‘He’s right,’ Lee said, coming across the car park. ‘From the bus I could see them running forward over the bodies of their own people.’
‘So this is mutiny, then? I’m being deposed to make way for who? Mr Campbell here? No, I don’t think so. Not his style. I think the one person who hankers for the role of leader is none other than our American friend, Mr Baker, here.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Carswell. It’s not a question of taking over. But I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the numbers coming through down there. They aren’t just running towards us. They’re stampeding like a herd of cattle.’
Now Rolle came through the growing knot of people. ‘I’ve seen the number of Bluebeards, too. They are far more numerous than I anticipated.’
Carswell considered, then he said to Rolle, ‘Whatever happens now, the terms of our agreement remain the same?’
Rolle nodded. ‘Indeed they do, Mr Carswell.’
‘Very well, Mr Baker. The ball’s very much in your court. You’re in command now.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘So what do we do?’
Sam looked at the expectant faces around him. They were a mixture of the time travellers who’d made the journey back from 1999 and the men and women of Casterton who were now fighting for their very lives.
A flurry of snow came on a gust of cold air.
Perhaps this was Carswell’s revenge against him for daring to suggest a change in tactics. He’d handed him control of this tiny fighting force of three hundred or so. If he failed, then it would be all the fault of Sam Baker, the interfering know-it-all who didn’t know squat.
Now they waited expectantly for him to give the orders.
Thomas Hather watched intently. Jud gave a reassuring nod. Zita shot him a faint smile. Lee stood expectantly, and Sam sensed the man’s faith in him. Even Ryan Keith with his red-rimmed eyes and gunsmoke-blackened face waited, burning to exact whatever revenge he could against the men who had murdered his pregnant wife.
Just for a second Sam felt as if a tiny part of him was being whirled outside time. Once more he sat in the director’s chair at the studio. The seconds were ticking down to zero. Transmission time. Then the red light would glare on the panel in front of him.
But, by heaven, when that red light came on, you hit the transmission button – and you just went ahead and did it.
This situation demanded infinitely more guts to give orders and get the show on the road.
This is it, Sam, old buddy, he told himself. Showtime.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’re pulling out in…’ he checked his watch, ‘…four minutes.’
‘It will take at least eight to reload the rocket tubes,’ Carswell said, already slipping into the role of the intelligent objector who would subtly undermine Sam’s decisions.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sam said. A buzz of adrenalin ran through his body; his fingers tingled. ‘We’ll go back into battle with only a few of the tubes loaded. Besides, the bus has already lost half its rocket launchers.’
‘You’re going back into battle with only a few rockets? They won’t do much damage to the enemy, will they?’
‘They won’t have to, Carswell.’
‘So you have a secret weapon up your sleeve? How remarkable.’
‘As a matter of fact, I have.’
‘And that is?’
Sam walked across to a parked car and patted the roof. ‘This,’ he said. ‘And all those.’ He nodded at the cars parked around the car park.
‘Cars?’ Now Carswell looked uncertain of himself.
‘Yes, cars. Forget tanks and jet fighters. This is the most devastating killing machine ever invented.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Oh, but I am, Carswell. The car has killed more than 20 million people since it was invented. Twenty million. That’s more than the combined populations of Australia and New Zealand.’
‘My God, how do you suggest using them as weapons?’
‘Form a line, side by side, where the pass is narrowest. When the Bluebeards reach the bottleneck between the rock face and the river we drive straight forward into them. They’ll be hit by a sold wall of steel travelling at 40 miles an hour.’
Carswell rubbed his jaw, considering. ‘Well… I wish you Godspeed.’ With that he turned and walked smartly back to the visitors’ centre.
Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it… Sam turned to the rest of the people and told them what they needed to do.
After they had returned to the vehicles Sam checked his watch again. Two minutes and counting.
On impulse Sam went into the visitors’ centre.
Carswell had returned to his desk. In his waspish way he was briskly gathering papers and neatly slotting them into a briefcase.
‘Mr Baker. I thought you’d be directing your troops,’ Carswell said without looking up.
‘You’re going to sit out the battle here?’
‘I intend to leave, Mr Baker.’
‘You’re not interested in the outcome?’
‘I’ve fulfilled my obligations.’
‘Your contractual obligations? Those you entered into with Rolle?’
‘Yes. The poor man was so desperate to save all you innocents he offered me a… a handsome fee, for want of a better phrase, to come here and give you the means of saving your necks.’ He gave one of his cold smiles. ‘I think I’ve played my part to the letter, don’t you?’
‘The battle’s not over yet.’
‘No, but my role here is finished.’
‘What did Rolle offer you?’
‘Ah, that would be telling.’
‘It must be more than money?’
‘That’s very astute of you, Mr Baker.’
‘He’s taught you how to use the time-gates, hasn’t he?’
‘See, you are brighter than I thought. You constantly surprise me, Mr Baker.’
‘So you’re going home? Back to 1999?’
‘Now you’re disappointing me again. The ability to travel in time is an exploitable commodity. Like discovering gold at the bottom of one’s garden.’
‘You’re going to exploit time travel?’
‘Why not? Think of the potential.’
‘I can think of the potential disaster.’
‘Mr Baker, Rolle exploited time travel for humanitarian purposes. He took 20th Century drugs back to his rabble in the 13th Century with their disgusting diseases. I haven’t a humanitarian bone in my body, Mr Baker. I’m a businessman.’
‘So you’re running out on us?’
‘I thought I’d been sacked, deposed, compulsorily retired – call it what you will.’
‘We still need you, Carswell.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘You know we do.’
‘Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got to be moving on… or back as the case may be…’
‘Carswell.’ Sam caught him by the arm as he walked past. Again Sam felt the muscles taut as guitar strings beneath the sleeve of his jacket.
Carswell looked down at the hand on his arm, then back at Sam. His face was tight, holding back all that repressed rage. The look was clear enough: Take your damn hands off me.
‘Carswell, wait a moment. Months ago you told Jud and me a story. You told us that when you were a little kid your father used to get drunk every weekend, get into fights, come home in a mess and your mother covered up for him, telling you that it was his job to stop a huge serpent from eating up London. Is that right?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your memory, unlike your manners.’ He glanced down at Sam’s hand gripping his forearm. ‘Now, if you will—’