Only Shadows Ahead
Chapter Five
Doctor Blight sat at the crowded bar, nursing her Long Island iced tea as she scanned her surroundings. She watched the university students file in from the campus downtown. Having finished their classes for the week, the students would be looking forward to unwinding with a few drinks on a rowdy Friday night.
Many of the young people were quite obviously underage, but this was part of the bar's appeal: ID's were often overlooked in this part of town. Blight felt nothing but disdain for the young people here: the girls in their mini-dresses, heels and heavily made up faces. The boys with their false bravado: loud and obnoxious as they tried to out-do one another.
She turned back to her drink, taking a sip and glaring at the bartender whose discomfort was palpable. A body dropped into the stool beside her and she knew who it was without looking. The combination of Brut 'Old Spice' and cigar smoke was a dead giveaway.
"You'd better have a good reason for calling this meeting, Barbara." Looten Plunder's voice was as smooth as ever, tinged with just the right amount of annoyance to invoke a glance from the scientist. "It's not good for us to be seen together."
Blight shrugged, turning to face him. She got straight to the point. "I need a favour."
Plunder stared at her. "Haven't I done enough favours for you? I'm funding all your resea…."
"I've done it."
Plunder stopped and closed his mouth, pressing his hands together as he considered her words.
"You mean…"
"Yeah," she said, reaching into her hand bag and tossing four printed images onto the counter in front of him. Blight drew forward the first three and tapped her finger on them. "Here… and here. These images are from my fourth attempt. You can clearly see the other side. The bridge was too unstable, it didn't hold …but I appear to have left a message for myself."
"You appear to… you mean…"
"I must have known where my first coordinates would be. Wrote some equations and a message on the mirror."
"What did the message say?" Plunder interrupted, intrigued but Doctor Blight shook his head.
"We'll get to that in a minute. The new equations work. This was my fifth attempt," she said, drawing forth the final photo.
Plunder's eyes went wide as he stared at the captured image of a silver vortex, resembling a funnel that had replaced the reflective surface on the floor of Blight's lab.
"I need a drink," he muttered, pursing his lips and motioning to the bartender. He ordered a scotch, before lowering his gaze to the phenomenon under his hands. "This is incredible."
Blight grinned as she retrieved her cell phone from her hand bag. "I've removed this file from MAL's hard drive. If you like that, you're gonna' love this."
She pressed play and handed the phone to him, delighting in the look of abject wonder on her colleague's face as the vortex swirled and throbbed in the video playback.
"This… Just think of the possibilities! Have you tested it?"
Blight shook her head, retrieving the phone prematurely from Plunder's vice-like grip. He glared at her and she smiled sweetly in return.
"Why haven't you tested it?" he asked, touching the photo's in front of him.
"MAL has a theory. Once we've gone through - once the particle transfer is complete, the blowback from the energy field may end up destroying the lab. It'll be a one-way ticket."
"What use is that to me," Plunder hissed, suddenly enraged. "How am I meant to make money off something that's only good for one trip?"
"Because," Blight said with a roll of her eyes, "I doubt I would send myself all this information and not have a way back home. 'Future me' may have perfected the wormhole transfer and when I return… who knows. You'll soon be ducking back and forth along the time-space continuum with winning lottery numbers, stock-exchange tips. The possibilities are endless."
Blight grinned, sidling up beside him and nudging his shoulder with her own. Plunder visibly relaxed... he seemed consoled by that.
"You said you needed a favour?"
"Ah, yes," she said, twisting around to face him. "I need the Russian. More precisely, 'future me' has requested the Russian."
Plunder frowned, still perusing the images in front of him. "Who? The Russian president?"
"No, you idiot! Blondie."
He glanced up at her, clearly surprised. "Why?"
"How should I know? Don't care. The message asked me to bring her and her ring along for the ride. I'm gonna' need some muscle to help me out. That's where you come in."
"Well, I'm sure as hell not going through that thing," Plunder muttered, indignant. He raised his hand and motioned towards two men standing by the front door of the bar. "But I can spare these two."
The men approached, weaving between the steady throng of bodies on their way towards the bar. Blight leaned back in her chair, amused as a skinny, dark-haired guy tipped backwards on the dance-floor, laughing. He inadvertently bumped into one of Plunder's bodyguards and stumbled, raising his hands in apology.
Sporting a crew cut, thick-set body and ropy with muscle, the body guard picked him up and tossed him into the crowd, sending the kid sprawling along the floor. The sea of bodies quickly parted to make way for the intimidating pair.
"Ooh, I like him," Blight smiled, staring at the unfamiliar recruit as he shoved another student out of the way. She sipped her drink again. "He's feisty."
Plunder sighed, having reached the limit of his tolerance for drunken college students. The two men reached the counter and flanked themselves either side of their boss. "This is Kroi. He's new. Built like a brick shit-house and rather cranky, but he get's the job done. You already know Bleak."
"Got a job for us, boss?" Bleak asked, glaring at Barbara Blight. "Not loanin' us out, are ya?"
"She'll fill you in later," Plunder said, standing and pushing his chair under the counter. "The good doctor needs a hand with something… sensitive."
"If Blight's involved, I want double my usual pay," Bleak snapped. "Things tend to go pear shaped when 'doctor dimwit' is involved."
Plunder grabbed his jacket, tucking it under his arm and staring down his employee. "If you're successful and make it back, I'll triple your pay. Deal."
Bleak grunted, seemingly appeased.
"Keep me out of all communication. I'm off the books on this one. Don't contact me until you're back… if you make it back, that is."
Barbara Blight got to her feet, leaning forward and placing a kiss against Plunder's cheek.
"Toodles," she whispered, before turning and beckoning for her hired thugs to follow. She folded her arm within Kroi's and headed for the door. Argos Bleak followed close behind, scowling with the distinct air of someone who knew they were in over their head but was utterly powerless to stop it.
Ma-Ti's teeth were chattering. The air was positively frigid… even breathing hurt. He wrapped his arms around himself, bracing himself against the wind and sleet falling sideways. A tanker rolled by and he stepped away, watching it disappear into one of the busy terminals.
Their investigations had turned up very little around Prudhoe. The illegal wells were empty but they'd found the area where the oil had been transferred. The spill area was massive, made worse by the fact that the transfer had occurred too close to the shore line, spreading into the sea.
Ma-Ti had surmised that whoever was behind the syphoning had been interrupted by the investigation team's arrival. There was an exchange of gunfire and the oil was hurriedly transferred to vehicles, bound for the nearest port. The secret was out, so they'd cut their losses and bolted.
Gi had cleaned up what she could with her ring, but hundreds of dead fish and birds had remained, floating as a permanent reminder of the damage inflicted.
They'd followed the tyre tracks for a while, aware that they seemed to be leading towards the port of Valdez. Ma-Ti had hung around outside, keeping an eye on things while the others had snuck in to take a look around. Another tanker rumbled past and Ma-Ti tilted his head, reading the sticker on the side of the vehicle.
Sludge Industries PTY LTD
He raised his ring and made contact with the others.
"I do not wish to get him into trouble, but I sometimes find his behaviour bordering on inappropriate, Kwame."
Kwame rolled his eyes, continuing his surveillance of the cargo ship currently docked in the harbour. Tankers were pulling up every ten minutes and a flurry of activity was present.
"Kwame?"
He sighed, glancing back at Linka's angst-ridden face. "Did you ask him to leave the tent, Linka?"
She paused, turning pink as she considered her answer. "Well, nyet but I…"
"Did he do anything physically inappropriate to you."
"Nyet. No," she muttered, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "He would never do that."
"No, he wouldn't," Kwame said, switching his gaze back to the cargo ship. "He adores you, Linka. But if you are uncomfortable with anything Wheeler says or does, you need to be up front with him."
"But I am," she insisted rather loudly, drawing attention from one of the dock workers. They ducked down behind a forklift, holding their breath as the worker eventually returned to his duties. "I am…" she whispered.
Kwame shook his head with exasperation. They had been through this many times and tended to run around in circles. Seven years. He honestly thought that after so long, they would have sorted themselves out by now. He sighed, grasping Linka's shoulders and leaning in close.
"No. You are not clear at all. You grumble and you chastise him but you never outrightly tell him to stop. He would stop if you asked him. I think the issue here is that when it comes to Wheeler, you do not know what you want, Linka. I think that frightens you."
"That is not true," she hissed, her green eyes flashing. "I…"
"Linka, you know that I abhor sexual harassment of any nature. I will not condone it, nor will I stand for it…"
"Oh, it is not like that," she added rather hastily, flushing bright red despite the chilly air. "He would never…"
"Say the word and I will tell him to leave you alone — for good."
She opened her mouth and closed it again, staring at Kwame and not quite knowing how to respond to that.
Her silence spoke volumes.
"I thought as much," he said, returning his gaze to the tankers again. "It is not a crime to admit you like the man."
"I… I do not like…" she spluttered, clenching her fists and refusing to look at him now. "That is not even relevant…"
"It is very relevant," Kwame smiled, knowing he'd touched a nerve. "Want to know what I think?"
"Nyet," she muttered under her breath.
"I think you both just need to get laid. Get it over with."
"That is not funny." Linka shoved him and folded her arms, ignoring the smirk on Kwame's face. She dropped down onto the pavement, crossing her legs and gazing up at him. "Sometimes… sometimes I think… maybe if he wasn't such a clown all of the time. If he were more serious…"
"Wheeler's personality is one of his most redeeming features, Linka. Our work would be a lot harder without his optimism and humour."
He heard Linka mumble her response - Kwame was unable to decipher it and didn't ask for clarification. He knew she was pondering his words.
He pointed towards a stocky figure heading towards the gang plank, barking orders to the workers by the dock. "There's Sludge. Let's go."