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“The car crash was a blind! Men like Acheron don’t die that easily! Take the Litera Tec job in Swindon!”

The woman in the bed just had time to repeat my last word before the ceiling and floor opened up and we plummeted back into the maelstrom. After a dazzling display of colorful noise and loud light, the vortex slid back to be replaced by the parking lot of a motorway services somewhere. The tempest slowed and stopped.

“Is this it?” asked Bowden.

“I don’t know.”

It was night and the streetlamps cast an orange glow over the parking lot, the roadway shiny from recent rain. A car pulled in next to us; it was a large Pontiac containing a family. The wife was berating her husband for falling asleep at the wheel and the children were crying. It looked like it had been a near-miss.

“Excuse me!” I yelled. The man wound down his window.

“Yes?”

“What’s the date?”

“The date?”

“It’s July 8,” replied the man’s wife, shooting him and me an annoyed glance.

I thanked her and turned back to Bowden.

“We’re three weeks in the past?” he queried.

“Or fifty-six weeks into the future.”

“Or one hundred and eight.”

“I’m going to find out where we are.”

I turned off the ignition and got out. Bowden joined me as we walked toward the cafeteria. Beyond the building we could see the motorway, and beyond that the connecting bridge to the services on the opposite motorway.

Several tow trucks drove past us with empty cars hitched to the back of them.

“Something’s not right.”

“I agree,” replied Bowden. “But what?”

Suddenly, the doors to the cafeteria burst open and a woman pushed her way out. She was carrying a gun and pushing a man in front of her, who stumbled as they hurried out. Bowden pulled me behind a parked van. We peered cautiously out and saw that the woman had unwelcome company; several men had appeared seemingly from nowhere and all of them were armed.

“What the?—” I whispered, suddenly realizing what was happening. “That’s me!”

And so it was. I looked slightly older but it was definitely me. Bowden had noticed too.

“I’m not sure I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

“You prefer it long?”

“Of course.”

We watched as one of the three men told the other me to drop her gun. I-me-she said something we couldn’t hear and then put her gun down, releasing her hold on the man, who was then grabbed roughly by one of the other men.

“What’s going on?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“We’ve got to go!” replied Bowden.

“And leave me like this?”

“Look.”

He pointed at the car. It was shaking slightly as a localized gust of wind seemed to batter it.

“I can’t leave her—me—in this predicament!”

But Bowden was pulling me toward the car, which was rocking more violently and starting to fade.

“Wait!”

I struggled free, pulled out my automatic and hid it behind one of the wheels of the nearest car, then ran after Bowden and leaped into the back of the Speedster. I was just in time. There was a bright flash and a peal of thunder and then silence. I opened an eye. It was daylight. I looked at Bowden, who had made it into the driver’s seat. The motorway services car park had vanished and in its place was a quiet country lane. The journey was over.

“You all right?” I asked.

Bowden felt the three-day stubble that had inexplicably grown on his chin.

“I think so. How about you?”

“As well as can be expected.”

I checked my shoulder holster. It was empty.

“I’m bursting for a pee, though. I feel like I haven’t gone for a week.”

Bowden made a pained expression and nodded.

“I think I could say the same.”

I nipped behind a wall. Bowden walked stiffly across to the other side of the road and relieved himself in the hedge.

“Where do you suppose we are?” I shouted to Bowden from behind the wall. “Or more to the point, when?”

“Car twenty-eight,” crackled the wireless, “come in please.”

“Who knows?” called out Bowden over his shoulder. “But if you want to try that again you can do it with someone else.”

Much relieved, we reconvened at the car. It was a beautiful day,