Day of the Predator - Alex Scarrow [19]
‘You must have a very big friend,’ said the old lady as she took Sal’s payment and folded the clothes into a plastic bag for her.
‘Uncle,’ she replied. ‘My Uncle Bob. He’s a very big man.’ Sal was about to add that he was also pretty dumb as well – dumb, and kind of child-like – when she spotted something dangling from a hanger on one wall: a white tunic, buttoned down the left side, with an emblem on the chest that she recognized – the White Star lines. It was a steward’s tunic just like Liam’s.
She pointed at it. ‘Is that … is that a uniform from the Titanic?’
The old woman looked round at where she was pointing. ‘Oh, that? No, it would be worth a lot more if it was genuine. I could sell it to a museum or a collector for thousands of dollars. Unfortunately it’s not; it’s just a theatre costume. Not a very well-made costume either. Friends of mine … they did a production set on the Titanic. It didn’t do very well. You want to have a look at it?’
Sal shook her head. She could’ve said something about it being a funny coincidence that her bunk-buddy was a young lad who’d actually worked on the ship for real. The old lady would think her mad, of course, or that she was just being cheeky. Mind you, in just over half an hour’s time, when the first plane hit the Twin Towers, whatever odd conversation she might have now would be instantly forgotten.
Sal returned to the archway with Bob’s clothes and some groceries before the first plane hit and the Manhattan sky started to fill with smoke. She was about to mention the coincidence to Liam – the steward’s tunic exactly like his – when she realized by the expressions on Maddy’s and Liam’s faces that something important had just happened.
She forgot all about it.
CHAPTER 11
2001, New York
‘It’s a message from the agency,’ said Liam as Sal joined them beside the computer desk. ‘From the future.’
‘So.’ Sal looked at them both. ‘There’s our answer. We’re not alone, then.’
‘Yup!’ replied Maddy, grinning, clearly the most encouraged and excited by that news. ‘Bob’s decoding the message right now. He’s estimated the year of origin to be about 2056. That’s the time of Roald Waldstein, the inventor of time-travel technology.’
‘Do you think it’s him? The Waldstein fella?’ asked Liam.
Maddy reached for her inhaler on the desk and took a quick puff on it. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Hopefully it’s the agency checking in with us. You know? Seeing if we’re OK. Which would be nice.’
‘But how …’ started Liam, frowning. ‘But how will we talk back to them? These tachyon signal things can only go backwards in time, right? That’s what Foster said.’
‘He said that … but he was keeping it simple. It takes a lot more energy to project forward. Plus, more importantly, in 2056, everyone’s on the lookout for tachyon particles, right, Bob?’
> Correct. A signal aimed at the agency could be detected and reveal its location. In 2056, international laws against time travel have been established.
‘In any case, I wouldn’t know which direction to point a signal,’ said Maddy. ‘Who knows where in the world they’re based?’
‘So is there a way to talk back?’ asked Liam.
Maddy nodded. ‘Yup … there is.’ There was an entry in Foster’s ‘how to’ guide on how to contact the agency, a short explanation by Foster looking ten years younger as he spoke to the webcam. An entry he must have recorded much earlier than the others.
‘It’s the same principle, Liam, that you used actually,’ said Maddy. ‘The museum guest book, remember? Only it’s a New York newspaper. We place an advert in the lonely hearts section of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. It has to begin with the phrase “a soul lost in time …”’
Liam clicked his fingers; he understood the rest. ‘And I suppose they have a crinkly old yellowing copy of that paper?’
‘Dated September twelfth, 2001. That’s right.’
Sal looked from one to the other, her eyes widening. ‘And … and