Magestic 2 Read online

  After being rescued from Jimmy’s old world, Singh had joined his other self in India, his other self’s six kids now very confused, but happy with all the gifts. So what if they now had two fathers.

  The next morning Jimmy landed in Mombasa, an official tour made of Ebede, Anna leading the tour whilst whispering comments of preparation with Jimmy. They lunched at the marina, Jimmy’s party flying up to Nairobi afterwards. The city’s roads were lined with almost a million people, a certain rooftop bar reclaimed, waves given from the top, a quick TV interview held.

  Jimmy stated, ‘I’m very glad to be back in my beloved Kenya, back to where my real work started all those years ago. Tomorrow I will journey up to Mawlini to review Rescue Force there, and to return to where it all started.’

  ‘When will Mister Paul be returning?’ a reporter asked.

  ‘I believe he asked that they scan for his signal in a few weeks. So he will be back with you in a few weeks.’

  Various dignitaries were led out to Jimmy as he sat in the sun, each afforded ten minutes, a few old friends welcomed.

  Ngomo stepped out an hour later. Sitting, he asked, ‘Should I be considering … a few select men … for my holiday.’

  ‘You should. Twenty of them.’

  Ngomo nodded. ‘Men without … family commitments.’

  ‘Men you may have to bury over there.’

  Ngomo took a moment. ‘Kenya, in 1920, will be … most different, as far as the white folk … are concerned.’

  ‘Most different,’ Jimmy agreed. ‘Stealth is necessary, as well as a smile when you’re treated like the toilet cleaner.’

  ‘And my … role?’

  ‘To build up an army and to take the Congo, to protect my business interests around Africa, then to fight the Italian Army.’

  ‘The Italians … in Abyssinia and Libya,’ Ngomo thought out loud. ‘And when that famous German general lands in North Africa?’

  ‘You’d welcome him with open arms and a cheery smile,’ Jimmy said with a grin.

  Ngomo nodded. ‘It will be many years of fighting.’

  ‘Any second thoughts?’

  ‘If you are going, I am going; you cannot have all the fun yourself. Besides…’

  ‘Besides, right now you’re washed up and useless, an old soldier that everyone pulls the chair out for and treats like their infirmed grandfather.’

  ‘You cut deep … when you speak, Mister Silo,’ Ngomo unhappily stated. ‘Unfortunately, you tell the truth.’

  ‘And Abdi?’

  ‘Is salivating at the mouth, telling me how much better his army will be to mine.’

  Jimmy laughed. ‘Can’t let that camel shagger have a better army, now can you?’

  ‘No, indeed not; I would never live it down, he would not let me.’

  ‘Are the CIA aware of the plan?’ Jimmy asked, sounding none too concerned.

  ‘I am sure of it, since they ask delicate questions. Will they interfere?’

  ‘No, I have a trick or two lined up.’

  Ngomo stood. ‘Then I shall see you in Mawlini tomorrow.’

  ‘Pack just period clothes, a laser pistol, food and water for a long hike, medical kit. And that’s it.’

  ‘We will see how I look … in traditional robes.’

  ‘You’ll like a big black guy in a girly dress. So get some earrings!’

  At Mawlini, Jimmy’s plane touched down on the second runway, the first runway still temporary host to a mobile time portal, the original portal in Canada. This portal had been specifically designed so that it could sit at the end of the runway here, a place where I knew I would need the supplies, not in Canada. Those supplies had gone through a day ago. I had been gone a week in this world, six years on that side, six years fighting The Brotherhood.

  The supplies dispatched to me consisted of advanced weapons, no care about corrupting the time line on Jimmy’s original world, his post-apocalyptic world. The portable portal now awaited my return signal, but they would not look for it through time and space for another few weeks.

  Rumours had leaked of Jimmy’s desire to travel, leaked by Gilchrist, who now passionately suggested that the planet’s great saviour should not risk himself, and that a specially prepared team should go. In the space of a few hours, everyone was involved in the debate, every news outlet running it, some citing the paradox – and what may happen if he doesn’t go. Gilchrist also had a trump card, an electronic override fitted to the portable portal.

  Arriving at the old base, Jimmy was met by the press, dozens of them. He decided to get it over with in one go, calling a snap press conference with the backdrop of the time portal.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of this Earth,’ he dramatically began. ‘I am here today, not only to visit my old base and to meet again old friends, but to step through the time portal once more, and once more to do what I am destined to do.

  ‘There is another world that I know about that is at risk, another Africa that needs saving, six billion lives that have to be saved. Some of you, especially here in my beloved Africa, will not wish to see me go, nor wish to see me risk myself so soon after my return to you. But who here will stand in the way of the doctor as he tends the sick baby? Who here … says that the lives of African children in this world ... are more important than the lives of African children in another world?

  ‘Who here … wishes my company at a cocktail party, when six billion people are about to die? Who here … wishes me to open their parliament building … when a hundred million Africans face hunger, starvation, warfare and misery? What politician here would wish me tethered to a comfortable bed … when the people in the world I go to have only dirt to sleep on?

  ‘Through that portal is a world just like this one. But when I came to this world to save you … everyone was urging me on, urging me to come here and to save the people here. You may all be glad that they did, because you can look down at your children, now well fed, well educated, and with a good future. Through the portal, the world I go to has nothing but warfare and misery ahead for it.

  ‘And, once I have saved them, they will suffer a gas cloud in orbit, the solution to which I have already been given. It is not a case of will I go – I already went and came back. I go now to complete the circle. If I don’t, then this planet will suffer a paradox, and an uncertain future. I do this for them, and I do this for you, but with no regret at leaving. I am saddened at leaving my people here, but overjoyed at the chance to save so many on the other side. Don’t be sad, be happy for what you have, and be happy for me.

  ‘When I came back, a choir from Ebede sang me a song. I would like all the children of Africa to learn this song, as well as church congregations. Sing it … and think of me when I am in dark places far away. I will hear you.’

  He turned and headed to the rooftop bar, the press kept away by the Rifles. In the bar he found Po being very discreet in a Pith helmet and period clothes, looking like a small chubby game hunter from 1920. ‘Very discreet,’ Jimmy told him.

  ‘I say I go safari.’

  ‘And did anyone sober actually believe you?’

  Yuri closed in, stood in period clothes, but more westernised. ‘We’re ready.’

  ‘Take nothing except those clothes, food and water in a rucksack.’

  ‘Nothing else? We have maps and plans!’ Yuri protested.

  ‘Burn them, now; if they fell into the wrong hands over there it would alter the time line. Oh, and ditch the clever wrist watch, huh.’ Jimmy greeted Anna, Cosy and Rudd, and closed in on Big Paul as he sat stuffing his face.

  ‘Right, boss,’ Big Paul said with detracting from the face stuffing. ‘Been a while since I had camel steak.’

  ‘Are you fit?’ Jimmy asked as he sat, accepting a cold beer.

  ‘Been clocking fifty miles a day, lost loads of weight.’

  ‘Got a team together?’

  ‘Twenty of the meanest toughest arseholes you’d not want to meet on a dark night.’

  ‘They all briefed and keen?’

  ‘Yep, well up for it. I want to assassinate Hitler.’

  ‘Hitler … did more to lose the war for them than a decent general would have done.’

  Abdi and Ngomo stepped out in traditional robes, swinging lion-hair fly swatters. Halting, they exchanged looks before lifting their robes. Underneath they were armed to the teeth, Jimmy shaking his head.

  ‘I have selected twenty good men,’ Abdi reported.

  ‘Someone has to hold the hem of his dress,’ Ngomo commented. ‘But there is a problem. There are many Rifles who wish to attend this party. Say … twenty thousand of them.’

  ‘They would be noticed,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘We work in secret.’

  ‘Indeed, yes.’

  ‘I’ll address them later, and put them at ease,’ Jimmy offered. ‘Go practise walking in a dress, and calling yourself chief.’

  ‘In order to play the part of a chief … I would need many wives,’ Ngomo pointed out.

  ‘At least a dozen,’ Jimmy agreed. ‘If not two dozen.’

  ‘Let us all agree that … wives taken over there … do not become the subject of gossip for wives … over here,’ Ngomo suggested.

  Big Paul lifted his head. ‘She’d cut your balls off.’

  ‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Ngomo agreed.

  Mac stepped in, and came straight over. He had retired a few years earlier, and now played golf a great deal, still living in the estate down the road. ‘You’re a rat bastard, you know that; you need me on a trip like this. The military skills, munitions, my knowledge of Africa of the seventies -’

  ‘Sit down, Mac,’ Jimmy firmly pressed. Mac sat. ‘So, you want to come along, I gather.’

  ‘It’s that, or play golf till I die. These
fuckers want me opening supermarkets!’

  ‘Your daughter?’

  ‘Working as a doctor, no time for her old man.’

  ‘Wife? Sweetheart? Local charitable interests...’

  ‘Aye, bollocks.’

  Jimmy sipped his beer. ‘Do you think, Mac, you could design and manufacture an AK47?’

  ‘No problem. But wouldn’t that look odd in fucking 1920?’

  ‘I was thinking of 1930, and no – it would not look odd; the First World War advanced weapons a great deal.’

  ‘Are we taking this old fucker along?’ Big Paul asked with his mouthful.

  ‘Still whip your arse, sonny,’ Mac told Big Paul.

  ‘Mac, you’ll be gone for a great many years,’ Jimmy emphasized. ‘No in-door plumbing, no decent women for a few decades, crap food.’

  ‘Just like this place when you arrived!’ Mac pointed out.

  ‘If anything, better,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘OK, I’ll take you. And Handy if he wants in.’

  ‘He’s on his way here.’

  ‘Find some clothes that won’t look odd in 1920s Kenya, a backpack, tins, and plenty of water. And fuck all else; no documents, no watches.’

  Mac stood and rushed out, a rude comment towards the outfits of Abdi and Ngomo.

  Timkins appeared, stepping over, Jimmy having dismissed him in America. ‘Shelly would like a word, as well as President Gilchrist.’ He offered Jimmy an A4 data-pad.

  Jimmy tapped the image of Gilchrist. ‘Can you hear me, oh great one?’

  ‘Cut the crap, Silo. As much as I’d like to see the back of you, we’ll do what we can to stop you – or we’ll feel the heat if anything happens to you.’

  ‘Touching, it’s almost as if you care. Anyway, how’re your crime statistics, because I was thinking about criticising you on the air – at length – in an hour or two. I figured that … if I was going to go anyway, I should at least screw-up your ratings before I went.’

  ‘You can’t bully me, Silo.’

  ‘You may have considered … that I had someone in place in your inner circle a while back, oh great one.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, and they have evidence about the inducements you made to senators regarding the revised pension bill.’

  ‘You … son of a bitch!’

  ‘If I don’t step through … you get impeached. Take your pick, arsehole. And the electronic cut-out you have fitted to the time portal – my people have already removed it. Both of them. Have a nice day.’ He ended the call.

  ‘They won’t let us back to this world,’ Big Paul grumbled, still eating.

  ‘We’ll worry about that in … oh, sixty or seventy years.’

  ‘I wanna meet Howard Hughes; he sounded like a fun guy. Los Angeles in the 1920s and 1930s, roaring parties.’

  ‘You’ll find … that the women back then looked terrible, had bushy pubes and hairy armpits, a tonne of make-up, and didn’t give blowjobs.’

  ‘Yeah? Fuck…’

  ‘Anyway, we go at 3pm if everyone’s here. I’ll go address the Rifles.’

  Ten minutes later, Jimmy found the Rifles lined up on their parade ground. He took to the podium and its microphone, greetings issued in a few dialects. ‘Brothers, fellow soldiers, Rifles. Many of you would like to come with me, to help me fight again for Africa. But if you travelled to that world you would not help my cause, because I need to work in secret for many years, building up businesses and money. You would have little to do for thirty years.

  ‘But, if I get into trouble, and I have need for a few good men, I will send a signal. Have your officers watch out for the message, and if I call then come running, armed … and dangerous. I would call no one else but my blood brothers when I need help.’ He gave a thrust-fist salute, getting one back with a deafening chant.

  Back at the RF base, Timkins was again nagging about calls, including Helen and Shelly, the British Prime Minister, and a few hundred others.

  ‘Tell Helen and Shelly that I apologise, but this must be done. The rest of them can all go to hell.’

  ‘I understand, sir. It’s a numbers game; six billion there, a few people here needing a crutch in their daily lives.’

  Jimmy stopped dead and took off his sunglasses. ‘Everyone is good at something, Mister Timkins. What are you good at?’

  Timkins made a face. ‘My first passion was politics, something of an activist in school, and I joined the Labour Party at eighteen.’

  Jimmy took a moment. ‘If you were a senior politician in the British cabinet in 1935, could you make a difference?’

  Timkins stared back. ‘A … politician, through the war years?’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘You up to sixty years of hard work?’

  ‘My god. But … why me?’

  ‘I have a time constraint on recruitment, and you have the right attitude. Could you make a difference?’

  ‘Well, yes, I’m sure that with my knowledge of the future I could.’

  ‘But would you do it for the right reasons?’

  ‘Which are...?’

  ‘A selfless desire to help fix that world ... and to save lives.’

  Timkins took in the security staff, then focused on the housing of the portable portal, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Upon my return, Shelly would beat the crap out of me at length.’

  Jimmy laughed. ‘That she would.’

  He blew out. ‘If you want me, I’m in.’

  ‘And the consequences for your career here?’

  ‘After sixty years over there, I seriously doubt that I’d give a damn about my career here.’

  ‘Very true. Stick close.’

  Handy tooted from a jeep as he passed. ‘Don’t fucking go without me!’

  Timkins noted, ‘They’re very keen to accompany you.’

  ‘They’re very keen to go somewhere where they’ll not be recognised, nor asked to open a supermarket. They’re very keen … to work for a cause, one that gives them their self-respect back. And, in the case of Mac and Handy, somewhere where they can get falling down drunk without it raising any issues.’

  Timkins smiled as they progressed. ‘God help 1920. Hope they’re ready for Mac.’

  In the rooftop bar the gang were now assembling, backpacks readied. A few RF staff had wanted to join the trip, all turned down. Doc Graham now had a pith helmet on, Jimmy shaking his head at it. But it was, after all, what would greet them on the other side: boys own Tarzan adventurers heading for the jungle to find interesting people and creatures, and to shoot and stuff them. Mounting them was optional, before or after shooting them.

  Sykes appeared, dressed in a 1920s suit, but Jack popped out from behind him.

  ‘Jack?’ Jimmy called. He stood and waited.

  ‘My wife believes that I’m on a lecture tour of the Far East, which will keep her quiet for a few days at least.’

  ‘And then?’ Jimmy nudged.

  ‘And then … I’d rather be dead than stay here.’

  Timkins lifted his head to Jimmy, who had not taken his fixed stare off Jack.

  ‘You’re assigned to Sykes, as his assistant. Oh,’ he faced Timkins. ‘This is a future British Prime Minister.’

  ‘I am?’ Timkins asked as Sykes and Jack shook his hand.

  ‘We’ve met,’ Jack told Timkins. ‘Some function.’

  Timkins lifted his gaze to Jimmy. ‘You never said I’d be the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Why do you think Shelly sent you to spy on me?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘You know?’ Timkins asked.

  ‘Of course I know; I’m me. You’ll be working closely with Jack and Sykes in England.’

  Jimmy turned and took in the faces, checking that everyone was ready. Mister Han was suitably attired, Big Paul and his gang now changed into more suitable clothes, Skids now with him – a nod exchanged with Jimmy. Ngomo and Abdi were taking a ribbing in their robes, their men kitted out in a similar fashion.

  ‘What about Paul Holton?’ Timkins asked.

  ‘He may join us in a year or two, after he’s had a break from fighting. Time … is all relative.’

  With a final check made, Handy and Mac now in attendance, Jimmy led everyone out, a few last cold beers downed in haste from bottles. At the side of the runway everyone halted for the press, a million images taken, waves given. Jimmy refused to be drawn on comments, and entered the portal’s control room up metal steps. Inside, he found the scientist responsible for it, most of who were brain trust kids. In the portal’s Coil Room he gathered together all of the technicians, many of whom were either European, Chinese, or Russian.