Sam ended up spending the entire weekend going through the mysterious notes Alan Johnson had left behind in his book. Her job hunt entirely forgotten, she and Stonecrop, who was just as intrigued by this strange discovery as she was, struggled to make heads or tails of the man's account of his adventures. Were they dealing with the words of some fantasying nutcase or the real thing?

An online search had yielded plenty of information on this Dr Johnson, now deceased, who had been a zoology professor and former marine. His Wikipedia biography detailed the murder of his wife and daughter in 2011 by the now long-disbanded Red Hand Brotherhood, after being unknowingly entrusted with evidence that could compromise the terrorist faction and its plans for a mass strike against world powers by means of a secret weapon-satellite. A year later, another attempt was made on the widowed professor's life, by framing him for murder, to bring him within reach of Red Hand's undercover assassination network within the government.

Forced to flee into hiding, Johnson had somehow unravelled Red Hand's plot to kill him and embarked on a solo mission to take down the faction on his own. Like Dr Richard Kimble, alone and on the run from the law, Johnson had managed to thwart the faction's intended strike, resulting in the destruction of the safe house, and the demise of the entire faction's inner circle, but at the cost of his own life.

Posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross for destroying the Red Hand Brotherhood, to this day, Johnson's name was remembered in a far better light than what it had been prior to his death. One of his former colleagues, Sir Cole Drake, who had assisted him in his plight and later testified against the Brotherhood in court on his behalf, helping in the apprehending of the rest of the faction's undercover members, had also been knighted for his role against Red Hand. The latter had later published a book called Alan Johnson; A Fugitive's Quest for Justice, detailing his own account of being hunted down by Red Hand, who had taken his family hostage, and his and Johnson's combined efforts to accomplish the impossible. However, there wasn't the slightest mention of Johnson ever having encountered any intelligent, talking rabbits anywhere.

Stonecrop had soon dismissed it as a fake, but Sam, carefully examining the written account against Johnson's biography and the newspapers, hadn't failed to notice that the parts of his encounter with the humanoid rabbits, which had apparently taken place in the future, fitted perfectly within the gaps in his story – the stage when he had mysteriously gone missing and presumed dead in a plane crash.

According to the account, after accidentally time-jumping whilst flying over the New Forest dead zone, where the 2012 Aurora had been, Johnson, his friend Dr Derek Shaw, and the murderer of his family, Russell Robbins, who had returned to finish the job, had found themselves stranded in a post-apocalyptic future world of giant, humanoid rabbits - rabbits like Stonecrop. At some point, Robbins had been unmasked and forced to flee, eventually teaming up with a certain General Woundwort, the leader of a hostile, militia warren; using his faction's still-functioning EMP satellite, he had gone into a murdering frenzy, unleashing a catastrophe, from which only Johnson and five of his rabbit friends had escaped alive. Bringing them back with him to the 21st century, using all the information he had gotten in the future, they had set out together to change the past by eliminating the very seed of the destruction of their world: the Red Hand Brotherhood itself.

Apparently, their mission had been a success, just like it had been reported in the media. The account then picked up, in the aftermath the Brotherhood's demise, explaining how Johnson, who had simply been presumed dead for a second time, had made plans to return to the future with his rabbit friends and several human companions, to stay, and rebuilt civilisation. The final entry, dating two days after Johnson's second supposed death, read: "Tonight's the last night. Tomorrow, we fly. Soon, we will finally know whether our gamble of tempering with time has actually paid off. All our prayers go to our friends, who needlessly died over this business, and which we hope to see alive again on the other side. God's – or should I say Frith's? – speed to us all."

Putting two and two together, Sam had finally come to two conclusions: either the account was a well-written fake, or it was genuine. And the only way to find out which it was, she would have to retrace Alan Johnson's footsteps, with nothing but these notes he had left behind to guide her.

Her first attempt was to try and get in touch with any of Johnson's old friends or acquaintances, anyone who had known him well enough to give her a lead. Although it was relatively easy to dig up the phone number of Johnson's in-laws, the parents of his wife, who lived in another part of the country, the instant the father realised what she wanted, he had rudely hung up on Sam, muttering how they didn't have anything more to do with their late son-in-law, who had led their daughter to her death with his carelessness. Scratch any surviving relatives, who still held a grudge.

Next, Sam had tried contacting the orphanage where Johnson and his brother had lived as an adolescent, following the death of their father. Unfortunately, the new head of the place informed her that his predecessor, Father Herbert Campbell, who had known Johnson twenty years ago, had long since retired and recently passed away in a nursing home. Just another dead end. Likewise, Johnson's old university, where a few of his old colleagues, who had barely known him, still worked, proved just as fruitless. It seemed anyone who had known him real well was either long dead, or could not be traced. A real ghost hunt, as far as Sam was concerned.

And so it was on the following Monday morning that Sam found herself making her way to Alan Johnson's old neighbourhood in Chelsea, following the address in the book, with Stonecrop tagging along. While Sam cycled along King's Road on her bicycle, towards Drayton Court, Stonecrop followed behind on foot, easily keeping up with his swift-moving legs. Although Sam had made sure they made an early start, before anyone was about, she still got a few curious glances from the few passer-bys they met on the way. Her stomach bottomed out each time someone would turn to stare at her furry friend in amazement, all the while pondering on what life would be like for him in a few months, when he'd be too big to go outside without attracting attention…

Johnson's Drayton Court apartment was still there all right; the old block of flats, built in the early Edwardian era, once dark and semi-abandoned, had since been renovated and modernised, its derelict apartments sold to new families that had moved into the neighbourhood over the years. Maybe Dr Johnson's home had also been sold away and no longer existed? They would just have to see.

Chaining her bicycle to a stand on the edge of the sidewalk, the two of them made their way up the marble-pillared porch of the block. The front door, which had a sign of available apartments for sale plastered on the glass, stood ajar and they entered. In a hallway, they met an old, grizzle-haired man, a janitor it seemed, who was mopping the floor. He turned to greet them, giving Sam a toothless smile.

"Howdy, young lady," he said, with a deep voice like a bagpipe, "Can I help ya?"

"Eh…" Sam hesitated; she wanted to ask where Johnson's apartment was, but knew better than to let this old coot know where she was going. What she and Stonecrop had in mind was technically called breaking into someone else's home, and this old janitor would probably send them away if he knew. "Just visiting a friend, thank you…"

"Visiting the vet?" asked the janitor, staring at Stonecrop in a way suggesting that he was secretly imagining just how appetising a rabbit this size would look like cooked into a casserole, "Mrs Finnegan's place is Number 2 upstairs, opposite Dr Johnson's old place…"

"Alan Johnson?" asked Sam, seizing the opportunity, "Did you know him, Mr…?"

"Hanson. Gordon Hanson," said the man, shaking hands, "I took over as concierge following my late sister Emily's death a few years back. She knew Johnson and his family real well, the old lass…"

"So his home is still here, then?"

"Why, yes, his estate executive keeps it well maintained and untouched," said the old man, suddenly getting suspicious. No doubt he had had to deal with many Johnson fans come nosing around, "I've just been upstairs, cleaning that ruddy place… Why?"

Nothing, just curious," said Sam quickly, before the old man could catch on what they were really here for. She was glad when he bid them good morning and moved off with his cleaning cart, leaving the coast clear. Sam and Stonecrop made their way upstairs, but, of course, not to the veterinarian's office.

To their greatest luck, the problem of entering the supposedly locked apartment was rendered moot, when they found the door unlocked, old man Gordon apparently having forgotten to lock up when he'd been in there to clean. Inside, rather than finding a dark, abandoned apartment, they saw someone had gone to extreme lengths to keep the Johnson home well maintained. It was like stepping back in time; with the exception of some of the furniture and light fixtures, which were wrapped in plastic sheets, to protect them from dust, everything was exactly the way Dr Johnson had left them four years ago.

For the next couple of hours, Sam and Stonecrop searched Johnson's home like Holmes and Watson, looking for any clues related to Johnson's written account of his escapades in 2012. There was nothing; although they found all of the man's private research papers on the bookcase in the study, the framed family photographs on the wall in the lounge, and even a metal lock-box containing all of his crucial documents sitting on a chair in the master bedroom, there wasn't the faintest shred of evidence to prove his story was real. Maybe someone had deliberately removed any evidence left behind, to cover the truth?

To add to the mystery, they soon realised the apartment showed sighs of a hasty departure; suitcases and clothes were missing, in a manner suggesting the owner had simply gone away on a long-term business trip, rather than being dead. But where?

"It doesn't figure," said Stonecrop, staring at the contents of the lock-box, which they had emptied atop the coffee table in the lounge, to examine, "He's left his passport, credit cards, driver's licence, and even his wallet behind! Where the bloody hell would you travel without your wallet…?"

But Sam didn't bother chastising Stonecrop for his foul language, her attention suddenly turned elsewhere. Above the sofa were a number of framed pictures of Johnson's family and friends, dating back to different periods throughout his life; he and his wife playing with their daughter on the beech during a vacation to the seaside; what looked like a reunion party with his friends at a pub; his university graduation ceremony; and a picture of him and his friends as adolescents at the orphanage, where he had grown up…

Looking carefully at that particular picture, Sam could recognise a teenage Alan Johnson, Derek Shaw, a dark-skinned boy, whom she figured was another of his childhood friends, and another skinny boy with straw-coloured hair like hers, who looked somewhat familiar… Glancing at the name of the orphanage in the background, she gasped, a bell ringing in her memory.

"'St Mary's Orphanage for Lost Souls…' But, hang on, that's the same one where he was… Could it be him…?"

Grabbing her purse, she took out a plastic folder, which she always carried around with her. Inside, were two pictures; a faded old photograph of her missing brother as a toddler - the only picture she had of him - and another, computer-generated image she had had made a few years back, of what he might look like as a young adult. Comparing them against the one on the wall, she realised the face in the picture indeed matched. She had come here looking for answers to Dr Johnson's supposed discovery of intelligent rabbits, and instead she had found evidence that this man had in fact known her long-lost brother!

After all these years of futile searching, never in her wildest dreams had it crossed her mind that her search for Stonecrop's place of origin would ultimately put her on the right track to finding her brother at long last! The realisation felt utterly mind-bogging. In fact, it was so mind-bogging, that Sam didn't hear the front door open, until the newcomer was standing right behind her, clearing his throat to get her attention.

"Anything else you'd like to see?"

Sam nearly jumped out of her skin in fright. Turning, she came face-to-face with a stern-looking man, who was frowning suspiciously. Whoever he was, he obviously wasn't too happy to find her nosing around here.

"Chief Inspector Charles Santon, Scotland Yard," said the man, flashing a badge, "May I ask what you are doing, trespassing in this house? Don't you know breaking into someone else's property, even the deceased's, is a criminal offence which warrants an arrest?" Sam felt her stomach bottom out; of all the people who could have caught her nosing around, it had to be a police officer… This time, she had let her curiosity take her too far. At that moment, Stonecrop entered the room.

"Who're you talking to, Sam? Oh damn…!" he cursed, noticing Inspector Santon. Before Sam could do anything to shut him up, the damage was done; Stonecrop had revealed his speaking abilities in front of Inspector Santon. The cat was out of the bag. Things couldn't have gotten any worse. Not only was she facing arrest for break-in, but now her secret was out and would spread like wildfire. She couldn't allow them to take Stonecrop away from her!

"Please, sir," she begged the Inspector, "I'll come along quietly, but don't tell anyone about this…" To her utmost surprise, instead of expressing amazement and demanding answers, as one might expect, Santon was staring transfixed at Stonecrop, with an expression of, what looked like, recognition. What was going on here?

"Where did you find him?" he asked in a reasonably calm, but stern voice, "Well?"

"Please, don't ask anymore questions," pleaded Sam, "Hand me over to the Bobbies if you must, but please, don't tell anyone about Stonecrop! They'll take him away from me…!" Apparently catching on to why they were probably here in the first place, Santon spoke in a softer tone.

"Young lady," he said kindly, "I understand your reluctance, but you must realise that I have seen the likes of your friend before. He's one of those rabbits from the future, which Dr Johnson had brought back with him four years ago…"

He knows about Johnson's story? thought Sam in amazement, But how?

"I also happen to represent the one and only man on the planet who holds the key to the secret," Santon went on, "Now, unless you'd rather I took you into custody for trespassing, I strongly suggest you start explaining why you're here." Although Sam wasn't sure if Santon was trying to trick her somehow, to get the secret of Stonecrop out of her for his own gain, she couldn't see any other way out of this, and spilled the beans.

She told Santon everything; the story of how she had found Stonecrop as a kitten and raised him in secret; the discovery of Johnson's copy of Watership Down, containing his written account of his adventures in the future; and her search for the truth, which had finally brought her to Johnson's old home, where it had all started… The only part she left out was the unexpected discovery that Johnson might have known her brother, which she figured, was rightfully still her private secret.

For a while, Santon stared at her intently, as if trying to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. His unbending, piercing gaze, which Sam had often observed among policemen, made her feel as if she were being x-rayed. Finally, he spoke again.

"I believe you, Ms Fields," he said, "And, I might add, you're extremely lucky that you bumped into me today. As it happens, your friend Stonecrop is part of a great secret, which Dr Johnson's executive has spent the last four years struggling to keep safe…"

"Would that be this Sir Cole Drake we've been hearing all about?" piped up Stonecrop, also beginning to piece everything together. Santon nodded. "That's right, longears, I've been his closest trustee and liaison with the law, ever since Dr Johnson left…"

"But what exactly is that secret, Mr Santon?" asked Sam, her mind suddenly filled to bursting with questions, realising she was literally one step away from learning the truth once and for all, "Did Johnson really travel into the future and meet rabbits like Stonecrop? Is that where Stonecrop comes from? How come he…?"

"I'm sorry, Ms Fields," said Santon, "I'm under oath of absolute secrecy. Only Dr Drake can explain the whole truth to you in person." Sam felt disappointed, as well as worried; if this was part of some big secret, that nobody on the outside was supposed to know anything about, what would happen when this Dr Drake found out about Stonecrop? What would they do to her?

"Tell you what," said Santon, thinking hard, "Dr Drake is currently looking for a trustworthy courier to deliver a secret message. You say you're a courier?" Sam nodded. "Well, I can arrange an audition with him on short notice. I'm sure he'll be happy to give you the job, once he hears about Stonecrop. That is, of course, if you accept it."

Sam and Stonecrop looked at each other; although still sceptical of all this secrecy involved, wondering just what exactly they were getting themselves into, they had come too far to turn back now. Sam slowly nodded. Santon almost smiled…

Later that evening, the two of them sat down to dinner, talking about the events of the day. Santon had driven them home, promising to get in touch with Dr Drake as soon as possible, telling them to stay put until they received his reply. The scientist, he had explained, had since resigned from his post at the Royal University of London, where Dr Johnson worked, and now did private scientific research in a secluded facility in the country.

"Do you think we did the right thing, trusting Santon?" asked Stonecrop, taking a bite out of a vegetarian haggis pie. Sam, who was eating her sauerkraut sandwich in silence, didn't know what to say. She realised there was no turning back anymore, now that Santon knew about Stonecrop, but, on the other hand, she kept wandering, what exactly would this new job of hers involve? Although obviously delighted at having a job again soon, just when she was on the brink of being left starving out on the street, all this secrecy made her feel very uneasy. And it wasn't the only thing that was bothering her.

Her mind kept thinking about that picture she had found in Johnson's apartment, now tucked away in her bag, having slipped it away on her way out, right from under Santon's nose. Was that really her brother Ronald in the picture? Did Drake and Santon have the answer to that as well? For Stonecrop's sake, as well as her own, she sincerely hoped that the risk she was taking by revealing Stonecrop's existence to a complete stranger would be worth it…

Elsewhere, in lunar orbit…

A space shuttle had gone into orbit around the moon. But this wasn't part of a new exploration mission to the lunar surface. Instead, several astronauts were outside their ship on EVA, flying around the husk of a dead satellite, which had come out of deep space the week before, and was now locked in a decaying orbit around the moon. Although disabled and inoperative, the foreboding crest, familiar to every national security agency back on Earth, was still visible on the side of the hull: a black, skeletal hand, held in a stop gesture. Black Inferno, the late Sergei Petrograd's brainchild, after four years of drifting dead through space, had slingshot around the sun, and returned to Earth.

After the Humble had tracked it on its Earth-bound trajectory, the authorities, fearing radioactive contamination if it reached the atmosphere, one of the decommissioned space shuttles had been hastily dispatched on a top-secret mission, transporting a space salvage crew to secure the weapon-satellite. As it was too big to be transported back to Earth on the shuttle, rather than destroying it with missiles, fearing nuclear debris striking the Earth, NATO officials had instead decided to try and correct its trajectory on site, locking it in a safe orbit around the moon, where the nuclear arsenal left over from the war, which the Chinese had hauled up there for their secret missile launch stations, still lay.

A space engineer had found the satellite's maintenance port, which controlled the guidance system and EMP cannon, designed to pulverize ground targets from orbit. Unbeknownst to any of his colleagues however, the engineer was under the employment of a third party, out to get the old satellite operational again.

With the rest of the crew busy performing the other necessary repairs, the engineer discretely re-programmed the guidance system as per his secret orders. The control panel slowly rose from the dead on reserve power, as the astronaut charted the new flight plan – and the coordinates for a new strike towards the Earth. The location: a remote, uninhabited region on the southern coast of England, known as the former New Forest National Park, now a radioactive dead zone, where the unexplained aircraft disappearances of 2012 had occurred years earlier. The same site where the time warp, originally created by solar flares striking the Earth, would soon be duplicated artificially by means of the restored once-weapon satellite, reopening the gateway into futurity…

Author's note: As you probably figured from that twist in the first book, when Alan and co almost don't make it back, Black Inferno was always meant to be the key to time travel in the sequel. Originally, I had considered having a new Aurora pop up, but then I figured it would look too coincidental. The plot behind reopening the gateway into the future will be explained over the next few chapters. Enjoy and please review!