Considering what a small and insignificant object it appeared to be, it was remarkable the amount of damage one bullet could do. On its own, it looked so harmless, just a lump of lead, but when fired at high velocity from a contraption of pistons, hammers and chambers it could end lives, hopes and – more pertinently – careers.
Gene Hunt knocked back his fourth shot and thought about going to visit Alex in the hospital. Raising one hand, he gestured to Luigi to bring him another drink. The small Italian man looked concerned, but nevertheless complied without comment. He hovered uncertainly beside Gene as the man threw back the shot in one swift, businesslike mouthful. There was no lingering, no enjoyment in the way he drank it – he drank with the grim determination of a man at odds with reality.
Word was that he had shot Alex Drake, the pretty DI with the appreciation for finely cooked veal. Ever since his suspension from duty, he had whiled away the time awaiting verdict sitting here with Luigi, a stiff drink never far from hand. Sometimes he would pause in his drinking, the glass held halfway to his lips, and he would stare straight ahead as if unsure of where he was. In these moments he would look lost in a way that disturbed Luigi to see, but then the man would shake himself and the surly anger that seemed to hang around him in greater quantities than usual these days would settle about him once more.
Gene contemplated the bottom of his glass and then looked up at the clock on the wall, noting that soon his former colleagues would be filing in for their after-work drinks. He drew a few notes from his pocket, tucked them under the glass, slung on his heavy coat and walked silently from the building. He told himself he was leaving because he needed to go and see Alex before visiting hours were over, because he didn't want to hang around to see Shaz and Chris slobbering over each other like lovesick puppies, because he needed a walk. He told himself anything rather than admit the truth that he couldn't stand to endure the look in their eyes – the childlike faith in him, the hope. He was their Guv, he could do no wrong. And yet he had shot Alex. An accident of course, but how was he ever going to prove that if Sleeping Beauty chose never to wake up? That would be just like her, going out of her way to try and make things difficult for him, to prove him wrong.
In a foul mood, even the sight of his precious red Audi Quattro doing nothing to cheer his spirits, he yanked open the driver's side door and got in behind the wheel. He tugged on his favoured driving gloves with more force than was necessary, scowling out of the window up at the sky. The clouds were heavy and grey, casting an urban gloom over the streets. Looked like they were in for rain, just what he needed.
Starting up the car, feeling the power thrum through it, the wheel waiting and eager beneath his hands he decided that, despite the quiet threat of the weather, he would go for a drive before going to the hospital. There was no limit to the healing powers of driving just to watch the road being eaten up, listening to the engine growl with pleasure, revelling in the power of speed. Yes, a drive would do him the world of good, Gene decided. It would clear his head and give him time to think.
He lost track of the time he spent traversing the streets with no real destination in mind, the window cranked down a little to let in a taste of the bitter air. Far from getting any serious thinking done, his mind was a pleasantly sozzled blank, allowing his instincts to guide his hands on the wheel. And that was the way it remained until he became aware by degrees and inches of the car tailing him. Coming back to himself, he glanced up in the driving mirror to get a better view of the sleek black vehicle behind him. Thinking about it, he couldn't remember a point during his drive that it hadn't been somewhere in his sight.
Operation Rose was the first coherent thought to surface in his mind. The crooked bastards had been none too happy with his interference in their plans and it was all too conceivable that even if he was in disgrace with the force, they still wanted to even things out a little. Well, that was absolutely fandabbydozy by him. With a recklessness that was usually beyond even his adventurous driving habits, he seized the wheel and wrenched the car around in a sudden U-turn. His lips peeled back in a grimly feral smile at the sound of the road squealing beneath his tires. Jamming his foot down on the accelerator he sped towards the other car, visions of the looks of surprise on the faces of the drivers inside dancing in his head.
At the last moment, when it looked as though a collision might be inevitable, he coaxed the wheel into action once again, swerving past the tail in a grind of ruined paintwork.
"Watch where you're bloody going!" He shouted at the other car, leaning out of the window to look back at it and make sure that his message was heard. Then it disappeared from view as he swallowed up the pavement.
Perhaps it was the alcohol he had consumed, or maybe he was harbouring some secret wish to do himself harm, but he ignored all training he had ever received on losing a tail. Instead of taking a tortuous route to a densely populated area where he could blend into the general surrounding chaos of living, he headed straight for a long road that he knew would be deserted at this time of day. At first he thought he might have lost the other car after all, scared it off with his acrobatics, but there it was, growing ever larger in his wing mirror.
"Bastards," Gene muttered to himself, stepping down harder on the accelerator. But the other car matched his pace and then there it was, on the road beside him. He craned to get a good look at the driver but the sun was conspiring against him, sending needles of light lancing painfully into his eyes. With a curse he wrenched his head away, fiercely trying to knuckle the hallucinogenic dancing purple spots from his eyes, suddenly horrible aware of how vulnerable he had made himself.
There was the crunch of tortured metal and a rocking impact that threatened to send his beautiful Quattro spinning out of control as the other car slammed into its side. They were trying to run him off the road. Those low, slimy, scum-sucking… Gene knew exactly how it would look if they managed to cause him to have an accident. The Gene Genie would be found lying in a ditch, his legs broken and Christ knew what else, his breath reeking of alcohol. Those gits would get away scot-free, the crash blamed on nothing more than a pre-dinner tipple. He couldn't let that happen, he refused to, but at that very moment it didn't seem as if he was going to have much choice in the matter.
A second impact jolted through him, denting the driver's side door and cracking the window, forcing him to throw an arm up to protect his eyes. Cursing like a navvie, he tried to outrun the threat, but it came at him again, battering his car into submission. The third crash sent it into a wild spin that even he, who had tamed the iron horse with skill and courage, was unable to control.
His last thought, experienced as the frantic fluttering of a strong bird's wings against the inside of his skull, was that perhaps he would wake up on the same ward as Alex and then he crashed and thought no more.
Stay calm, Alex counselled herself as she followed in the laconically powerful footsteps of Gene Hunt. The other Gene Hunt. This was obviously just a dream, admittedly a very vivid dream, but then 1982 had felt just as real to her the second time she lived through it. Any moment now she would wake up, take Molly to school once again, come in to work and be greeted by someone who was not a figment of her imagination.
"Wake up," she whispered to herself, giving her arm an experimental pinch.
Gene glanced back over his shoulder at her. "What?"
"Nothing, I just… Working to track down hackers must be very interesting."
The division 2008's answer to Gene Hunt was in charge of was technological threat. They dealt with internet hackers, people who ran illegal download sites for profit and the ever-popular credit card fraudsters. It was odd to think of Gene, who was such a technophobe, heading up such a division.
"The most interesting part of crime-fighting, DI Drake, is getting down the pub afterwards."
Still the same old Gene, she began to think almost fondly, before realising the absurdity and pushing it forcefully out of her mind.
"Well, 'ere we are. Home sweet home," Gene announced, stopping beside a door and swinging it open. The room beyond was functional yet comfortable, decorated in the calming tones of hospital green, waiting room beige and dentist magnolia. A computer whirred on every desk and the complex web of evidence charts spanned half of one wall. Eyes red-rimmed from constant close-up work lifted to regard her.
"Alright, listen up boys and girls; we're welcoming a new member to the team today. Everyone say hello to DI Drake."
There were a few obediently mumbled greetings from the desk-dwellers that seemed enough to satisfy Gene. He strode further into the room, allowing the door to swing closed behind him and Alex. "Introductions all round then?" he prompted.
"Uh yeah, hi, I'm Chris." A sleepy-eyed, carefully groomed man in a fashionable shirt extended one hand towards Alex, half-stood up, thought about it and sat back down again with a vaguely flustered look on his face. "Nice to meet you," he added as an amendment of his social faux paux.
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Alex felt a stab of fear through her chest. There was no mistaking the fact that this was the very same Chris she had worked with in 1982.
"That's it, just slaver over the first woman to walk into the room, no need to trip over your tongue," a female voice cut in with bitter sulkiness. Alex instantly recognised the pretty face framed by dark hair, although not the hardened expression that it currently wore. "Shaz?" she asked in soft disbelief.
"I see you've already met," Gene cut in impatiently. "Please do ignore the bickering, ever since these two got a divorce they've been nipping at each other's ankles like dogs in heat." He sent a warning glare in the separated couple's direction, and then went to gesture towards the last man left to be introduced, but at that moment the phone on the man's desk started to ring. But that hardly mattered, an introduction wouldn't be necessary. Even with his curly hair cropped short and his face shaved, the surly face of Ray was unmistakable.
Surely this couldn't be happening. It was logically impossible for these people to be here. Not for the first time, Alex began to doubt that she had ever recovered from that bullet wound at all. Perhaps she was still lying in a hospital bed somewhere, delirious and dying; or even worse, perhaps she was already dead and this was some bizarre form of purgatory. "This isn't right…"
"They may not be the elite team you're used to working with DI Drake, but they're the best I've got and they get the job done. If you don't like it you can leave." The sarcasm in Gene's voice was heavy, his tone verging on dislike. Thinking of the power-struggles she had engaged Gene in when they had first met, back in 1981, she felt profoundly weary at the thought of having to endure it all over again. Besides, she didn't have time to work at gaining his trust, she had to work out what was happening to her.
"Guv?" The voice of Ray – the other Ray – broke into her thoughts. He had replaced the phone in its cradle and was looking towards the other man with a slight frown of concern creasing his forehead. "There's been a break in the case; they want someone down at the site on stakeout to keep an eye on things."
This earned him a brief nod from his DCI. "I'll go. Drake, you're with me. Give us time to get to know each other, eh?"
He left the room without waiting for an answer, leaving Alex to follow him thinking that dream or no dream, she would never get used to that voice addressing her by her proper name and not some derivative of 'Bollinger Knickers'.
A couple of hours later and she was sitting alone in a parked Volvo that was handsome, but nevertheless made her feel a little nostalgic for the old Quattro, not that she had ever been allowed to touch it without Gene's express permission. The view was nothing to write to reality about. There was not all that much to see out of the windows apart from high rise block of flats clustering together like starved trees determined to claim the sunlight for themselves.
The stakeout was not going well and they were beginning to suspect that the lead had been a waste of time. Two hours of sitting and watching the monotonous comings and goings of people absorbed in the daily grind was enough to put anyone in a foul mood. Gene had become so agitated by the inactivity that a few moments ago he had excused himself to go and buy coffee from a café down the road, leaving Alex in charge of their fruitless reconnaissance.
She knew that caffeine was probably the last thing her body needed right now, but she still looked forwards to having a warm cup of coffee in her hands; a real coffee with an exotic, exciting name and who-knew-what additives floating around its milky depths – a 2008 coffee from a modern coffee house. She couldn't remember the last time she had had one of those.
Despite her continued vigilance, she must have been distracted for a moment by her thought of beverages, because it appeared that someone had appeared in the middle of the road out of thin air. As she watched, the man – for by the build it was obviously a male – turned about in a slow circle, as though he were as surprised at finding himself there as she was by suddenly catching sight of him. Perhaps he was drunk. Leaving her post, Alex opened the car door and stepped out to approach the man.
He turned to face her just as she came within an arm's length of him and she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat with a surprised gasp. The man was none other than Gene, but what was he doing here? His hands were empty of takeaway coffee cups and besides, the café was in the opposite direction, to get here he would have to have passed her by, but she hadn't seen him. What was even stranger was that his surprise seemed equal to hers.
"What are you doing out of hospital?"
"Hospital? DCI Hunt, are you feeling alright?"
Irritation flared up on the man's face and for a moment he looked like he would like nothing more than to give Alex a good hard shake. "What's all this 'DCI Hunt' nonsense? Are you sore about me shooting you? Because you know that was an accident." A thought seemed to strike him at that moment, for his eyes widened and he grabbed compulsively at her hand. "Bloody 'ell! They think I shot you, they suspended me and everything, c'mon, you've got to come with me and explain to them what really happened."
"Gene! It really is you!" Rather than feel more disturbed by the appearance of the original man in her modern world, Alex felt inexplicably reassured by his presence. A new wave of optimism flowed through her, seeming to cleanse and calm her spirit. She knew that now her constant was with her, she would be able to fight anything. As long as he was here she would be able to sort everything out. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him in a hug.
"Of course it's me, who were you expecting? The tooth fairy?" Taking hold of her by the shoulders, Gene held her out at arm's length. "What drugs have they got you on, Bolls?"
"No, you don't understand, this is 2008. You're in my time now."