Time Riders

CHAPTER 11

2066, New York

Karl parked the coach outside the rear of the museum where the loading bay andtrade entrances were. The men clambered off silently, efficiently, weapons slung over theirshoulders, crates and kit bags carried between them.

Kramer helped one of his men with a canvas sack full of ammo clips. It was heavy enough toensure his arms were aching by the time they carefully placed it on the ramp leading up to themuseum’s shuttered loading bay.

He looked around quickly.

The cover of night and sparse lighting from a sputtering arc light almost certainly meant noone had spotted them yet.

Yet.

Soon enough, though, there’d be armed police descending upon them.

Karl, a lean and muscular ex-marine in his thirties, approached him. Once upon a timehe’d been Technical Sergeant Karl Haas — that wasbefore the army spat him out, surplus to requirements. Karl was Kramer’ssecond-in-command. While Dr Paul Kramer might be the brains — the visionary — it was Karl to whom the men would turn once the fightingstarted.

‘Dr Kramer, sir?’

‘Yes, Karl.’

‘You’re absolutely certain it’s here?’

He couldn’t blame the man for asking. Once they broke into the museum,and sealed themselves inside, there wasn’t going to be any turning back.

Kramer patted his shoulder. ‘It’s here, my friend. Trust me.’

They worked the loading-bay door open with a sledgehammer, smashing the locking bar andpushing the heavy aluminium doors in. Almost immediately a bell began to ring somewhere insidethe dark cavernous building.

‘It’s OK,’ said Kramer, ‘there are only a few security guardsinside.’ He looked over his shoulder at the night sky and the distant glow of a policehoverjet sluggishly patrolling the dead skyline of Manhattan. ‘The police, on the otherhand, will be with us soon, I’m sure. We should get everything inside as quickly aspossible.’

Karl nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and turned smartly away.

He helped drag in the crates and bags of equipment. Once everything was inside, they pushedthe loading-bay doors closed. The area, stacked with wooden packing crates, flickered to lifein the dazzling, strobing light of a welding torch sealing the service door shut.

‘Make sure that’s properly secured,’ ordered Kramer. He turned to Haas.‘Karl, take a dozen men and round up the security staff. Bring them to me.’

The man nodded and headed towards the doors to the museum’s galleries, quickly pickingsome men to go with him.

Kramer felt the item in his pocket: his small notebook. He silently prayed that hewasn’t making a horrendous mistake.

You know it’s hidden here, Paul.

So many reasons why he could be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t down in the basement of themuseum, but instead in some other building… Maybe the code was copied downincorrectly… Maybe he really did destroy it…

Have faith in your instincts, Paul.

If he’d got it wrong, though, they were going to be nothing more than a couple of dozenangry idealists trapped in a dusty old building full of priceless museum exhibits boxed awayin the hope of better times.

He guessed the armed police might be wary of using heavy-calibre or incendiary weapons forfear of damaging the nation’s irreplaceable heirlooms. But they’d be coming in,one way or another, and there’d be gunfire.

They’ll shoot first and worry about the chipped potterylater.