“Then we could simply go through the stone to either side,” Churchill suggested.
“Sir,” said Elena. “If your dentist told you it might be a bit of a task to get at the ache that’s been bothering you, would you advise him to drill out the teeth to either side? What I am suggesting is that whatever might be behind such a door should be… well preserved, and safeguarded. I’m afraid demolitions and willy-nilly drilling might be out of the question.”
“I don’t understand. It isn’t likely that we will ever fetch the key that went down with Rodney. It’s full fathom five, or worse by now, with bones of coral made.”
“Sir… and this may be difficult to explain. I was told by a certain gentleman, who might best remain undisclosed now, that there may be a means of locating that key.”
“Beneath the Atlantic Ocean?”
“Not quite. It may be there now, and unreachable, but that was not always the case. As our presence here testifies, movement in time is now an impossible possibility. A moment ago you stated the key was just sitting in the British Museum for decades. And it was somewhere else before that.”
“You’re suggesting that we might move in time to fetch the thing? My friend Mister H.G. Wells would love that. Have you read his tale?”
“I have sir. It’s a bit of a classic.”
“Yet we don’t seem to have a time machine handy. Otherwise your suggestion would be a splendid idea.”
“Well sir, we might have a time machine handy after all. My ship moved in time, that much is clear. The Russian ship moved in the same way, though that mystery is a horse of a different color. All that aside, something along those lines might be done, though I can’t confirm anything at this moment. Yet I think we had better have a look at Saint Michael’s Cave just the same. Might I have your permission to proceed there?”
“Of course. I’ll see that the navy knows you’ll be coming. But Miss Fairchild… What do you think you will find there? If there is a door of some kind, what might it lead to, another box like the one on your ship?”
Elena hesitated a moment. She had her suspicions, but no real certain knowledge. “All we know is that we have these keys, and with minutely engraved numerals that correspond to geographic coordinates. Those on the key within Rodney point directly to Saint Michael’s Cave.”
At that Churchill raised an eyebrow, slowly lighting a cigar.
“You have seen this first hand? How would that be possible?”
“No, I haven’t see it myself, but this was confided to me by a reliable source.”
“Yet one you prefer not to disclose.”
Elena relented. “Mister Prime Minister, this information does not come from this era, but from a future time.”
“Ah… Then your source is a gentleman, or lady, from the future?”
“Precisely. It would make sense, actually, for more would be known about this the in future years.”
“Then the key itself was obtained at some future time. That at least is hopeful. That being the case, Miss Fairchild, doesn’t it speak to the futility of looking into this further? You have just established that it will not happen until some future moment.”
Elena inclined her head. “My dear sir, I have history books on my ship that related the events of this war in great detail. In them, the German army never attacked Gibraltar, nor did they ever occupy the Rock. They never reached Moscow either, and I could go on to relate any number of events that have clearly happened here, but never happened in the history I know. The point I am making is this—things change, the history is not chiseled in stone, and interventions in the course of these events from travelers originating in the future are likely the cause of these changes.”
Churchill nodded, taking a thoughtful drag on his cigar. “In that light, I can see how keen your interest is to visit Saint Michael’s Cave. Please do so at your earliest convenience, and do let this old man know what you find there, if anything. And speaking of your history, it might also be interesting to take a little peek at one of those books of yours, and see what I might have to deal with in 1943.”
“Of course, sir, we’ll do anything we can for you.”
Churchill thought about that, recalling what the young Russian Captain had said to him about the danger of knowing too much, and how it might influence him to reach decisions he might not have otherwise taken, changing the history he sought to grasp in the first place.
“On second thought,” he said, watching the smoke slowly rise from his cigar. “I think I’d better confine myself to reading reports written in the here and now. We’ve a new year on our doorstep, and trying to walk in my own shadow simply won’t do. I think I’d prefer to face it head on, and not know what that other self of mine once did, or failed to do. Beyond that, you might consider that this is the true course of history now, not that written in your books. These events may never reach an accord with you library, and we must live them through.”
“Aye sir,” said MacRae, and Elena nodded.
“Let’s drink on it then. I always like to follow a good cigar with brandy. To 1943 then!”
He never could sleep on a submarine. The dreams always bothered him, but nothing like this. He awoke with a start, sitting up with a gasp, as if he had stopped breathing in his sleep, and nearly hitting his head on the bunk above. A bright light glared at him, and he blinked, holding up his hand to ward it off.
“Sorry to disturb you sir,” came a voice… He knew that voice, the quiet, steady tones, the sureness when it spoke. Then his eyes adjusted to the light, and he could see the other man’s face, framed in the open hatch to his room. It was Captain Gromyko.
“The officers were going to have a little New Year’s celebration in the wardroom, and we thought you might want to join us. If you’d rather sleep sir, that’s fine. Sorry to disturb you.”
Gromyko looked at him now, his face suddenly registering concern. “Are you alright sir?”
Was he alright?
His mind was spinning with sudden recollection. Gromyko… the submarine… Kazan…. The mission…. It was all coming back, a flood of images that washed over him like a tidal wave, saturating his mind in a confusing and disorienting rush. Yet the mission was over, was it not? They had found Karpov in the Sea of Japan, or at least they found the ship. They had slipped beneath it like an unseen demon, and the workings of that arcane magic in the reactor room had saved the day… yes…. Rod-25. How could he be here now, back on the submarine; back on Kazan?
“Sir?” said Gromyko. “Shall I call the ship’s physician?”
He held up a hand, reassuring the Captain that he was alright. “All is well, Captain,” he said still struggling to place himself here in the mad rush of recollection. Other memories were there, beneath the torrent that now cascaded into his mind. “Yes, I will join you,” he said, still seeming groggy with sleep. “I think I need some air.”
The man shifted out of the bunk, feet heavily on the deck, and stood up on unsteady legs. “My sea legs aren’t what they used to be,” he said, gripping the side of the bed rail hard. Gromyko stepped forward to render assistance, still worried. He knew the other man was an old surface warrior, and they had been down under the ice a good long while. Some men never really could find their sea legs on a submarine, and it seemed that Admiral Volsky was one of them.
“Here sir,” said Gromyko. “Let me give you a hand. Then we’ll both raise a toast to the new year—unless you don’t feel up to it.”
“What?” said Volsky. “Captain, I was just dreaming, but I can still drink most any man I have ever met under the table. What year have we gotten ourselves into this time?”