clothes, Abbie and Lydia are allowed to pick their own.

Immediately I notice that the old water cooler has been replaced with one of those new rock water fountain ones. According to Uncle, waterfalls, even small ones, are supposed to be calming and improve the chi of the room. I’m surprised to see something so fancy in the lounge. It’s not that Uncle can’t afford it. But when it comes to spending on us time snatchers, he’s usually on the cheap side.

I grab a drink from the new fountain and gaze out the small window. One thing that hasn’t changed is the view: solid brick everywhere you look. When I was eight, I managed to open the window, reach across and scratch my name in the brick with a pair of scissors. Uncle found out and I spent the next three days cleaning the kitchen, lounge and bathrooms. Which, when I think of it now, seems a light punishment compared to what would happen if I pulled the same stunt today.

“Long time no see, Caleb. Try to steal from any other agents lately?” says a voice.

It’s Frank, standing just outside the doorway.

I take a long drink of water before I speak. Winning an argument with Frank is a bit like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands. Even so, there’s no way I’m going to let him walk all over me.

“You’ve got it backwards,” I say. “You stole from me, remember?”

Frank laughs his annoying, superior laugh, and then says, “You’re right. I stole from you. But only because you were taking way too long to do a simple snatch, so Uncle sent me to get the job done.”

I don’t believe him for one second. Apart from the fact that he’s changing his tune—when we were on the roof together he claimed that it was supposed to be his snatch—there’s no way Uncle would send him to finish my snatch. Would he?

I throw a mask over my emotions and gaze past him. What’s taking Nassim so long? I wish he would hurry up and finish his report so I can get out of here.

“Aren’t you curious about where everyone is?” he asks, ending my peace and quiet.

“No,” I say.

“They’re lugging bags of garbage to 2059,” Frank says. “I would have joined them, but Uncle’s asked me to do a special job for him.”

I look back out the window. Did he say “everyone”? That can’t be. I’m supposed to meet up with Abbie for our mission to 1826 France. Of course, Uncle could have reassigned her to garbage duty. Either that, or Frank’s lying.

“Don’t you want to know what the special job is?” he says.

“Not really,” I say, knowing that he’ll tell me anyway.

“Sure you do,” he says. “It’s a collection. I get to take the Time Pod. Want to come along?”

Frank’s pressing my buttons. He knows I can’t stand hearing about collections, which is just a fancy word for kidnappings. It’s Uncle’s latest project: snatching young homeless kids from the streets and training them to be time thieves. Since a wrist patch can only transport the person wearing it, Frank has to take the Time Pod—a time travel machine that looks like a big steel drum from the outside but on the inside has seating for up to four people.

Uncle’s got this grand vision of a hundred kids working for him, snatching stuff from across the centuries so that he can satisfy the growing demand for memorabilia from the past. He says he’s doing these kids a favor, that without him, they’ll just die on the streets. But I don’t buy it. Just because they’re street kids doesn’t mean their lives are free for the picking.

According to Abbie, he’s already got seventeen new recruits. Most of them are four or five years old. You’d think that there would be a lot of escape attempts. But that’s actually pretty rare. If Uncle’s anything like he was with us at that age, they probably all adore him.

As for us senior time snatchers, the fear of what Uncle would do to us once he found us is enough to keep us from bolting.

This isn’t just paranoia; this is fear based on the real facts. And the facts can be boiled down to two words:
memory wipe
.

All you remember wiped away in minutes. It’s a brutal and unforgiving weapon, and I have no doubt that Uncle would use it like he did with Vlad, who tried to make a break for it in thirteenth-century Morocco.

The way I heard it, Uncle sent Nassim after him. Nassim found Vlad, crushed up a couple of memory-wipe pills and poured them into a drink. Soon after Vlad drained the glass, all his memories also drained away. But it didn’t end there. Nassim brought him back to Timeless Treasures and planted new, false memories where the old ones used to be. I guess that’s why Uncle didn’t kill him right off. No point wasting a fully trained time snatcher if you can reprogram him. Poor old Vlad. Two weeks later, he was killed on mission to 1983 Pamplona, Spain—gored at the running of the bulls.

“I hope he isn’t a biter like the one last week,” says Frank, with as much emotion as if he’s talking about the weather. “That was a bit awkward. I really wanted to teach the kid some manners, but Uncle doesn’t like it when they show up at the Compound without any teeth. What do you say, Caleb? Care to join me for a little fun?”

I shake my head. Inside I feel like I’m going to explode. I’m done waiting for Nassim. I stand up and head toward the door.

Frank takes a quick step to block me. Although we’re both
thirteen, he’s got four inches of height on me, and right now he’s making a point of using each one of them.

Just then Nassim appears by the doorway. “Caleb, I’ve finished the report. You can go now. Please pick up your clothes for your next mission on your way out. Oh, and by the way, Abbie’s back from London. Frank, kindly move so that Caleb can pass.”

So she
is
here. I glare at Frank but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He’s too busy trying to stare down Nassim. After about five seconds, he gives up and steps to the side.

Personally, I like Nassim, but Frank can’t get over the fact that Nassim has better access to Uncle than he does. The only thing that stops him from trying to order Nassim around is that Uncle might not like it. That and the thirty pounds more muscle that Nassim has over him.

On my way out of the lounge, I reach into my cubbyhole and grab the clothes Nassim has chosen for my next mission—a fine white linen shirt, burgundy waistcoat, a pair of black breeches and sturdy Wellington boots. As I change in the boys’ washroom, I stand in front of the mirror and practice facial expressions. Apart from the thrill of the snatch itself, one of the things I like about a lot of snatches is the chance to be an actor—someone totally different than my day-to-day self. Snatches can be like performances. Any common thief can steal something, but I like to think that, through creativity, I’ve raised my snatches to a whole new level.

Or rather, Abbie and I have raised
our
snatches to a whole new level. Uncle adopted Abbie a few months after me, and we did everything together growing up. So when it came time for Uncle to put together teams of time snatchers, it was natural for us to be paired up. Which is a good thing, because I wouldn’t want to be with anyone
else. Not only is Abbie the best natural thief I’ve ever seen, but she can also size up a situation in an instant; that can sometimes mean the difference between life and death in this business. She’s saved my hide more than once over the years. Also, we know each other so well that sometimes I only have to think about asking her something before the answer’s already halfway out of her mouth.

I spend a few minutes on surprise and disgust and then switch to anger. Now, there’s one I can do with my eyes closed. All I have to do is think of Frank, and my face immediately morphs into a believable expression of rage.

As I head down the hall, I see the door to the fire escape partly open. Abbie and I hang out there a lot, before and after missions. The view of the city isn’t the best, since all we can really see is the brick wall of the building next door, but if you look straight up through the struts of the iron stairs, you can see a fair-sized patch of New Beijing sky.

Abbie is lying on her back on the landing, knees bent, a cushion propped under her head. Her long auburn hair spills over the sides of the cushion. Not surprisingly, she’s already dressed for our mission in a long-sleeved blue dress with a bit of lace at the bottom and velvet slippers. A frilly white bonnet is perched on one knee.