Click here for Chapter 1 of Daniel Grant Newton's Don't Shoot the Messenger
The Cartwright Manor. Present Day.
Irene Hadar
shifted about in the back of the limo, alternating between sipping the
champagne the driver had poured and biting furiously at her lip.
She gazed
out at the manicured gardens as the car pulled into the heated marble driveway
approaching Lord Cartwright's mansion.
The car
came to a stop and the driver rushed to her door to open it for her. She
quickly downed her drink before stepping out.
Lord
Cartwright hobbled down the stairs of his mansion to meet Irene, flashing a
sparkling-white grin that seemed to glow against the contrast of his
spray-tan-happy face.
“I am glad
you accepted my invitation, doctor,” he called melodically. “Of course,
as they say, nobody says 'no' to an invitation from Lord Alexander Cartwright.”
He moved
into her personal space and kissed her on both cheeks.
“I have
heard much in the news about your work in helping to translate one of the
forbidden texts the Vatican
tried to hide. What was it again?” He paused a beat. “The Revelation of the
Magi manuscript, that's it. And I must say, the contents do sound all very groundbreaking
for the archeological world, although perhaps heretical to the Christians, I'm
guessing, no? The Pope better hide with his circumcised tail between his legs.”
"God,
another artifact-chasing imbecile," Irene muttered under her breath. She
stared at him blankly. “I can ignore the crudity of your statement, Lord
Cartwright. It is, I imagine, probably the result of a social awkwardness… no
doubt that stems from a lifelong need to be accepted and relate to new
acquaintances. Perhaps a habit cemented at the single-sex, socially-inept,
private high school your parents no doubt sent you to during the teenage years
that were always going to shape you forever more. Yes, an ideal institution to
make important contacts and enter exclusive and beneficial circles … but not an
ideal place for learning to talk to women.
"But
even so, I will have to bluntly correct you on blatant factual inaccuracies.
The Roman Catholic Church condemned the religious practice of circumcision as
far back as 1442, during the Ecumenical Council of Basel-Florence. As far as I
am aware the church's stance has not changed, and therefore I would think it
highly unlikely that the Pope adheres to this custom, given he is the
figurehead representation of the religion."
Alexander
paused and grinned even wider. “I hear along the grapevine that I should
congratulate you on a recent discovery regarding layers of text beneath the
Dead Sea Scrolls. I'm guessing the government has you a little hush-hush on the
exact nature of these findings at the moment. Sounds very interesting all the
same, too.”
He gave her
a wink, and although she remained stone faced, a thin dark eyebrow raised
rebelliously momentarily.
“Thank you,
Lord Cartwright. Seems like you have done much of your own research on me,
although perhaps intriguingly not as much on the actual content of my chosen
area of study,” she said, taking a step back to readjust the distance between
herself and the wafting mix of twelve-year-old scotch and generous application
of aftershave he applied before coming out to greet her. “It takes a lot to
drag me half way around the world and away from one of my digs, but I am obligated
to investigate possible sponsorships, as well as potential projects. Although,
to be honest, Lord Cartwright, the incessant reminder calls from your secretary
and the man you sent around to my apartment at 2 a.m. had a part to play in my
coming, too.” She smiled politely. "I am sure you will make this visit
worthwhile."
“Please,
call me Alex or Alexander, and I shall call you Irene,” he beamed. “Lord
Cartwright is just what I have my gardeners and drivers call me, not my
historians and scientists.”
Irene
raised her eyebrow again.
Alexander
hesitated, before continuing. “Well, come inside. We have work to do and I'm
not one for wasting a moment.”
“I'm sorry
to be abrupt, but I would like clarification. What is the purpose of this
initial meeting, and how long will it take?” Irene asked, following Alexander
up the stairs leading to his manor and through the large double doorway. “Are
you wanting to fund a new research project or...?”
Alexander
turned around and threw his hands in the air. “An opportunity of a lifetime, my
dear.”
“Yes, that
is what the invitation said, but...” she started. “Such a phrase lends itself
more to a 'pyramid scheme' than funding a study into Ancient Egypt, for
example. I need assurance my time is not being wasted here and...”
Alexander
interrupted her. “Believe me, your time is definitely not being wasted. But,
you see, the reason for me flying you out here is not something I can just tell
you about. I must show you. So please, let's not get antsy.”
She
adjusted her stride to keep up with him as he waddled – at a surprisingly quick
pace – down a few large hallways decorated with antiques from across the globe,
and into an extensive library.
“Most of
this manor has been inspired by classic art and primitive cultures, but this
was inspired by Adam West and Batman,” he giggled, pulling back the head of a
bust from what looked like Ancient Egypt. As he did, one of the room's
bookcases swivelled to reveal a passageway.
Alexander
chuckled at Irene's unchanging face. “You should have seen the look on your
face when my bookcase opened." He paused to witness any reaction, but was
disappointed to see her face didn’t react like the others he had shown. "This,
my dear girl, is the part of my life you don't read about in the papers. A
secret hobby of mine. Follow me.”
Irene
followed Alexander behind the bookcase and through a dark tunnel to an
elevator. The bookcase closed behind them and the elevator door opened.
Standing
before them was a soldier dressed in camouflage. He held the elevator door
open.
The soldier
nodded at Alexander and Irene. “Lord Cartwright. Doctor Hadar.”
“Have our
fine explorers returned?” Alexander asked, before adding to Irene, “That's what
I call our field team.”
“No, sir,
they haven't,” stated the soldier. “They are expected back any moment.”
“Just as I
thought,” laughed Alexander, clapping his hands together.
“Take us to
the observation deck, soldier. Beam us down, Scotty. Or whatever your name is.”
The soldier
attempted to mask a smirk as he turned to press a series of buttons. The elevator
began descending so fast it almost felt like it was free falling.
“How far
are we going down?” asked Irene, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.
"I trust this meets all building regulations?"
“We are
going down four hundred meters into the earth,” smiled the rich lord. “Do not
worry though, this is all safe. My so-called 'eccentric persona' portrayed in
the media is completely unsubstantiated. A wild fabrication drummed up by bored
journalists, no doubt.
“Stories
derived and inspired by those blasted photos they caught of me with the two
Argentinean prostitutes. I had however explained to the media at the time that
I didn't even know there was cocaine on the table, and that I had only just met
the girls at the party.
“But you
know, no story there, so they keep rolling out those photos every slow news
day, and attach a new story of outlandish fantasy. That one picture where I look like I am using
the drugs, especially, has been a cash cow for them.
“In the
real world, however, you will quickly learn that I am actually a calculating
man who takes all risks and possibilities into consideration. A very different kettle of fish.”
Before too
long the heavy elevator doors parted to reveal a huge chamber fitted with a
vast array of controls and LCD screens, and with a number of men and women in
lab coats furiously taking notes or tapping computer keys.
Irene
paused and scanned the room. Her forehead creased.
“I
recognize some of the scientists and researchers working for you - they are top
in their field. Some more so than others, but very impressive all the same,”
she whispered to Alexander as he escorted her to the back of the room towards a
screen that almost filled the entire wall. “What sort of project is this? How
did a man like you attract this talent? And don't say it was just the money or
you will destroy the shining pedestals these men and women stand on in my mind
in one fell swoop.”
Alexander's
eyes lit up. “Something very exciting attracted them to my payroll, and I
assure you that it will have a similar effect on you, sweetheart. You have
signed the confidentiality documents, haven't you?”
“I put a
signature on the dotted line, but signed another name to cloud any potential
legal liabilities,” Irene responded flatly. “I didn't get time to read all 86 pages.
Your people expected me to read it in the car
from the
airport to your home. But I think I'll just read the summary your lawyers made
especially for you, no doubt with lots of pictures and a place for you to make
your mark with coloured crayons.” The second half of that sentence she said
under her breath.
“You put a
pen on the dotted line? That's good enough for my publicity and legal team, so
let the show begin,” chuckled Alexander. He pointed at the screen. “See that
box down there?”
The screen
displayed a dark empty room with what looked like reinforced, armoured walls.
In the middle of the room was a chest about one metre by one metre, made of
oak, and decorated with carved ancient characters and symbols.
“That box
was discovered at the bottom of the Sea of Japan,
back in1941, by Japanese military researchers. It was named the 'Box of Urashima
Tarō'. The Japanese believed there was an unimaginable power stored somewhere
inside, and that if they could harness it, they could win the war.”
Irene
glanced at Alexander before looking back at the chest. “What does it do?”
“The
Japanese were not entirely sure, and at the end of the war the project was
abandoned because of lack of financial resources.
“However,
ten years ago I bought the item at a private auction in Saint Thomas, as well as the notes made by
the military scientists. It's a beautiful Caribbean
island I frequent often. A great place for the rich to indulge, have wild
parties, and buy rare, secret and forbidden items. I'd invite you if you ever
were to put make-up on that pretty face, were a little less smart and a little
skinnier...”
Irene
didn't bat an eyelid at the magnate's remark.
“Anyway,
last year my team of researchers cracked the code, somewhat accidentally. They
uncovered the power of Urashima Tarō'.”
Alexander
paused for dramatic effect. “The 'Box of Urashima Tarō' can pass through and
manipulate space and time. I have discovered time travel, my dear doctor.”
“You are
joking?” Irene blurted, before adding more quietly: “How on earth is that even
possible? I thought that was just the playpen for theoretical physicists. If
somebody is elaborately stitching me up...”
“We don't
really know how it works, actually. We know how to activate it, and how to send
a 'field team' across time and space to a particular destination. That is easy,
with the help of some advanced technology we hook up to the box. But how it
works, or who created it, remains a mystery.
“From our
research it does not seem to work on the widely theorised and highly
popularised wormhole explanation of time travel, but more likely through some
sort of energetic connection with a part of our brain’s neural pathways
previously never activated before.
“It seems
that all times and all possibilities since the beginning of time exist in
infinite dimensions, and through this device our brain can somehow tap into,
perceive and live within these times and possibilities.
“One of my
scientists explained it to me like this: Say the universe is a hologram. If you
shine a torch light through the hologram you can perceive a different time or
dimension as though it were current.
If you
changed the angle of the light, you can change the time and destination. Or
something like that. I sort of drifted off into my own thoughts part way
through the explanation to be honest.
“Anyway, it
would be an understatement to say that this box has opened up a few new
theories about the relationship between the human mind and the universe for our
resident quantum physicists to squabble over. Very exciting times here, I can
tell you.”
Irene
attempted to insert a question between Alexander's uninformed ramblings, but
the lord was difficult to interrupt.
“And as for
who created it? We have even less of an idea, my dear Irene. Obviously an
ancient culture with technological capabilities way beyond our own. Perhaps
extraterrestrial. Perhaps the Atlanteans. Or perhaps something even stranger, like
beings on another dimension.
“There is a
story in Japanese myth about a man named Urashima Tarō. The man the Japanese
named the box after. It was said that after saving the princess of an
underwater kingdom, he was given gills and taken to visit the king deep under
the ocean.
“The king
gave Urashima Tarō a box that made him immortal, to show his gratitude.
However, when he went back to the surface to see his family and friends, they
had all passed away hundreds of years before.
He had
somehow moved forward in time. How about that?”
“I am
familiar with this story,” Irene said, distracted in deep thought.
“And when
he opened the box, he aged in minutes before turning to dust. The box held his
mortality.”
Alexander
screwed his face up. “Umm... yes, that's the one. I see your knowledge of
ancient cultures and their beliefs extends past the Middle
East. Anyway, we don't work with myth here; we work with hard
science.” Alexander's eyes lit up and he clapped his gloved hands together.
“Look, how exciting, the countdown has begun! Our travelers are returning.”
“Travelers?”
mouthed Irene. “Do you mean...?”
All of a
sudden bolts of lightning streaked across the room displayed on the LCD screen.
The researchers all stopped what they were doing, and silently watched on.
The screen
was filled with pulsing flashes. Irene had to shade her eyes and squint.
Then, as
quickly as they had come, the flashes stopped, and in the room were eight
muscular soldiers.
The
researchers and scientists clapped and cheered, and the soldiers looked up at
the screen. One lifted a fist in the air, which was met with more cheers from
the crowded observation deck.
“What just
happened exactly?” Irene managed to say.
“The second
successful time travel expedition,” beamed Alexander.
Irene
peered at the screen before shaking her head in disbelief.
“I told you
I had the opportunity of a lifetime for you,” he giggled. “I'll introduce you
to the leader of the field team once the doctors have given them a positive
bill of health. We don't want to be bringing the black plague to the 21st
Century.”
“These
soldiers have been sent back in time?” she asked. “This is unbelievable.”
Irene's
critical eye roved over the new arrivals before her attention fell on one
particular man. He had short-cropped hair, a half-smile and a bit of a swagger.
“That's
Jude Stone,” Alexander grinned, noticing her attention. “He's the leader of my
field team. An ex-Australian-SAS and spy who came with the highest
recommendation ... been behind enemy lines in Russia, Ukraine, Iran, Iraq,
Afghanistan, Nigeria, Columbia, Brazil and a few Black Ops I am not privy to
... responsible for taking out a number of terrorist leaders, drug lords and
dictators around the world ... he was the elite of the elite.
“After he
retired he disappeared and became a ghost. Not even the world's best
intelligence agencies could track him down. And it was almost impossible for
me, too.” Alexander raised his eyebrows and huffed, “Great soldier, but I think
they've trained any last bit of human and humour out of him to be frank. I
don't think he even speaks to, let alone has any sort of acquaintance, with anyone
outside the field team and myself.”
“So he's a
soldier, got it,” Irene said dryly, quickly diverting her attention to the
others. "And the others?"
“The tall
lad with no hair and a spider tattoo on the side of his head is Blake McAllan,
affectionately known as 'Spider' because of the way he could infiltrate any
terrorist splinter or organised crime web.
“He's
ex-British-SAS and ex-MI-6, and second in the chain of command here. He loves a
laugh and a joke. But don't be lulled into thinking he isn't a professional, he
was known throughout the Black Ops for his knack of getting enemy co-operation,
if you know what I mean?
“And the
other members of our field team I do not know, to be honest. They are a bunch of elite soldiers from
across the globe that were assembled by Stone and Spider for these missions.”
Alexander
picked up a clipboard on a nearby desk and scanned down the page. “All with
time in the SAS, MI-6, SEALs, Spetsnaz, Green Berets, GROM, KSK, JTF2,
commandos, marines or elite 'unidentified' special agencies.
“In fact,
you'll be the first time-traveler that the boys haven't chosen. But I believe they will see your expertise as
imperative when I give them the brief for this next mission. Oh, by the way, I
haven't mentioned to them you'll be accompanying them yet, so you might like to
do that during the brief. You leave tomorrow. Which of course leaves you no
time to second guess your decision, let alone talk yourself out of it.”
He chuckled
and put a chubby hand around her slim olive shoulder, which she shrugged off.
“What?” Irene
exploded, her eyes widening. “You never said anything about swirling in an
unstable time travel experiment with a pack of smelly, dirty mercenaries. I'm
sorry, that is not happening...” She paused to glare at the chubby millionaire
with piercing dark brown eyes, before then shooting sentences at him. “You
didn't tell me anything, and I didn't agree to anything of the sort… and if I
am forced to make a rushed decision, I'll err on the safer side of caution. I
do not trust nor like you.” She paused once more, counting her breathing as a
friend studying psychology once taught her for handling her anger. She
continued, flustered, but in control. “Yes, I admit the prospect of time travel
is appealing, but... Start talking facts fast or I slam the door on your
proposal. I need to know things like... Which researchers were on the previous
two missions? How do we know this box is even safe? And ... things that ease a
left-hemisphere-dominated brain. Do you even know where they really are going?”
“No
researchers as yet, but believe me, you could not be safer with these
soldiers,” said Alexander. He grabbed her hand and led her out of the
observation room. “You will be the first researcher to travel back in time,
Doctor Hadar. That in itself should be extremely exciting for an active
searcher of truth like yourself. And when you hear where you will be going, you
will be even more excited. Mind you, your actions will go unrecognised until we
can release our project results to the public.”
“I concede
the possibility is amazing but you spring it on me like this and... I don't get
it,” admitted Irene as Alexander pulled her through an array of corridors. “How
can you properly study ancient cultures without scientists, archeologists and
historians? And why was I chosen to be the first? I mean, to say the history of
humanity is important is the biggest understatement of all time, but would it be
possible for an astrophysicist to observe the birth of our universe, or...”
“Who said
anything about research?” he smirked. “There will be time for research later. We
are doing a much more important duty for mankind.”
“Why am I
getting a bad feeling about this, Lord Cartwright?”
