Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📗

Saskia was not surprised at his youthful appearance. Inside the computer, realised as a twenty-one-yearold, he would be no different.

“Hello,” he said. “I believe we’re walking the same way.” He held out a hand. “My name’s Bruce.”

“I’m Saskia,” she said. It was a mistake to offer her true name. She was not just visiting the year 2003. She was permanent resident. She needed to enter the research centre, but she needed to escape it too.

Bruce frowned. “Gloves? Aren’t you too warm?”

“I have a skin condition.”

“You’re new here.” His expression did not change.

“Yes. How can you tell?”

“Your footsteps. I listen to feet. Plus, you’re German. We don’t have any German scientists here.”

Saskia opened her mouth. It remained open for a few seconds as she selected the words to fill it. She decided to change her approach. “Can we be overheard?”

Bruce’s smile widened. “No. Not here. Why?”

She pulled him towards the wall. “Your name is Bruce Shimoda, but your parents christened you Gichin. They called you Bruce because you jumped around like Bruce Lee when you were a child. That was before you were blinded by diabetes. Your father told me this at your funeral. I’m from the future.”

Bruce let out a shuddering breath. “What song did I ask to have played?”

“‘In My Life’ by the Beatles.”

“Don’t tell me the date.”

“I won’t. I need to get into the research centre.”

“You can’t.”

“I must. We have five minutes before a bomb goes off in the centre. I have to stop it.”

A lie, but she needed Bruce’s help. It was five minutes until Hartfield arrived. The bomb might go off at any time. She had no idea.

“Will I die in the blast?” he asked quietly.

Saskia considered her answer. “No.”

Samuel Howell tapped his monitor. This had to happen. He slumped and took a sip of coffee. He was required to check the computer on a random schedule. The computer, for its part, checked the security camera in the lift. If there was any kind of problem, it would cut power to the lift and send out a security alert. Samuel Howell, or a person like him, would come running.

He tapped the screen again. It showed Dr Bruce Shimoda. He knew Bruce well. He was a real character. But the screen displayed the ghostly image of another person standing immediately behind Bruce. Monitor burn.

He dialled the section head. “Houston, we have a problem. There’s a glitch on monitor one. Yes, main entry, the lift cam. Yes.” He glanced back at the screen. Bruce had walked away as expected, but the monitor burn had vanished too. “Bollocks. I’m seeing ghosts. Nothing.”

The lift, which had no door, travelled all the way to the bottom of the shaft. Saskia heard the bustle and conversation of each floor, but she could see nothing. Bruce said nothing. The lift stopped and Bruce said, “Samuel, my friend, what a lovely day. Upstairs the sun is shining…”

Saskia dashed to one side. She felt for a wall and crouched. She should be directly underneath the sill of the guard’s booth. It was a sheer wall with holes large enough for the muzzle of a machine gun. To the left of it was a transparent, bomb-proofed door that could only be opened by the guard. Bruce had quite precise in his description.

She heard him collide with the wall. “Hey, have you been moving things about?”

Another voice said, “Dr Shimoda, please. You’ll hurt yourself.”

She became opaque. The guard emerged into the reception area and took Bruce by the arm. She grimaced. The guard was less than a metre away. If he turned in her direction, he would certainly see her.

The guard led Bruce through the doorway. Saskia followed silently behind. Once through, she kept the guard’s back to her and skipped a few metres down the corridor. There was a rack of lab coats. She took one. She deactivated her hood and tousled her hair. She buttoned the lab coat and busied herself with a mounted floor plan, which she was too excited to read. Bruce touched her arm.

“Saskia?” he asked.

“I told you we’d make it. I have powerful friends.”

“Keep your voice down. Take this.” He plucked the security ID from his lapel. Like the ID she had stolen from Frank to enter the research centre in Nevada, it had no picture. “I’ll say that I lost mine. Where now?”

“Take me to your laboratory.”

She looked at her watch. They had two minutes until Hartfield’s arrival.

Samuel walked back to his booth. Dr Shimoda was quite a character. A flashing red light on the second monitor caught his eye. Some text read:

Unauthorised Personnel in Basement Reception Area

“That was me, shit-for-brains,” he said, cancelling the override.

Samuel downed the rest of his coffee. It was cold. He did not glance at the first monitor. It replayed a blackly-clad woman scuttling through the security door. She went through over and over again.

Saskia struggled to match Bruce’s speed. She knew he was racing to beat the bomb. He was courageous to the last. She checked her watch. It was time.

The corridor stretched ahead in ten-metre sections marked by blue fire doors. Hundreds of people had passed them. Bruce was leading her against the tide. They avoided him. Saskia wondered how many would die in the explosion. “Where’s everybody going?” she asked.

“There’s a concert. David’s organising it.”

“How far to the laboratory?”

“Not far. Two more sets of doors.”

Saskia checked her watch again. It was 3:04 p.m.

They strolled through the next set of doors. Ahead of them, chatting to a colleague, was Jennifer Proctor. Saskia stopped. How did Jennifer get here?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a feeling of…”

The woman turned. It was not Jennifer. Her hair was darker, she was older, and she had an easy walk that escaped her daughter. This was Helen Proctor. The connections formed. Jennifer’s mother. David’s wife.

Bruce leaned in. “Never mind that. What about the bomb?”

Saskia was about to answer when the floor shook. It was not precisely an explosion. It was as though a great tree had fallen nearby. The lights flickered,