‘Parrish – shut up.’
‘I think my info’s a bit more up to date than yours, that’s all. I was just trying to help.’
‘Make a start by not saying a word for the next twenty minutes.’
A slightly gritty silence fell.
Commander Hay twisted in her chair to look up at Ellis. ‘Does this change anything?’
‘I don’t think so, ma’am. It might even prove useful if . . . Ms Jones . . . is already familiar with one of the people involved.’
‘Good thought. Proceed, please, Charlie.’
‘Anyway,’ said Captain Farenden, and waited until all eyes were on him again. ‘This is the young woman . . .’ he fixed Trainee Parrish with a look, ‘known, for our purposes, as Ms Jones.’
He paused but Parrish was staring vaguely out of the window and showing no signs of paying attention.
‘It would appear Ms Jones is in need of our assistance.’
Silence fell again. Jane, unsure whether questions were allowed, said nothing. Matthew pursued his usual policy of silence and Luke was apparently enjoying the novel experience of doing as he was told.
Captain Farenden continued. ‘This briefing is for your ears only. You will not discuss this matter outside this room. You will receive your instructions, clarify any points necessary with Major Ellis and then depart.’
He paused but again, Team 236 uttered not a word.
‘We have received a request for assistance. From, shall we say, a member of Ms Jones’s immediate family.’
‘From her mother,’ were the words definitely not uttered by Luke Parrish.
‘It would appear our Ms Jones has managed to get herself into a little difficulty.’
Luke Parrish shifted his weight, managing to convey, surprisingly clearly, that in his opinion, Ms Jones had always been a little bit of a minx and it had been bound to happen one day.
Captain Farenden persevered. ‘It would seem that Temporal Tourism is raising its head again. According to information received, at least one small and discreet organisation has sprung up, offering various opportunities for the historically interested and/or extremely rich.’
Luke sighed, thus communicating his opinion of the historically interested and/or extremely rich.
‘Presumably dazzled by the opportunity to observe, at first hand, some exciting historical event, Ms Jones, together with a male companion, has allowed herself to be tempted.’
A slight sound from Mr Parrish indicated that he was able, from personal experience, to understand just how easily Ms Jones could allow herself to become tempted.
‘Ms Jones has departed for 17th-century London, from which location she has failed to return. We’re not sure of the reason why. We don’t know if it’s a reluctance to return here or an attraction to remain there. Ms Jones’s mother is naturally most concerned for her safety and has requested speedy, discreet and above all, effective action from us.’
More silence. Team 236 eyed each other sideways. Ellis sighed. ‘Parrish, you may speak.’
‘Well, I was just going to say that if no one else has been able to persuade her to return home, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing we could do that—’
Ellis interrupted him. ‘Your instructions are to locate Ms Jones and bring her home. By any means.’
‘What if she doesn’t want to come?’
‘You weren’t listening, Parrish, were you?’
‘Eh? Oh. You mean kidnap her?’
‘Whatever it takes. Whatever her feelings on the matter, Ms Jones is to be returned to her proper Time and place. With all speed.’
‘Um . . .’ said Luke. ‘I have a difficult question. Difficult for you, I mean. As far as I’m concerned, difficult questions are fun.’
‘Yes, Parrish?’
‘What is Ms Jones’s status?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, if it was anyone other than a cabinet minister’s daughter, you’d have sent in a couple of clean-up teams, and if she’d survived that, then she’d be under arrest and due a long spell in prison, wouldn’t she? You know – the wrath of the Time Police and all that. But, I’m assuming, with the double standards so prevalent among politicians, that that will not happen. I quite agree that our Imogen is a little bit of a baggage, but even so . . .’
Ellis sighed. ‘Firstly, and we have had this conversation before, what happens to those brought in on legally issued warrants is not your concern. Secondly, however, it is hoped that in response for clemency, Ms Jones can be induced to provide some much-needed intel on illegal Temporal Tourism.’
Luke stared. ‘You’ve never actually met Imogen, have you?’
‘No, Trainee Parrish, but we have met you.’
‘Oh. OK then.’
‘A pod is being prepped for you at this moment. Lockland, you do the research. Farrell, you can assist. Get yourselves as much background info as you can and flash it to the AI.’
‘When would . . .’
‘Now, Trainee Parrish.’
‘Right. Gotcha.’
3
‘I’ve been doing some digging,’ said Jane, half an hour later, ‘and these coordinates are very specific. London, Covent Garden, 7th May 1663. It would seem that Imogen’s friend had planned to take her to the theatre. And not just any theatre. Apparently, it’s the opening night of the recently restored Theatre Royal in Brydges Street.’
‘Never heard of it,’ said Luke.
Jane sighed. ‘Yes, you have. Drury Lane.’
‘Really? I have been there. In fact, I think I went with Imogen.’
‘You don’t remember?’
He grinned down at her. ‘Well, you know how it is, Jane. After a while they all just merge into one another.’
‘No,’ she said tartly. ‘I do not know how it is. No one does except you.’
‘Don’t be crabby, Jane.’
Ellis nodded to Jane. ‘Well done, Lockland. Good, solid groundwork.’
Jane felt her face burn with her usual self-consciousness.
‘Still not stopped doing that, then?’ said Bolshy Jane, from her permanent position inside Jane’s head.
Ellis continued. ‘I think that’s the place you should begin your search. We’re not sure what Miss Farnborough . . . Jones . . . all right, Farnborough might get up to, but it’s the only specific information we have. She was to attend a performance with her young man and she might still try to gain entry to the theatre.’