Run For Their Lives

leaper1

PQL Security Staff
Staff member
Sep 1, 2002
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Bedford, England
DEDICATION
This story is respectfully dedicated to the memory of
The Late Dennis Wolfberg
Who will live forever in our hearts
As the diligent Gushie​
 
Run For Their Lives - Prologue

Run for their Lives

Prologue

“Do you guys really think I’ve got what it takes to be a winner?”

Sam hedged his bets ever so slightly. He didn’t believe in being too dogmatic.
“Trust me honey, I guarantee you’re gonna take Gold in the ’60 Olympics, or my name’s not Bobby Joe Parnell.”

”Oh, B-J, you’re something else, you really are!” Becky-Lou stood on tiptoe and reached up to cup his face with both hands, tilting it down so that she could reach to plant a passionate kiss on his lips.

“I’d go along with that, SAM,” teased Al, as his friend Leaped…

...The blue haze transported him through time, as it always did, and for a brief moment during transit he was simply himself again. B-J was gone, and only Sam remained – whoever “Sam” really was. He thought it had been Dr Who’s observation that ‘a Man is the sum of his memories…’ If that was indeed the case, then Dr Samuel John Beckett – Scholar of six doctorates, seven degrees and time-traveler extraordinaire – didn’t amount to very much.

Already, his memory was Swiss-cheesing again and hard won recollections were fading away, despite his desperate attempts to hold on to them. Yet Sam refused to wallow long in self-pity, even if given the chance. That was not his nature.

In any case, he had no more time for looking backward. He began looking forward – to discover who he would become in this latest Leap, where and when he was ‘landing’ and, most importantly, why…

…The vast outdoors of Alta were now replaced by a vast indoors. Sam had Leaped in to a huge bedroom that could only be described as opulent. The walls were papered in Regency stripes. The carpet was a deep piled Axminster in a rich - almost regal - shade of purple. The drapes were in matching velvet, and tied back with deep golden silk cords.

Sam was standing by a four-poster bed, curtained all around in finest filigree lace, with silk sheets and a pale lilac floral quilt. Atop the bed rested a brand new suitcase and a battered old brocade carpetbag that looked capacious enough to hold Mary Poppin’s hat-stand.

Evidently, his new host was packing – or unpacking – it was impossible to be sure which at this stage. He was holding a folded white cotton garment. He shook it out to reveal a pair of old-fashioned ladies’ French knickers, which he couldn’t have dropped quicker had they been ablaze. He looked down at himself and made a mental amendment: his ‘hostess’ was packing.

At least she wears sensible shoes, he noted with relief, his hatred of high heels unabated. Sam was wearing a pair of sturdy, squarish lace-up brown leather brogues, with stout heels no more than one inch thick. Above these the legs were encased in something in excess of forty denier tights – not quite surgical stockings, but the accent was definitely on support rather than glamour. The calf-length skirt consisted of two-inch wide pleats of herringbone tweed in a tasteful shade of deep russet. The upper body bore a slightly paler twin-set comprising V-neck jumper and cardigan in Trevira. The third finger left hand displayed a well-worn gold wedding band.

At this point, Sam noticed an US passport protruding from an outer pocket of the carpetbag, which he snatched up eagerly. Once opened it revealed a head-and-shoulders photograph. Sam studied the round face, subtly made up, silver-grey hair lightly permed, crow’s feet etched deeply round blue-grey smiling eyes.

‘And who might we be, my dear?’ he asked himself as he lowered his eyes to the listed personal details:

NAME: Mary Theresa Bridget McGillicuddy (nee O’Shea)

D.O.B: July 14 1932

PLACE OF BIRTH: Clonakilty, County Cork, Republic of Ireland

NATIONALITY: Citizen of the United States of America

MARITAL STATUS: Widow

OCCUPATION: Nanny/Housekeeper

Sam let the document slip through his fingers. Turning his attention to the fitted wardrobe that filled the wall at the foot of the bed, he faced the full-length mirror as he inevitably did. The figure itself was short and dumpy, the flesh showing it’s age in liver spots. Shrugging his shoulders, Sam reflected with mild amusement, ‘Dear God, now I’m Mrs. Doubtfire!’
 
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Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1

Sam surmised that he was in a grand hotel somewhere.
Since there appeared to be no immediate crisis to avert, he decided he needed to know whether he was going or coming before he moved any more clothes. He wandered around the room, looking in the closet and on the kidney shaped dresser where a huge triple mirror was framed in ornate gilt. A clean hairbrush and fine-toothed comb had been placed precisely at the centre of the lace-edged linen runner on the highly polished glass top. Various items of make-up were lined up on each side, with bottles of perfume and cans of hair spray; all very neat and orderly.
?A place for everyt?ing and everyt?ing in its place.? Sam observed aloud, nodding his head in approbation. He caught himself looking wide-eyed at his reflection, his expression quizzical. The question was plain: ?Did I say that?!?
For the voice when he spoke had been thick with Mary?s Irish accent, and sounded alien to Sam?s ears. He often felt a strong influence from those he?d traded places with, and it seemed that this time Mary?s input was going to be marked. He would have to be prepared to put up with some heavy-duty teasing from Al on this one.

?Don?t stop, Nanny. Sing us some more.?
The voice of a young girl calling from the next room shook him out of his reverie. Without conscious thought he launched into Danny Boy. He suddenly became aware that the tune had been buzzing through his head since the moment he?d arrived: another legacy from Mary?s brainwaves. As he sang he half expected to hear Al trying to harmonize, and he looked around for some sign of his friend.
This was all too ordinary and innocent.
Sam was not in the habit of Leaping into people just to sort out which clothes they should pack. And the more normal things appeared at the start, the weirder they usually became. He relied on Al?s knowledge from the future to put him on the right track and see him through to the finish line. He?d found out Who he was, but he needed to know the Where, the When and the Why.
But Al was nowhere in sight.
?Oh well, at least I don?t have to listen to his singing.? Mused Sam as he sang, not unduly concerned. Al had many considerable talents, but he could scarcely be classed as one of Euterpe?s star pupils. In fact, he had a voice like a corncrake. Sam, on the other hand, was a sweet supple tenor, whose voice had tremendous power and range, and who sang with great feeling, sincerity and conviction. Not that he fully appreciated what a special voice he had. He sang simply because he loved to sing, because it made him feel good, and because he enjoyed the songs. He never realized what profound pleasure he gave to those privileged to hear him.
Only now, of course, his new charge was not hearing him. To the girl who?d requested an encore, he sang with Mary McGillicuddy?s familiar contralto, and she hummed along contentedly, her own voice untrained but easy on the ear.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

Sam smiled to himself. As Leaps went, this one was going pretty well, thank you. 'And I don't even need a barrel-load of latex to keep up the masquerade!' he thought whimsically.

Resuming his examination of the room, Sam found himself at the expansive double-glazed windows, and looked out. They were pent-house high, the people and traffic below like toys in the distance. The traffic??
Sam blinked and looked again, doubting his 20-20 vision. Away to his right was a huge open space - parkland, with trees turned red and brown, or bare (The Fall!) and flower beds and grassland, where people were walking dogs or jogging or pushing baby-buggies. But directly below him a road curved round to his left, and cars were milling to and fro - strange cars with their drivers sitting on the right. Cars driving on the wrong side of the road!
?Saints preserve us! Where on God's green eart' am Oi?? he gasped.
Only rarely had his Leaps taken him outside the United States, and without exception- so far as he could recall - the experience had always been somewhat traumatic. There was Vietnam, of course, and the joy of saving Tom marred by the death of Maggie and his failure to liberate Al. Then he'd been to Russia, or so he thought, but that multi-Leap had been so chaotic and so alarming that he preferred not to remember the details. And he believed he'd been to England once. Yes: a big old house, and a storm, and moonlight, and a dog, and blood and?
Enough of that! Bizarre didn't begin to describe that one.
Sam looked out of the window again, subconsciously gripping the velvet drape with one liver-spotted hand. He studied the road again, following its course as far as the viewing frame permitted. No intersections, only a huge roundabout choked with cars; and not the familiar Dodges and Buicks and Chevrolets and Mercurys and Cadillacs, but rather a baffling array of strange European and British makes - Citr?en, Renault, Skoda, Vauxhall, Austin, Rover - he couldn't put names to them all.
The license plates were alien too; those he could read were a mix of numbers and letters. The complex database he called a brain kicked in - this was England again, and the letters represented year of registration. He scanned the vehicles for ones that looked new and did some hasty calculations. Mostly D's and E's, a few F's. That put him somewhere in the late eighties. His trepidation turned to satisfaction that he was solving so much of the puzzle so quickly, and independently. He enjoyed wiping the smug look off Al's face when he could tell his friend how much he already knew.
Below him, a horn blared impatiently.
A red, double-decker bus!
London then. Better and better.
But why?
He had a feeling the answer to that one was not going to land in his lap quite so obligingly, but undaunted, he turned to explore the rest of the hotel suite, and meet the owner of the sweet young voice he'd heard.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

Passing through the bedroom door, he entered the communal area, which resembled the drawing room of a stately home. Modern appliances were couched in the guise of old-fashioned splendor ? the electric light was provided by a myriad of tiny bulbs hidden within a delicate crystal chandelier. The television was housed in a huge walnut veneered cabinet, and was revealed by opening two heavy doors with brass handles polished to gleaming perfection. The telephone: whilst fully-functioning push-button convenience in reality ? was in appearance an antique bone and cradle affair in ebony and gold, with a protruding mouthpiece. The color scheme in here was green and gold ? the deep-pile carpet a lawn of lush verdant grass. Embossed walls were bedecked with landscapes and countryside scenes in wide gilt frames ? expensive prints it would have taken an expert to tell from the originals ? featuring such classics as The Monarch of the Glen. They lent the inner city abode a distinctly rural feel, and added to the overall impression of spaciousness.
Blossoming in the centre of the room, in splendid isolation, were enough sofas and easy chairs to accommodate a baseball team, while a bar occupied the far left-hand corner of the room. Behind the main door was a large well-stocked bureau, the wood highly varnished but still managing to look centuries old. Anyone wishing to avail themselves of this writing desk ? though the dense green blotter cried out for a quill and ink, and scoffed at the idea of merely scribbling postcards home ? could sit in elegant comfort on the well padded, beautifully carved Queen Anne chair. And for those who preferred more old-world pastimes than the anachronism of the TV, beyond the French windows leading to the balcony the far right-hand corner housed a glorious baby grand. The only thing the place lacked was further occupants, and Sam knew, deep down, that he should be searching the remaining bedrooms and getting acquainted, but he gravitated towards the piano, drawn by an irresistible urge to play. Seating himself on the bench, he opened the lid and let his fingers run idly over the keys while he got the feel of the instrument. As he?d expected it had a lovely mellow tone and was obviously tuned and cared-for at frequent, regular intervals. This time, it was not Mary?s preference that dictated his choice of song, but rather Sam?s own long-standing fondness for show tunes, coupled; it seemed, with a guilty conscience at his self-indulgence. For when his random tinkling of the ivories developed itself into recognizable musical phrases, the tune he played turned out to be ?Getting to know you?.
?No fair, Nanny. You?ve been practicing without me.?
Sam started and looked up, his fingers frozen on the keys. The same sweet young voice now had a sweet young face as a girl - some eight or nine years old - came bounding into the room from the bedroom adjacent to the one Sam had recently vacated.
She was not overly tall, about one hundred and twenty centimeters, and slender, dressed in a pale grey tracksuit with a bold red stripe down one side, and white sneakers. Her light brown, thick hair was un-parted and cropped short in a boyish style. Her eyes were cornflower blue and captivating.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

As Sam smiled at her, she trotted across the room and sat down beside him on the stool. It would appear that these two were in the habit of sharing piano lessons. The way the girl snuggled up to him suggested that they enjoyed a very special, close relationship.
Mary McGillicuddy was not merely an employee; she was more like one of the family.

The girl looked up at Sam, and then cast her eyes over the piano, putting out one hand to touch it tentatively.
?Isn?t it beautiful, Nanny?? she breathed. ?May I play it? Please??
She looked up at him again, with pleading puppy-dog eyes, and Sam melted.
?Go ahead, poppet.?
She played haltingly at first, as if in awe of the instrument and unsure of her ability, but then she relaxed into it. She was not a complete novice by any means, though still at the stage of fairly simple tunes. Her selection was Kum Baya and she sang along, much to Sam?s delight. She had the voice of an angel, and such simple pleasures put him in heaven. He joined in, and it felt natural and right for him to be here.
So he relaxed too, and completely forgot to worry what was keeping Al, and which wrong he was here to put right.

Gradually, he became aware of a third voice drifting in from the bedroom across the lounge. It was faint, almost apologetic, and most definitely very young. His companion had a little sister! This knowledge re-introduced the slightest note of apprehension.
How old was she? Anything under five years and the child would know he was not the real Mary. Toddler angst at being confronted by a strange man wearing a familiar person?s clothes was one of the trickiest obstacles he had had to overcome on these missions. He tried to remember how he had pacified such frightened children on previous occasions, but before he had time to dwell on it, the girl in question assuaged his fears.
Her entrance as they finished their duet was even more dramatic than her sister?s had been. She burst into the room and proceeded to cross the floor in a series of cartwheels and tumbles such as Olga Korbutt would have been proud of, culminating in almost perfect splits. Sam was impressed and burst into spontaneous applause, but then felt obliged to admonish: ?Oi?m not sure you should be doin? that in here!?
This younger sibling looked to be around six or seven, (safe from detection!). She too was attired in a grey jogging suit, only this time the stripe was bright banana-skin yellow. She was only an inch or so shorter than her sister, and equally slender. Her face was more rounded and she had an impish grin. Identical cornflower eyes bore testimony to their shared parentage, although her hair was far blonder and finer. She wore it long, with a fringe, and parted down the middle into two neat plaits tied off with yellow ribbons.
?I?ve finished my unpacking, Nanny.? She pronounced - her superior tone clearly indicating that while she didn?t want to snitch on her sister, that particular state of affairs was not universal. Sam smiled at her guiltily, remembering the luggage awaiting his attention in Mary?s bedroom.
?Good girl,? he commended, standing up purposefully, ?Let me see.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

It was time to take up the duties of the menopausal matron he was impersonating, and start behaving like a Nanny ? whatever that meant.
It being late in the year, the evening was drawing in, making it too dark to conduct his examination without benefit of artificial light. He flicked the switch as he entered their bedroom and then closed the drapes against the gathering night.
Having inspected the little one?s possessions, all put away in apple-pie order, and having praised her for her efforts, Sam turned his attention to the cases on the older girl?s bed. The room they were sharing was strawberries-and-cream, young and fresh and feminine just like its occupants. The twin beds were again four-posters, with lace curtains surrounding soft pink covers.
Sam opened up the closet and helped the child to put away a mixture of tracksuits, assorted jersey dresses and some delightful party gowns: something for any and every occasion. When they had almost reached the bottom, the girl suddenly made a lunge for her suitcase and tried to stop Sam from lifting out a full length royal blue velvet dress, with a white lace collar and a pale blue satin sash. It was covered with a transparent plastic protector and was already on a hanger. This behavior seemed way out of character, even considering that Sam had only known the girl for such a short time, and he wondered what guilty secret she was trying to protect.
?What?s the matter, Princess? Have you got it dirty and not told your old Nanny, eh?? the form of address came naturally to his lips, and he blessed Mary?s subconscious prompting, which enabled him to converse intimately without giving away the fact that he had not yet ascertained either of their names.
?Come on, show me. Oi promise Oi?ll not be cross.?
The girl lowered her eyes and bit her lip, as if unsure whether to trust this last assurance. Her hand hesitated on the dress a moment longer, until Sam gave her an encouraging smile.
?Don?t be angry with me, Nanny. I know you told me not to bring it, but I couldn?t bear to leave it behind. You won?t let Daddy find it, will you? You will help me hide it. Please say you will, Nanny.?
She fumbled underneath the dress and pulled out a thin, hardback book around twenty by thirty centimeters. On the front cover was a strange illustration of a hill overlooking a village in the distance ? on which stood a peculiar twisted tree bearing acorns and entangled with a wild dog-rose. A crescent moon nestled in the unnatural branches and beneath it ran a boy in a weird sort of romper suit ? green and yellow stripes at the top, the lower half being blue and emblazoned with gold stars. (Sam couldn?t help thinking it was too way out even for his friend Al to wear.) The boy carried a hare?s head mask on a pole before him, with pink ribbons billowing out on either side. The picture was at once both ordinary and strangely surreal, and struck a chord of familiarity in Sam, as did the title ?MASQUERADE?, the irony of which, given his present circumstances, did not escape him.
Had Dr Beckett read this book, once upon a future time? He wasn?t sure.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

Sam held out his hand for the book, which the girl passed to him almost reverently. He couldn?t imagine why this innocent looking object should be contraband. It was not as if she were a teenage boy being caught red-handed with a well-thumbed copy of Playboy magazine. What sort of centre-fold could this innocuous work conceal? As he took it, Sam sat down on the bed, and by silent assent, both girls sat with him, flanking him on either side.
The book was unblemished, in excellent condition, yet it did not smell or feel new. It was undoubtedly a treasured possession, but why a surreptitious one? Turning it over Sam examined the back cover and knew with a sudden rush of awareness that he had indeed encountered this story before. Beneath a picture of an intricately carved gold, bejeweled hare, the blurb detailed the history of the piece:

?Somewhere in Great Britain,? Sam read aloud, ?well out of range of metal detectors, lies buried the extraordinary piece of jewellery pictured above. It was fashioned by Kit Williams (the author of the book, Sam observed) out of 18-carat gold and dazzlingly adorned with precious stones; ruby, moonstone, citrines, turquoise, mother of pearl and a rare compound called faience, used by the ancient Egyptians to grace the Pharaohs.?
Sam had seen as much on more than one archaeological dig.
The item itself was not to Sam?s taste, being rather too brash and gaudy, but he could admire the workmanship that had created it. He read on:
?The precise location of this buried treasure may be discovered within the pages of MASQUERADE which are themselves overflowing with riddles and puzzles the reader will delight in unmasking.?
Now, Sam recalled how someone had bought him this book as a gift, knowing how he loved conundrums. He?d solved a good many of the clues too, before loftier problems had demanded his undivided attention. He had never been a fanatical searcher, but he vaguely remembered that people from as far afield as Australia and Acapulco had traveled to the UK in hopes of digging up the hare. It had fired the imagination of innumerable people, and generated interest long after it was found, since the winner of the prize surrounded himself in mystery by refusing to be named. Sam finished reading the cover:
?Only one other person, whose identity is known to the publisher, was witness to the secret burial and as the author tantalisingly reveals, the treasure is as likely to be found by a bright child of ten with an understanding of language, simple mathematics and astronomy, as it is to be found by an Oxford don.?
Perhaps this was it. Maybe he was here to help the girl find the hare. He was about to embark on a treasure hunt, and his trusty sidekick Al could be relied upon to ?remind? him where it would lead.
If he ever bothered to turn up. Sam spared a fleeting thought to wonder why his friend was taking so long to put in an appearance, but the thought did not trouble him. He vaguely recalled having discussed Al taking the opportunity to go on a trip while Sam was between Leaps, but couldn?t quite grasp the details. His friend deserved a holiday, so he?d be patient.
Two eager faces looked up at him expectantly and then the elder girl whispered conspiratorially ?What time will Daddy be back??
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

?Oi?m not sure.? Answered Sam truthfully, looking over his shoulder at the door, as if he, too, feared discovery in this inexplicably elicit activity. Opening the book, he saw that it had been inscribed on the inner cover:

To my darling wife, Rachel, in celebration of the first anniversary of the birth of our beloved daughter Shelley-Anne, who came into the world on the same day as this hare was buried ? 8.8.79. (She shared his birthday!)
There is no contest as to which is the rarest and most valuable of these two treasures.
All my love, today and always
Your adoring husband,
Lyle


More clues for Sherlock Beckett - and without the aid of a magnifying glass. The older girl must surely be Shelley-Anne.
Poor kids. It was starting to look as if their parents were in the throes of a messy divorce, and this volume was a too painful reminder of good love gone bad. Though how on earth any mother could walk out on two such charming daughters was beyond his imagining. Sam reminded himself firmly not to be so quick to judge. He had no idea what may have gone on between these two. Just because his parents seemed to him to be the model couple didn?t mean that everyone had the secret of happy ever after, till death do them part. He had no right to try apportioning blame.
One thing was sure. For whatever reasons, this simple little book evoked strong emotions in this family. Currently, it seemed, the reaction was at once intense anger from their father ? thus the need to keep its presence secret from him ? and conversely great comfort for the children, a way they could feel close to their absent mother.
Okay, so maybe he was going to have to find the treasure and reconcile the warring couple. No sweat. Six impossible things rounded off by breakfast at Milliways.
All in a day?s work for a Leaper.
Meantime, he whiled away a pleasant couple of hours in sharing the book with the girls, finding out what they had worked out already, and steering them towards some of the solutions that came back to him as he read and studied the pictures. When they had exhausted this topic, Sam glanced at the small gold watch on his left wrist, which looked to have been reset to London time. Seventeen minutes to six.
?Anybody hungry?? he asked, knowing he was absolutely ravenous himself.
Breakfast in Utah was but a distant memory, and he?d managed to miss the in-flight lunch by virtue of his unorthodox travel arrangements. They adjourned to the sitting room, where Sam identified their location as the Balmoral Suite by means of the key ring on the writing desk. Then he lifted the phone to call room service.
?What?ll it be, ladies??
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

?Hamburger and fries!? requested the girls in unison.
?Oh, come on now,? he chided, ?Dis is a high class hotel, not McDonalds!? He ordered chicken pilaf and Black Forest Gateau from the selection on offer and told them they?d enjoy it just as much, with an ?or else? sort of edge to his voice, such as was befitting the authority figure in the group.
?Can we watch television?? asked the younger girl, opening the cabinet before throwing herself into an armchair, which practically swallowed her up.
?Oh, Tori, you?ll get square eyes, Oi swear you will!? countered Shelley-Anne, in a tone that was clearly meant as an impersonation of Mary.
Sam laughed. ?Are you after taking over my job, young lady?? he asked her, crossing the room to switch on the set, it having occurred to him that he could possibly glean more detailed information about the Time he was re-living from a news bulletin. The girls took an immediate interest in the children?s serial that was in progress, it being radically different from their normal fare back home. Sam was less intrigued, and decided that while he was waiting for the food to arrive, duty called in the shape of a voluminous carpetbag.
By this time, he had stopped even anticipating Al?s arrival, dismissed with a swish of closing curtains.
Now that he knew what he was about, Sam made short work of the task in hand. As he unpacked, he examined Mary?s possessions for indications as to her personality. Unfortunately for Sam, she was clearly one of the old-school - not one single pair of slacks in this lady?s wardrobe, only practical, rather unglamorous skirts and perfectly coordinating twin sets for day wear, along with a few elegant full length evening gowns such as might be worn to the Opera.
All very formal and straight laced.
?Not exactly a swinger, are we, Mary?? commented Sam to the lady in the mirror, holding up a rather dowdy coffee colored quilted dressing gown, which did not flatter the figure he tried it against in the slightest.
?Still, you?re a Nanny, not an au pair, so you are, t?anks be t?God.?
The last thing Sam needed was to be chased around a hotel suite by an amorous, divorced, sex-starved employer after a bit of extra-marital conviviality. Buddy Wright had subjected him to enough of that to last him a hundred lifetimes. No, if he had to be a female impersonator, he found the role of matriarch sat far more comfortably on his shoulders than that of femme fatale. He?d take Mary McGillicuddy over Mata Hari any day!
A discreet knocking announced that dinner was served, and Doctor Beckett abandoned his solitary fashion show in favor of sustenance. As he passed from the bedroom to the external door, the television announced that at seven thirty that same evening, Sylvester McCoy would be starring in part two of Silver Nemesis, the twenty-fifth anniversary edition of ?Doctor Who?. Both girls bounced up and down in their seats in excitement, and begged Mary:
?Oh, please Nanny, can we watch it? Can we wait up for Daddy and watch it??
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

?Oi don?t know about that,? replied Sam cautiously, not knowing what time they normally went to bed, ?It?s been a long day (he rationalized that this had to be true ? allowing for the flight time, it must have been some hours since they left their home State-side and then there was the time differential to consider), and your Da might not get back until very late.? For all Sam knew, his employer could be planning to stay out all night.
The girls looked up at him with anxious, expectant faces. He was not sure which activity meant more to them ? greeting their father upon his return, or soaking up part of a great British institution, the appeal of which he could well understand, having a penchant for science fiction himself. Sam capitulated, stating his terms.
?All right, poppets. If ya eat all yer dinners and get ready for bed, ya can stay up until Dr Who is over. But if your Da is not back by then, it?s off to bed wit? ya and no arguments.?
?Yes, Nanny. Of course, Nanny.? They chorused obediently. ?Thank you, Nanny.?
?Three bags full, Nanny,? thought Sam, as he tipped the waiter and wheeled in the trolley laden with deliciously aromatic provisions.
They all settled down in front of the set to eat and tucked in with alacrity, while Sam caught up with the international and local news, as read by one Nicholas Witchell and some other guy whose name he didn?t catch.
The date, he was now able to ascertain, was Wednesday November 30th 1988, and he learned again that:
?Bhutto takes seat in Pakistan Assembly??
?She showed promise, what became of her?? Sam wondered to himself, but could not recall.
Then:
?US veto on Arafat sparks row in UN?Britain alone abstained??
At which Sam thought ?Trust the Brits to sit on the fence, they?re good at that.?
He looked across to see the girls devouring their meals with a fervor that matched his own. It tasted as good as it smelt.
?Now isn?t dis better dan burgers and fries?? he enquired of them.
-?You betcha!?
-?Sure is!? they conceded between mouthfuls, with a twinkle in their eyes.
?This job?s a snap? Sam decided. If he had bothered to give it a moment?s consideration he would undoubtedly have concluded that Al was staying away simply because he wasn?t needed on this one. But he didn?t even stop to spare it a thought. He felt comfortable and confident.

He should have known better.

His ears pricked up as the TV proclaimed:
?AIDS could kill 17,000 by 1992??
?And then some,? he thought, ?and it would have been higher still if they hadn?t started screening donors to prevent infection through transfusions.? (His Swiss-cheesed brain forgot that once upon a Leap it had been his suggestion that brought this change about.)
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

By the time the screen was showing scenes of two trains colliding in Newcastle, the viewers were on to dessert. His photographic memory kicked in, unpredictable as ever; to remind Sam that this was just a taste of things to come. On December twelfth 1988, less than two weeks hence, a far worse rail disaster would hit the British nation. In fact the worst in twenty years - when three trains piled into each other just outside Clapham Junction, killing thirty odd people and injuring over a hundred more.
Sam gasped. Could he prevent that carnage?
Surely, he had to try?
Perhaps this was his true mission. As a devout humanist, Dr Beckett could not abide the thought of anything bad happening to anyone - particularly when innocent people met with tragic deaths in senseless accidents. So, if there were the remotest chance that he could save lives, or alleviate suffering, he would Leap in with both feet.
Of course, he didn't have the slightest idea how he might achieve such a miracle. If he tried to warn the Authorities then he'd probably end up in a padded cell.
Or, given his current unmistakable accent, locked up as an IRA terrorist. However he tackled it, he must make sure that he did not imperil his new wards in the process. Still, there was plenty of time to work out the details.

As promised, by seven thirty the girls were ready for bed. Faces washed; hair and teeth brushed. Each wore a pair of fleecy lined pajamas - Shelley's in plain red, Tori's in lemon yellow with a large Winnie the Pooh motif on the front. They had matching slippers on their feet, and warm furry dressing gowns flapped out behind them like capes as they ran back in, just as the opening credits rolled. When a digitized Doctor winked at them, they both winked back, giggling. Sam smiled indulgently, and settled on the couch with one girl on either side, snuggling up to him.
While the Germans and Lady Peinforte fought the Cybermen, the sisters debated whether the silver robo-men or the Daleks made the best enemy for the Doctor. Sam declined to take sides, but listened to their opinions with interest, at the same time trying to follow the plot on the screen.
The German soldier was asking Herr Florres the reason for the gold dust:
?For eventualities.?
?That sounds like you and your bottomless carpet-bag, Nanny!? teased Shelley. ?Have you got any gold-dust in there??
?Would that Oi had, Princess.? Replied 'Mary', ?Me own little pot o' gold from the end of the rainbow, eh?? they laughed softly together, and turned their attention back to the set, groaning at the Doctor's pun about ?Jam? sessions, and crying ?serves them right? to the two yobs who'd been debagged and strung upside down from a tree for accosting Lady Peinforte.
Sam felt Tori shudder at the 'bear' noises, and drew her closer to him, protectively, relishing the familial closeness, even if he was not really one of the family. Tori relaxed when the llamas appeared and declared:
?Ooh, aren't they lovely? Could we go to the Safari Park and see them, while we're here? Please, Nanny, say we can.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

Those irresistible puppy-dog eyes looked pleadingly up at Sam again. Why did he get the feeling that these two could twist Mary round their little fingers? Or that he wasn't immune to them either. He hadn't found an itinerary in the well-stocked carpetbag, so he hedged:
?We'll see what we can arrange, if you're good, pumpkin.? Tenderly stroking the golden tresses, now flowing loose around her shoulders.
The Doctor and Ace were hiding in the trees, studying the Cybership.
?I don't suppose you've completely ignored my instructions and secretly prepared any Nitro 9, have you??
?What if I had??
?Then naturally, you wouldn't do anything so insanely dangerous as to carry it around with you, would you??
?Of course not. I'm a good girl. I do what I'm told.?
?Excellent. Blow up that vehicle.?

Sam smiled at the exchange, appreciating the humor. Tori's young mind was too literal.
?She's not a good girl really, Nanny. She's naughty.? The moon-faced maiden pronounced as the ship exploded. ?Not like us.? She added virtuously.
?Careful, sweetpea,? Sam admonished, ?yer halo will be getting too tight for ya.?
He tousled her hair and planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
He was really falling naturally into this new role, and these girls were a delight. He could have been saddled with a couple of brats like the ones who'd made Hulk Hogan's life a misery in Mr Nanny. (Now there was a comparison. Sam decided there and then that he would draw the line at wearing a pink tutu!)
Things were hotting up on the screen, building towards the end of episode climax. Richard was in a panic that the Cybermen would catch them.
?Not for nothing did I design my own tomb. 'Death is bvt a door.' I always knew I'd cheat it.? Lady P pushed a button on the tomb to release a door catch.
At that moment, there was a loud knock at the door to the hotel suite, making them all jump.
?Is that Daddy?? Tori bounced to her feet.
Sam checked his watch. Seven fifty-two.
?I doubt it, pumpkin. He'll have his own key.? Reasoned Sam, who, (irrationally, illogically as he later realized) assumed it to be room service come to collect the food trolley. Hindsight told him that hotels didn't operate that way. He should have left it outside to be collected unobtrusively at a later stage with the shoes to be shined. But at the time his mind was elsewhere, and he got up to answer the door with one eye still on the TV over his shoulder.
'Just as it was getting to the interesting bit.' He thought, as the statue stirred and prepared to come to life. 'Still, never mind, I have seen it before.'
When he opened the door, he saw, as he'd fully expected, a waiter in a crisp white uniform, down to the spotless gloves.
Beyond him, passing slowly down the corridor, a flaxen-headed chambermaid pushed a laundry cart, with gloved hands.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 1 cont

Afterwards, a long time afterwards, Sam remembered thinking that the waiter did not fit the image of an employee in an exclusive hotel; at least not one above the rank of janitor. His black hair was long and unkempt, as was his beard. His skin had an orange-peel texture. The right cheekbone had a swelling from an old break injury. Likewise, Sam later recalled that he had noticed the chambermaid's flesh tone did not suggest blonde hair. He had debated momentarily whether it was peroxide or a wig, and decided that the whole piece was far too perfect to be in any way natural.
Like the use of gloves.
All these observations had been made in a split second. But before he could register the alarm bells which had begun to ring in his brain, the man shoved a large white cloth in his face, steeped in chloroform, whilst simultaneously grabbing the back of his head in a vice-like grip. At that moment, all Sam's attention focused on the struggle to remain conscious. To continue breathing without inhaling the noxious vapors which sought to rob him of his senses.
His assailant advanced on him, pushing him roughly backwards, forcing him to retreat into the room. The chambermaid followed, glancing furtively up and down the corridor to see if the old girl's struggles had attracted any unwelcome attention, and then kicking the door shut behind them.
She brushed past her partner-in-crime, wheeling the cart in front of her.
'To hide the stolen goods.' Sam guessed, amid his desperate attempts to hold on to wakefulness. He was clawing one-handed at the huge hand that smothered his face, his other arm by now being pinned painfully behind his back. The 'waiter' had moved around to the rear, and was trying to wrestle Mary into submission. He lifted Sam bodily off his feet and practically hurled him to the floor, then flung himself on top of the old lady and renewed his assault with the chloroform before she could scramble back to her feet to raise the alarm. Shelley screamed and held on to her sister, both too scared to move, as Sam thrashed about in self-defense.
?Feisty old trout, in't she?? observed the woman in a tone that mixed surprise with something akin to admiration. She advanced on the terrified children with a malicious gleam in her eye, pulling a bottle out from her apron pocket and pouring a colorless liquid onto a napkin at arm's length.
?Time you two were asleep.? She chastised.
Sam's increasingly befuddled brain registered the threat to the girls and he redoubled his efforts.
?You said she'd be out like a light in seconds,? complained Sam's assailant, grunting as he sought to subdue his uncooperative prey. A well-aimed kick got the thug off him at last and Sam scrambled, gasping, to his feet, leaving the man bent over and groaning.
?Quit griping and get 'er sorted.? Both villains spoke with British accents, in a mild barely discernible regional dialect; so subtle as to be almost an absence of accent altogether.
Fuzzy headed and off-balance; Sam staggered towards the maid, attempting to place himself between her and the sisters. He tried to tell them to run, to get out and find help, but found he was unable to talk coherently. Before he had stumbled halfway to his target, the man behind him recovered himself and grabbed the solid lead crystal paperweight from the writing desk.
A dull thud; followed by a sharp pain.
For a moment, Sam was witness to the aurora borealis at first hand, wide screen and in extreme close-up. Then a velvety blackness enfolded him and Sam was unconscious even before his limp body had wafted gracefully to the floor like a withered leaf drifting down from a tree on a gentle autumn breeze.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2

Chapter Two

QUANTUM LEAP HEADQUARTERS,
STALLIONS GATE, NEW MEXICO

Sam had been in transit for six days, and Ziggy had still not announced the arrival of a new visitor in the Waiting Room. Normally, the interval afforded Al a much-needed break to get on with his life and let go of the incredible tension inherent in his enforced role of guardian and guide. It was like a summer vacation after a harrowing semester teaching a class full of wayward pupils. He didn't resent giving Sam constant attention and support - how could he? It was the least he could do for his friend, who always seemed to get the toughest jobs. But it was an awesome responsibility; an extremely stressful occupation, and he found himself relishing those rare occasions when he got to take time out and be relegated to the benches for a while. Sometimes, he wished he could send on a substitute; delegate the task to some subordinate.
Trouble was; it didn't work that way. There had been one Leap, when he'd had to go off site in an emergency and he'd left Gushie to keep tabs on Sam, but it had been a hit-and-miss affair to say the least. The contact with the past had been sketchy, far from satisfactory. Without the neural link between Sam and Al's brainwaves, it had been impossible to get a strong fix, and the drain on Ziggy's energy banks had been prohibitive. It was definitely a last resort rather than an option to be used on a regular basis. This meant that Al was constantly on call, 24-7, expected to drop everything to rush to Sam's side at a moment's notice, day or night - his personal pinnace, permanently at battle stations.
Except between Leaps, when some semblance of normality returned. He still had work to do, of course. Keeping up the pressure on the ?powers that be? to provide funding; making sure everyone was pulling their weight, generally overseeing the whole kit and caboodle. Yet that sort of undertaking he could tackle standing on his head with one hand tied behind his back.
Only this time around, it had not been quite such a doddle. He'd barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief that Sam had successfully accomplished yet another mission impossible, when he'd been plunged into a new nightmare.

When Sam left Alta, Al had kept his word and had his friend Harry fly him back to Texas, via Israel. Ruthie was making steady progress, but the long term prognosis was still fairly grim. After a couple of awkward days, they finally stopped re-salting old wounds and by the time Al left again, they'd somehow found a new perspective with which to begin the New Year.
As Sam had predicted, Ruthie knew of the legend of the blue ribbon and Rachel's tomb, and had been both thrilled and pleasantly surprised at the effort Al had gone to in order to procure some for her. It would indeed prove a comfort to her in the difficult times ahead, she told Al, and even made him bend over so she could kiss him in gratitude. Although neither sought a total reconciliation, and such was beyond all reasonable expectation, they did at least achieve a greater mutual understanding, and parted as friends, taking with them stronger memories of happier times shared. In the bitterness of their breakup, they had somehow forgotten that there had been good times; reasons they had got together in the first place, as well as reasons they had ultimately parted.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

It was a mellower Albert Calavicci who had returned to New Mexico ? to be immediately confronted by the cold shoulder from an irate Tina in a fit of jealous pique. Ziggy informed him ? since the lady herself refused to speak to him ? that Tina was NOT prepared to play second fiddle to a whole string of ex-wives. (The computer added her own caustic comment on Ms Martinez-O?Farrell?s choice of language.) So, Al had been obliged to endure first the stony silence; then the ritual of all the tedious cajoling; wheedling; flattery; flannel and smoothing of ruffled feathers to convince her she was still the special one; and finally the withholding of his bedroom privileges until she deemed he had been punished enough.
And all this at the same time as the problems at Project HQ that had summoned him back post haste from Dallas in the first place, and the crisis that now followed. He?d been more than a little annoyed that they?d deemed it necessary to recall him to deal with the renewed failure of the sewage system. Was he the only one around who could mobilize the troops? He had done so, of course, in pretty short order. All it had taken was a few well worded threats and the plumbers had forgotten all their qualms about wading through foul smelly outlet tunnels and had tracked down the blockage in less than half a day. Eh voila! No more need for gas masks and air fresheners on full fake-floral power.
He may not be the heaviest of the Project personnel by a long shot ? that dubious honor went to Sadie the sanitation operative (why she couldn?t just call herself a cleaner and be done with it, he never knew) who must have been at least nineteen stone in her birthday suit (not a pretty sight!) ? but when it came to throwing his weight around, the Admiral knew just where and how far to pitch it.
That done, it had been:
-&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ?Admiral, the catering truck didn?t arrive and we?re all out of??
-&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ?Director, the Committee are complaining that your report was due two days ago and??
-&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ?Al, you are way overdue for your annual physical and psychological appraisal??
-&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ?Admiral, your presence is required in the motor pool immediately?? This last had elicited an irritated, ?For goodness sake, stop bothering me with trivialities!?
To which Ziggy had calmly replied ?I really think you should report to the motor pool, Admiral. Gushie has just driven in with a bomb strapped to his chest!?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

Jan 4th 2003
Saturday 14:17

?Whaaaat?? Al had been sitting at his desk wrestling the usual mountain of paperwork when this particular snippet of information came his way. He stood up as sharply as a raw Ensign caught napping at kit inspection, sending reams of reports fluttering around him like a flock of startled seagulls. Even as he sought a contradiction of what he thought he couldn?t have heard, he was heading for the elevator, which would carry him to ground level, and the area that now demanded his attention.
?I believe your otic nerves are functioning efficiently, Admiral. Must I repeat myself?? Ziggy sounded just a trifle impatient.
?Just give me the details, Zig.? Al was marching briskly down the corridor, a dozen thoughts racing through his head ? evacuation procedures; ways to avoid panic; which personnel could be useful; how the hell he was going to explain to the Committee if one of their own top people blew up the base; what would happen to Sam if he had no Home to come back to?
At that moment Tina accosted him with renewed complaints and accusations.
Less vehement than before ? he?d started to break through her hard-done-by shell ? but nevertheless still in need of placation.
?Not now, Tina.? He snapped without breaking stride, shocking her into open-mouthed silence and putting their relationship back at least three notches.
?The Admiral did not mean to be rude,? soothed Ziggy, ?he is somewhat preoccupied at present, with a rather grave situation.[i/]?
?Unfortunate choice of phrase - given the circumstances,? muttered Al, but Tina softened just a little at the computer?s tone.
?Anything I can do to help, honey?? the word slipped out unbidden, but she did not retract it.
?When I find out, you?ll be the first to know.? Said Al, his voice matter-of-fact, but not as abrupt as before. ?Now, Ziggy, tell me just what in tarnation is going on ? if it?s not too much trouble.?
Tina had fallen into step beside him, and they now rode the elevator together up to the surface, Al tapping his foot and drumming his fingers on his leg in impatience at the slowness with which it rose. At long last, Ziggy began giving him the required data.
?I detected the device as soon as the car reached the perimeter, natur
,? it was amazing how smug that artificial voice could sound, ?but having identified Gushie as the sole occupant, I decided to allow him to proceed. I have taken the liberty of ordering all the other vehicles to be removed from the vicinity as a precaution. I trust this is acceptable.? It was not a question. Ziggy was fishing for praise, Al realized. At times the hybrid computer could be more temperamental than Tina, and that was no mean feat.
?Good move.? Al acknowledged. ?Do we have any personnel on site with the expertise to diffuse the damned thing??
?Diffuse? You mean Gushie?s got, like, a bomb?!? Tina finally caught up with the conversation and grabbed Al?s arm, staring at him with wide-eyed incredulity. ?Why would Gushie have a bomb??
?That?s what I intend to find out.? Her erstwhile lover informed her authoritatively. Somewhere at the back of his mind he found room for a stray thought ? ?At least she?s touching me again without hitting me. That?s a step in the right direction.?
?According to my records, the person best qualified is Corporal Kincaid, Admiral. I have located him and given him instructions to rendezvous with you at the motor pool.? Ziggy answered Al?s query as if there had been no interruption.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

The elevator halted, doors automatically opening. The Admiral immediately got out and headed off, Tina struggling to match his stride.
?I have scanned the offending object. There is no timer mechanism to worry about, so I suggest that you proceed with extreme caution and refrain from any hasty moves. I calculate a total of ten pounds of high-powered explosive material with the potential to cause considerable damage to thirty two point seven eight percent of the complex, and the total destruction of the closest four point nine three percent. All non-essential personnel have already been evacuated from the danger area on the pretext of conducting a regulation fire drill, organized by Dr Beeks to determine reaction times and responses to stress. It is my analysis that no one suspects that anything untoward is occurring. Given the extremely high degree of risk involved, I recommend that Ms Martinez-O?Farrell does not proceed any further with you, Admiral. I doubt if she would be able to contribute significantly to the success of this undertaking, hence there is no logical reason for her to endanger her life.?
Al stopped in his tracks. He?d been so pleased to have her close and talking to him without berating him for some slight ? real or imaginary ? that he hadn?t considered the fact that he was leading her into a probable death-trap. He turned to face her.
?Ziggy?s right Tina. You shouldn?t be here. Why don?t you go and lend Verbena a hand?? Al?s tone was gentle, but with just enough hint of ?don?t make me pull rank and order you out? that it left her no room to argue.
In spite of herself, Tina smiled and touched his arm lightly. ?Be careful, honey.?
Then, not wanting to let him totally off the hook, she added, ?I mean I don?t want to be the one to have to report back to Weitzman that we?ve just, like, scraped an ex-Admiral off the motor pool walls. Not to mention calculating the cost of a rebuild.?
Al knew Tina was babbling to cover her fear, and his heart leapt. He turned aside so she wouldn?t see him color, and told her brusquely that he wouldn?t dream of leaving her in charge. He turned back abruptly, pulled her into a tight embrace, which she had neither the time nor the inclination to avoid, and planted a firm, passionate kiss on her unresisting lips. ?For luck,? he declared. Then he departed, quick march, without a backward glance, and devoted all his concentration to the ?situation? that lay ahead.

The area was almost totally devoid of life, as vast a wasteland as the New Mexican desert that surrounded them. The one oasis was Gushie?s blue Ford Probe, parked just inside the entrance, with the windows wound down. The Corporal had not yet arrived. The Admiral approached the vehicle unwillingly, cautiously, but dutifully, being careful to project an image of calm confidence for Gushie to latch on to. Al?s palms were sweating, and it had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.
Gushie was sitting bolt upright in the driving seat, his hands still on the steering wheel, the knuckles blanched. He faced directly in front, moving his head neither left nor right. In fact, his whole body was immobile. He could have been a store window mannequin if it were not for the beads of perspiration that trickled over his forehead and down his temples and made his moustache limp and bedraggled. If he had noticed Al?s arrival, he did not appear to register it.
He was dressed in his shirtsleeves, his jacket tossed carelessly on the passenger seat. The offending package ? dark against his pale cotton top and trousers - bulged out before him like a bittern?s chest in full boom.
?Speak softly, Admiral.? Advised Ziggy, sotto-voce. ?It would not be wise to startle Gushie at this point.?
Al acknowledged this sagacity with an almost imperceptible nod, which was more than enough for Ziggy. By this time, Al was almost alongside Gushie?s vehicle, and wondering how much longer that darned Corporal was going to be.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

?Gushie?? Inquired the Admiral gently - though the occupant?s identity was not seriously in doubt. In that one simple word could be clearly detected a whole range of questions, such as; ?Is it really you?? ?Are you all right?? (Arguably the most ridiculous question ever posed, since it was commonly reserved for circumstances where a truthful answer was invariably in the negative) ?What the devil is this all about?? ?How on earth did you get yourself into this mess?? ?What can we do about it?? and so on.
For an interminably long moment, Gushie did not respond, either verbally or with body language. Then at last he blinked. Next, his grip on the steering wheel slackened ever so slightly, before renewing its intensity. After which Gushie chewed on his top lip, making the moustache even limper. His breathing was shallow, as if he feared the rise and fall of his ribcage might be enough to set off the device. He seemed to be weighing up whether or not he dared to speak. His eyes were now focused on Al, although his head had scarcely moved. The expression in his eyes was of sheer terror, mingled with a desperate pleading:
?Help me, do something, get this thing off me!?
?It is perfectly safe to talk, Gushie,? coaxed Ziggy quietly. ?The bomb cannot be triggered vocally, or by the vibrations of your speech. My examination of the device reveals that it can only be set off in one of two ways. It has a pair of large sensors, one horizontal, and the other vertical. The first operates on the spirit level principle and will activate the detonator if the wearer lies down, or is rendered prone due to unconsciousness, or otherwise tilts the indicator too far from its current position. I estimate eighteen degrees, nine minutes to be a reasonable margin of safety. It is therefore imperative that any movement on Gushie?s part be carefully thought through and kept to a minimum. The other sensor is basically a thermometer, and will likewise cause the bomb to explode if it registers more than a certain reading. Thus it is essential that Gushie?s blood heat be kept within strict parameters. I have lowered the heating in this region of the complex by five point seven-three degrees, and I am continually monitoring it in case a further reduction is required. It is recommended that Gushie attempt to remain calm, as the production of adrenaline associated with panic tends to create an elevated body temperature, as manifested by sweating.?
?Easy for Zig to say, huh?? Al tried to be jocular, but without any real hope of raising a smile. To his surprise, Gushie?s mouth did curl up at the edges just a little.
?M-m-m-my th-thoughts exactly, Admiral.? His voice was a hoarse whisper as raw fear tightened his throat and robbed his mouth of saliva. Gushie?s hands flexed spasmodically again, but he did not let go, clinging to the wheel as if it were a lifebelt, or a security blanket. Now he had found his voice, the words came pouring out in a torrent.
?I-I know I sh-shouldn?t have c-come, Admiral, b-but I didn?t k-know what else t-to do, who else to t-turn to. I d-don?t m-mind t-telling you, I?m utterly t-terrified.?
?Who wouldn?t be?? thought the Project Coordinator.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

?That?s all right.? He soothed. He was well trained and well practiced in the art of playing the Calming Influence. ?We?ll soon sort this out, no sweat.? He opted for the tongue in cheek approach again. ?Don?t worry, it?s bound to turn out okay, otherwise Sam would have Leapt in here by now.?
?I?m s-sorry, Admiral, but your reassurance has little validity. That eventuality could still occur ?next time around?, so to speak. It is of no comfort to me whatsoever at this present moment in time.?
Al often thought that Gushie had spent too long locked away with only Ziggy for company. At times his speech could be even more prosaic and pedantic than the computers.
Al tugged at the crisp precise crease that traced a demarcation down the front of his cobalt blue trousers, and then squatted down on his haunches, bringing himself closer to Gushie?s level. His current state of agitation had done nothing to improve the Chief Programmer?s halitosis, but Al tried not to flinch. Normally, his dealings with the technician were strictly official; their relationship business-like at all times. Now, Al felt it more appropriate to use a less formal approach. He could tell that Gushie?s sanity was a tightrope on which he teetered precariously. Al wished Verbena were there to handle it. Yet he understood Ziggy?s reasoning in deploying her elsewhere. Not only was she there as a smoke-screen, but also, if word got out of the true crisis, there would be pandemonium and Dr Beeks was the only one who would be able to contain the situation. Al knew they both had faith in his ability to handle things here, and he could always send out an SOS for Beek?s words of wisdom if the need arose. Ziggy could convey her advice with greater than satellite swiftness.
?What happened, Gush? Who did this to you?? Al asked conversationally, as if he wanted to know something trivial such as how he?d come by a black eye. Gushie swallowed hard, and for a moment his eyes were unfocused, distant, as he considered the questions, and how best to answer them. When he spoke, it was with a question of his own.
?How is your wife, Admiral??
Al was unprepared for this tack, and had to execute a small bounce to regain his balance. He looked at Gushie with head and eyebrows tilted. Very few people were privy to the real reason for his unscheduled trips to Texas. So far as he was aware, Gushie was not one of them, especially since he?d been home on leave since Sam?s Leap out.
?My ? wife? You mean my ex-wife, Ruthie?? he breathed.
?Mm-hmm.? Gushie confirmed.
?She?s uh, doing okay, I guess, since you ask. Off the danger list, but its doubtful if she?ll ever dance the Hora again.? Al spoke slowly, reluctantly, as if putting the prognosis into words somehow made it too real. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and he half stood, then remembered the stakes and backed down again, though he had to know ?Why did you ask??
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

?My cousin Miriam was with B?nai B?rith Women, too.? explained Gushie, his tone bitter. The light of comprehension dawned in Al?s eyes as he began to make the connections. He noted in passing that Gushie used the organization?s original name, just as he tended to. ?In fact she and your wife were friends, I understand.?
Al looked surprised at that, and a little uncomfortable at the closeness of the link between himself and the little Programmer. What tales might have gotten back to Gushie of his days of less than marital bliss?
?She uh, she was on the train?? he asked hesitantly, noting Gushie?s use of the past tense and jumping to the only logical conclusion.
?Uh-huh. Her demise was instantaneous, I am told.? Gushie blinked once, twice and chewed his top lip again. His eyes held that far-away look for a moment, and then he turned back to Al. ?At least she didn?t suffer.?
?Were you close??
?Not recently, Admiral. Circumstances being what they are??
Al nodded - a wry grin on his face. They all knew the consequences of their line of work. Gushie lowered his eyes and twitched his chin, to indicate the talisman he always bore around his neck. It was most often worn inside his polo neck sweaters, or high collared lab coats, and so kept private, but had been on display just frequently enough that his close colleagues knew he never left home without it. It was as much a part of him as his halitosis, though few were aware of its significance. Al had never paid it any attention before. Yet, looking at it close-to now, he recognized from his time with Ruthie that it was a Mizpah ? a pendant broken in two, which, when pieced back together read in ancient Hebrew:
?The Lord Watch between me and thee while we are absent from one another.?
They were given to protect the wearers from harm, usually shared by lovers, but sometimes ? as here ? given to members of the same family. He didn?t need Gushie to spell out that Miriam had been the recipient of the other half.
?It didn?t do her much good, did it?? Gushie muttered, and his face said the rest ? ?It?s not doing such a hot job for me, either!?
?I?m sorry, Gush.? Al didn?t know what else to say, but his expression was genuinely sympathetic. It was clear that these two had been very fond of each other as children, and had not so much drifted apart or outgrown each other as fallen into the familiar trap of taking each other for granted.
Sometimes a loss was felt even more keenly when you?d ignored someone in the comfortable certainty that there would be plenty of time to look him or her up later. Today, you were too busy, but there was always tomorrow. As Gushie himself was fond of saying: ?Time and Space can be a @#%$.?
Whatever the future held (assuming he had one ? where was that bomb expert?) Al was suddenly profoundly grateful that Sam had pushed him into mending fences with Ruthie, wiping out some of the ?what ifs?.
Gushie looked as if he?d been about to shrug his shoulders, but thought better of it.
?Since the funeral,? he whispered hoarsely, ?I?ve been getting death-threats.? His hang-dog expression forestalled the rebuke ?You should have told us.? Instead, Al asked needlessly ?Anti-Semitic insults??
?One or two.? Gushie replied, with a self-conscious snigger. His grip had lost a fraction of its tension, his head was not so rigidly erect, but he was still conducting an internal battle to maintain self-control.
?I never really thought of you as being Jewish, Gushie.? Al commented, almost apologetically, feeling acutely aware of how little he really knew about the man he?d worked with for so long. Come to think of it, he only ever ?talked shop? with the vast majority of his co-workers. It was a startling revelation to think that they all had religious beliefs and thoughts and feelings and families he had no idea about. ?Hidden depths? Sam would probably have called them. He made a silent resolution that if they survived this little crisis he would try to make time to converse more casually with his colleagues: to see them as real people rather than as a resource to be deployed.
?I?m not sure how I should take that observation, Admiral.? Gushie retorted, but without rancor. He sighed, ?But I think my father would have agreed with you.?
?So,? thought Al, ?Gushie?s religious fervor didn?t measure up to Daddy?s expectations. I can identify with that.? His own relationship with the Catholic Church had been severely strained at times. Another fence Sam had helped to repair, at least in part.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

At this point, Al became aware of a figure approaching from the direction of the elevator shafts. He stood up, glad to stretch his legs, which had started to cramp. He announced confidently ?We?ll have you home free in no time now, Gushie. Just hang in there.? Privately, he was thinking ?This kid better know his stuff, or there won?t be enough of us left to fill an anorexic?s lunch box never mind a body bag.?
Corporal Kincaid was the epitome of a good Marine: ginger hair cropped regulation short-back-and-sides, uniform starched and pressed and brass buttons polished, shoes shined so you could see your face in them, peaked cap set at just the right angle. He hadn?t bothered with the standard bomb-disposal Kevlar ?armor?: padded flak jacket, chest and crotch-plates etc?
For one thing, the darned kit weighed neigh on seventy pounds and was an encumbrance. He preferred to have the maneuverability of everyday uniform. For another thing, from what the computer had told him of the bomb?s destructive capabilities, the ?protective? clothing would afford him as much defense as a brown paper bag over the head during a nuclear holocaust.
Besides, a blatant show of disregard for precautionary measures enabled him to appear supremely confident in his ability to cure the problem. He walked with a measured gait, back ramrod straight, shoulders squared. Only his eyes betrayed the terror beneath the ice cool fa?ade. He was barely twenty-three years old and had recently become engaged to the effervescent Patti from coding. He had his whole life ahead of him: only now this bomb threatened to rob him of all that. He tightened his grip on the toolbox he carried, hoping to still the tremors in his hands. The Admiral had stepped forward to meet him, and he didn?t look very happy.
?Corporal Kincaid, reporting for duty, Sir.? He pronounced crisply, standing to attention and saluting smartly. Al returned the salute automatically. His instinct was to explode ?What the hell took you so long? Where the devil have you been?? but he could see the young man was struggling to keep his pants dry. He contented himself with a snide yet sincere ?Glad you could join us, Corporal.?
Gushie acknowledged the new arrival with a wan smile and a renewed clenching of the steering wheel. He drew a breath and let it out with a shudder.
?I t-trust you will soon extricate me from this encumbrance.? He said - eyes fixed pleadingly on the young man.
Kincaid set down his toolbox and opened it up, an obviously false grin carved into his face. ?No worries.? he assured, his tone barely betraying the lack of confidence he felt. He?d been well trained, and was a quick study. He knew all the theory and had been consistently top of his class on the bomb disposal courses but that was as far as it went. Hitherto he had only ever worked on simulations and dummies. This was his first real ?live? bomb, and he had every expectation that it could well be his last. In his brain he kept repeating the same litany ?Don?t panic. Keep a cool head. Don?t panic. Keep a cool head. Don?t panic?? it didn?t help much.
As a young man, Al Calavicci had had little time for the top brass, but he?d known how to take orders. From the occasional dealings he?d had with the Corporal before him, he knew Kincaid was of the same mould. As a full blown Admiral, Al knew how to dish out orders, but he also knew how to deal with young enlisted men still wet behind the ears finding themselves behind enemy lines for the first time. He was more of a psychologist than he realized- which was probably why Verbena Beeks found him such hard going.
?This is your show, Corporal. Where do you want me??
Ralph ?Rusty? Kincaid was taken aback, both by the friendliness of the Admiral?s tone, and by the faith he was placing in him. Though he?d found the senior officer somewhat pompous at times, he was rather in awe of him. He had a manner about him, which commanded the deepest respect, so that in or out (way out!) of uniform, one could never forget who or what he was, and what he had achieved in his life, and reacted accordingly. He was momentarily at a loss for words and looked around to cover his embarrassment. Then he swallowed hard. This was it. Might as well get it over with.
?Uh, I may need help to balance things from the other side, keep it steady. If you could get into the car next to?to?? he hesitated.
?Gushie,? supplied Gushie. Everybody called him Gushie and he liked it that way. If anyone had used any other form of address, he?d probably have looked over his shoulder to find out to whom they were talking. His life was in this young man?s hands. He wanted them on familiar terms so that the Corporal could concentrate on worrying about the important things, like how not to blow them all to Kingdom Come.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

Al was already moving around the rear of the vehicle to take up his assigned position. He?d calculated correctly. The idea of an NCO being authorized to order an Admiral about was mind blowing enough to help the lad get a grip.
Al opened the car door cautiously and lifted Gushie?s jacket from the seat, laying it carefully in the back of the car. Then he eased himself into the blue-grey upholstery and tried in vain to make himself comfortable.
?Okey-dokey, all set?? Al?s careless tone intimated an invitation to embark on a boy?s night out, cruising up and down the boulevards to pick up a bevy of beauties, rather than the life-or-death activity they were about to engage in.
They all knew they weren?t fooling anybody with their bravado and false cheerfulness but none of them wanted to be the first to crack, and that was holding them all up.
?Ready as I?ll ever be.? The reply came almost in unison from Gushie and Rusty, who opened the driver?s door to its full extent, crouching down and bracing his back against it while he studied the contraption Gushie bore.
It was held together in something that resembled a broad money belt, only stuffed with explosives where there should be dollar bills. And whereas a cash-stasher was normally worn around the waist, hidden beneath the clothing, this was snugly fixed at chest level in plain sight, with straps both under the armpits and over the shoulders. Protruding out from the centre like an outsized oblong ticket machine, bulged the trigger mechanism, sealed in an opaque unit. As the Corporal examined it, Gushie looked at him with a sardonic smile. ?I hope you have steady h-hands. I?m exceedingly ticklish.?
Unable to vouch for the stability of his hands, Rusty declined to answer, especially since he was convinced that his voice would be decidedly shaky. Instead, he flashed Gushie a quick nervous grin, and then lowered his head to sift through his toolbox. It was compact, and neatly lain out, resembling not so much a mechanics box of tricks as a surgeon?s delicate instrument kit: fine precision implements, honed to perfection. The first items he selected were a sort of dental mirror - 2cm in diameter with an angled metal handle, a pen-torch and a scalpel.
Gushie?s eyes widened in horror. He sucked in air noisily through the filter of his bushy moustache.
Al, who couldn?t see what the Corporal was about from where he sat, placed a gently restraining hand on the victim?s arm for a moment and spoke as reassuringly as he was able.
?Hang on in there, Gush. We?re with you all the way.? He mouthed a silent addendum ?Though I hope to God it doesn?t go that far?.
?That may not be possible, Admiral.? Ziggy broke in. The computer had been uncharacteristically quiet for some time, and all three men were startled by the sudden reassertion of its omnipresence.
?Say what?? queried Al.
?Your presence may soon be required elsewhere, Admiral.? The speech circuits were matter-of-fact, emotionless, but never mechanical. ?A new guest has just checked into the Waiting Room. Dr Beckett has Leaped again.?
?Oh, that?s just great!? Al shrugged his shoulders and raised his forearms, palms heavenward. ?Sam, you have a wonderful sense of timing.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

Then he addressed himself to Ziggy, although his face was turned to focus on Gushie, ?Is Sam in any immediate danger??
There was a pause of around a nano-second while Ziggy upgraded his databanks.
(Although strictly speaking the hybrid computer was asexual, Al annoyed both Tina and Verbena by thinking of it as male when it was being efficient and female when it became temperamental, as was all too often the case. Added to which, the computer?s vocal range altered whenever Gushie tweaked its circuitry, making it sound at times as deep as Arnie, at others as shrill as Marilyn, and all points in between. Sam also referred to Ziggy at times by both male and female pronoun, but he was not motivated by any sexist preconceptions. Rather his Swiss-cheesed brain took its cue from Al?s most recent reference.)
?It would appear that Dr Beckett?s surroundings are quite comfortable, and his activities are purely domestic. I cannot at this stage be specific as to his location, or the nature of his present assignment, but his continued existence is not under threat pro-temp. Am I to understand that you will be remaining here??
?You just said Sam didn?t need me, right Ziggy? I think I can be more use where I am. Advise me at once if Sam?s circumstances change.?
?Naturally.? Ziggy sounded peeved, her tone implying ?As if you need to ask?. Gushie?s relief was evident as he exhaled loudly and flexed his hands once more on the steering wheel, dropping them now from the 10 to 2 driving position to somewhere around 20 to 4, though he was not quite ready to relinquish his hold altogether. He opened his mouth to thank Al, amazed and flattered that the Admiral would even consider putting his needs above those of the Head of the Project and Al?s closest friend. The words wouldn?t come, so he renewed his chewing of the hairs on his upper lip in an effort to work up some saliva. He kept his eyes trained on the superior officer. He didn?t really want to know what the young Corporal was doing, he just hoped the kid knew, and tried not to contemplate the consequences if he didn?t.
The kid?s thoughts were running along much the same lines. He had the thin torch clamped securely between his teeth with the beam directed at the control unit. He examined the seal on the front panel from every angle using the mirror. Of a sudden, Gushie seemed to realize that his outstretched arms were a hindrance to Rusty?s endeavors and he snapped them down by his sides, clutching the base of his seat instead, as if terrified of what devilment his idle hands might create if allowed free rein.
Al decided his mind should be similarly kept occupied as Rusty announced
?The exterior looks clear. I?m about ready to open her up.? Besides, Al was bursting with curiosity.
?So, Gushie, you gonna tell us how you acquired this little fashion accessory? They sure as hell aren?t sellin? ?em on Special at Macys this weekend.?
?Indeed not, Admiral. Had that been the case, I am sure I could have resisted the temptation to spend.? Gushie almost managed a smile, which he wiped away before it could develop into a nervous twitch. He frowned pensively ? not in an attempt to recall what had occurred for every detail was etched indelibly upon his brain ? rather in an effort to find a place to start. His mouth was dry, and his voice cracked as he spoke, pausing frequently to chew on his face fungus.
?I suppose I should have been more on my guard, after the ? the threats. I didn?t really take them that seriously. It seemed inconceivable that anyone would ? would go to that amount of trouble t-to eliminate anyone as insignificant as myself.?
Al thought it prudent not to mention the times he?d heard comments such as
?If that Gushie breathes on me once more, I?ll tear him limb from limb.?
Indeed, he?d thought it himself a time or two, but the threat was an idle one.
?I would hardly call your contribution on this Project insignificant, Gushie. I for one have found your input quite stimulating.? Ziggy had been eavesdropping again.
?I don?t remember programming you for flattery.? Gushie retorted, with a self-conscious snigger, ?but thank you for those few kind words anyway, Ziggy.?
?Without wanting to start getting mushy,? added Al, ?you shouldn?t sell yourself short, Gushie. You have managed to be quite useful on the odd occasion.?
He might have given Gushie a jocular jab of the arm in other circumstances, but not here, not now.
?Careful, Admiral, you?ll have my head swelling.? Gushie was well aware that Al was not renowned for being lavish with his praise. His boss was letting him know that he was a highly valued member of the team whose efforts had not gone unnoticed. He grinned a sickly grin. ?Would this be a good time to negotiate a raise??
?Don?t push it, Gush,? came the poetic reply.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

Rusty snickered as he placed the recently removed casing on the floor and rifled through his tools once more, searching for the appropriate implement with which to tackle the next stage of the operation.
?So far - so good.? He told himself, searching the inner workings for any signs of booby traps.
Gushie?s head drooped a little as he was drawn to the object of Rusty?s scrutiny, and then he looked sharply away again, focusing on the reassuring face of Al.
?So? What happened?? his companion was determined to keep him talking.
?Basically,? confessed Gushie, ?I fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. I was driving over to Destiny to visit an old family friend, when I encountered an automobile accident on the old desert road. Two vehicles were entangled across the highway, barring my way, and a bloodstained man flagged me down. He was distraught, begging my assistance to rescue his wife from the wreckage. No doubt you?ve already read the script for what happened next. When I got out of my car and went to help, two more of them grabbed me from behind. They took great delight in letting me know that they were 5th Reich and I was about to be ?ethnically cleansed?. Gave me the full right wing spiel quoting ?Soldier of Fortune? chapter and verse, ?White Supremacy? and all that. How I was tainted and had Christ?s blood on my hands and had to be made to atone for the sins of all Jews who had ever lived. You?ve heard their propaganda. Sh-shall I tell you something? Forget the personal danger, the scariest thing was that they really believed all that Neo-Nazi Aryan idealism they were spouting.?
He tensed reflexively as Rusty poked around with his mirror and his proverbial fine-tooth comb, sussing out the anti-handling devices. Gushie drew in a deep breath and continued.
?They said it was more satisfying to wipe out whole train loads of us like they had at Dallas and the publicity for their cause was better, but it took a lot of organization and expense. So in between times they liked to keep their hands in by picking us off one by one. Then they gave me a choice. I could sit nursing the bomb where I was till I fell asleep from exhaustion and collapsed, or let the midday sun detonate it, in which case I?d die alone like the infidel I was. Or I could run into town in a vain attempt to get help and take most of the townsfolk with me when I blew. They didn?t care how many died, the more the better. They said it would be my fault, not theirs, and besides at least a few of those I shared my fate with would be bound to be ?Jewish scum? as well, so I?d be doing them a favor.?
Rusty was shocked ? not only by the faction?s callousness, but also by the Admiral?s casual acceptance of it as he listened ? and his face betrayed the fact, as did the freezing of his hand halfway through an exploratory maneuver. Gushie and Al exchanged knowing looks. They?d been around considerably longer and were infinitely more worldly-wise than the Corporal. The look said: ?Welcome to the real world, kid.?
A wave of guilt washed over Gushie again. ?After they?d got me back in the car and made their getaway ? they had a car hidden behind the wrecks of course ? I just sat there for I dunno how long, maybe an hour or more. I was too scared to move. Then, suddenly, I couldn?t stand it out there in the middle of nowhere any more. The solitude was unbearable, the silence deafening, if you know what I mean. This was the only place I could think of to come. I?m sorry. I-I didn?t consider what would happen to Sam if this thing blows and takes the Imaging Chamber, the Accelerator, or the Waiting Room with it. My actions were motivated by pure self-interest. Perhaps I should leave.?
He tensed up again.
?Don?t be a damn fool, man!? remonstrated Al. The two men had not always been on the best of terms. There had been a time or two when the Admiral could have cheerfully broken Gushie?s neck personally. But that was chiefly Tina?s fault ? insisting on using Gushie as a pawn in her little games to make Al jealous. Nothing had really happened between them, and he couldn?t blame the little creep for playing along, after all, he didn?t suppose Gushie got that many offers. Besides, all that was in the past, and although the Chief Programmer had his faults, he was darned good at his job, and not a bad sort at heart. Al wouldn?t wish anyone to go through this ordeal alone, and in any case the Corporal was his best, probably his only hope of coming out of this thing in one piece. He?d have done exactly the same thing in the circumstances, and now told Gushie as much.
?If it is of any comfort to you,? put in Ziggy, ?the blast is unlikely to penetrate as deep as the areas you mention.?
?Maybe not,? thought Kincaid, ?but if this sonovabitch blows, there?s gonna be a lot of bad hair days around.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 2 cont

Not being privy to his thoughts, Gushie relaxed a couple of notches, then one or two more as Rusty said aloud, ?I think I?ve got the measure of this baby now. It?s a highly sophisticated piece of hardware. There are several anti-handling devices to over-ride, but with a cool head and a steady hand we should be fine, just so long as I tackle ?em in the right order.? Inside, he was praying like he?d never prayed before for help in keeping his head cool and his hands steady.
?It?s your move, Corporal.? Al encouraged, ?take your time and remember - we?re here to help. You just call the shots.?
It still seemed fundamentally wrong for him to be telling such a high-ranking officer what to do, but the Admiral?s confidence in him was beginning to rub off. Some small part of Rusty was starting to believe that he was going to pull this one off and be a goddam hero. He was gonna make Patti so proud of him.
He pursed his lips and released a long slow breath, settling himself into the most comfortable position he could muster. He?d have liked more room to work, better light, and more state-of-the-art tools, but he?d just have to make the best of it. Time to bite the bullet and take charge.
?There are mirrors in here,? he explained, ?That means the first obstacle is laser traps. I need some way of revealing where the beams are so I don?t break them.? He was more or less thinking aloud, but as he vocalized his requirement the answer came to him. ?Do you happen to have one of your cigars with you, Admiral??
?Never travel without ?em, kid.? retorted Al, producing one with a flourish from the breast pocket of his iridescent blue jacket. ?But isn?t it a shade premature to be celebrating??
Rusty made a circular motion with his mouth mirror, pointing in the direction of the device. ?If you could gently blow some smoke around here, the laser beams will bounce off the particles and I should be able to see where we?re at.?
?Good thinking, Kincaid.? The kid was shaping up well. Al?s expectations of survival were increasing. He removed the wrapper from his cigar and lit up, drawing in deeply. Somehow, it was not so pleasurable a sensation as usual. Twisting further round in his seat, he filled his mouth with smoke and exhaled with a long controlled breath aimed at Gushie?s chest-plate.
?Eureka!? The bomb disposal expert was getting caught up in his task, bolstered by the confirmation of his diagnosis. ?I?ve got the suckers now.?
He began beavering away inside the contraption with tweezers and fine-pointed wire cutters, muttering to himself as he identified which colored wire he was targeting. Now and again he switched to a miniature screwdriver, disconnecting screw-down wire connectors. He smiled to himself at what turned out to be ?window-dressing? as he predicted, totally engrossed in his activities and oblivious to either Gushie or the quietly puffing Al, who found himself more impressed by the moment with the young man?s skill and dexterity.
?Admiral.?
The sudden interruption to each man?s thoughts made all three tense up again.
?Not now, Ziggy.?
?Admiral.? Ziggy was used to having to repeat herself, but it still irked her circuits.
?What is it??
?You instructed me to inform you if Dr. Beckett?s circumstances altered.? The tone was matter-of-fact, yet managed to hold a hint of urgency.
?What?s happened?? Alarm registered in Al?s deep brown eyes.
?From my monitoring of his vital signs, it would appear that Dr Beckett has just been rendered unconscious by a blow to the head with a blunt instrument.?
?Sam!? Al almost fell out of his seat in his haste to extricate himself from Gushie?s vehicle. Stiff and awkward from the long period of inactivity, the fumble reminded him sharply of the delicacy of their situation, and he proceeded with greater caution, making sure he closed the car door softly behind him.
Saying ?Sorry to cut and run, Gush,? and ?All yours, Corporal, keep up the good work,? in almost the same breath, he scurried back across the motor pool, heading for the elevators and thence to the Imaging Chamber, cursing under his breath every step of the way.
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Admiral Calavicci approached the door to the Imaging Chamber and automatically ordered ?Gushie, centre me on Sam!? before remembering that the Chief Programmer was otherwise occupied. Fortunately, Sammy-Jo stepped into the breach and did the honors.
Al had managed to glean a few basic facts about Sam?s Leap from Ziggy on the way down, but had foregone his customary preliminary visit to the Waiting Room, risking ignorance in his haste to check on his friend.
He commanded the computer to inform him of any significant change of status in Kincaid?s undertaking during his absence. Clutching his com-link, he prepared to step into Sam?s world with a weary sigh. Chronologically, these two crises were nearly fifteen years apart, but for Al it was a case of trying to be in two places at once, and even Sam?s convoluted lifetime left him never having enough time for what had to be done. Perversely, there always seemed to be plenty of time for him to worry, which he was doing now ? big time ? though experience forbade him to reveal it in his features.
Thus it was a jovial looking hologram that sauntered casually into the Balmoral Suite through a portal of bright light.
The sight that greeted him almost made him drop his mask in horror, but he forced himself to pretend that things weren?t as bad as they looked. They mustn?t be.
There were two people in the room, but Al would have known that it was the woman?s aura that currently hid his friend, even if Ziggy hadn?t told him the identity Sam had assumed. Ever since Samantha Stormer, Al had insisted on fine-tuning the neural link, so that he could see ?through? the aura to the real Sam beneath. Even though seeing elements of two people occupying the same space gave him a headache, it was preferable to the alternative.
Al looked at Sam.
?She? was seated, legs astride, and bound at the ankles with a fine nylon cord to the ornately carved clawed feet of the Queen Anne chair. The arms were similarly tied behind the chair-back. The head was bowed down on the chest, tilted slightly to the left, not quite obscuring the fact that the mouth was gagged with duct-tape, and the eyes were closed in stupefaction.
The other occupant of the room was a man in his mid to late thirties, some 6ft 5 inches tall, and broad of shoulder. He wore an immaculate fine wool suit in charcoal grey, whiter-than-white shirt, silver-grey tie flecked with a darker grey and held in place with a solid silver tiepin. His fair hair was trimmed short and neat around his ears and he was clean-shaven, with no hint of five o?clock shadow despite the lateness of the hour. He looked every inch the respectable gentleman, yet he was advancing on the hostage with his arm outstretched toward her bosom and a strange glare in his bright blue eyes.
?Sam! You of all people, caught up in S&M and the full bondage bit. After all you?ve said about me!? Al tried to sound as if he believed the teasing was appropriate, but an edge of concern crept into his voice.
?Get away!? he chided the stranger, ?She?s old enough to be your mother!?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

The man was almost on top of Sam now, his hand definitely reaching out to grope her breasts, and Al?s forced amusement turned to genuine anger as he instinctively stepped forward to square up to the lecher.
?You?d better not be thinking of raping the old girl. That?s really low.? Even the liberal minded Al considered some things beyond the pale.
He knew he could do nothing to hinder the creep, so he shouted a warning in Sam?s ear, admonishing his friend to wake up and at least attempt to defend the lady?s honor. Sam?s reaction was conspicuous by its absence, and for one dreadful moment Al feared he was not merely comatose but dead. The Observer punched frantically at his com-link, seeking ? and mercifully receiving ? Ziggy?s reassurance that the Leaper lived.
?Come on, Sam. Wake up.? He urged, over and over, his frustration at being unable to intervene directly rising to fever pitch. Finally, after interminable seconds, Sam showed the faintest flicker of awareness.
The awareness was Pain.
Not self. Not ?I have a body, legs, arms, a head, and somewhere something hurts.?
Merely pain.
His entire being consisted of pure unrelenting agony from which the only solace lay in the belly of the whale of oblivion which had swallowed him up, but which now ? like Jonah?s - spewed him forth onto the shore of suffering. He tried in vain to swim back into that great gaping black maw, to recapture the blissful state of numbness that had deserted him, but something wouldn?t let him. As he floundered, his awareness grew to identify that something as a noise. A nagging, persistent, grating noise that forced him to remember he had ears to hear and a brain to interpret with ? both kept in place by a head, and that was where it hurt the most.
Gradually, the noise took shape and became a voice. The voice formed itself into words and became his name, and a frantic warning that he was being attacked.
He prized his eyelids apart; letting in bright blinding light, which intensified his pain. Through the blur, his reluctant senses made out a figure, a huge creature towering over him, looming menacingly, and reaching out, plunging a massive hand down Mary?s ?V? neck jumper.
Total awareness returned in a rush then, and Sam desperately tried to back away, acting more on instinct that intellect as he fought the stabbing pain to focus on defense. It was only after he?d attempted the maneuver that the awareness extended to the knowledge that he was tethered. Consequently, his panicked withdrawal had merely caused him to tip the chair off balance, upending it and sending both it and him crashing to the floor, legs in the air, tweed skirt rising up inelegantly.
As he fell, his head caught the leg of the bureau, re-opening the wound an inch or so behind his left ear, so that warm blood trickled down his neck and dripped onto the carpet. He closed his eyes tight in a futile attempt to blot out the renewed pain.
?Sam!? the voice shrieked in alarm, and awareness gave the voice a name ? Al.
By way of reply he gave a low moan, muffled by the gag, but music to Al?s ears nonetheless.
?Attaboy, Sam. Come on back to us.?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

The eyelids flickered and eventually reopened, revealing watery eyes that expressed pain and fear and confusion in equal measure.
When he?d toppled over, his aggressor had backed off, withdrawing his hand from Mary?s cleavage. In it he held something white, which Al ? observing it from the corner of his eye ? at first assumed to be her brassiere; wrenched off in his extremely indecent hast to assault the defenseless captive. However, a rustling sound soon gave him to know that it was in fact a neatly folded piece of paper, which had been tucked into the aforementioned undergarment. The stranger now turned his full attention to the true object of his desire; reading intently until a second groan from Sam reminded him of Mary?s distress. He tore himself reluctantly away from the missive and knelt down beside her, reaching out once more. Sam recoiled, eyes darting rapidly in search of escape; body tensed at the realization that he was trapped, helpless, completely at the monster?s mercy.
The stranger saw the fear and spoke at last, reassuringly, as he stretched out to remove the gag.
?Hey, steady on, Mary. It?s okay. It?s only me.? The lady in question still looked bemused and mistrustful, shrinking away, no doubt due to the obvious blow to her head. So he obligingly elaborated, ?It?s me - your boss? Lyle Strickland?? He ripped away the tape with one quick tug, as if snatching off a sticking plaster. It stung in much the same way, leaving a mawkish taste in Sam?s mouth, and causing his breath to catch in his throat, before escaping in short sharp pants.
Al began keying in this latest information via his hand link so that Ziggy could pull all available data from his files. Sam worked his jaw, enjoying the renewed freedom of movement, and hoping to encourage his voice to return.
His head still throbbed, and his ears were ringing.
?Concussion,? decided the awareness that was once again Dr Beckett.
?W-wo-would ya be so koind as t?help me up?? he croaked hoarsely, trying to moisten sandpaper lips with a penicillin culture for a tongue, ?me arms is getting crushed back here, so dey are.?

Al looked up from his studies, startled by the unaccustomed accent.
Strickland looked startled too, as if the idea that Mary could not rise unaided had simply not occurred to him. His attention was still drawn towards the note he clutched in his hand, but he obliged now, guiltily muttering his apologies.

As his centre of gravity was shifted, Sam experienced a wave of nausea and his head swam, so that he felt he was on a roller coaster. He grunted and closed his eyes once more, attempting to re-orient himself. Now that he was back up off the floor, his head drooped down onto his chest again. It was just too much effort to hold it erect. Once Strickland had unbound his wrists, Sam slowly moved his arms round in front of him, laying his hands in his lap.
Unrestrained, his whole torso slumped forwards, shoulders rounded. His arms felt like lead and he had to flex his cramped fingers before he could rub the life back into his chafed wrists.
Instead of unfettering Sam?s feet, his employer returned to the note he had retrieved, unable to ignore it a moment longer. Opening it out to its full extent, he scanned it, and then re-read it, mouthing the words silently to himself and shaking his head. Satisfied that Sam was out of immediate danger, and unable to help his friend with his bonds, Al moved around in an attempt to read the note over Strickland?s shoulder and find out what could possibly be so important that it took priority over helping an injured employee.
Meanwhile, Sam bent forward to fumble clumsily at the ropes round his ankles, almost toppling the chair forwards this time. He grabbed the seat and took a moment to steady himself and still the head rush, before resuming his efforts, small noises in the back of his throat bearing testimony to the added strain that this maneuver was placing on his aching cranium.
Once free, he sat with his head in his lap, waiting for his stiff and sore body to return to at least a semblance of normality. His own vision blurred to the point of obscurity, he sought enlightenment as to the object of the other men?s focus.
?What is it?? he asked, his voice thick, resisting the instinct to look up, and not caring which of his companions replied.
?Ransom note,? rejoined Strickland curtly, jaw set firm with controlled emotion which could have been anger, or fear, or anxiety or a combination of all the above. Sam bit his lip. He felt a tightness grip the pit of his stomach.
The girls! How could he have forgotten about the girls?
 
Run For Their Lives - Chapter 3 cont

The note was compiled ? in time-honored fashion ? using clippings from newspapers and magazines. It informed Mr. Strickland that the price of his daughters? lives was ?One Million quid in used notes?, to be delivered as per instructions, which were to be forthcoming in the morning, along with proof that ?we got the little @#%$ where you?ll never find ?em?. It also cautioned him not to seek assistance from ?the pigs?.
Al let out a long soft whistle, which he only curtailed when he saw the creases it etched round Sam?s eyes and on his forehead. His friend was evidently still feeling fragile. ?These nozzles don?t go in for half measures, do they?? he observed, tapping his portable keyboard for information. He raised his eyebrows.
?They must have done their homework, Sam. This guy is worth that several times over. He?s loaded ? as in both barrels!?
Strickland lowered his arm at last, having read and re-read the demand a dozen or more times. Every word was printed indelibly now on his brain, so he let the paper slip through his fingers as if it no longer existed.
He moved across the floor with the wooden stride of an automaton, heading for the telephone. Al was still absorbing data, but he registered the move.
?Uh-oh, what?s he doing, Sam??
Sam reluctantly raised his head, clutching the site of the injury as he did so, feeling hair matted by sticky, congealing blood, while the fresh outpouring from his recent fall moistened his fingers. He reworded Al?s question for the other man?s benefit.
?Calling the police, of course. Scotland Yard or MI5 or whatever the hell they have for so called law enforcement in this godforsaken country.? Replied Strickland vehemently.
Al started flapping; waving his arms around and shuffling about, putting himself between the man and the phone and yelling hysterically ?Stop him, Sam. That?s the last thing he should do. You?ve gotta stop him, Sam. Quickly. Do something. Say something. SAM!?
Sam?s co-ordination was shot all to pieces, his concentration minimal, but he roused himself. He trusted Al implicitly, years of Leaping teaching him how to take up a cue. If action were needed urgently, he would take it, regardless of personal circumstances.
?You don?t want to be doin? that.? He told his temporary employer firmly.
Strickland hesitated, turning back towards the old lady, whom he fast feared had lost her mind.
?What? Those SoB?s have got my girls. I?ve got to? to??
He gestured towards the phone, but he was less sure of himself, giving Sam his opening.
?Uh, Oi don?t t?ink dats such a good idea.? He reiterated, looking enquiringly at Al for prompting. Al fed him the information almost as quickly as Ziggy supplied it to him, except that unlike the computer, he had to pause occasionally for breath.
?That?s what he did first time, Sam. The cops blundered in mob-handed and both girls turned up dead. They were found floating face down in some river called the Great Ooze, oh Great Ouse,? Al shuddered, ?with their? ugh, their throats cut.? Al made a gesture, waving his flat hand horizontally back and forth across his own neck.
Sam gasped in horror. He felt an iron hand squeeze his heart, tightening his chest in a vice-like grip. He pictured their smiling faces in his mind. He had only known them for a few short hours, but he had already bonded with them.
The image of their young, innocent lives so foully cut short was more than Sam could bear.
?Oi can?t let that happen.? He breathed. He stretched out his arm to restrain Lyle; half rising from his seat until dizziness forced him to resume it.
?What are you babbling about, woman?? snapped the irate father.
?You mustn?t call de po-leece. The kidnappers have warned you not to, and Oi believe dey mean business.? He rubbed his neck to emphasize the point. ?Dey banjaxed me good an? proper, so they did. We canna afford to risk doin? anyt?ing that could put the weans in any more danger.?