 
Time Leap

Steve Howrie

Time Leap. Fiction.

First published in 2014.

This version published 2018.

Copyright © Steve Howrie 2014

The right of Steve Howrie to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews.

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Five

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Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Other books by the author

One

(Heathrow Airport, London, 11 September 2018).

I never really wanted to be a 'financial expert', a handle that had been graciously bestowed on me by my company in the City after five years' service. As a teenager, my dream was to be a Premiership footballer, the lead singer in a band or an astronaut – like many young people, I suppose. But Finance was a real job, not a childhood fantasy, as Niki would say, so I shouldn't really complain about it. And it did have its benefits: good money, certainly enough for us to live on; and then there were the business trips abroad – like the one I was about to take to New York. If I worked hard for the next ten years or so, we might have enough to buy our own apartment.

I pulled my new mobile phone out of a pocket and smiled to myself as I recalled my birthday the day before...

*

I'd arrived home from work expecting a surprise from my lovely wife, and I got one: she wasn't there. I tried to call her, and then saw her phone message.

Hi Joe, sorry I've got to work this evening – we're updating the website, and it's got to be finished by midnight! So that's changed my plans for your birthday. I've left some food in the fridge (your favourite), and a bottle of wine near the TV. Your present is on the dining table – hope you like it! Could be back very late, so don't wait up – love Niki xxx

Okay, not the best birthday I'd ever had, but I totally understood. Nik worked for The Book Depository, an international online bookstore (with free delivery worldwide!). God, I sounded like I worked for them too! Anyway, it's great that she works in a medium she loves: books. And I work in something else she likes – money – so I can keep her happy.

I went to take a peek at my nicely gift–wrapped present on the dining table, thoughtfully endowed in Chelsea football paper. I smiled, wondering whether to open the present there and then or wait for Nik. After two agonizing minutes, I just couldn't resist the temptation and Eden Hazard's torso was ripped completely in half as I stripped the box of its clothing. Ah, a new iPhone!

I impetuously removed the phone from the box. Wow, it was beautiful – jet black with a cool shape, and loads of memory. I removed everything else from the packaging, plugged the phone into the mains and powered up. Ah, Sim card needed. I removed the card from my old phone and inserted it into the new one. Maybe I should've switched the phone off first? Nah, these phones can deal with anything these days. The phone set about its initialization and start–up business whilst I opened the accompanying birthday card. On the cover was a picture of an astronaut floating in space, and inside the words:

'To Joe, wishing all your dreams come true... fly me to the Moon one day, all my Love Niki'.

That's the woman I love. I stood the card on the table with the thousands of others I'd received (actually, only two – one from mum and dad, and the other from Niki's parents Gloria and Tang), then I took the dinner out of the fridge. Baked Salmon and chips. Not sure how the chips would microwave, but that's what I did. They were okay. I poured a glass of wine and went back to my new mobile.

As I watched the phone download all my apps and settings from the iCloud, I couldn't help marveling at how technology had progressed since my dad's time. Our lives had changed so much with computers, phones and the internet... what's the next big thing?

A message appeared on the phone. 'Download Date Me for iPhone now?'

I studied the screen carefully for several seconds. 'Date Me'? I'd never heard of it, certainly not one of my apps. I knew what it sounded like... A big smile crossed my face. Maybe it was something Nik set up for me... a bit of fun for my birthday? A test perhaps? That would be just like her! She wants to see if I'll install it... then catch me red–faced looking at gorgeous girls on my mobile. As I drank more wine, a picture of a sexy girl appeared on the screen, enticing me to take the plunge. What if it's a virus? I didn't want to infect the phone as soon as I got it. But you don't get those with Apple, do you? More seconds ticked by. "Oh, what the hell," I said out loud, clicking the download logo. I could always delete it later if it turned out to be exactly what I thought it was – or one of those useless free apps that do nothing until you pay for them. I returned to my food whilst the phone completed downloading my apps and software.

After another few minutes, the phone was ready to use. The first thing I wanted to do with it was call Niki.

"Hi baby, thanks so much for the phone – and the card!"

"Actually, this is Tanya, her colleague. Nik's got her hands full just now and asked me to answer her phone... can she call you back?"

"Oh, sure..."

Fifteen minutes later, Niki called.

"Hi Joe – happy birthday! So sorry I have to work."

"No worries Nik... but I did just call Tanya 'baby'!"

"Oh, everyone calls her that – don't worry!"

"I love the phone, it's wonderful – just what I need for work...

"And play?"

I knew that app was from her! I couldn't just pretend I hadn't seen it now.

"Err, d'you know what this 'Date Me' app is Nik? It's asking me to download it..."

"Date Me? No idea. Did it come with the phone?"

"Well, sort of..."

"Sounds like a dating app... maybe you can use it to pick up another girl for your birthday!"

"Nik!"

"If it's free, just try it..."

*

Whilst waiting in the security queue, I couldn't help looking at my new phone. I went to the icon of the Date Me app I'd downloaded the night before and clicked it open – just as a woman in uniform bellowed out in front of me.

"Place any phones or electronic devices in a tray with your belt and outer clothing."

I quickly removed my black leather belt and placed it in a large, grey, plastic tray with my wallet, laptop and new mobile. Then a thought: I really should switch off my phone – it's safer. You never know what these security scanners can do to electronic equipment...

"Sir! Stop! What are you doing?"

My tray was already in the scanner when I impulsively thrust my hand inside to turn off the phone. The security woman looked incredulous.

"Sorry," I gasped, quickly retracting my arm. I wasn't sure if I'd managed to switch off the phone or not. Red–faced, I hurried through the queue as quickly as possible, conscious that all eyes were watching me, and I nearly missed the body check in my eagerness to leave the area. What was wrong with me today? A man indicated the check was over, and I collected my laptop, wallet, belt and phone.

Finding a seat in the departure lounge, I checked my mobile and sighed deeply: it was still powered on, and Date Me smiled at me. I smiled back. It wasn't a dating app at all – it was simply a quick way to change the date on your phone without all that scrolling!

I usually read the news on my mobile, but you can't beat a good old newspaper. And seeing as I was officially working, I thought I'd buy a copy of the Financial Times. That would please the boss. I could see a newsstand further up the corridor, so headed in that direction. I paid for a copy of that day's FT from a young, blonde assistant and I walked back towards my seat holding the distinctive pink–tinged newspaper. As I scanned the headlines, I was stopped in my tracks. 'President Bush Implements Biggest US tax cuts since 1981...' President Bush? I looked at the date on the paper: 11th September 2001. It was a collector's item!eHeH I returned quickly to the newsstand.

"Hi, it's very interesting to read what happened seventeen years ago, but not so useful. Can you give me today's FT please? The girl looked surprised and studied the paper."

"This is today's paper... Tuesday September eleventh."

"Yeah, but look at the year!"

"Two thousand and one," she said.

"Exactly – it's ancient!"

She looked puzzled. "Two thousand and one is this year... are you all right?"

I checked the other newspapers – they all had the same date. I walked slowly back to my seat and carefully looked at my paper again. What was going on? I pulled out my phone and noticed it showed the same year as the Financial Times... 2001. How could this be?

Date Me was still open, so I changed the date back to the present. Suddenly, the airport seemed to 'wobble'. I looked outside and noticed a large American Airlines plane docking with the terminal. This was the aircraft I'd be boarding in about an hour's time, and perhaps the cause of the aberration.

I couldn't get the newspaper dates out of my head, and walked purposely back to the newsstand. Only, I couldn't find it. I asked around, and a young man told me the paper stand was fifty metres further on. Completely confused, I walked in the direction he indicated and found the stand. I really shouldn't have drunk all that wine the previous night. The young woman who served me before had gone. I spoke to an older lady in a marine blue dress and matching glasses.

"Look, there's something very strange going on. I don't know if it's a joke or a special promotion or what, but please tell me I'm not going crazy."

"What's the problem?" she asked.

"Well, look at this newspaper – look at all of them: they're years out of date!"

"Let me see..." She studied the paper I showed her. "Well, it says 11th September, 2018 – and that's today's date."

"What!" I grabbed the paper back from her.

I flipped through all the other newspapers on the stand. Each one was dated 2018.

"But the other girl showed me dozens of papers dated 2001..."

"What other girl?"

"The one I spoke to a few minutes ago – at the stand down the corridor."

"There's only me on this shift... so I don't know who you could have spoken to. And there's no other newsstand in this part of the airport."

I'd been working too hard – that was the only reasonable conclusion. I purchased the current version of the Financial Times, and took it over to Costa Coffee. Sitting with my Expresso, I looked at the phone again, staring at Date Me, and the logo of a young woman smiling. What if...

With my fingers poised over the screen, I changed the phone's date back to 11th September, 2001. As soon as I clicked 'Go! I felt that 'wobble' again. Not only that, I hit the floor with a bump: Costa Coffee had totally disappeared – and so had my coffee!

I didn't understand how or why – but unless I was dreaming, this was mind–blowing! It seemed that I was now the owner of a time–travelling mobile phone! I wanted to try it again – put in other dates and see what would happen. But then the significance of September eleventh 2001 hit me: 'Nine–Eleven.' The World Trade Center in New York was going to be attacked by terrorists that day. My mind raced, trying to recall the details of all the events. I would have been around twenty–five then, and from what I could remember, an airplane would hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center around 9.00am Eastern Standard Time. Actually, 8:45am. I was doing some temp work for an Agency at the time, and I remembered arriving at a company and looking at the clock. Then one of the girls told me about an accident in New York City. 8:45am in New York would have been 1:45pm in London. I checked the airport clocks: it was 10:57am. That meant that in less than three hours' time, there would be a terrible catastrophe – if nothing was done to stop it.

My next thought was to call Niki. I needed to talk to someone about what was happening to me that day, and she was the only one I could trust one hundred percent. I called her mobile.

'The number you have dialled has not been recognized – please check and try again later.' I phoned again – but always the same message. Then it dawned on me: Niki would only be seventeen in 2001, and still at school, and she almost certainly wouldn't have the same phone number as 2018. Where was her school? I recalled it was located in Hampstead. I powered up my laptop, logged on to the airport's Wi–Fi system (which, fortunately, was in operation in 2001) and searched for North London secondary schools. Bingo! I found the number and called the school.

"Hello, I wonder if I can speak to Niki Ling... she's an A–level student at the school... yes, yes... year thirteen. I see... but it's urgent... yes, very... a matter of life and death." May as well tell the truth. I waited on the phone whilst the receptionist went to find her. What would I say? 'Hi, this is Joe, your future husband'? I met Niki in London in 2007 – which was six years in the future from my present time. This was going to be a strange conversation.

"Hello?"

"Hi Niki, you don't know me, but I know you."

"Who is this?"

"I'm a friend of your family... I know your father." Good line I thought. "Something very bad is going to happen, and I need to talk to someone I can trust..."

"What sort of thing?"

"Two passenger airliners are going to crash into the World Trade Center in New York at around 1:45pm London time. It will seem like an accident at first, but it won't be: it'll be a terrorist attack."

"How d'you know this? Why are you telling me? You should tell the authorities."

"Yes, I'm going to – but they might not believe me... they might think I'm a crank..."

"They might be right."

How could I explain this without sounding totally weird? 'Well, it was like this: I was using an app called Date Me, when I put my hand in an airport security scanner with my phone, and consequently I was transported seventeen years back in time. So actually I'm from your future... where, incidentally, you and I are married...' Well, maybe not.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go now – I'm in class soon. I really think you should tell someone important about this – or get help... medical help."

What now? I had to talk to someone who could do something, someone who could stop the attacks happening. I approached the Information Desk – it seemed the best place to start.

"Hi, I need to talk to Security."

"Have you lost something, sir?" the auburn-haired assistant in the blue uniform and post–box red lipstick asked me. I was tempted to say 'yes, my mind,' but they could be the judge of that.

"No, but I've got some very important information – I must see someone urgently." Did I sound like a moron? I tried not to.

"What sort of information?" she asked.

"It concerns a possible terrorist attack in New York City – today."

Her face changed from a smile to something more serious. "Right, just one moment..." The lady picked up her phone and spoke softly but urgently into the receiver. "Can I have your name sir – and some ID?" I gave her my full name and showed her my passport. She made a couple of notes and handed it back. "Someone will come to see you in a couple of minutes Mr Cooper," she smiled thinly.

I waited anxiously. What was the worst that could happen? They'd take me to a small room with no windows, interrogate me, detain me in custody, do nothing about the threat, the attack would happen, I'd be a suspect and charged under the Terrorism Act (if that's been passed yet), and locked away for years. They'd take away my phone so I couldn't get back to the present day (that's my present day), and I'd never see Niki again.

"Mr Cooper?" I nodded. "Could you come with me sir?" I followed a tall, well–built man with closely cropped grey hair and an airport security uniform, to a part of the airport I'd never seen before. He looked like an ex–policeman, who still worked out to keep fit. He punched in a security code, and we entered a brightly lit area. His manner was friendly and genial, but very business–like. "Please take a seat." I sat opposite him across a wooden table. A woman brought some water. "I need to record this conversation. It's standard procedure in these situations."

"No problem."

"You said you had some information – about a possible attack in New York?"

I told him what I could remember from seventeen years ago.

"At around 8:45am, an American Airways passenger aircraft will fly into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. Everyone will think it's an accident at first, but about fifteen minutes later a second aircraft will hit the other tower from a different direction. Then a third plane will take off from Washington airport, double–back and crash in front of the Pentagon in Washington D.C. All three planes – plus a fourth which will crash into a field after the passengers try to overpower the hijackers – will be piloted by terrorists. Islamic fundamentalists." The man wrote notes whilst I talked. When I'd finished, he asked me what time the third plane would crash into the Pentagon building. "I can't remember exactly..."

"Remember?"

"I–I mean from my source. I think about nine–thirty."

The man finished writing and looked at me. "You understand Mr Cooper that we take any terrorist threats very seriously indeed. At the same time, before we act on this sort of information, we must be sure that this is a real threat and not a hoax..."

"This is not a hoax, believe me. People are going to die – thousands of people. The towers will collapse – implode – people will jump from the burning buildings... it will be horrible... you've got to stop it!" It had now thoroughly dawned on me how real this was, and how I could stop a disaster – if this man would just listen to me.

"I'm not saying that you yourself are knowingly perpetrating a hoax Mr Cooper... can I call you Joe?" I nodded. "I'm sure you're relaying this information in good faith; but at this stage, how do I know this is genuine intelligence and not misinformation you have received? Do you understand Joe?" I nodded again. "I do have to warn you there are heavy penalties for hoaxes – with up to five years in prison."

"I know that what I am telling you is the truth, and this will happen if nobody stops it," I said seriously and confidently.

"How do you know Joe?" the man asked. "What's the source of your information?" I glanced at the clock: 11:25am, London time. Just two hours, twenty minutes before the first plane would hit the Twin Towers. If I told him the truth, he wouldn't believe a single word I'd said.

"I can't reveal my source," I replied. "My life would be in danger." I didn't know what else to say. "Look," I said standing up, gripping the table, "there's not much time left – you've got to do something."

"We will do everything necessary, Mr Cooper, that's my job – but it's no use getting agitated. We have to follow procedures – and we'll do that as quickly as we can. Now, do you happen to know the flight numbers of these aircraft?" he asked calmly. I sat down and took my mind back to the news stories seventeen years ago.

"The first one was definitely American Airlines – flight number eleven I think. I can't remember the second, but I'm pretty sure it was a United Airlines aircraft. And the one that hit the Pentagon was also American Airlines."

"That hit the Pentagon?"

"Will hit it."

"Okay, thank you Joe," the man said rising from his chair, "that's very helpful. I'll have to ask you to wait here whilst I check these out. What time is your flight?" I told him my flight number and departure time. "I'm sorry, but you might have to miss that one," he said leaving the room.

I sat and waited, wondering what would happen next. Then my mobile rang.

"Hi, this is Niki... I have a break."

"Okay, good."

"Have you told the authorities?"

"I have – I'm at airport security now. I'm not sure they believe me though."

"I believe you," she said.

"You do? Why? It must sound completely crazy."

"Yeah, it does in a way... but I've got a feeling that you're telling the truth. I don't know why. Can they stop it happening?"

"I suppose they can ground the planes... but it's a big ask. A lot of people won't be happy... the airlines could lose a lot of money." A woman brought me some tea, and I told Niki I'd get back to her when I had any more news. The woman said I'd have to wait another ten or fifteen minutes. Everyone was polite and courteous – no thumb screws yet. Twenty minutes later, the man I spoke to (whose name was Rodgers) returned – this time with a colleague. He was thinner and shorter than Rodgers, with longish hair and round–rimmed spectacles, and casually dressed, with a green role neck sweater and blue jeans.

"Well, the flight details you gave us seem to check out," said Rodgers." There's an American Airlines flight eleven out of Boston...

"Yes, that's the one – it's not bound for New York City, but the hijackers turn it towards New York..."

"I see. And there's a United Airlines flight 175 from New York... could that be the one you mentioned – the one that will target the South Tower?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

Then the second man spoke. "How did you sleep last night Mr Cooper?" This caught me off guard.

"I slept fine."

"Any dreams?" I stopped for a moment, realizing where he was going with this.

"Oh, you mean about aeroplanes flying into buildings?"

"Something like that."

"Look, this is real; I haven't made it up..."

"I'm not saying you are," the man replied. "But the language you've used to describe these events is that of an observer who has seen something happen. You told Mr Rodgers that planes will crash into the twin towers around 8:45am and 9:00am. Usually with inside information, people tell us when an event will begin, but never finish. So normally we would hear something like, 'American Airlines Flight 11 will be hijacked and flown towards the World Trade Center in New York City.' No–one ever gives exact times because in a hijack situation it's impossible to say when the event will finish, only when it was planned to start. And even the start time is only a prediction. Who knows when the flight will actually take off – you must have had your share of delayed flights. And no–one can predict how long it will take the hijackers to gain control of an aeroplane and change course. You're describing something you've already seen happen, rather than what is planned to happen."

I was about to say, 'this is definitely not a dream, it's real,' when I realized that this was the perfect explanation – and one they might believe. Many people have dreams, visions or premonitions of something that's about to happen. And this man (whom I later discovered was a psychologist called Dr Skinner) was not saying that I had made it up; he was proposing it was some sort of precognition, which was actually totally valid.

"I thought you'd think I was crazy," I said at last. "I didn't think you'd take it seriously if I said I had a vivid dream."

The psychologist smiled and nodded at Rodgers. "Thank you for your time Joe. We're going to pass on all the details to Washington, and it's up to them what they do with it. Obviously, it's very different from the usual type of tip off, and I don't know how they'll respond. Many people have dreams about disasters, but ninety–nine percent of them don't concern real events. Yours, though, has an unusual amount of detail. We do need you to wait at the airport a little while longer, I'm afraid. Anything else you can remember will be extremely valuable to us, and the FBI in Washington is likely to want to talk to you. We'll need your work, home and mobile phone numbers, and a copy of your passport."

"Do you think they'll act on this?" I asked.

"Well, the last time we passed on such detailed information, they heavily tightened up security and grounded every Eastern seaboard flight for five hours. I would expect the same again."

I said I was happy to help, and gave Rodgers the details he wanted. When he saw my phone, he was immediately very interested.

"Is that a phone? I've never seen one like that before – what is it?" My mobile would not be on the market for another fifteen years, so I had to think quickly.

"Oh, this... it's a 'Smart Phone'. Just a prototype from the Far East. My wife works for a Taiwan company, and she got it for me.

"Can I see it?" asked Rodgers. I reluctantly handed over the phone and showed him how it worked. Both he and the psychologist were stunned. "Where can I get one?" Skinner asked.

"Umm... they should be out sometime soon." I quickly took the phone back and put it in my pocket.

"Oh, one more thing," Rodgers said as we left the security area, "we couldn't find your flight – no listing for that flight number. Did you mean this one?" He showed me details of another flight to New York with a similar number.

"Yes, that's the one," I lied.

"We can reschedule your flight for this afternoon, if that helps; but if all East Coast flights are grounded, you may want to reconsider your flight plans."

I thanked Rogers and Dr Skinner for their help, and left quickly before they realised I wasn't booked on any flight in that decade. It seemed like there was nothing more I could do to help, and went for coffee. If I wasn't meant to intervene in the wheels of history, then nothing I said or did would make any difference. But what if I could change history... what then?

As I sat in coffee bar stirring sugar into my Americano, with Jennifer Lopez singing 'I'm Real' on the café's hi–fi, I contemplated the ability to travel back in time at will. Was this just a one–off? Did it work just for 2001, or could I return to other periods in history – or go forward into the future?

After finishing my coffee, I adjusted the date on my phone to September 11, 2018. Everything wobbled again. The coffee bar was still in the same location, and Jennifer Lopez was still singing the same song, but the furniture and décor in the café had changed. I ran to find the newsstand and checked the date: I was back! I couldn't wait to tell Niki all about this; it was going to blow her mind!

***

Two

My amazing experience at Heathrow airport caused me to miss my flight to New York. Later, I realised I could have tried time–travelling a couple of hours back and caught the plane. But at that time, this was all very new and I just wanted to get home and talk to Niki. So I let my boss know the flight had been cancelled, and I'd come down with a terrible cold... etc etc. Then I headed for North London.

The first thing I was desperate to know was whether or not history had been changed by my intervention. I knew I could easily have checked this at the airport; but if the terror plot hadn't been prevented, I would have been tempted to try stopping it all over again – and I wasn't ready to do that. So instead, I called Niki on the way back home from Heathrow and arranged to meet her for dinner in Finchley – with my computer in tow.

"What's the big excitement Joe? Have you got a new job?" she asked when we met at our favourite restaurant. "More money I hope!"

"Well, not exactly a new job... a new hobby perhaps."

After we'd ordered food, I logged onto the restaurant's we–fi and brought up present day photographs of New York City from the Internet.

"Oh–my–god! Just look at this Nik!" I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Niki looked casually at the screen.

"It's New York City – so what?" she observed.

"Yes, it's New York City – with the original World Trade Centre twin towers!"

"Are you okay Joe?"

"I'm fine – I'm more than fine – I'm wonderful! Just hold on one second... you are just not going to believe this..." I searched for the pictures of the tragic destruction of the World Trade Centre I'd downloaded from the Internet seventeen years previously, including the two planes flying into the twin towers, people running from the buildings, and the final collapse. "That's strange..."

"What is?"

"My pictures – they've all gone! I had loads of photos showing the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001, and now they've disappeared..."

"I really don't know what you're talking about. What attack?"

"Look at the screen Nik... tell me I'm not going crazy. See those two huge towers in the centre of Manhattan... the World Trade Center twin towers. Before I left for Heathrow, there was only the One World Building – right? You must remember the terrorist planes flying into the buildings in 2001 and all the terrible destruction – how could anyone forget that?"

"You're not making sense Joe... the buildings have always looked like this."

I searched the internet for pictures of the twin towers destruction, but there were none; it really was as if it never happened. Then suddenly something clicked with Niki.

"Joe, I've just remembered something. I don't think I've ever told you this, but when I was at school taking my A–levels in 2001, I received a very strange phone call from a man about a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center..."

It was unbelievable: the call I'd made to Niki from the airport when she was at school was now in her present consciousness... it had become reality!

"That was me! I called you from Heathrow airport that day!"

"You! How could it be you? You never knew me then – it was years before we met. But this guy definitely knew me – no question." This was fantastic... my mind was doing summersaults... the implications of this were staggering. Niki noticed that my mind was suddenly in a very different place from hers. "Joe?"

"This man – did he say he was a friend of your family?"

"Yes! How could you possibly know that? I've never talked to you about it... I'm sure I haven't. Did Baba mention it?" I shook my head. "Anyway, this guy said he knew my father, but when I talked to Baba later he'd no idea who that could be. None of his friends would know which school I was in... and no–one asked him. Anyway, the attack never happened, so he must have been a crank."

"Or the man convinced the authorities that it was a real threat, and they stopped it happening."

"Yeah, well, they didn't stop the assassinations, did they?"

"Assassinations? What assassinations?"

"Bush and Blair of course."

I suddenly froze. I sat and listened whilst Niki explained how US President George W. Bush and British Prime Minister Tony Blair had been killed by terrorists in 2002. The two leaders met at Bush's Texas Ranch in April that year, and were killed instantly when suicide bombers breached security.

"But why am I telling you this Joe – how could you have forgotten that?"

"So what about the Iraq invasion?"

"What Iraq invasion?"

"The one to look for weapons of mass destruction?"

"Joe, you've been totally weird since you got back. I think you need a rest."

My intervention had had a lot more impact than I could have imagined – and I was just learning the extent of it. Everything is connected: change one thing, you change many others. I later learned that no Bush or Blair meant no Iraq invasion, and Saddam Hussein was still very much alive – and still in power. Gordon Brown became Prime Minister after Blair's death until 2005, when David Cameron was elected leader of the country. In the US, Hilary Clinton was now President. But at least there was no change to our personal lives – or so I thought.

As we walked home, I changed the subject and asked Niki how her parents were. She gave me an incredulous look.

"Parents?"

"Mama and Baba."

"If this is sick joke Joe, it's really not funny..."

"I don't understand," I said. She stopped and looked at me, staring intently at my face.

"How could you forget this Joe!"

"Forget what?"

"That mama died in 2005."

When we got home, I listened with a mixture of horror and concern whilst Niki told me how her mother had been shopping in the City in July 2005 when terrorist bombs were detonated on buses and underground trains. The July bombings were part of the history I knew. But by changing a leader, you can change other things – including responses to terrorist threats. One of the bombs detected and immobilized by the Special Branch under the government I had known, was missed by the British authorities in the new version of history, and it was that particular bomb that had killed Niki's mother Gloria.

"Nik, I know this will sound completely crazy," I said, "but I think there's a way we can bring Gloria back."

***

Three

That night I reflected on what had been an unbelievable day. I still had no real idea of how I'd been able to go back in time and impact World events; yet the undeniable truth was that I'd done exactly that. The twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City stood as concrete proof of my intervention, and the three thousand or so lives that had been saved indicated to me that my actions had been completely justified.

On the other hand, I had just killed one US President, a British Prime Minister, Niki's mother Gloria – and god knows who else. Then there was an Iraq with Saddam Hussein still in power. Was that for the best? If this extraordinary experience was not just a one–off, and I could travel back in time and alter history at will, I must consider all the possible consequences before playing god in future.

My first priority now, though, was to undo the death of Gloria – and that of the fifty other people who died on 7th July, 2005 in London. I suppose I should also try to stop the assassination of Bush and Blair in 2002... but there was no rush for that.

The fact that Niki was blissfully unaware of the World changes I'd engineered made me realize that I could continually change the course of history, and no–one would be any the wiser. In fact, if someone other than me travelled back in time and changed the past, I'd also be totally unaware of anything amiss. It was as if there were many alternate versions of reality, and each one was as valid as the next.

The next question was how to explain all this to Niki. However hard it was, I just had to try to tell her what had happened at the airport – and what was possible with my new phone.

*

Niki was born in Shanghai and moved to England with her parents when her father landed a job at the Chinese Embassy in London. She was just seven years old when they emigrated and grew up with both British and Chinese cultures. She attended British schools in London, and was fluent in both Putonghua (Mandarin Chinese) and English. Early on, she developed an avid interest in Western literature, and devoured books written by the likes of Kafka, Somerset Maugham, TS Eliot, and Milan Kundera. She is far wider read than I am – and will ever be. It was through an interest in books that we met one February evening in 2007 at the Institut francais in South Kensington. We were both attending the launch of a French Psychologist's book 'Talking of Love on the Edge of a Precipice.' Niki was there because of her love of words, and I was there because of my love of free French wine.

When I spotted her in the front row, the wine suddenly took a back seat. What was an attractive Chinese twenty–something doing at a French book launch, I wondered? A few dates later, I knew exactly why she was there: for passion. Ling Ling (her Chinese name) was the most thoughtful and passionate woman I had ever met, and I wanted to spend every waking moment with her. It didn't take me long to realize that she was The One.

Getting to know her parents took longer. They were fairly traditional, and my suggestion that I could meet them on Chinese New Year's Eve later that month, was greeted with an icy stare and shake of Niki's head. "Only if you marry me first," she said. And so I did, spending Chinese New Year 2008 as part of the family. Her mum and dad were fluent in English, fortunately, but I thought I should try out some of the Mandarin Chinese Niki had taught me. Calling her mother a horse might not have been the best start, but they seemed to take it well.

*

"Just imagine," I said as we sat having coffee in our lounge, the morning after I'd been to Heathrow, "if you could go back in time and change history. Say, for instance, you could stop Columbus sailing for America, or assassinate Adolf Hitler before he came to power. If you later returned to the present, do you think that anyone would realise that things had changed? I mean, supposing Hitler had been stopped very early on, say he died in his twenties, there couldn't be any movies or photographs of the Nazi atrocities that took place – because in the new version of history, they didn't happen!" Niki looked serious for a moment, contemplating the idea. She was used to my hare–brained way of thinking, and had learned when she should take me seriously and when she should not. On this occasion, she knew my idea was completely bonkers, but considered it just the same.

"Well, if someone killed Hitler before the second World War, and there was no–one to replace him, then I guess the war would never happen." Niki observed.

"So people's memories would have to be different?" I added.

"I guess so. But this is just speculation based on the idea of time travel Joe: and we know that can't happen!"

Just then I received a text message on my mobile.

"What are you doing with that?" Niki asked.

"With what?"

"That old phone."

"What do you mean 'old' – you bought it for me two weeks ago, for my birthday."

"No–no, not that one. Let me see..." She curiously handled the phone as if it was an ancient artefact. "This must be at least five years old – where did you really get it?"

I then realized that I'd changed not just events, but technology too. By showing my phone to the security officer at the airport, the idea for Smart phones had leapt six years ahead of time. If mobile phone technology could be pushed forward five or six years just by someone seeing my iPhone, what else could I inadvertently have changed?

"Let me look at yours," I said. I was gobsmacked. Niki's Xtreme 3D, as it was called, was out of this World. I was completely bedazzled by its speed, its functions, simplicity of design and appearance.

"You look as though you've never seen one before Joe!" I had to admit I hadn't. Then it was time to tell Niki my idea.

"I'd like to take you on a trip," I said.

"Where to?"

"To London... July 2005."

"Okay, I've got a good imagination."

"Great! Well, just give me a second..." I used Date Me to change the date on my phone to 6th July 2005 – one day before the July bombings in London. I experienced the same wobble as at the airport, and the next thing I knew I was sitting in the lounge of our apartment – on my own! What did I do wrong? I changed the date back to the present.

"Joe! Where did you go?"

"Into the future," I smiled.

"Don't say that... it sounds crazy!"

"What happened after I said, 'Just give me a second'?"

"You were doing something on your phone, and I looked out the window. Then when I looked back you were gone. Something's happened to you Joe and I'm worried. You've been very strange ever since you came back from the airport. Did you bang your head when you were away yesterday? Maybe you should see a doctor."

I then realised that only things physically connected to the phone would be transported in time. "Ok, take my hand, will you?"

"Are we going to the hospital?"

With the other hand I changed the date on the phone again to 6th July, 2005.

"No, I'm going to show you that I'm not crazy."

***

Four

"What was that?"

"You mean the wobble?"

"Yes."

"That's what happens. Take a look outside..."

Niki went to the window. "What am I looking for?"

"I dunno... look at the cars. Anything unusual?"

"Something's not right... but I don't know what."

"Look at the registration plates. I think the latest code is sixty–eight. See any?"

"No – not yet."

Whilst Niki was looking at car numbers, I took a peek around the apartment. It seemed very different – like a bachelor pad. A tad messy. Beer cans on the floor, and rubbish bins overflowing. Niki would never allow that. Things were 'missing' – no recent CD's or videos, no flat–screen TV, and no plants. We'd definitely gone back in time. "Any luck Nik?"

"No – the latest I can see is fifty–five."

"Ok, have a look around the flat for any of your things..."

"What do you mean? What sort of things?"

"Anything – clothes, plants... things you brought with you when you moved in."

She gave me a very quizzical look, and then noticed the television."

"Where's our new TV? And my plants?"

"Exactly. Just take a look, will you?"

She came back after a few minutes. "There's nothing there! Where have you put them?"

"I'll tell you later. We've got to go and see your dad now – we don't have much time.

*

Niki's parents lived in South Kensington, near Hyde Park. As usual, we took the Northern line and changed at King's Cross to the Circle line. Niki was getting increasingly agitated. What she'd seen in the apartment didn't make any sense to her, and she was troubled. On top of that, it was a very warm July in 2005, and we had left a rather cool September in 2018. On the tube, I tried to tell her gently what had happened, but naturally it was difficult for her to assimilate – as it had been for me. After all, it's not every day that you travel back in time. As we walked out of South Kensington Station into the warm July air, I grabbed a morning paper.

"Take a look at this?"

"Why?"

"You'll see..."

She scanned the pages as we briskly walked along Kensington High Street, then she stopped and turned to me. "It's out of date."

"Yes, I know."

"Why did you buy an old newspaper?"

"I didn't – this is today's date. Come on."

We reached her parents' home, and rang the bell. Her father answered the door.

"Niki... is that you? You look different... are you okay? And who is this?"

"Hello Mr Ling, I'm Joe – a friend of Niki's. May we come in?"

"Yes, of course – please come on in, I'll make some tea."

As we entered the house, she looked closely at her father. "Baba – you're looking great – so much younger! What have you been doing?"

"Oh, nothing special – working at the Embassy as usual..."

"But I thought..."

"How's Mrs Ling?" I interrupted.

"Joe!" exclaimed Niki.

"Oh, she's fine – just gone to pick up a few things from the shops. I'll just go and make the tea."

"Joe," Niki whispered to me, "I'm sorry – Baba seems to be losing his memory. He didn't recognize you, and he still thinks mama is alive. I hope it's not dementia."

I knew what was coming next, and I had to prepare Niki. I'd thought that everything she'd experienced so far would make her realise we really had gone back in time, but understandably she was in denial.

"Niki, sit down – I've got to explain something to you. Your father has not lost his memory – he's as alert as ever. The reason he looks younger is because he is younger. There were none of your things in the apartment because in 2005 we had not yet met. There are no car registrations with the number sixty–eight, because right now we're still on fifty–five. The newspaper is not out of date, it is today's date. And any minute your mother is going to walk through that door."

"But that's impossible!"

"Yes, that's exactly what I thought when this happened to me yesterday morning. But I assure you that..."

"The weather is so clammy today..."

Gloria came through the door and Niki looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Mama?"

"Oh, that's a nice surprise – and who is this young man?"

Tears streamed down Niki's cheeks, and she ran over give Gloria a big hug.

"Are you all right Ling Ling? Is anything wrong?" her mother said.

"No ma – not now. It's just so good to see you."

I let Niki enjoy the moment with her mother who had died nine years ago in our time, and then interrupted.

"I'm sorry, can I have a moment with Niki, Mrs Ling – there's something important I need to tell her."

"Of course dear – I'll go and help Tang."

I looked Niki squarely in the eyes. "Now you've got to believe me." She nodded tearfully. I explained that we didn't have very much time, and somehow we had to convince Gloria and Tang that they should stay in the house the next day and not go out. Before we jumped to 2005 I'd researched the July bombings on the internet and I knew exactly where and when the terrorist bombs would be detonated, and none of them would be near the Ling's house. The devices were placed in public places where they could cause the most damage – on trains and on a bus. I said I'd tell Gloria and Tang I worked for the Special Branch, and we'd had a tip–off about terrorist bombs in Central London tomorrow. Niki was still in daze, but nodded her approval. The Lings were convinced by what I told them, and after tea we left the house.

"Where now?" Nik asked me.

"MI5, Special Branch."

If Gloria followed our instructions, we could save her. Now we had to stop the bombers and bring back all the others who were murdered in 2005.

***

Five

On Thursday 7th July, four terrorists would detonate four bombs – three in quick succession at 8:50am aboard London Underground trains across the city, and a fourth aboard a double–decker bus in Tavistock Square at 9:47am. Not only did I have the exact locations of all four devices, but also the terrorists' names, ages, ethnic backgrounds and profiles. I even knew that they would be caught on CCTV at Kings Cross station at 8:30am that morning. With all this information, the authorities should easily be able to prevent the explosions.

Niki had now come round to the idea that we had gone back in time. There was just no other explanation for being able to see and hold her mother again. She suggested going to the Metropolitan Police at New Scotland Yard near St. James's Park, which seemed a good place to start.

"Yes?" The plain–clothed civilian female assistant asked us as we entered the main door.

"We need to talk to someone urgently about terrorist bombs that are going to be set off in Central London tomorrow morning." No point in beating around the bush, I thought. The woman looked from one of us to the other, wondering how seriously to take this.

"I see sir; well you need to fill in this form first..."

"No–no–no – we don't want to fill in any forms: we need to talk to someone who deals with these things – someone at the top. We don't have much time."

"Well, Superintendent Willis is in a meeting just now..."

"Then get him out of the meeting!" said Niki.

"It's not that simple – you obviously don't understand how it works here miss..." That really got me going. Whenever anyone is condescending to Niki, I get nasty.

"Okay, when four bombs..."

"Five," Niki said.

"Five?" I looked at her and she nodded.

"When five bombs go off in Central London tomorrow, and fifty people die..."

"Seventy–five."

"When seventy–five people die, and..." I turned to Niki. "How many injured?"

"Over one thousand."

"When seventy–five people die and over one thousand people are injured tomorrow, you can put your hands up and say, 'That was my fault, it was my call.'"

"What's going on Judith?" A tall policeman with black hair, balding at the top, with long sideburns and matching moustache and beer belly came through the door. The civilian relayed the conversation, and the policeman asked us to follow him through a secure gate. The police officer, who introduced himself as Sergeant Brown, apologized for us having to be scanned (bodies, bags etc – just like at an airport), but explained it was necessary with all the terrorist threats those days.

He led us into an interview room, similar to the sort of thing you see on television, and got us some water.

"Please take a seat." We sat facing the officer, and he asked for our names, which we gave. "Okay, tell me what you've got," he said. I'd decided to use the same angle as the one that seemed to work at the airport. After all, that approach had prevented the attacks in America, so why not use it here.

"I had a vivid dream last night..."

"Whoa! Stop right there! We're talking about a dream?"

"Well, a premonition actually – in the form of a dream."

"I see. Well you'll need to make a written statement – I'll get a form for you to complete and we'll check out your story, and well, get back to you in forty–eight hours..."

"Forty–eight hours! In less than twenty–four, seventy–five people will be dead!"

"Look, I'll be straight with you... you seem like nice, honest people who would not just make things up, but we get a lot of strange people in here with crazy ideas, conspiracy theories and the like; and ninety–nine–point–nine percent of all these dreams, visions and premonitions we hear about turn out to have no basis in reality – not in this universe. We are very busy fighting and preventing real crimes with real criminals, and before we close down half the Capital, I need a bit more evidence than 'I had a dream' – to quote Nelson Mandela."

"Martin Luther King," corrected Niki.

"I think you get the idea, miss," the officer replied.

We were all quiet, and then Niki said, "Joe was only saying it was a dream because we didn't want to get my brother into trouble." She paused and looked at me. I tightened my lips and shrugged my shoulders. I'd no idea what she was going to say.

"I'm listening," the Sergeant said.

"My brother works in a factory in Balham. There's a lot of immigrant workers there – most of them working illegally, including Chen. Anyway, one night he was working late and overheard three of the Pakistani guys in conversation. They must have thought everyone had gone home, because they were talking quite openly. Chen heard the word 'bomb' which got his attention right away. Then they talked about planting three devices on metro trains and two on buses..."

"We'll need to get your brother in for questioning," the Sergeant stated.

"You can't! He'll never do that. He's got no work visa or residence permit – he's afraid you'll deport him if he talks to you; that's why we're here."

"All right – give me a couple of minutes."

Whilst the Sergeant left the room, I smiled knowingly at Niki and squeezed her hand. The officer soon returned with a senior policeman and a young policewoman.

"This is Superintendent Peter Willis, from our Anti–Terrorist Unit, and PC Knowles. I'd like you to tell them everything you know – all the details. When did you say the first devices would be detonated?"

"Eight–fifty tomorrow morning," Niki stated.

"Okay, we'd better get started..."

Niki cleverly relayed the details of a fictitious conversation overheard by her fictitious bother Chen, where three terrorists were plotting to blow up London. (Her real brother, incidentally, is an investment banker in Hong Kong, not a labourer in a Balham sweatshop – and his real name is Tian). She gave just enough details to lead the police to both the terrorists and the bombs, with plenty of phrases like, 'I think he said...' and 'they seem to be saying...' to show this was a remembered, overhead conversation.

"That was fantastic Nik!" I exclaimed as we headed for a coffee shop we knew in Victoria Street, having left New Scotland Yard.

"D'you think they were convinced?" she asked. "I still think I'm living in a dream."

We arrived in Victoria Street to find a few 'changes.'

"We might have to wait a little while for coffee," I said staring into the window of a dress shop.

"I'm sure it was here."

"Yeah, well it will be in six- or seven-years' time. On the other hand..." I pulled out my mobile. "Take my hand Nik..." She gripped my hand tightly and I changed the date on my mobile back to the 'present'. "Ah, that's more like it!"

We walked into the shop, enjoying the aroma of freshly–ground coffee, and found a table at the back. As we were sipping our drinks, Niki was clearly thinking deeply about things.

"Can we really go anywhere in the past Joe – at any time?" I thought for a moment.

"I don't really know for sure. All I can say is that it's worked for two time periods so far. One thing I've noticed, though, is we can only move in time, not space."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, at the airport yesterday, and with you today, we changed time zones, but not position. Remember in the flat this morning, and again just now. The time and date changes, but we don't move to any other location."

"So, what if we wanted to go back to Ancient China, say. Would we have to fly there first?"

"I guess so. We'll have to give it a try," I smiled.

"Not today though, hey?"

We were quiet for a minute, and then I said, "Where would you want to go – if you could choose any time in history?" She thought for a moment.

"I'd really like to see one of Shakespeare's first performances at the original Globe..."

"And meet the Bard himself?"

She nodded, "Wouldn't that be cool!"

"We'd probably have to change our clothes, though, so we didn't stand out," I pointed out. "Having said that, you're going to stand out whatever you wear."

"Why? Because I'm Chinese or because I'm a woman?"

"Probably both. I don't think women were allowed to watch plays in those days, were they?" I asked.

"They could watch – but they couldn't take part in the performances."

We finished our coffees, and as we were leaving Niki asked me if I thought we'd prevented the bombings.

"Well, if not we'll just have to come back and try again. Just a second..." I went over to talk to an assistant at the counter. "'Scuse me mate, d'you remember the London bombings a few years back – in 2005?"

"Yeah, sure I do... I was working near Liverpool Street station when one of the bombs went off." Niki looked crestfallen. Then the young man added, "Good thing they'd had a tip–off about it and no–one was hurt."

"And the other bombs?" I asked.

"Oh, they were all discovered in time," he said. "Where have you been then – another planet?"

"Something like that," I replied, taking Niki's hand. "So what d'you want to do now Nik?"

"I want to see mama."

***

Six

We returned home late that evening, having spent several hours with Gloria and Tang. In my universe, Niki was talking to Gloria less than a week ago, but in Niki's World she hadn't seen her mother for nearly seven years. The whole idea of travelling through time and changing events within the space–time continuum was difficult to explain to her; I didn't really understand it myself, and I'd been through this twice now. Niki's 'new' waking life was now part of this alternate present – one where her mother had never really died. But her memories still lay in a past that no longer existed. And though I did try to help her get to grip with these different realities, I thought in the end it would be better to let her come to her own understanding. The main thing was that Mrs Ling was now alive and well, and for that Niki would be forever grateful. For me, it was something that our present science, and our current understanding of this universe, was not yet able to explain in practical terms, even though the concept of time–travel had been contemplated and discussed many times, and a plethora of books written about the subject and its consequences.

The next thing to consider was the impact of our latest intervention on events around the country. I followed the daily news avidly every day for the next week for indications of any changes to the economy, to people, and to society in general. Fortunately, I found nothing, and it seemed that we could move on and consider what we should do next with this amazing ability. We had no idea how long this window would be open, and we both wanted to experience more and more, doing what we could to change the past for the better, as we saw it, mindful of any 'side–effects'.

*

One night after work, two weeks after preventing the carnage of the London bombings, Nik and I chatted about the things we'd like to do next. Despite Niki saying she'd like to meet Shakespeare and see one of his original performances first hand, we both agreed that we should embark upon something more altruistic in nature, rather than just to satisfy our curiosities. I had in passing mentioned preventing the Nazi holocaust by assassinating Adolf Hitler, and Niki also mentioned killing off Emperor Hirohito before his invasion of China, and thereby preventing the atrocities perpetrated on the Chinese people by the Japanese in the 1930's.

However, after lengthy debates, we agreed that it would be very risky attempting these feats, given that many others had tried to assassinate Hitler and others – and failed; and even if we were able to eliminate both men, there was no assurance that other, equally evil dictators, would not take their places.

One thing that appeared paramount was that we should always go on these trips together, never alone, so that if anything happened to either one of us, the other could always take the phone, go back to a time prior to the calamity and try to undo what had befallen the other. This seemed to make good sense. It did, though, raise an interesting question one evening after work.

"Joe, I've been thinking about what we discussed the other day."

"Go on."

"When you went back to the time of the World Trade Center bombings, you said you spoke to me on the telephone."

"Yes, when you were still in school."

"What would have happened if I had gone back with you too, and made that phone call instead? Would I find myself talking to a younger version of me?"

"Wow, that's spooky!"

"Isn't it?"

I had to stop and consider the concept of two Niki's talking to each other... weird!

"Well, I suppose that could happen," I replied. "I can't see why not... interesting!"

There was a lull in our conversation, and I turned to see her staring serenely into space. "What are you thinking?"

She snapped out of her reverie, and looked at me slightly guiltily. "Oh, nothing – just about the past."

"And?"

"Do you remember me telling you about my first boyfriend – when I was fourteen years old?"

"Oh yeah – the kid who killed himself... Steve, wasn't it?" Niki nodded. "I do remember now... I know you must have been very cut up about it at the time. You don't still blame yourself for that, do you?"

"Oh no, not really. It's just that... what if I'd known about the pressures his parents were putting him under..." She looked hopefully at me.

"You could have intervened – and saved his life?" We were both quiet again, then I said, "Y'know, we'd be taking a big risk if we changed this – I mean, personally. When we jump back to the present, you could find yourself married to him instead of me!"

Niki looked at her feet and nodded. "I know – I've thought about that. But what if we just tell his parents what's going to happen if they don't let up, and then I split up with Steve later."

This was beginning to sound insane. We would be risking our relationship on the suicidal depression of one fourteen–year–old boy, when we could be saving millions of lives elsewhere. And anyway, even if we could prevent that particular suicide attempt, Steve might try it again because of something else – Niki dumping him for instance. I told Niki what I thought, and she agreed it was crazy and she shouldn't have mentioned it.

I thought that was the end of it – but I was wrong.

The next morning, my mobile phone was missing – and so was Niki. She must have been up before me, and taken my phone by mistake. But hers has a pink cover, and mine is black. And although she could grab the wrong one by mistake if she was in a hurry, as soon she looked at it, she'd know it wasn't hers and call me. Wouldn't she?

Anyway, I naturally didn't want her to use the phone to travel you–know–where, particularly as we'd specifically agreed to only travel together. And she agreed it was a stupid idea to go back and try to save her old friend. But I had this horrible nagging feeling in my gut about this, so I called my phone from hers (which she'd left in our bedroom).

"I'm sorry, the number you have called cannot be reached just now..."

Shit! I knew what this meant. I was beside myself with growing annoyance all morning, and by the time I heard the key in the front door at midday, I was ready to explode.

"Nik, we agreed – you agreed – we'd only go together, never on our own... I can't believe you've done this!"

"Happy anniversary Joe!"

"What?"

She handed me a gift–wrapped present.

"Oh, I'd forgotten," I said slowly. "Sorry..."

"Well, go on... open it!"

As I was tearing open the paper, Niki apologized for taking my phone by mistake. She didn't want me to wake up and ask her where she was going. She'd just popped the phone in her bag, and hadn't realized it was switched off. Inside the box I found a copy of The Time Machine by HG Wells.

"Thanks Nik, that's so nice." I kissed her and we hugged warmly. Then she pulled away a little.

"So what was that 'only going together' speech about?" I looked at her with a guilty grimace. "Oh Joe, you didn't think I'd do that! You really thought I'd taken the phone to go time–travelling... to see my old boyfriend?" I couldn't deny what I thought.

"I'm sorry Nik, I just reacted... it all seemed to fit..."

"Trust, Joe, remember? What we based our marriage on?"

I admitted she was right, and I was wrong. So that afternoon I couldn't help thinking I owed her the chance to at least try to stop her old flame topping himself. After all, if we get it wrong, we can always go back and do it all over again (I think).

***

Seven

When Niki was going out with Steve, they were both thirteen. So it wasn't some big relationship thing – just first love curiosity more than anything else. And I don't think there was so much love about it either, though he might say otherwise. Anyway, at the time Niki lived with her folks in South Kensington, and attended Henrietta Barnett School in Hampstead, North London. Very posh. (Rather different from the government comprehensive school I went to). Steve was at Whitefield School, a mixed comprehensive also in North London, and his home was no more than a quarter of a mile from Henrietta Barnett. They were destined to meet. Well, in our current universe.

"What if you two had never met?" I said to Niki the next day.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, imagine if you'd never known Steve... you wouldn't be so concerned about an unknown teenager topping himself, would you? I mean, it happens all the time."

"But we're not talking about a stranger, Joe, we're discussing someone I was close to!"

"True – and at this exact moment, both you and I know that. But if I went back in time, I could make sure your paths never crossed. You'd have no memory of ever knowing Steve, so no concern about one of the thousands of suicides that happen in the UK every year. Right?"

Niki stared at me, shaking her head. "I can't believe you said that Joe! Ignorance is bliss, is that it? And anyway, it was you who gave me the lecture yesterday about travelling alone!"

I had to admit she was right – again. I was just playing with an idea, that was all. I knew what we had to do, and I'd every intention of seeing it through – for Niki's benefit. So, I gave her the green light, and then we got scheming.

*

Plan A was for Niki to talk to her younger self – posing as some long–lost relative who knew all about the relationship with Steve. Once Niki junior understood the intense pressures Steve was under from his parents, and the fact that he was actually contemplating suicide, then she was bound to do something about it. Meanwhile, I would talk to Steve's parents. That was going to be harder. How could I introduce myself and then say, 'Oh by the way – your son it going to kill himself if you don't take your foot off the pedal'? In the end, we thought it might be better if I talked to Social Services – pretending to be a concerned neighbour, or something like that.

Plan B was for both of us to meet up with Steve and Niki junior and say, 'Hi – we're from the future!' That's only if we get desperate, of course.

That night, after going over the details, we took deep breaths, held hands, set the phone's date to 19th May, 1996 and waited. It didn't work quite how we imagined.

"Who are you?" We were standing in an apartment which looked like ours, but it wasn't ours. "Well? What are you doing in my flat?" Whilst Niki gave the middle–aged man an apologetic smile, I quickly switched the date back to the present and we were suddenly home. I'd forgotten that I hadn't moved into that apartment until 2004.

"What now?" asked Niki.

"We go to your old school, I guess, and jump from there."

As we emerged from Golders Green tube station, a thought suddenly struck me. I stopped in the street, and turned to Niki. "Just a minute..."

"What is it?"

"There's something that's been bothering me, and I'd just like to get it clear in my head." We were standing in the rain, under my black umbrella. It was September, I think. This time–travel thing was beginning to mess with my sense of dates. "You remember when I phoned you at school from Heathrow in 2011?"

"Yes..."

"That phone call became part of your new reality – along with the death of your mum, and the two presidents, right?"

"Okay, if you say so Joe – but you know I'm still finding that difficult – even though I've got mama back now. What's your point?"

"If you meet young Niki, does it mean that when we return to the present your memories will change, even though it's you that's changing the future?"

Niki screwed up her face for a moment. "Well, I suppose so... is there a problem?"

From the previous two time jumps, I thought that because I'd been instrumental in changing the future, I could not be affected by the changes. Now that Niki was about to come face–to–face with herself, I was beginning to doubt that hypothesis. If, for the sake of argument, she meets herself in 2011 and cuts off part of young Nik's finger, would that mean that when we jump back to the present, she would find herself without part of that digit? Or would it happen instantaneously – her own finger being simultaneously mutilated with that of her young double? The whole idea of interacting with a duplicate of oneself – albeit in a different time frame – suddenly became very interesting. I relayed these thoughts to Niki, and suggested that perhaps we could do a little experiment to see how things worked.

"What! You want to cut off part of my finger!" she exclaimed as we began walking again.

"No – of course not! But what if there was some small change we could make to Niki junior to test the hypothesis. Nothing really damaging – but something pretty permanent."

"How about a tattoo?" she offered.

"Perfect! It could be a small one – not generally visible – but it would be more–or–less permanent – not easy to remove without leaving a scar." I smiled back at Niki. "Love you baby. Now all you've got to do is talk her into having one."

***

Eight

We walked across Hampstead Heath on the way to the Henrietta Barnett School for Young Ladies. The idea was to meet young Niki (let's just call her 'Junior') out of school and talk about Steve. We found a secluded spot on the Heath and I set the date on my phone to 19th May 1996 again. It was just after 3:00pm by this time. Niki held tightly onto my hand, and we both felt the usual 'wobble'. We scanned the area around us. The park looked slightly different, owing to the different time period and season, but otherwise we wouldn't know we'd travelled sixteen years back in time. We walked in the direction of Henrietta Barnet.

At the school gates, we waited for Junior to emerge. We weren't the only ones waiting. "Joe, look..." Niki discretely pointed to a teenager standing about twenty yards away from us. He was looking towards the school entrance. "It's Steve". This was not what we had planned.

"Okay, you take Junior and I'll have a word with Steve," I whispered.

"What will you say?" That was a very good question. We hadn't banked on this scenario, and I really didn't want to go for the 'We're from the future' plan just yet. So, Niki suggested that I talk to Junior whilst she talked to Steve. I would be 'Uncle Sam' from Leicester – an uncle that Junior had never met.

"Uncle Sam?" I said incredulously. "You can't be serious!" Niki nodded wide–eyed.

"That's his name."

So, Uncle Sam it was then. Just then, Junior emerged from the school and Steve smiled in recognition. But before the two could meet, Niki headed off Steve off, saying something about being Junior's Aunt Wendy from Shanghai. And then I met young Niki. Boy, was that a shock! Instantly recognisable – she really did look like a much younger version of my beloved.

"Hi Niki," I greeted her, as she was watching Steve being led away by her future self. "Can I have a word?" Then she turned to look at me.

"Who's that with Steve... and who are you? How d'you know my name?" I gave her the Uncle Sam story and said I didn't know the woman.

"I have to go home... ma will worry," she replied.

"No problem... can I walk with you?"

"Okay."

As we walked back to the tube station, I told her that we were concerned about Steve... that his parents were putting him under a lot of pressure over his school work, and didn't want him to see Niki. They thought she was a distraction to his studies, and his father (being very traditional), didn't see any future for Steve with a Chinese girl.

"I don't believe you!" she said, clearly irritated by my interference. "And anyway, Steve is strong... he'll stand up to his parents. I think you should leave us alone."

She marched off towards the tube station entrance, and I called after her, "He's going to kill himself." Plan B was looming. She turned on her heels.

"What?"

I casually walked towards her, my hands in my pockets. "I'm sorry Niki, but it's true. He's threatened to kill himself – he told me. That's why I'm here. He didn't think he could tell his parents – or even you – but he confided in me."

"Steve would never do that... you know nothing..." She started to walk away again, and I grabbed her by the wrist.

"If we just stand by and watch – he will. I can give you the time, date and place."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just know... we're family."

"You're crazy! Leave me alone!" she shouted and stormed off into the underground station.

*

I tried to call my Niki on her mobile, but of course her number was not in existence in 1996. I guessed she'd gone with Steve to his home, and I walked in that direction. I didn't have to look far: the two of them were sitting on a bench nearby.

"Hi," I said to Steve.

"Who's he?" he asked Niki. I couldn't very well tell Steve I was his Uncle Sam... I think he would have seen through that one.

"I'm a friend of Wendy's," I said. He nodded and looked down at the floor.

"It's true," he said to Niki, "everyone's against us being together... my mum and dad, the teachers at her school... Niki's parents." I gave Nik a quizzical look and she nodded. Steve continued. "Even at my school, I get laughed at for having a Chinese girlfriend. They're always calling me names and making faces." Then he looked up at Niki. "You look so much like her... like you're an older version. I knew you must be a relative when I saw you. The kids at school say you all look the same, but that's stupid crap. Y'know, sometimes I think we should do what they did in China when they were in love and no–one would let them be together..."

"No–no!" interrupted Niki, knowing exactly what Steve meant. "Don't even think about it Steve. No–one does that anymore."

"Niki's so beautiful, and so different... I can't bear to be without her."

Nik and I looked at each other. Then I said, "Steve, you mustn't think like this. It's only going to end badly if you do..."

"Oh, and what d'you know?" he snarled at me. "I've got to go now – mum will be worried." He got up to go, and then turned to Nik. "It was really nice to meet you. Can we talk again? I feel I know you already." She nodded and Steve made his way home, without even looking at me.

"Wow, he likes you, Mr Prince Charming." Nik said to me.

"Hey, you're Chinese – you don't do sarcasm."

"Got it from you," she replied.

"But he clearly likes you – big time," I said. "We've got a chance there."

"How did you get on with Junior?" she asked.

"Close to Plan B," I said.

*

Plan B didn't turn out to be as straightforward as I thought. For one thing, how do you prove you're from the future? I did think of taking Steve and Junior to our present (their future) to show them what it will be like, but Nik didn't like that any more than my other brilliant ideas.

That evening, Nik and I decided to stay in 1996 for a couple of hours longer and went out for dinner at a restaurant she used to frequent when she was at school. (A place that has since become a Bookmakers). After we'd ordered, and were sipping some wine, I told Nik my idea of taking Junior to our present time to prove that we had time travelled.

"I don't think we have to go that far, she said."

"It's just an idea."

"No, I mean they only need to go to the day after Steve kills himself. Maybe seeing the newspaper headline of his death will be a big enough shock for them."

"Right... but you said 'they' and 'them.' Only Niki can go into the future, not Steve."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, because he'll be dead!"

"So you're saying that we can only travel back or forward to times when we're actually living? That would mean you couldn't go back to the last war, or forward to the year 3000."

I thought about that for a moment and realised Nik was right. When we jump in time, we seem to be different entities from our other selves... and it appears we exist independently from them.

"I've just had a strange thought," I said.

"What's that?"

"What if I travel back in time, and then take a younger version of myself to a different time period again, where we find another, even younger version of me. Three Joes existing at one time, in the same space... is that possible?"

"It may be possible, Joe, but I couldn't handle more than one of you just now!"

***

Nine

Back at home, something had been bothering me. I was mentally going over what Steve had said the day before, and it didn't add up. Usually, those who talk about suicide don't actually do it. It's more of a cry for help than anything else. People who really want to end their own lives don't broadcast their intentions – that would only make people try to talk them out of it, and that's the last thing that real suicide cases want.

"There must be something else – something that pushes Steve over the edge," I said to Niki as we lay in bed the next morning. We'd jumped back home the previous night after dinner, and I couldn't help thinking about our next step.

"Why d'you say that?" she asked. I explained my thoughts, and then she said something very interesting. "Well, perhaps we've stopped him doing it already."

"Come again?"

"Well, when you talk about a problem and get it out of your system, that's often the solution. That's why psychologists get people to talk about what's worrying them, isn't it?"

Niki was right. Simply by us being there, and listening and being sympathetic to Steve, we may have already changed history, in which case there was nothing else we needed to do. Possibly.

"If you're right, there's an easy way to find out," I said getting out of bed and going to my laptop. "Let's see if the guy is still alive."

We were in for a big shock.

It took a little while to find information on Steve Watts, but when we finally found what we were looking for, we stared at the web pages, and then each other, without speaking. Eventually I said, "Now what?"

"Nothing," Niki said going to the bathroom, "it's over."

According to what we read, Steve Watts had not killed himself in 1996 – so we had accomplished what we set out to achieve. But he had died in a car accident in 2002, at the age of nineteen. He'd just passed his driving test.

Negative feelings about time–travel haunted us for the next couple of days. Niki said we should just give up the whole idea – throw away the phone and never look back. But I couldn't help thinking that our ability to make an impression on history was much more powerful that I had previously thought. Just by showing a security guard and his colleague my phone, I'd advanced technology by several years. And by listening to the troubles of a thirteen–year–old boy, we had stopped him taking his own life. This made me realise that perhaps it doesn't require huge interventions in the past to make big changes. For instance, if people in the mid–1930s had simply been aware of the consequences of the rise of Nazism, that could have been enough to have prevented the atrocities occurring – and even perhaps prevented World War Two. No need to take the dangerous path of attempting to assassinate the leaders – just give the people in power the information, the intelligence. Could this be the way forward?

This line of thought led me to some unfinished business. Following my intervention in the World Trade Center bombings, Saddam Hussein and Moammar Gaddafi were now very much alive in our new World, and had formed the Libyan–Iraq Alliance. No–one knew where this new coalition would lead, but it was pretty much accepted that both countries had secretly begun making nuclear weapons. With discontent and uprisings in other Arab countries – notably Syria and Egypt–things didn't look too good in the Middle East. I concluded that we should take a leap forward to the future to see where all this was leading, and the possible impact on the World. With this information, perhaps we could warn our governments of what the future had in store for us.

The big question now was: how far did we need to jump forward in time? But before answering that question, something very strange happened the next day.

I was just coming out of the bathroom, and there in the lounge, sitting on the sofa, was me and Niki! I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Shit!"

"Sorry to startle you... it must be a shock. It's just an experiment."

A guy looking exactly like me was sitting with what looked exactly like Niki.

"Where's Niki?" the man asked.

"I think you'll find she's sitting right next to you," I said.

"No, I mean your Niki..." This was very, very weird.

"Oh, I see... she's gone shopping."

Nik's doppelgänger nodded. "She'll be back any minute... you'd better prepare her." Sure enough, I heard the sound of a key in the front door, and I rushed to warn Niki – but too late.

"Oh my god! Joe?"

"Over here." She was looking at the sofa of course. I smiled and waved from behind the door.

"Do I really look like that?" Looking at yourself in a photograph is one thing: seeing the living, breathing, 3D you is totally weird. "Why are they here?" she asked me.

"Better ask them," I said.

"What do I call them?"

"You can call me Ling Ling, and my Joe will be Joseph – how about that?" That seemed good for us. "It's an experiment," Ling Ling continued. "This feels really, really strange, doesn't it?" We all agreed with that. The fact that Ling Ling seemed to know precisely when Nik would be home told me that they must be from our future.

"How far back have you jumped?" I asked.

"Just two days," Joseph replied. "It was Sunday when we left."

Then I had a very interesting line of thought.

"So, you know exactly what's going to happen between now and when you jumped?"

"Pretty much," Joseph smiled.

"How did Chelsea do?" I asked.

"Lost two–nil to Spurs."

"Shit!"

Then a light bulb went on in Nik's mind. "How about the lottery? Any new millionaires?"

Ling Ling and Joseph looked knowingly at each other. "Maybe a couple," Joseph smiled. "Ling Ling's got the numbers you need." She handed Nik seven numbers written down on a piece of paper. They were for the big Saturday EuroMillions Lottery draw.

"It feels a bit like cheating... stealing even," I said, looking at the numbers.

"I know exactly what you mean," Joseph replied, "that's what I thought at first. So we talked it through yesterday – that's tomorrow for you. But it's not stealing – it's an opportunity. Some people have a premonition, a sudden insight. Is that cheating? For whatever reason, we've been given this ability to go back and forward in time. It's a gift, and we should use it wisely. But to use it fully, we need more time – if you see what I mean. We've got full–time jobs, which limits what we can do. We could do so much more if we weren't working. The lottery money will provide us with that opportunity. Money will buy us freedom."

"How much will we win?" Niki asked.

"Twelve million pounds," Ling Ling replied.

"It's a start," Niki grinned.

"What!" I was shocked.

"It's okay, don't worry. Just try it – and if you think you don't need it, give it away to charity. But remember, you're not just doing this for you – it's for us too."

"Yes, so don't be selfish," Ling Ling added with a smile.

It was very strange talking to myself, but I had to admit that it all made sense. By having that money, we could give up our jobs and use the time to do what we really wanted. The ability to go backwards and forwards in time is time–travel not place–travel. We can't magically jump to any country in the World – we have to go there by conventional means, and that costs money. So if we want to visit the Aztecs in Ancient Mexico, we need to first fly to Mexico, which would set up back at least a couple of thousand pounds. With this in mind, the next morning Nik took the lottery numbers to our local shop and filled in the EuroMillions coupon. That evening, we sat back to watch our numbers come up.

As the last ball was selected, we smiled at each other and kissed.

"That was lucky," I said. "And I think you could do with some new jewellery baby."

***

Ten

Money can have an amazing impact on lives. For one thing, it suddenly brought Niki back on board as far as time–travel was concerned. Her comments about destroying my phone and forgetting the whole damn business became a distant memory as soon as the lottery was mentioned; and with both of us giving our notices at work, we could turn our attention to our next project. But first, some unfinished business from 1992.

Niki was keen to meet the younger version of herself (they never actually talked when we jumped before), and I wanted to try the tattoo experiment. So, we leapt back to look for Junior in North London, choosing a couple of days after the first time I met her, so that we didn't need to go through all the introductions and explanations again.

"Oh, it's you," Junior said as I met her at the same school gates we'd met previously. "This is your Aunt Wendy... from Shanghai."

"Hi."

"I asked Ma about Aunt Wendy, and she said she'd never heard of you. So you can't be her sister," Junior said flatly. "Who are you really?"

We looked at each other, and then I said, "We'd like to show you something..."

We took Junior to a small Tattoo parlour in East Finchley. It was a place she knew, and it seemed to be reputable. Junior had been thinking of having one done, but didn't think her mum would accept it. In fact, she knew she wouldn't. Nik suggested she have it done on a part of her body her mum would not see, and not to use a name.

"You mean like 'Steve'?" asked Junior.

"Definitely not Steve," I said.

"But I love him!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you do. But tattoos can last for ever... are you sure that your love will last that long?" Nik replied.

We took a look at the shop's catalogue: they had hundreds of different designs in all sorts of shapes and colours. In the end, Junior selected a small red rose and asked to have 'Niki' written underneath it. It was going to be at the top of her thigh, near her bum, and I looked away whilst it was being done.

After a few minutes, Nik turned to me and whispered.

"Joe – something's happening! I can feel it..." She moved away from Junior and lifted her skirt. There on her thigh the same red rose was appearing like magic. It was incredible!"

"That's, that's... amazing! You must show her," I whispered.

Niki moved round to face Junior, and lifted her skirt so that only the teenager could see Nik's tattoo appearing at exactly the same time as the one being made by the tattoo artist. Junior gasped, wide–eyed, and was about to speak – but Nik put her finger to her lips.

When it was finished, and we had left the shop, Junior turned to Niki.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I know this is going to blow your mind, but I'm you... a future version. Joe is my husband, and we've discovered how to travel through time. I know it's very difficult to believe, but you saw the tattoo... it wasn't a trick."

"I want to come with you!" Junior almost cried out, grabbing Nik's hand.

"You can't Niki!" I replied. "It's not your time yet. In the future you'll be able to do what we do, and you'll understand why you can't come with us.

"Sometime in the future, you'll know everything," Niki added. "But now we have to go back to our own time. Look after yourself Niki, and follow your dreams."

Nik released her hand from Junior's whilst I changed the date on the phone, holding Nik tightly. And we were gone.

***

Eleven

Having proved that whatever physical changes we make to ourselves in the past can affect us in the present, we now turned our thoughts to bigger matters.

I'd voiced my concerns to Niki about the current Middle East situation and how I thought it would be a good idea to jump forward to the future to see where this was leading. Having bumped off both Bush and Blair because of my intervention in the past, I felt a little bit responsible for the new World situation and thought our first priority was to put matters straight in this area. Niki agreed.

However, whilst jumping back to the past means entering a known universe (to the finest detail), venturing into the future is entirely different. Okay, if we don't go too far forward, we can be pretty certain that buildings are going to get taller, populations are going to increase, and money will be worth less. Or even worthless one day. But once we make bigger jumps into the future, it gets more difficult. The treatment of our environment (forest and ozone depletion, pollution of air, sea and land); hunting certain species of animals to extinction (or merely destroying their habitats); our reliance on fossil fuels, and the melting of the polar ice–caps... etc etc could all add up to not only a changed World, but one in which Man may not even exist.

We didn't think we'd have to jump so very far forward in time to see the effects of the present Hussein–Gaddafi alliance. Niki suggested ten year jumps, which sounded reasonable. Having decided when, the next thing to decide was 'where.' Obviously, London was most convenient, but we couldn't be sure we'd be living in the same apartment in ten years' time, and we didn't want to give anyone a heart attack again by just appearing from nowhere. So instead, we thought about a location that would change very little over a period of, say, fifty years – and Hyde Park came to mind. It seemed unlikely that anyone's going to be given planning permission to build a supermarket on Hyde Park in the near future (it's protected area), so that seemed a safe bet.

"What should we take with us?" Niki asked on the morning of our planned jump. It was a good question.

"It's difficult to say..."

"What about a gun?"

"A gun!"

"Yeah... we don't know how dangerous it's going to be in the future."

"Well to start with, I don't know where we'd get one..."

"That's easy."

"It is?"

"You find a gun shop, jump forward one day, steal a gun, and then jump back to the present."

"You want to steal a real gun?" I said.

"Not me, you."

I explained that guns are kept in locked cupboards... you can't just walk in and pick one up – not in England. And anyway, I'd never used a gun before – and neither had Niki. In the end we decided to take a big kitchen knife and the pepper spray she bought last year after a few street robberies were reported in the area, plus our IDs and a bit of food and drink – and some money.

Having packed everything we thought we needed, we took the tube to Lancaster Gate and found a suitable spot for our trip – close to a tree in the Italian Gardens of the Park. When no–one was around, I used Date Me to change my phone's date to exactly ten years in the future, held Niki's hand, smiled at her and pressed 'Go!'

After the jump, we found that the tree was a bit larger, which was good because it prevented us from being seen by anyone. We emerged cautiously, to find the weather warmer and a few more people around the park. Apart from that, nothing seemed so very different.

"I'll get a paper," I said. A newspaper seemed to be an obvious way to check World events. But as I made my way out of the garden, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"I thought I'd find you here," a voice said: my voice.

Of course, I'd come face to face with myself before, when my future self had jumped back to give us the lottery results; but this time there were ten years separating us, not just one day. Naturally, I looked a little older: several more wrinkles, a different hairstyle, a beard and different clothes (presumably more contemporary, although the style looked to me like one from the 1940s). Apart from that, it was me.

"If you're looking for a newspaper, don't bother: nobody sells them anymore. Nothing's changed very much. Oh, except the currency. You'll need Euros now mate. Yeah, I know, in your day everyone wanted to leave Europe, but a new government changed all that. You don't have any, do you?" I had to admit I hadn't, and he took out a 500 euro note and handed it to me. "Inflation's gone crazy... that's about fifty quid in old money." Then he asked if Niki was with me.

"Yeah, just a sec..." I called towards the big tree. "Nik – I think you'd better come over here..." She appeared cautiously, and then her eyes popped: two Joes again!

"Jeez... you look so young – you both do," Joseph exclaimed.

"How did you find us?" Nik asked.

"Not too difficult kiddo. Would you like to meet Niki? I mean my Niki of course." Nik nodded and Joseph took out his mobile phone, turning his back towards us. Then we saw him shake his head, put the phone away and turn back to face us. "Battery's dead – can I use yours mate?" At this point, alarm bells should have been ringing in my ears. But this was Joe – me – and he'd just given me 500 Euros. How could anything be wrong? I handed him my phone, and as soon as I did, realisation hit me like a lead weight.

I'd caught a glimpse of his phone when he removed it from his pocket. You get to know your own phone, and it was definitely not mine he pulled out. Somehow in my mind I had rationalised that his phone should be different – we'd gone into the future and technology had moved on. And anyway, how could there be two copies of my phone in the same place at the same time: But... but... my phone is unique, isn't it?

"Ha! You've noticed my phone, right? Well, you have to move with the times, mate."

"Then how about time–travel... how does that work now – if you've changed your phone?" Nik asked.

"Ah well... you really should have asked me that before giving me the mobile. About five years ago, I had a problem with the phone. It kept locking... the touch screen didn't work, and it became more or less useless. I didn't want to take it for repair, but in the end I had to. After it came back, it worked again – but only as an ordinary phone."

"So, no time jumps?" Nik asked.

"No – that was over. I did think of going back to the store and saying, 'Hey, you've messed up my phone: I can't time–travel anymore', but they'd probably send me to the Funny Farm. In the end, I thought the only solution was to meet up with you guys..."

"...And steal my phone," I said heavily. Nik looked aghast.

"Joe! Don't say that! He... you... wouldn't do that!"

"Sorry guys..." he said pressing the phone's screen.

"Joe, no!" Nik shouted running towards him. But too late – he was gone.

"I don't believe what just happened," I said shaking my head.

"So now what?"

"I don't know – I really don't."

*

We left the park and found a Starbucks close by – at least that hadn't changed. But, as Joseph had told us, everything was in Euros now. Fortunately, I still had the 500 euro note he'd given me, and we used that to buy two cups of coffee. As we sat looking out the window, we reflected on what had just happened – and what we could do next.

"Unbelievable, isn't it? Here we are, millionaires, and we feel like we've lost everything. How could I have been so stupid?"

"You couldn't have known," Nik said holding my arm.

"I suppose I might have done the same thing in his situation. In fact, I guess I did do it – ten years in the future."

"It doesn't matter – it's done Joe. What we've got to do now is get the phone back. I don't want to stay here in this time zone – not with another Joe and Niki, and not without the phone."

Niki was right. Somehow, we had to get the phone back from Joe – but how? Where would he go next?

"He's got to go back to Niki – he won't leave her," Nik continued. "And she won't be pleased with what he's done, I can tell you that." I was still staring out of the window. "Joe, snap out of it! We've got to solve this... we've got to find Joe!"

I looked back at her and smiled. She was great in these situations – always positive. That was one reason I loved her.

"You're right – sorry. You go to your parents, and I'll try our apartment." I doubted that they lived there anymore, but I might get a forwarding address. And Gloria and Tang might have a spare key to Joe and Niki's new house.

***

Twelve

Our plans to see how the World would change in the near future, had suddenly been put on hold by my mistake. Without my phone, we were stranded in 2028, sharing the planet with a couple of 'clones' of ourselves. It was not a satisfactory situation, to say the least. I suggested that Niki talked to her parents to try to locate our double's whereabouts, whilst I returned to where we'd lived ten years earlier in the hope of discovering the same information. We were both in for a surprise.

*

Ten years previously, the entrance to our second floor apartment was next to a dress shop. Today, a fruit and veg store was adjacent. Maybe a sign of the times, I wondered. I pressed the buzzer for our apartment, and a man's voice answered. It wasn't mine.

"I'm a cousin of Joe Cooper," I said. "He used to live in your apartment... previous owner."

"Yeah, I remember him. What's the problem?"

"I need some information... can I come up?" The door buzzed and I pushed it open. The entrance way and stairs seemed old and neglected – which was not a surprise when I saw the apartment. The man who greeted me was unshaven and smelled of alcohol: whisky I'd guess. The flat was in a mess: plates of food on the floor, empty beer and whisky bottles, and a rubbish bin overflowing. I recalled the man's voice, and thought that I'd met him in Finchley one time – but I could hardly recognise him now. When we'd met, I'm sure he was newly married, but I guessed that had ended some years ago. The flat definitely lacked a woman's touch.

"Joe's cousin, you say? You look a lot like him."

"Yeah, everyone says that. I'm Jim." Normally I would do the social thing and shake hands in such a situation; but seeing the state of the man and the apartment, I kept my hands firmly in my pockets. "I've lost touch with Joe, and wondered if you had a forwarding address?"

The man, who introduced himself as Ed, went to a desk drawer, searching through a stack of papers. "I know it's here somewhere..." After a few minutes, he found a dirty looking handwritten A4 sheet, which could well have been the paper Joseph gave him several years ago. "This is it," he said handing me the sheet. I took it from Ed, making a mental note to disinfect my hands later.

I thanked Ed, wished him well, and began walking down the stairs towards the ground floor. But just before he closed the door, a thought stuck me.

"Ed, if you could turn back time, what would you do differently?" He stopped and said without hesitation, "I wouldn't have run that red light."

*

It was just a short walk for Niki from Hyde Park to her parents' home. She had hoped for three things: first that they were still alive and well; second, they hadn't moved from the family home; and third, at least one of them was at home.

She rang the bell with a little trepidation. She was acutely aware that she would look ten years younger, and her parents ten years older, and that was going to be difficult at first. And then... what if Ling Ling was with them? How could that be explained? Fortunately, Niki wasn't there – but she was in for another shock.

"Hello? Can I help you?" Niki's father, Tang, opened the door, but clearly didn't recognise her. Had she changed so much in all these years?

"It's me, Ling Ling, baba."

He looked very puzzled. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Just then, she heard Gloria's voice from behind the door. "It's okay Tang, it's Ling Ling – our daughter, remember. Come in dear."

Niki entered the house and was hugged by her mother. "I'm sorry, but he's not getting any better. I shouldn't be surprised, it's exactly what the doctors said would happen. But it's hard to take. At least he still recognises me. Anyway, come and sit down – I'll make some tea." Niki took a seat in the lounge and looked around. Everything was much the same as it was ten years ago, except older looking. And then came the second big shock. "I guess Joe's looking after the baby?" Baby?

Nik looked around the room, and saw pictures of Joe and herself – with a baby girl! 'Oh–my–god!' she whispered. 'She's beautiful!'

Gloria brought in a pot of green tea and two cups. "Her birthday can't be far away," she said.

"No, that's right," she bluffed. "Not long to go now."

"Are you managing okay?" Gloria asked, pouring the tea. "I can always take her for you."

"Thanks," Niki said, picking up her cup. And then Gloria saw her clearly for the first time since she arrived.

"Ling Ling – you look wonderful... at least ten years younger! What have you been doing?" In contrast, Gloria looked ten years older.

"Oh, you know – that's motherhood for you... plus new diet. And Joe treated me to a weekend at a new health spa in Hampstead."

"Well, it's worked wonders... you must give me the address."

Somehow, Niki had to find out where Niki and Joe were living now – and Gloria had just given her an idea.

"Sure... in fact, if you give me your address book, ma, I'll write it down for you."

Gloria went over to a desk and pulled out a black ring–bound book and handed it to Niki with a smile. "And don't forget the phone number," she said. As Niki opened the book, she managed to knock over her tea.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

Gloria immediately leapt up, and went to the kitchen to get a cloth, giving Niki time to search the book for her future address. She tore out the relevant page, stuffing it into her pocket. "So clumsy of me, ma, thank you," she said as Gloria mopped up the tea from the floor.

"Not to worry, dear... it happens." Niki finished writing down a fictitious address and phone number in Hampstead and handed the book back to her mother. "Thanks– I'll phone them later."

"Good – but maybe not today," Niki added quickly, "they're closed on Sundays."

After some small talk about the baby and Joe, which Niki did her best to deal with, she made her excuses and left – heading off for our future home in Finchley.

*

As I should have expected, the house where Niki and I would live in the near future was a big one. Well, we were multi–millionaires ten years ago – and who knows how much money we'd accumulated in the intervening time. I found my way to the front door, and rang the impressive bell. After a few seconds, I heard footsteps, and Ling Ling came to the door, a little breathless.

"Sorry, I was feeding Mei Mei," she said. Mei Mei? Okay, we must have bought a dog, I thought. But I was in for a big shock. I followed Ling Ling towards what was a large living room, and there on the ample sofa sat a baby girl in a pink jump suit!

"Oh, that Mei Mei!" I said.

For the first time, Ling Ling looked straight at me. "Joe, your hair... and your clothes..." and then it dawned on her. "Oh my god – you're not Joe! I mean, you are but you're not mine. Where's my Joe – and why are you here?"

"I think we need to talk," I said. Just then, the doorbell rang. "That's probably him," I said.

"You'd better hide," Ling Ling advised.

I heard the door open and then voices – both Niki's.

The three of us sat in the lounge with the two girls talking like twin sisters and drooling over the baby, and Nik saying she couldn't wait to have one – and then realising that it was hers, but not for a few years' time. Phew!

"Joe," she said to me," can we have a baby as soon as we get back home?"

"No we can't!" I exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"It could mess up the future! Joe and Niki's kid will suddenly be about nine years older... and they might even end up with two children..."

"That's okay," Ling Ling replied, with Nik nodding in agreement.

"And anyway, we're not going anywhere if we can't find Joe and get my phone back."

We told Niki all about the meeting in the park, and how Joseph had taken my phone, and how we were now very much stuck in the future.

"I told him not to do it – he knew I was against the idea; but he kept saying there was no other option. And he knows he shouldn't use the phone on his own." Just then, there was the sound of a key in the door. It was Joseph.

"Whoa! You two don't hang about!" he exclaimed as he entered the lounge and saw me and Nik.

"You're in big trouble," Ling Ling told him.

"What? I think we need a drink to celebrate," he said.

"Celebrate what?"

Joe when over to a drinks cabinet behind a small bar and picked out a bottle of expensive–looking French Medoc and four crystal wine glasses. "To celebrate this," he said, holding out two identically–looking mobile phones – one of which was mine.

"But how did you...?" Ling Ling started to ask. And then Joseph told us something truly amazing.

***

Thirteen

I sat on the sofa looking at my phone, marvelling at its power. Joseph – a future me – had lost the phone's unique time–bending power after getting it repaired. He couldn't un–repair it without going back in time; and he couldn't go back in time because the phone had been repaired. The only solution, he surmised, was to wait until a younger Joe – me in this case – went forward into the future. He would 'borrow' the mobile from me and take it to go back to a time before the phone stopped working.

"The problem began about six months ago when Mei Mei picked up the phone and threw it across the room," Joseph was telling us. "The screen stopped working, and I had to get it fixed. The repair took away its power, and I realised that I'd have to wait until your visit to the future."

"And we knew that date because we'd done the jump ourselves," Ling Ling added.

"That's right. So with your phone, I jumped to the morning that Mei Mei picked up the phone, and simply put it out of reach. So now, here's the two working phones – yours and mine."

"Does this mean that we can duplicate phones, and create as many clones as we like?"

"No–no, I don't think so," Joseph said. "We only have two now because there's two of us here."

"But why didn't you just explain this to us in the park – about Mei Mei and the accident?" I asked.

Joseph sighed. "Because then I'd have to tell you about our daughter, and I thought it better not to. You might have been tempted to start a family earlier, which would mean us missing out on our daughter growing up..."

We were all quiet for a moment, and then Niki said, "I think it's time for us to go." It was a very strange farewell. We were leaving our future selves behind, plus a baby that would be ours in ten years' time, everything else being equal. We felt like a very close–knit family as we said our goodbyes, and Nik gave Mei Mei a big hug and kiss. "See you in the future," she promised.

As we were walking away from the house (which, we were glad to know, would be ours fairly soon), I remembered some unfinished business, and with an apology went back to the house.

"Joe," I said, "You remember the guy who bought our apartment?"

"Yeah, sure... Mr Withers wasn't it? Why d'you ask?"

"What happened to his wife?"

"Oh, that was a very sad case. I think it was three years ago... beginning of November I think... right Niki?"

"Yes, November fifth – my birthday. We were in Italy, remember Joe?"

"That's right. The Withers were going to a Bonfire Party for Guy Fawkes that evening. I don't know the details, but they were in a car accident. Ed had minor injuries, but his wife was pronounced dead at the scene. He was naturally very cut up about it, poor bloke."

"Okay, got it. Thanks Joe," I smiled.

"Good luck," he smiled back.

*

Whilst we were still ten years in the future, I explained my idea to Niki as we headed to our 'old' apartment. Once there, I set the date to November fifth, three years previously. I pressed the flat's intercom, and this time a woman answered.

"Hello?"

"Mrs Withers, this is Joe Cooper and my wife Niki... can we talk to you for a minute?"

"This will be interesting," Niki said to me as we climbed the stairs to the flat.

"Oh, you two must be frozen!" Mrs Withers exclaimed as she opened the door. We were still dressed for the summer in jeans and tee–shirts, and I had to admit it was a very chilly outside. Mrs Withers, whose first name was Jean, invited us in and called to Ed to join us. We sat on a very familiar, but older, sofa in a very familiar looking living room, which was light–years away from the one I had visited three years later. It was clean, for one thing.

"How is everything in the new house?" Jean asked as she poured some tea. I noticed how well and happy they both looked, and I knew this was something we must do, without making it sound crazy."

"It's good," said Niki.

"Such a big house for two people," Jean continued.

"Well, there might be a new addition coming soon," Niki added with a smile.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Jean exclaimed.

"I suppose you'll be off to a Bonfire party tonight then Ed?" I said, changing the subject. Ed and Jean looked at each other.

"Well, it's funny you should say that... Jean and I were talking about exactly the same thing just before you arrived. We just were wondering whether to set off earlier and walk, or take the car..."

"Walk," I replied, my bluntness taking the Withers by surprise.

"It's such a nice day!" Nik added to soften it. "And there's nowhere to park in Finchley tonight. We've just come down from there."

"Well, why don't we all go together?" Jean suggested. "If you've got time."

"Great idea!" Niki said.

"Yes, time is something we've got plenty of," I added.

***

Fourteen

"Is that really what I'm going to be like in ten years' time?" I asked Nik as we lay in our bed back home the next morning.

"What do you mean? That's what you're like now!" she replied.

"But Joe is such a pain in the arse – and so arrogant!" I exclaimed.

"Welcome to the real World!" For someone who is supposed to be Chinese and care about 'face,' she doesn't seem to care very much about mine at times. "But you do seem pretty smart in the future," she added.

We'd been very pensive about things since our brief trip to the future. Seeing ourselves in ten years' time with the huge house and baby girl had had a big effect on both of us. In terms of what we'd set out to do, our trip to the future had achieved very little; but we had fixed things for the future Niki and Joe, as well as keeping Ed & Jean Withers together.

Now, we concluded, we should turn our attention to another project – in the hope that we could do something worthwhile on a bigger scale. After all, we'd won the lottery (more than once) and given up our jobs so we could concentrate on 'saving the World' full–time using the wonderful gift of the time–travelling mobile phone. So far, apart from what we'd done yesterday, we'd stopped a terrorist attack which claimed the lives of three thousand people; brought Niki's mum Gloria back to life (having caused her death); prevented the suicide attempt of one young man, and stopped the untimely death of Jean Wither... and that was about it. Considering the power we had in our hands, this was relatively small fry.

When we'd previously talked about having a big impact on worldwide events, we'd always come back to the same thing: it's too risky. Assassinating evil dictators was a great idea in principle; but if you think about it, a lot of trained killers had tried to eliminate people like Adolf Hitler – and failed. So what chance did us amateurs have? Getting killed or even caught was not really an option.

In the end, we decided to sleep on it and talk again the next day: we had a lot to talk about.

***

Fifteen

The next morning, Niki bounced into the lounge looking very excited.

"You look like we've just won the lottery... again," I said. "What's up?"

"I think I know how to stop World War Two – without us getting involved," she smiled.

"Okay, so who's going to pull the trigger then?"

Nik sat down on the chair facing me, looking closely into my eyes.

"No–one... no trigger, no gun. You remember how you stopped the nine–eleven terrorist attacks, simply by talking to airport security – telling them what was going to happen that day?"

"Okay..."

"And we stopped Steve killing himself when he was thirteen – just by talking to him."

"Right..."

Nik's experience of time–travel – in the short time we'd been doing it – had cemented the idea in her own mind that we really did change history and construct new realities for the people of New York and London.

"So," I said eventually, "what's your plan?"

She smiled into my eyes. "I think we can stop all the atrocities of World War Two, the holocaust and everything, just by telling the government exactly what is going to happen if Hitler and the Nazi's aren't stopped. We don't have to kill anyone, Joe; we just give them the information. Remember when we talked to the Withers recently?"

"And suggested they walked to the party..."

"Right. We didn't actually stop them driving to the Bonfire... they still had that choice to do it... but by making the walk look attractive...

"'It's a nice evening...'" I quoted.

"...and the alternative unattractive..."

"'Parking will be impossible...'"

"...then we swayed them into the right decision."

I thought about this for a minute. What Niki said made a lot of sense; but were we making value judgements based on the limited information we had? Naturally, it seemed we were doing the right thing to stop the death of Jean Withers – no question about it; but without knowing all the consequences of any intervention, could we really put our hands on our hearts and say that we were doing the right thing? If Jean Withers turned out to be a mass murderer, then maybe we should have let things be? Better one man suffering a loss than countless others. In the same way, how do we know that humankind would be better without World War Two? I voiced this concern to Niki. She didn't like it.

"So, your idea is what – sit back and do nothing? We'll never know if this is the right thing until we try. And if we mess it up, we can still go back and reverse it all. What have we got to lose?"

"Okay, I know what you're saying Nik – and you're right. We can never know what is totally good, or totally bad. We can only do what seems right to us. But if we go to the government with our World War Two story, no–one's going to believe us. They'll either just brand us as harmless nutcases, or lock us up and throw away the key."

"Yes, exactly... that's why we don't have to say anything!"

"Come again?"

"We show, not tell. Isn't that what they say when you're writing a good story? All we have to do is present the evidence."

"What evidence?"

"There's mountains of it! Old newspapers, photographs, video footage."

And then I realised how simple this was. Show not tell. I leant back in my chair and considered it. How many war movies, documentaries, articles, audio recordings, books and magazines had been produced about the Second World War? It must have been one of the most documented wars of all time – there really was tons of the stuff! And seeing this evidence, surely no sane person could just ignore it... could they?

"I have to say Nik, it's a brilliant idea... and it keeps us safe. But where will they think all this stuff came from?"

"It doesn't matter... as long as they believe it."

*

Introducing artefacts into 1930s Britain from the future could have big effects on not just the past, but the present and future as well. And that was the idea, of course. But we had to be mindful that these changes might not just be beneficial effects. As Nik had pointed out, we could always go back in time and reverse whatever we'd done. I wasn't convinced it would be that easy, but went along with the idea anyway. If we really wanted to prevent the Second World War, this did seem to be the best way forward.

Having decided that our plan was to simply deposit documentary evidence of the Nazi expansion and World War Two at a British government office, two questions had to be addressed: one, exactly what materials to take; and two, exactly where and when we should do this. The first question was more difficult than we had imagined.

"We can't take those!" I exclaimed when Niki brought her boxed set of Second World War DVDs into the lounge the next morning.

"Why not?"

"How will they play them?" I said.

"On this," she smiled, lifting up a DVD player. I couldn't believe she was serious.

"What – take that back to 1935?"

"You're so quick Joe."

"But... but... we can't!"

"Why can't we?"

I explained that we could advance the development of digital technology by sixty years just by showing them the player; but she wasn't fazed by this.

"Great!" she said, piling more DVDs on the coffee table and going back to the bedroom for more. "That's another bonus!"

"I was really thinking of old newspapers," I called into the bedroom.

"Oh Joe, you're so boring!" she exclaimed bringing in her "Band of Brothers" boxed set.

"And that's fiction!" I blurted.

In the end, she did agree to restrict the evidence to actual war footage – and to include a range of media, not just DVDs. I did point out that our DVD player wouldn't be compatible with the televisions of 1930s, which prompted Nik to pick up a portable player with a built-in screen from a local shop.

The whole lot, including stuff we'd downloaded from the internet (thankfully, she agreed not to take a computer), came to quite a pile and I thought we'd better take a small suitcase to carry it all.

The question of 'when' was decided by considerable research on the internet. In the end, we decided on 1935, sometime before October (because fascist Italy invaded Ethiopia that month – a prelude to their treaty of cooperation with Nazi Germany the following year). Niki said she'd like to go in July – simply because the weather would be nicer then. Actually, it was also because Stanley Baldwin had just taken over as Prime Minister; and having seen his photograph on the internet, she said he had a kind face. How could I argue with that?

As regards 'where,' we decided to go directly to 10 Downing Street – home of the Prime Minister, of course.

Whilst Niki was not in the least bit bothered about introducing twenty–first century technology into the 1930s, she was very particular about what we looked like. Fortunately, she had a friend who was a member of a 1940s retro club, who put us in touch with a period costume shop where we could buy or hire clothes from the mid–1930s – or as close as we needed. Niki chose fairly smart, business dress for both of us, providing less chance of being stopped by the Police if they looked our way.

In addition to the clothes, Nik got hold of some old British money. God knows where she got it from (or why we'd need it if we were only going to be in 1935 for a matter of seconds), but that's Niki for you. And then we were ready to go.

***

Sixteen

Our plan had been very simple: go to Central London, and find a suitable location for the jump not far from Downing Street. Next, set the date to 15th July, 1935, and walk with the suitcase to number 10 – the residence of Prime Minister Baldwin at the time. We knew there would be at least one policeman outside the door – there always is – so we had to act quickly. After leaving the WWII documentary evidence by the door, I would change the phone's year to 1700. This was because 10 Downing Street was just an ordinary house back then, and not used for any governmental purpose - meaning no police stationed by the door. From there, we would leap back to our own time period. Assuming that the suitcase would be opened and the contents shown to someone in the government – rather than being blown up by the army – our plan would have worked.

We found a secluded spot next to a large tree in a garden area alongside Victoria Embankment. To get there, we had to walk past a Battle of Britain Memorial, and we wondered if the memorial would still be there when we returned to the present from our time jump. We hoped not. Downing Street was just a five–minute walk from the garden.

It was a very warm July day in Central London. The clothes Niki had found us did not exactly fit in with what other people were wearing in town, but good enough to keep us relatively inconspicuous. There were two policemen outside number ten that morning. As soon as we approached with the suitcase, the officers stiffened. We smiled, put down the case and Nik took my free hand whilst I pressed 'Go' on Date Me. But the policemen were much quicker and stronger than I could have imagined. One grabbed Niki away from me, whilst the other took my phone arm. I just heard her shout 'Joe!' as I wobbled – finding myself in the year 1700 with a London Bobby hanging onto my arm!

*

This was not the scenario either of us had imagined! Whilst I was in 1700s London, the policeman who had grabbed Niki's arm away from me, picked up the case with his free hand. He looked around for his colleague, who was nowhere to be seen, of course.

"You've got to give that to the Prime Minister!" Niki shrieked.

At that moment, Stanley Baldwin emerged from the door of number ten with a colleague, whom we later learned was Malcolm MacDonald, the then Colonial Secretary.

"What's going on here Malcolm?" Baldwin asked.

"I've no idea. Constable what's this all about?"

"Dunno sir... just found this Asian woman here with this case. We'll take her down to the station."

"Look in the case... it's important!" Niki shouted to Baldwin as the officer dragged her away. Baldwin looked on, very puzzled and a little concerned.

"Better let the Met deal with it," MacDonald advised. "We'll be late for our meeting." Baldwin reluctantly followed his colleague into a black limousine, which sped off quickly. Meanwhile, Niki was detained by the officer whilst he waited for back–up. She was soon being transported in a Police van to the nearby New Scotland Yard – with the case in tow.

*

In other circumstances, I really would have liked to have spent some time in the year 1700. But now I found myself attached to Constable Bill Briggs, not my wife, and the important thing was to rescue her before anything serious happened. So what should I do with this policeman – a man who was suddenly totally out of his comfort zone?

"What the...?" He surveyed the scene around us. "Where the hell are we... and who are you?"

"Ah! This is going to be difficult to explain." People had stopped to stare at what must have looked like a couple of very strangely–dressed people. "Come on... I need to show you something."

I almost dragged the policeman across Whitehall and along Richmond Terrace towards Victoria Embankment.

"Where are we?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

"It's London, mate... but not as you know it. Here, take a look... you must recognise this." We stopped at the Thames... though it wasn't the same river scene that I knew and loved. In the distance, we could see St. Paul's Cathedral – easily the largest building on the skyline, though it looked like work–in–progress rather than the finished article. There was little doubt that this was London – but it was like looking at a very old photograph or movie.

"Well, I'll be..." Bill Briggs looked on in wonder. He was dumbstruck by the scene in front of us, and I could see him struggling to understand what exactly had just happened.

"Bill, you're going to find this very difficult to accept... but the fact is, we've travelled back in time." He looked at me, scanning my expression – his police lie–detector training kicking into action.

"Well," he said, turning his gaze back to the river, "I know this ain't nineteen thirty–five, I can tell you that much. They said nuffin' about time–travel when I signed up for the force."

"It's seventeen hundred," I replied.

"Seventeen–hundred... you mean five in the afternoon?"

"No, the year is 1700!" I had to smile.

Bill shook his head slowly. "Well blow me down with a feather."

"I'd like to show you more Bill, but I've got to get Niki back..."

"Niki?"

"The Chinese girl – she's my wife." I paused, then continued. "There's going to be a war Bill – a big, terrible war."

He looked at me closely again, gauging my honesty.

"Well it better not be like last time. They said that was the war to end all wars. My dad was killed at Gallipoli – terrible it was. When we heard about the evacuation, we all thought he would be home for Christmas, but he never came. We never knew how he died exactly. Mother never got over it."

"It's going to be even worse than that, Bill; it'll be the deadliest military conflict in human history. Sixty million people worldwide are going to die."

Bill was quiet for a minute, collecting his thoughts.

"Who are you – and how do you know this? Why should I believe a single word you've said? I don't really know what this is," he waved his arms across the Thames. "You could just be playing with my mind... some sort of mesmerism."

"My name's Joe Cooper and I'm from the year 2018. I'd like to show you my World – but right now, I've got to find my wife. In the suitcase, we brought evidence of World War Two – everything that happened. All the atrocities, the blunders. How the Americans didn't join the Allies until later. It was the most documented war of all time. To us, it's our past, it's history – and I know this all sounds crazy, but we've got a chance to stop it. Stop the war, stop the suffering, and stop the deaths..."

"And stop Hitler?" Bill interrupted.

"Yes."

"I knew it! I've never trusted the Germans since the last war... and that man..."

"On 16th March, Germany announced rearmament in violation of the Versailles Treaty – and on April 28th Hitler ordered twelve submarines – again in defiance of the treaty. This is fact – read your newspapers."

"Why didn't we see it coming? Why don't we ever learn?" Bill looked away, then back into my eyes. "What can I do?"

"You can tell the authorities – whoever you can get to; tell them this is going to happen. You've travelled back in time and seen the 18th Century with your own eyes. It's no trick, this is real. Touch that tree, breathe the air. But if you still think this is some sort of 'mesmerism' trick I've played on you, you can't ignore the fact that Hitler and the Nazi's are a great threat to the stability of Europe... and war is coming."

We were suddenly aware of people looking at us. A small crowd had gathered, staring at the strangely dressed people who were talking in unusual tones by the river.

"We need to go now – come on." I grabbed his arm and we walked briskly along the river until we reached a quiet spot. I changed the date on my phone back to 5th July 1935. "Take a deep breath." I pushed the button, and in a flash we were back to Bill's time period. "Where will they have taken Niki?"

"Follow me," he instructed, and we headed off towards Scotland Yard, 4 Whitehall Place. As we walked, Bill had told me he was an avid follower of Science Fiction and had read 'The Time Machine' by HG Wells a dozen times. So he already had the belief that such a thing would one day be possible – he just never thought it would happen on his particular watch.

*

Whilst Bill and I were spending time in 1700, Niki had been taken away to the nearest police station, and was now seated on a wooden chair in a bare–looking room with white and brown walls in Scotland Yard, her arms handcuffed. On a table in front of her was the suitcase. A policeman and a detective faced her, and the detective spoke first.

"You must know how crazy this all sounds Miss."

"Why don't you just open the case, and then we'll see who's crazy," Niki replied.

"You know I can't do that... bomb disposal need to look at it first. It's procedure. And who knows what Chinese magic you've got in there?"

Niki was exasperated. "Then just let me go – I've not committed any crime!"

"Intent to commit a crime is also a crime, Miss."

"Okay, then just do nothing – let World War Two take its course. There were only... let me see... sixty million people killed between 1939 and 1945 – not to mention those who suffered in the Holocaust..."

"The holo what?"

Niki sat back and sighed. "It doesn't matter. I hope you can sleep at night in ten years' time."

The detective looked at her quizzically. There was a knock at the door. "Come." A neatly dressed policewoman with tied–back blonde hair entered. "Yes – what is it Sally?" he was clearly irritated. The policewoman whispered into his ear.

The Detective nodded and turned to the other policeman. "Don't let her go anywhere!"

*

I was waiting with Bill when the detective and policewoman came out of a nearby room. By the look of the detective, it was not going to be easy to convince him that we weren't raving nutcases – but we did have Bill on our side now. He had put me in handcuffs to show his boss he was in control (though he'd given me the key as a gesture of trust). The detective ushered Bill through a door off the main corridor by the detective (for debriefing, presumably), whilst I was taken into the same room as Niki. It was a relief to see her alive and well – even though I couldn't touch her.

"Joe!"

"Yep, it's me."

"You shouldn't have come back – I can handle it..."

"Zhongwen," I said, thinking it was better to speak in a language they are very unlikely to understand, and my Chinese was good enough to explain what had happened that morning.

"You shou ji ma?" she asked.

I quickly confirmed that I did have my mobile, and told her about going to the year 1700 with Bill, and how I had convinced him that war with Germany was going to happen, even though he would never really understand how we had been able to travel back and forward in time. That was all I had time to say before the officer stopped us talking. From the next room, we could hear shouting. After a while, it went quiet, and a few minutes later, Bill entered with the Detective.

"Right you two. Constable Briggs has put his job on the line for you both. I don't know what happened when he was away with Mr Cooper here, but he's convinced me to give you the benefit of doubt and pass your case on to someone in the government. I really should get the army boys to just blow up that case; but I've worked with Bill for a long time now, and I trust him. So we've got to keep you here until they've had a look inside your case, all right?" We both nodded. "Right then. Constable Briggs will get you some food and drink – you must be hungry."

*

We spent nearly three hours waiting in the police station for something to happen. As we had to stay in handcuffs, and were continually being watched, there was no way I could use the key Bill gave me to get to my phone. Which meant that all we could do was sit and wait it out.

Suddenly, the door opened and Detective Thompson was back with another man. He was dressed in a grey suit, blue striped school tie, and a serious but warm look. He reminded me of an actor from old war movies my dad used to watch.

"Are those really necessary?" the man in the suit asked, pointing at our hands. The constable looked at the detective, who nodded his agreement, and we were released from the cuffs. We were then taken to a black car parked outside the Police station by the man in the suit, who sat in the front next to a police driver. After a couple of minutes, the man turned and smiled at us.

"My name is Johnson – I work for the Government. The police brought your suitcase to us, and we've been looking at your, err, 'documents'. I work with Mr Eden."

"Anthony Eden?" I asked.

"The very same. You will appreciate that these documents have taken us rather aback. Normally, we would verify the authenticity of such information before going any further with something like this. Well, actually, there's never been anything like this. Anyway, Mr Eden has a lot of questions, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Traffic in 1935 paled into insignificance compared with our own time period. Cars were slower, of course, and there were horse driven vehicles on the roads intermingled with the cars and buses. It wasn't long before we arrived at the Home Office buildings. Both Niki and I were so interested in meeting Anthony Eden and answering his questions that we totally forgot our original idea: we had intended to merely leave the information with the government – and avoid any difficult questions regarding the source of our information. But now we were actually looking forward to talking about World War Two. This was surely a lot better than just leaving the information and hoping it would be examined. So I didn't even think about using the phone to get us out of there.

Anthony Eden was almost exactly how I imagined him, having read so much about the British government and the Second World War whilst we collected all the relevant documentary evidence we could find. He had been educated at Eton and Oxford, and his accent and manner was what you would expect after such an education. He was certainly gregarious and welcoming, quite different from our reception at the police station.

"Ah, you must be Joe and Niki," he said, and proceeded to talk to Niki in Chinese (Eden studied Oriental language at Oxford). She smiled and laughed as he spoke.

"You've caused quite a stir Joe," he said to me. He used my first name in a very familiar way. (He later told me that his first son was named Joe).

"That was our intention," I smiled.

"Good – I'm glad to hear that. But the thing is now... how do we square your 'documents' with the real world? I mean, you have presented us with an idea of what could happen if we go along our current path – a path that I have to tell you I am now completely and utterly against. It would be very wrong to enter another war with Germany, so soon after the last one. And although I have to say, to my regret, I was at one time all for appeasing the Germans, I now realise that this is the very last thing we should do, and I am going to do everything within my power to turn the government away from this insane direction – including using your information, if I may?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "That's why we brought it."

"Have you watched the DVDs?" Niki asked.

"D–V–Ds?" Eden queried, and turned to Johnson.

"Ah, I think the young lady is referring to the small discs in the suitcase, sir."

"Then can we see them Harry?"

"I'm sorry, we don't know what do with them!"

Eden turned back to Niki and smiled. "I wonder if you would be so kind as to show us how they work." He pointed to one of the discs lying in the open case on the table in front of us. Niki smiled back and removed the DVD player from the case.

"We first just need to plug this into the mains socket," she said.

"Oh, I see!" said Johnson. He looked carefully at the plug on the device. In our hurry to jump back to 1935, we had forgotten to change the electric plug on the player. No doubt it would have been difficult to get one the same as 1930s Britain, though maybe not impossible. "I think we need to change this," he said to Eden, holding up the plug. "It shouldn't take long."

Eden turned back to us. "Now, how about a drink – tea perhaps? We have some Lapsang Souchong, if that is suitable?"

Whilst we sat drinking tea with Anthony Eden, he told us how concerned he was about Hitler and the Nazi party, particularly the recent transgression of the Treaty of Versailles. Having seen our 'documents' he now firmly believed the government should stamp out Hitler and the party before they could rearm themselves. If not, he feared the worse. After about twenty minutes, Johnson reappeared with the DVD player, fitted with a new plug.

"Voila!"

"Plug it in then Harry, that's a good chap. Let's enjoy the show."

There were gasps of amazement from both men when Niki began playing the first disc (The History of the Second World War, Part 1). When we were putting this information package together, we had only thought of the impact of the content of the discs – we gave little thought to the quality of digital technology and the realism of the video.

At the end of it, there was silence. Then tears formed in Eden's eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "I don't know how you did this, or where it is from, but it's just..." he was lost for words.

"We just want to prevent the war," Niki said. "We want you to stop it happening." We had both realised that Eden would never accept the information as something that had actually happened – how could he? To do that, he would have to accept that time–travel was possible, and that he would never be able to do.

"I've never seen anything like this..." he said. I don't know where this device is from, but it's miles ahead of what the Americans have now."

"It's very new technology... from China," I said.

"It's unbelievable," Johnson exclaimed. "The realism..."

"It's what could happen," added Niki.

"Well, I'm going to make damned sure it doesn't!" exclaimed Eden. "Thank you – thank you so much, both of you. You must leave me your details... address and telephone number – if that's acceptable to you?"

I nodded, and wrote down my family's address and phone number in London, adding that I travelled to China with Niki quite a lot, so it might not be easy to find us.

As we said our goodbyes, and were about to leave, Eden turned to the suitcase.

"What about the material – the player, discs... everything?"

"Please keep them," I said. "Show them to whoever you need to."

"Thank you once again," he said, "and safe journey. My driver will take you wherever you need to go."

"Thank you," replied Niki, "but we have our own transport."

*

We left the building, and as soon as we could find a quiet spot, we set the date back to our present time. But just before I hit 'Go!', I turned to Niki and looked into her eyes.

"Well, baby, let's see what we've done to the future."

***

Seventeen

"What nothing?" I looked at Niki in total disbelief as she studied the screen of her iPad. "Are you saying that after all our hard work, including getting arrested and talking to a key player in the British government – nothing has changed? World War two still happened... exactly as before?"

She nodded. "I can't find anything different Joe," she replied.

We had just finished breakfast, and I sat back in disbelief. "Then I guess Eden did sod all," I said at last. "His concern was just pretence..."

"Or no–one listened to him," she said.

"What a waste of time! All that for nothing."

"Maybe not totally wasted...." Niki said after a minute. She drew me over to her iPad and the Wikipedia webpage she was reading. It talked about Eden's vehement attack on Hitler and the Nazi party at a meeting of the League of Nations (a predecessor to our United Nations). He urged the League to take the strongest measures to prevent Hitler's advance into neighbouring countries. And when Hitler occupied the Rhineland, Eden also supported the French with British military backup. This was a bit of a u–turn from his previous appeasement of Hitler, but it was far too little too late, and had no real effect on the outcome of the war. That was all we could find.

"We're not always going to make a difference, Joe... some things just have to be."

I sighed, got up, moved to our lounge and slumped on the sofa. I was depressed. But what was that? My eyes focussed on the television, and a box below it.

"When did we change our TV?"

"We didn't," Nik replied.

"Then what the hell is that!" I pointed to the amazing–looking huge screen in our lounge. But like me, she'd never seen it before. I found what looked like a remote control nearby, and turned on the TV.

"Oh my god Joe!"

Suddenly the whole room lit up with pictures, light and sound. It wasn't like we were just watching a television screen in the corner of the room – it was like we were inside the TV's projection. Nik grabbed the control from me and found a movie on the menu.

"Oh, this is so cool! Look, you can control the screen from inside itself using touch controls. We can actually be part of the movie!"

I gazed with amazement as Nik quickly learned how to operate this 4D device we had suddenly acquired. She was in her element – literally. With this new technology, anyone could either be a passive voyeur, or actually a character in the movie. You could choose your avatar's appearance and personality, and read the movie script. It was so real we didn't want to stop using it!

But I was snapped out of the experience by a knock on the front door.

"Dad?" The man standing at the door certainly looked like my father... but I was in for a shock.

"No, it's me Joe. Or should I say, it's you Joe." I stood opened–mouthed at the door. "Can we come in?" I moved out of the way, and he entered – accompanied by what turned out to be his Niki."

"Oh–my–god!" I gasped. "I'd better warn Nik. Take a seat... make yourself at home... is this still your home?"

I went to the lounge to warn Niki, but it was too late.

"Mama?"

"No Nik – I'm you... an older version."

We had been face–to–face with ourselves before, but the difference then was just ten years. The people sitting in our lounge must have been at least forty years older than us. Joseph broke the silence.

"I know this will seem very strange – it's actually rather weird for us too; you both look so young!"

Funnily enough, we soon got used to seeing the older versions of ourselves. It didn't really feel like seeing us – it was more like looking at two very familiar family members.

"First ups, we've changed our names. We've made a lot of these jumps over the years, and met up with many different versions of ourselves. So instead of there being two Nikis and two Joes, you can call her Yoyo and me Mike.

"Yoyo... I like that!" smiled Niki.

"You'll want to know why we're here," Yoyo stated. We both nodded. "It's nothing to do with what you did in 1935. Wow, that seems like a long time ago, doesn't it Mike?" I have to say that they both looked pretty good for their age. "We're here because we need you to do something." She paused. "Joe, Niki... would you be prepared to do anything to save the human race?"

"What do we have to do?" I asked.

"You've got to kill the leader of North Korea."

We were stunned. Although we'd considered killing people before to change history, this was the first time we'd been asked to do it. Kim Jong–un had been President of North Korea since his father, Kim Jong–il died in 2013. It was well known that the country had appeared unstable under Jong–un's leadership, and had developed nuclear weapons and launched rockets into space not so long ago. And at one time the dictators had had great hatred for their 'evil enemy' – the USA. But there was something I didn't know.

"Actually, it's not Kim Jong–un who is the danger, explained Mike. He develops a good relationship with America, and there's no problem there. It's his son that's the problem."

Niki looked puzzled. "But... but Kim doesn't have a son!"

"No, not yet," replied Yoyo. "But on 1st October next year, his wife Ri Sol–Ju will give birth to a baby boy – and they'll call him Kim Jong–zhou."

"Why is Jong–zhou more dangerous than his father?" I asked. And then they told us the whole story.

Kim Jong–zhou would grow up with a hatred of Western ideals and lifestyle, but without the common sense or restraint that both his father and grandfather possessed. Much of the propaganda that his forebears spread was bluster: they had no real intention of being the initiator of any war with the USA – a war they'd have very little chance to win without support from Russia or their closest ally China. However, the DPRK were certainly ready to retaliate should the Americans either attack Pyongyang, or support the South in a war against the North. Partly due to a birth defect, Kim Jong–zhou would grow up to be, as his peers will later admit, a little crazy in the head. This, combined with his hatreds and a supreme arrogance, would lead him to push the button, sending atomic missiles towards the USA. In 2018, the Koreans did not have the technology to accurately send missiles that far, but they would soon develop within the next forty years.

The first atomic missile would hit the sea off the coast of Maine. This would be enough for the USA to retaliate, hitting Pyongyang and causing death and destruction on a large scale. Another city would be virtually razed to the ground. The Russians, seeing this as a gross over–reaction, would support North Korea alongside China. The UK and some European nations would side with the Americans, and World War Three would soon become reality.

By the time Mike and Yoyo had painted this picture, we understood why such an assassination was needed. But two questions remained: why kill Kim Jong–un when we could take out the perpetrator, Kim Jong–zhou, instead? And why don't Mike and Yoyo do this themselves?

"Well, we could try to kill the son, of course. But whilst he's young, he'll be very heavily protected within the presidential palace. Another option would be to assassinate the mother – that would certainly prevent Kim Jong–zhou being born. But she rarely travels outside of Korea. Kim Jong–un, on the other hand, will be visiting China very soon, and we think this is a good opportunity to wipe him off the face of the Earth – before he fathers the child."

Niki and I looked at each other.

"How soon?" she asked.

"In two weeks' time – in Beijing," Mike replied. He paused to let that sink in. "And as regards your second question, Yoyo and I are not getting any younger, and this is a job for youth." They smiled to each other.

"So, you're both here now because it's happened? The balloon's gone up – they've dropped the bomb?"

"Yes – and not just one: Washington and San Francisco have already been hit."

"With nuclear missiles?" asked Niki.

"Yes," Yoyo replied.

"Shit!"

We were all quiet for a minute. Then Niki said, "You can stay here with us for as long as you need..."

"That would be great, thank you," Yoyo replied.

"It's going to get pretty nasty on planet Earth now," Mike said. "Korea sees the UK as an ally of America, of course, so it's only a matter of time before London is hit."

"I guess this is still your home?" I asked them. "I mean, you live in the same house as us?"

"Right," Yoyo replied. "But yours looks so much newer than ours!"

*

That night, Niki and I talked about the day – a very strange day. If we really wanted to be involved in a big adventure, then this was it: it doesn't get much bigger than assassinating the supreme leader of North Korea. In one way, it didn't seem at all real, and perhaps that's why we'd agreed to do it. How we would actually do it, we'd no idea at that moment. We would have to plan very carefully and in great detail: we could not afford for things to go wrong this time. We had failed to stop World War Two, but we knew the World had survived and got over it. In the case of the new Korean War, however, it could mean the complete annihilation of the human race.

So drastic times called for drastic measures. The fact that neither Niki nor I had ever killed anything bigger than a cockroach was something we'd have to deal with of course. There was also the fact that I (a foreigner with white skin and big nose) would stand out like a sore thumb anywhere in China. So, it looked like a lot of pressure on Nik. The question we kept coming back to was this: how were we going to kill the man without risking getting ourselves killed or imprisoned for life?

We discussed many different options that night, including direct shot to the head, poisoning, a bomb and a fire. One thing that came out of our discussions (which went on until three in the morning) was the fact that we now knew how to eliminate Adolf Hitler. Forget about assassinating the Fuhrer – go for the mother and father. With the benefit of time–travel, we could actually prevent Hitler being born; but that was a project for another time. For now, we had another dictator to consider.

*

The next morning, we let Mike and Yoyo sleep in whilst we began planning our trip to Beijing. The Korean Leader last visited China in June 2018, when he met with President Xi. But trying to find any details of a follow up meeting drew a blank. The mystery was solved when Mike and Yoyo came down for breakfast.

"I like the blue guest room!" Yoyo said. "We've never actually stayed in it before!" Niki got some breakfast for our visitors (now part of our family), and as sat with our coffee I asked Mike about Kim's visit.

"Yes, you won't find anything about it on the net," said Mike. "It was arranged secretly to avoid any frenzied media attention. But you can read a media report about it online if you jump forward in time." He suddenly noticed Niki's iPad and smiled. "Oh, I'd forgotten about those!"

"I guess you've got new versions now?" I said.

"Well, you could say that!" he grinned. "Show them Yoyo." She pulled back her sleeve to reveal a fluorescent video display screen.

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "Let me see?" I looked carefully at the ultra–thin device, seemingly attached to her wrist. "How is it powered?"

"By the human body. Why people didn't think of this years ago, I've no idea. All that electrical and mechanical energy inside us, and it's mostly wasted. No batteries needed."

"How do you listen to music and on it?" Niki asked. "I can't see any audio outlet."

"Direct connection to the brain via the nervous system and neural networks," Yoyo explained. We were both gobsmacked. "We can get video the same way, but it's still being developed. It's very strange when you switch on the internal video because it can override your normal vision. So when you watch a movie it feels incredibly real – it's like you're actually in the movie! You can layer it to simultaneously receive both normal vision and internal video, but that's really confusing."

"Can I try?" Niki asked.

"Sure, but it might not work properly. The device is matched to personal neural networks to make it work efficiently. I know that you and I should have the same brain patterns, but they do change over time. Try it anyway."

Yoyo removed the device from her wrist and placed it on Niki's. It was extremely thin and light, and could hardly be called 'hardware'.

"It will attempt to connect with you now – don't fight it! It can't harm you, but it will be an unusual sensation... like something is tickling you inside. Just try to relax.

"What's it made of?" I asked.

"The base is Cellulose," Yoyo replied.

"Ah! You've got a plant around your wrist Nik!"

Mike then removed his own device and gave me a try. The material felt very strange: cold at first, but soon my wrist, and then my arm, became very warm. Mike explained that the device was automatically scanning my nervous system as it searched for a power source. Next it would configure itself to my neural networks. After about thirty seconds, its colour changed from pink to light blue.

"It likes you!" Mike smiled. "Try the sound." He touched the wristband, and I suddenly heard music in my ears. It was broken up at first, but was soon incredibly clear. "People used to talk about 'Virtual Reality' in the past – but that was nothing to what this device can do. This is so real – you'll wonder what's real and what isn't. Try the video now."

Suddenly I experienced the most real and the most beautiful sound and pictures I had ever experienced. I was mesmerised by the sensation – it took my breath away. It was one of the latest movies, Mike told me, and I have to say it was as real as life is itself. My entire vision was filled with the pictures, and my mind swam with the sound and light.

"If you normally wear glasses, you don't need them to watch this," he added. "Even if you're blind, you can still see the pictures." But I was hardly listening – I was so much absorbed in this experience. "The thing they're working on now is utilising the device as a recorder – so that you can download whatever you see and play it back. No need for video cameras anymore! Instant replay – with zoom in, freeze–frame, and whatever else you do with video. Just think of the uses!"

Meanwhile, Niki was also totally absorbed in her experience with Yoyo's device. She was equally stunned by it.

"Any chance of keeping it?" Niki asked.

"Sorry, no. Call it a benefit of old age – you'll get your own one day." Yoyo replied.

Whilst Niki was enjoying Yoyo's device, Mike and I discussed Kim Jong–un's visit to China. The fact that the meeting was planned extremely secretly would work in our favour: the only media present would be the government's own, and security might not be so tight.

Mike told us that the Korean leader would arrive by private jet with a small staff on Friday, 26th October. From the airfield, the President would be driven directly to the government offices in Beijing.

Whilst Mike was filling us in on Kim's visit to China, the reality of assassinating a president gradually became real. I still had no clear idea how we should do the deed, but I knew we should use Mike and Yoyo's knowledge of events to make this happen.

*

Eighteen

The next day, things took on a very different complexion.

Niki awoke around 7am in a troubled frame of mind. Whilst I was still half–asleep, the first thing she said to me was, "Joe – I've been thinking about yesterday." Her tone of voice reminded me of countless previous occasions she'd dropped a bombshell. It always meant that I had to be flexible in my thinking – and prepared to change my best–laid plans. I was suddenly fully awake.

"Yesss... and?"

"Who's going to pull the trigger?"

I couldn't resist replying, "Well, I thought you would..." even though I could guess her reaction. And anyway, if there was a trigger to be pulled, it would be my finger on it – no question (but I wouldn't mind her loading the bullets).

"It's just that I don't think either of us has to," she replied.

"You mean Mike or Yoyo could do it?"

"No."

"Okay," I said slowly. "Well, as we said yesterday, there's always poison – or we could start a fire. Or maybe we could leave a gun in his room with the message, 'Please point gun to head and fire'..."

"Joe!"

"Sorry baby – what's your idea?"

"Fuck off!"

It was very rare for Niki to swear, but when she did I knew I'd really crossed the line – badly. In China, sarcasm doesn't really work, and nobody seems to do it. So I try not to use it with Niki, even though she's lived in the UK for so long now. But every now and then, it slips out.

"I'm sorry, that was wrong. Please tell me your idea." Her face told me she was not going to grant me that favour – I would have to beg for it. She got out of bed quickly and started to dress.

"Pleasssse baby... I really want to know..."

She stopped dressing and looked me in the eye.

"We don't have to kill Kim at all – no–one has to."

This was the bombshell. Okay I thought, be flexible – be open to other options (something I have to say I am not really that good at – unless those alternative ideas originate from my particular anatomy).

"Okay, go on."

"Think about it: Mike and Yoyo have returned to our time, where there are no World Wars – and won't be for another forty years. If they want to, they can live very comfortably here. How old do you think they are now?"

"Well, Mike must be over seventy now – my age plus forty–two years."

"Right – and Yoyo will be in her sixties. So even if they live to be a hundred, they're not going to live through this new Korean War – if they stay here, in our time." I suddenly knew exactly where Niki was going with this. "We can choose to live in any time period we want," she continued, "so why not choose a comfortable one, where there are no big conflicts, no nuclear fall–out, and we can enjoy life?"

I thought about her idea. From a personal perspective, I had to say she was right – absolutely spot–on. But how could we step away, knowing what we know now, with this amazing power in our hands.

"You're right Niki, it makes so much sense – it really does..."

"I can hear a 'but' coming."

I grimaced and let out a deep sigh. "You know what I'm going to say."

"What about helping people, right? What about stopping suffering all round the World – preventing wars, stopping genocides, eliminating World hunger... what about making the World a better place for everyone – not just us?"

"Exactly... we can't just turn a blind eye to all that."

"But we can, and we do, when we can't do anything about it!"

"But we can do something about it!"

"No we can't! We think we can, we have all these big ideas – like stopping the Nazis, or saving Steve's life. But some things are bigger than you or I, Joe; some things just have to happen.

"I stopped nine–eleven..." I said weakly.

"Yes – I really believe you did Joe – even though I have no recollection whatsoever of the event – I do believe you. But look at the consequences: you kill mama and two World leaders – and who knows how many others died because of your meddling."

"Meddling!"

"I've had enough Joe – I don't want to risk my life seeing off a dictator that hasn't done anything wrong to me. North Korea's an ally of China – don't forget that. You can keep your time–travel assassination game – I want no part of it."

Niki stormed out of the room and slammed the door. There was an empty quiet.

A few minutes later, there was a gentle knock on the door: it was Mike.

"Everything all right?" he said.

"Yeah, great." I sighed. "Sorry, we must have disturbed you."

"It's okay, we weren't sleeping – we were just talking."

"Did you hear us?" I asked.

"It was difficult not to."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I remember it like it was yesterday."

I'd forgotten that I was talking to my future self, who'd lived through more or less exactly what I had, and experienced the same things. Being with Mike was so much like being with my father.

"Well, I guess that you and Yoyo got through all of this shit. I mean, you're still together, still time–travelling, right?"

"Sometimes, it's better that you don't know the future Joe." I looked at him closely for a moment. There were a lot of things he wasn't telling me, but I knew it was no good asking.

"Yeah, well that's exactly what Niki would say," I said.

"Perhaps she's right. Once you know the future, it's difficult to turn back. Changing the past is very different from affecting the future. You have to be careful meddling with the past because you don't know how it will affect your present. But there are countless possible futures, and we choose the ones that will become our own realities every day, every minute, every second. There's nothing at all wrong in affecting the future – particularly affecting it for the better. Niki knows this."

"Your Niki or mine?"

"Both. One knows it now, and the other will realise it soon."

I sighed deeply. "Okay, but here's the thing: how do we square what you said yesterday with what Niki wants? Yesterday you asked us to kill Kim Jong–un. Now she doesn't want that."

"I never said that Niki should be involved in it, Joe. You have to remember that we're from the future – we know what has happened, and what will happen if nothing is done. From our own time period, we jumped forward just six months, and went to Hampstead Heath and looked across the City of London: it was all gone. It was just like the pictures of Hiroshima after the bomb. We couldn't breathe the air and had to jump back quickly. And that's just one city. We're not talking about a big war Joe – we're talking about the end of this civilisation. The planet will become unliveable."

"Why don't you stay here – in our time period – like Niki said? Then we don't have to change anything."

"If you'd seen what we've seen, you'd know that we can't do that. We can't make the future any worse by eliminating Kim Jong–un – trust me. And if you don't trust me, come and see it for yourself – come to the future. But you can't stay long there."

*

I felt that I was in the middle of a big dilemma. I had to agree with Mike, but I also understood Niki's perspective only too well. We really didn't know what would happen if we assassinated the Korean leader. Mike said we couldn't make things worse, how did he know? And another thing: Niki and I always agreed to never go it alone, but now Mike was suggesting I went solo. 'Yoyo need not be involved', he said.

When we started to use this time–travelling ability, I'd thought we could change history for the better – no question. Now I could see that this was not always the case. Apart from changing nine–eleven, the only other success I'd still clung on to was stopping Niki's ex–boyfriend topping himself. But as we discovered, he ended up being killed in a car crash a few years later. So what had we achieved? We'd added a few years to his life – during which he couldn't be with the girl he loved. All this hit home to the core of my beliefs, and I had to ask myself the question: can we, in our limited view of the World, really say what is for the best? How can we differentiate between doing good and interfering?

I recalled an incident when I was a student in London. I was waiting at a bus stop when a man ran across the main road from a pub on the other side. He was closely followed by a second, older, man who dodged the traffic and caught up the younger man – just as he reached the bus stop. The second man then gave the first a severe beating – and I mean severe. People at the stop either looked on in amazement, as I did, or hurried away. It was like watching a movie. The older guy then adjusted his shirt, shrugged and walked calmly back across the road – job done. Meanwhile, the young man was lying against the bus stop with blood on his white shirt. He appeared to be unconscious. I didn't want to move him – we're always told we shouldn't in these situations – but I thought I must do something. So I called the emergency services. They said they'd send an ambulance, and asked me to wait at the scene. I did as they instructed and stood at the bus stop, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. But moments later, the younger man came to, staggered to his feet, and made off!

The next thing I knew I could then hear the familiar wail of an ambulance in the distance, so I scarpered! Well, I didn't want to be around when questions were asked about which joker had called the emergency services on false pretences, wasting taxpayers' money.

Later on, after I'd married Niki, I relayed this story to her, and she said, "Why do you think this happened? I mean, why did the second man beat the first?" I had to admit that I really had no idea – but it looked like the young man had been attacked for no reason. It seemed totally out of order, and perhaps the older man should be arrested. "But what if the young man had just tried to rob the guy's bar? Or maybe he tried to rape the owner's wife. How would you feel if someone did this to you?" I had to admit that is someone had tried to rape Niki, I wouldn't just call the police – I'd kick the shit out of him first.

This incident went over and over in my mind for a long time. I thought about things that happen in the World, and our limited view on the reasons they happen. Niki comes from a Buddhist background, though she doesn't have strong religious leanings now. But what she still has is a karmic way of looking at life. I'm not saying that I totally believe all the things she's told me, but I do think there is a reason for everything, and 'what goes around, comes around.' There's all the obvious sort of paybacks in life: a man robs a bank, gets caught and goes to prison. A man kills another man, and gets life. You hit your sister, and your dad hits you back. It's normal – everyone knows this. But what about the unseen links that we miss? If we only see the payback and not the cause, how can we make sense of life without some sort of karmic ideology? And how can we have the right attitude to events – or any real understanding of them?

***

Nineteen

Later on that day, Niki suggested a walk to the local coffee bar. I really felt I needed some air to clear my head, so the walk and coffee sounded like a good idea. Nik said she'd had a long talk with Yoyo, and wanted to share this with Mike and me. So we sat with our coffees and listened to what they had to say.

After chatting with Yoyo, Nik had realised how bad things had become in Yoyo and Mike's time zone, and how the future looked as black as black can be. Not only that, but her idea of Yoyo and Mike living with us (or with any other versions of us in other time–zones), was not really on. Apparently, they'd tried it a couple of times, but it didn't work. It was impossible to have duel identities, with two Joe Coopers and two Niki Lings wandering around. In the end, it meant creating totally new identities, with new passports, new bank accounts – new everything. It was highly problematic, and they always felt like criminals. Yoyo always worried that the authorities would track them down one day and check their DNA or something. On top of that, it was difficult to leave the children, who really didn't want to go and live in a previous time period, now that they'd built lives for themselves in their own time.

So Mike and Yoyo had come to an agreement: no meddling in the past, but we can determine our own future – if needed. And in this case, averting a cataclysmic war was very much needed. The only problem that remained was how exactly to avoid this forthcoming war – what to do to prevent it happening? The four of us appreciated that assassinating Kim Jong–un was just one possibility. What else could be done?

"Well, as you can imagine, Yoyo and I spent quite some time thinking this through," Mike began. "I think we all agree that whatever we do should involve minimal risk to ourselves."

We were silent for a moment, and then Niki said, "As I understand it, Kim Jong–un is not the danger – it's his future son, Kim Jong–zhou. And one way avert a war is to prevent him ever existing – which could be done by assassinating his father..."

"Or his mother," Yoyo added.

"Yes. But as Mike said yesterday, killing the mother does not necessarily stop Kim remarrying, and passing on his genes."

'Do we know the exact location of the meeting with the Chinese?" I asked Mike.

"It was in the government office in Xizhimen South Street in Beijing," Mike replied.

"I love how you say 'was'!" I smiled. "Okay, so if we were to assassinate Kim, we would somehow have to get into that building. I imagine that we couldn't just walk in?"

"No way," said Yoyo. "I think we've got to use our greatest asset..."

"Time–travel?"

"Yes. And the fact that Niki and I are Chinese. You guys... no chance." We had to admit she was right. "So we enter the building the previous day, and then make a jump forward."

"Or the day after and jump backwards," I added.

"The day after?" Niki queried.

"Yes. After the event, there will be much less security than before," I said.

"Joe's right," said Mike. "That has my vote."

"Ok, we're getting somewhere. So, Niki and I will jump to one day after the meeting..."

"Wait a minute! I thought you said you were too old for this?"

"What! No no – Mike said we are too old – I never said that!" The two girls smiled.

"I've got it!" Niki suddenly shrieked.

"You have?" Mike asked.

"We don't have to kill anybody! We simply kidnap Kim."

Mike and I looked at each other, puzzled. Then I said, "Okay, but supposing you do that, how long are you going to keep him for? Until he promises never to father a child? And where are you going to keep him?"

"In a place where no–one will ever find him!" said Niki.

"Ah, yes!" Yoyo smiled.

"Okay you two, what's the joke?" asked Mike.

"The future!" Niki beamed.

"Yes, we take him to a future time period – and leave him there!"

We all laughed. It was a brilliant idea – but Mike wasn't so sure.

"It's a great idea, but the future – our future – is dangerous. If anything happens to you Niki, then that affects Yoyo too – don't forget that. It's better if I go alone."

"No Mike!" said Yoyo. "I'm going with you. If anything happens, I don't want to be left on my own. And remember our agreement?" Yoyo referring to the pact I'd make with Niki to always make jumps together, of course.

We were all quiet again. Then I said, "All right... Mike and Yoyo will take Kim to the future. Let him see the result of his future son's actions. Then they either leave him there – or just kill him. Staying in that atmosphere is pretty much a death sentence anyway." We were all more serious now.

Somehow, I felt guilty about sending Jong–un to an atomic war future not of his making. Yes, Kim had defied many United Nations ultimatums en route to developing nuclear weapons and long–range missiles; but he himself was not the one who would ultimately press the button and launch the World into an atomic war – one which looked like it would bring about the end of humanity. That was, it seemed, the destiny of his son. Eventually I said, "No, we can't leave him there."

"Joe's right," agreed Mike, understanding my meaning. "If we leave Kim in the future, then his son Kim Jong–Zhou will not be born in our time zone. Which means that World War Three is unlikely to happen in our lifetime – so we're not actually sending him to a terrible future after all. Instead, he could father a son in his new time zone, and all we would be doing is delaying the big war. So if we are going to take the Korean leader to the future, we need to kill him too.

The four of us sat together in this small coffee shop, ourselves and our future selves, drinking coffee and deliberating on the future of mankind, and how we could use the power of time–travel to avert the future self–destruction of human–kind – not to mention the planet. Why was it so difficult?

"I think the main problem is that none of us actually wants to pull the trigger." Yoyo said at last. "We can't bring ourselves to end one life to save millions – even though we know it's the right thing." We nodded in quiet agreement. Then Niki suddenly said.

"We need a hit–man."

"I like that!" Yoyo smiled.

"A contract killer?" I queried. "Are you serious?"

"Why not? A professional killer would have no problem with this. It's his job – he gets paid for it – and we've certainly got the money."

The background music changed to the Queen song: 'She's a Killer, Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime...'

"The girls are right," Mike said. "When it comes down to it, none of us wants to pull the trigger. I like Niki's idea."

"You can't all be serious!" I exclaimed.

"I think we should give it a try," Mike replied. "It would solve a lot of problems."

"And create a whole load more!" I observed. "For one thing, we'd have to share our secret with a killer!"

"At least one of you would have to accompany the assassin, of course," Mike continued.

"And you couldn't give the killer your phone," added Yoyo.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Everyone except me thought this was a good idea.

"But what if he causes trouble? What if he turns the gun on one of us?"

"Then you'll have to choose your killer very, very carefully," Mike said.

***

Twenty

His name was Smirnoff. Not his real name, obviously, but one we both liked. He was big with an unshaven look – about a week's stubble I reckon. He dressed well enough, but wouldn't stand out in a crowd. He sported a good quality black leather jacket (no doubt his favourite) with a white patterned shirt and light blue jeans, supported by a wide dark brown belt. His hair was thick, black, uncombed and would have been fashionable in the late 1970s. He was around forty–five, we guessed.

The three of us were sitting on an old wooden bench, sheltered by sycamore trees in a small park, not far from the British Museum in the Bloomsbury district of London. It was a quiet time of day, and few people frequented the park at this hour (we'd checked). It seemed a good place to meet a killer. Niki sat next to Smirnoff, and I sat next to her.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?" I asked, suddenly realising what a stupid question this was.

"No, it's my first time," he replied with a thick Russian accent, and a smile. The smile and sense of humour clearly won Niki over.

"What we need you to do here is a little... different," Niki stated.

Smirnoff shrugged his shoulders. "I've done it all," he said. "What's new?"

"How about 'Time Travel?'" I suggested.

He nodded his head, taking out a packet of expensive–looking Russian cigarettes. "Now, that would be different." He opened the box and offered the contents. "Smoke?"

"No thanks," I said, waving them away. "I gave up when I was three." (My dad stuck a fag in my mouth when I was three years old – both my mum and dad were trying to give up at the time and wanted to dissuade me... it worked).

"Good choice... they can kill you." That smile again, plus a twinkle in the eye. "Maybe you should give cigarettes to your clients," he continued. "You wouldn't need me then." He put a filter–tipped cigarette in his mouth and lit it with the gold–plated lighter from his pocket. "Anyway, you were saying... Time Travel?"

"Take my hand," said Niki, suddenly standing up. It took him by surprise, and he hesitated for a moment. "I won't bite," she added.

"Ok... where are we going?"

"We're going to visit an old friend of yours."

We had pre–planned this, naturally. Catapulting Smirnoff back in time would convince him of our ability far more than any words could ever do. Well, that's what we thought. After Smirnoff took Niki's right hand, I took hers and simultaneously changed the date on my phone to 1st September 1902. The park 'wobbled'.

"This way," Niki smiled at the Russian. He must have noticed the change in the look of the park after we jumped, but he showed little indication of that. Around us, the trees were a lot smaller and the pathways different, but not a lot else. What I noticed most was the atmosphere. The smell of coal burning fires predominated, and it was difficult to stop myself coughing. But outside the park was the real eye–opener.

"What in the name of...?" Smirnoff could not contain his amazement as we gazed along the narrow road with horse–drawn carriages. "Where are we? Is this a movie set?"

A man in a bowler hat, turned up collar and waistcoat (complete with watch chain) walked by, docking his hat to Niki as he passed. Across the road, two elderly women dressed in long skirts down to their ankles, frilly blouses and large brimmed flowery hats gazed at us. Niki had made sure she was dressed in keeping with the times (as far as possible), though she couldn't hide the fact that she was Chinese of course. I donned the cloth cap I'd been keeping in my pocket to look as inconspicuous as possible. It was a good match for the grandfather shirt and trouser braces I was wearing.

"Sorry, no movie set – this is for real," I replied.

A London double–decker bus of the period turned the corner and headed down the street. It was one of the recently introduced open–topped motor buses, and passengers couldn't help noticing the big Russian standing with a Chinese lady. A young lad on the top deck nudged his friends and pointed towards us. Niki and I smiled and waved, and began walking towards the Museum with Smirnoff.

"I don't know how you've done this! How have you done this?"

"Time travel," Nik and I chorused as we smiled at the Russian.

"Time travel," he muttered to himself as he accompanied us down the street shaking his head.

From the outside, the British Museum of 1902 seemed to have changed little from the one we knew and loved in our day. On the inside, the exhibits (from what we could see) were in different places from what we were used to. What we were really interested in, however, was not the exhibits – it was the Reading room. This was constructed in the previously empty central courtyard of the Museum. It was, in effect, a library, with plenty of spaces for reading, study and research. Anyone wishing to use the Reading room had to apply in writing for a reader's ticket. Among those granted a ticket were novelists Bram Stoker (author of Dracula), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (who penned Sherlock Holmes, of course), and the person we wanted Smirnoff to meet.

We stood at the entrance to the Reading room. We weren't allowed in without a ticket, but we could look through the glass windows of the double doors. There, studying the volume of a large book, seated alone on one side of the large, circular room was a familiar–looking figure.

"Smirnoff," I whispered to the big man, "see that gentleman over there – the small guy with the receding hair and pointed beard... does he seem familiar to you?" The Russian squinted through the glass.

"I don't know... it could be anybody. I know who he looks like... but that's not possible."

Just then, a large clock struck twelve o'clock, and several people – including the man under our surveillance – packed their things and moved towards the exit of the room, where we were standing. As the small, dark haired man was leaving, Niki approached him.

"Excuse me, Mr Richter – I wonder if you have time for a few words with one of your countrymen?"

The man was a little startled at first. He stopped and looked closely at Niki and then at Smirnoff. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he smiled courteously at Niki.

"My name is Niki Ling, sir, and this is Mr Smirnoff from Russia."

The short man kissed Niki's hand, and shook Smirnoff's hand warmly. Then he spoke to Smirnoff in Russian:

"It's a pleasure to meet you, comrade."

"The pleasure is mine, sir."

"And what brings you to London?"

"I am here with my good friends. They asked for my help, and I never refuse to help friends who need me."

"That is wonderful. I hope that you and I can help to make the World a better place for all honest, hard–working people. Enjoy your stay in London."

"You too."

Smirnoff watched the other Russian disappear out of the museum, and then turned to us with a thoughtful expression.

"Well?" I said. "What did you think of Mr Richter?" Smirnoff turned and walked towards the exit with us trailing behind.

"Richter? I don't know anyone called Richter," he replied. Then he stopped and turned to face us. "But I do know Vladimir Ilyich Lenin when I see him."

Twenty–One

After returning Smirnoff to the twenty–first century, we told him we'd be in touch and said our goodbyes. We continued on to a local tea shop, where we stopped to discuss our potential assassin.

"Well?" I said, once we'd settled ourselves close to a window, far enough out of earshot of anyone else.

"Well what?"

"Is he what we're looking for?"

"He seemed really nice," she replied.

"Nice? He's a professional killer! He'd knock off your grandmother if you paid him enough."

"I don't think you know people, Joe. You're not really a good judge of character."

"Oh really? Well, perhaps I made a mistake with you then? Maybe I should have been pickier?"

"You'll find out one day," she smiled over her cup of Earl Grey.

"Okay, seriously, about Smirnoff... I have to admit he's easy to get along with – and that's very important if we're going to have an 'arrangement' with him. Also, he seems very professional and I think he'll do a good job," I said.

"Do you think we can trust him?"

"Yes, I think we can. It's a business deal for him – if he lets us down, it's not good for his 'career' – if killing can be regarded as a career."

"Your cousin seems to think so," Niki responded.

My cousin Jim had – surprisingly – joined the army. During a conversation over a few beers a few months ago, he told me he quite enjoyed the idea of killing bad guys as a career, and was thinking about a bit of mercenary work when he left the forces – helping to overthrow some tin–pot dictator in Africa, or something like that. It seemed quite appealing to him. So, I suppose, in one sense, the difference between Smirnoff and Jim was essentially... not very much.

"There's also the fact that he has to be wary of us," I pointed out. "For all he knows, we could be working for the Special Branch or Interpol – not his best friends, I would think. He has to be very careful about who he works for."

"He was highly recommended by Uncle Ding," Niki reminded me.

"Ah yes, Uncle Ding," I said, thinking back to our trip to Shanghai last Chinese New Year. I remember feeling for Ding when his work partner was attacked and raped in Guangzhou. She was in hospital for a long time after that, and never went back to work. Her assailant was caught on CCTV cameras, but the Police could never track him down. Then, about six months after the attack, he was found mysteriously hanging from a tree in a park in neighbouring Shenzhen – dead. Everyone concluded it was suicide at the time, but the evidence was never conclusive. I only recently found out from Yoyo that this was Smirnoff's handiwork.

"So, what do you think Joe?"

"Think about what?" I'd gone off on a day–dream about China and men hanging from trees for a moment.

"Should we go with Smirnoff?"

"Yes – he's got my vote. If anyone's going to do it, he's the one."

*

The next evening, Niki got in contact with our hit–man and arranged a meeting on Hampstead Heath. It was almost dark when we got to the park, and at first we didn't recognize the jogger who ran past us. He was wearing a dark–coloured hoodie, black tracksuit bottoms and white trainers. He indicated a place to stop and talk, and we followed him over to a large tree.

"I have to be honest, until you showed up tonight I thought that I'd been dreaming everything that happened yesterday. But here you are! Which means, I guess, that we really did go back in time yesterday... and I met Mr Lenin."

"This is the man we need you to deal with," Niki said, forthrightly handing over a folder containing photographs, maps and detailed information regarding the time and place of the planned assassination. Following our talks with Mike and Yoyo about how, where and when we should bump off the Korean dictator, Niki had done a lot of preparation.

"Niet! No–no–no!" exclaimed Smirnoff refusing the folder, "not like this! Maybe you got the idea from the movies – but that's not real life. Even if I just touch that paper, it's got my fingerprints on it – so I'm dead. And if I take it, and someone finds me with it, I'm also dead. So just tell me – I'm a good listener, and I have an eidetic memory."

Niki went over our plan with Smirnoff, who listened intently. When she'd finished, he said, "Okay, I've got the picture. Now, the first thing is this: I do not take out such high profile people – it's suicide. The government will hunt me down and never stop until they find me – I cannot do this, I'm sorry." Niki looked understandably crestfallen at this point. But Smirnoff continued.

"So what I suggest is this: forget about the president of North Korea. You want to prevent the son from becoming the next crazy Adolf Hitler – am I right?" We nodded. "Well first of all, there is no guarantee that taking out the son, the father or the Holy Ghost will make any difference whatsoever. They will always be another son, and another president – and who knows which one will be crazy enough to press the button – right?" We had to agree.

"Now, from what you tell me, World War Three happens because North Korea launches a missile at the USA, and the Americans respond – am I right again?" I confirmed that he was. "Good. Then what we have to find out is why. I don't care how crazy this future president is, he is not going to begin a war with the USA. Think about Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Gaddafi... none of them started a war with the Americans – or the British – right?"

"Right again," I said.

"So, what we need to find out is why the leader of North Korea, in forty–two years' time, attacks America."

Niki and I looked at each other.

"Okay, we'll do that... and we'll get back to you tomorrow," I said. "Same place and time?"

"No... never the same place or the same time – you need to learn this. Nikita can call me when you have the information. Ciao."

Smirnoff disappeared into the night, and we looked at each other.

"Nikita?"

"Movie and TV series about a female killer."

"He's smarter than we are," I observed.

"Speak for yourself," she said, walking off down the hill.

***

Twenty–Two

Yoyo and Mike had been staying with us whilst we looked for an assassin. By contacting Smirnoff, we had already affected their future in some way. To me, this was one of the most interesting things about time travel. Anything new we created would bring about a new future, and thereby change things for Mike and Yoyo when they returned to their time zone. The next step was to fill them in on our meetings with the Russian.

"He sounds cool!" observed Yoyo.

"You'd better believe it!" replied Niki.

"Okay, okay... don't forget what he is," I said, trying to dampen down the girls' hormones, "He's a paid killer." A part of me couldn't bear the two girls drooling over the Russian.

"Sounds like just what we need," added Mike. "And the meeting with Lenin was a great idea!"

"Do you recall that Mike, Yoyo? I mean do you both have Smirnoff in your conscious memories now?" Nik and I stared at the couple. Were we creating history in front of his eyes? We'd witnessed the way memories could be created or modified by changing the past, though Niki still had difficulty coming to terms with the fact that her mother had never died in my version of reality.

Mike was looking confused. "I... I... don't know! It's strange. On one hand, I have recollections of pretty much everything I did in the past – and therefore what you're doing now. But some things – like your conversations with Smirnoff – are totally new to me when I first hear about them..."

"It's similar for me," added Yoyo, "as soon as you mentioned his name it seemed like new information; but after just a few seconds, I felt like I'd always known him! I just can't picture him though."

It was as if being in our time–frame meant that Yoyo and Mike experienced things as we saw them, not as a memory from their own time period. This made sense to me. I thought about the attack on the New York twin towers again. I had kept the pictures in my mind of the attacks, the airplanes flying into the buildings, the collapse and the aftermath – but Niki (who remained in her own time) lost all that as soon as I managed to prevent the disaster. It was as if the events I engineered put the World on a different path, and the past road was deleted.

"You'll have to let us know whether or not you retain your memories of World War Three when you get back home," I said. "...assuming we're able to stop it happening."

"No problem," replied Mike, "I'll send you a text."

"Now there's an interesting idea..."

"We should discuss Smirnoff's question," Niki said bluntly.

"What question was that?" Yoyo asked.

Nik relayed the question the Russian had put to us the previous night: why would the leader of North Korea in forty–odd years' time attack America?

"That is a good question!" Mike replied. "We should have told you this before." He took a sip of coffee, and then continued. "Kim had been building up his weapons – short and long range missiles, tanks, fighter jets and bombers – plus nuclear warheads – and this made the Americans very concerned. The Yanks increased their presence in South–East Asia, and reinforced their base in South Korea. This was totally unacceptable to Kim, and he warned the US of the consequences if they didn't remove the Korean base immediately. The Americans wouldn't back down, and so two missiles were sent towards the USA. They weren't nuclear weapons, and probably this was just a warning. The retaliation by the USA was seen to be over the top, particularly by Russia and China. I think the US President wanted to repeat what America did to Japan to end World War II – only this time they miscalculated the reactions of both the Russians and the Chinese. The USA's relationship with those countries had not been good in for long time."

"So, the President gave the order to launch the nuclear attack on North Korea?"

"Yes... but I guess you've no idea who the President is in 2056, right?"

Both Niki and I shook our heads.

"Johnny Clinton," stated Yoyo.

"Johnny Clinton?" I repeated.

"Isn't he Bill Clinton's Grandson?"

"Yes," replied Yoyo, "John William Clinton."

We were all quiet for a moment. I knew what the others were thinking.

"Oh–no, we can't," I said.

"We have to," replied Mike. Just remember why we're doing this – to prevent a third World War. Our idea was to assassinate Kim, but now I'm seeing it differently. We have to deal with Johnny."

"It's his finger on the button," Yoyo added.

I thought about this. John Clinton could be no more than ten years old in our present time – just a young boy. But how many ten year olds would die in the cataclysmic war if we didn't prevent it happening?

"There's no guarantee than eliminating Johnny Clinton will prevent this war," Mike pointed out, "but if we do nothing, the war will happen – no question about that. It all started with the US escalating their presence in the Korean Peninsula – and that was the President's call."

"Okay," I'm in," said Yoyo.

"Me too," added Niki.

Again, I was in the minority. But I had to agree it seemed like the right approach.

"Well," I sighed, "I guess we'd better get back in touch with Mr Smirnoff."

***

Twenty–Three

Nik contacted Smirnoff who arranged to meet us at 2pm the next day on the South Bank of the River Thames in Central London. He wouldn't say exactly where – just that he would 'find us'.

Thus far, we hadn't discussed a price for the job, but that was on the agenda. Since discovering we could win money very easily in all sorts of ways by travelling back and forth in time, we hadn't given much thought to the cost of things. We were growing aware, though, that we should be more careful with our gambling habits. Some things were easy to win money on regularly: horse–racing and football results, for example. They were not huge pay–outs, but it was a regular income under far less scrutiny than the big lotteries. Speaking of which, we had won the UK National Lottery three times now, in different time periods, and also the Euro Millions lottery a couple of times (netting more than two hundred million on one occasion). But we couldn't keep doing that – people would become suspicious.

We'd tried Casino gambling too. Roulette was the most fun. I would write down a winning number, rush to a quiet area and jump a couple of minutes back in time. Then place my huge bet on the number I knew would win. I did get this wrong a couple of times (very expensive mistake!). I had jumped back a couple of turns of the wheel instead of just one, and lost the lot! We therefore tried a technique whereby she stayed by the table and gave me a signal when I arrived back to let me know when to place the bet. This was a little strange as it created a double of me, which caused some interesting stares from the croupier and other gamblers. We laughed it off as my twin brother – and never did it again. We were only doing it for enjoyment anyway – we have enough money for this lifetime.

So, paying Smirnoff didn't seem like a problem to us... but what if he wanted an insane amount?

"Define 'insane'?" Nik asked.

"Say, one million pounds. It would be difficult withdrawing that amount from the bank in cash, wouldn't it? You know what these banking regulations are like nowadays. And wiring it to his account could be a problem too. We could hardly write 'Contract Killing' as the reason for the transfer."

As Niki and I were talking, we gazed across the Thames to the Embankment – and I suddenly felt a prod in my back.

"You should be more careful – you never know who's listening," the Russian observed after sneaking up on us. "But don't worry – it's safe now."

We discretely let Smirnoff know our new target, relaying our conversation with Yoyo and Mike, and watched his reaction. It was positive.

"I can see no problem with this project. You can leave the when and where to me," he said nonchalantly, pausing to light a cigarette. "As regards my 'Agency fee' – it is usually one hundred k for first time, and fifty k for repeat business."

"Pounds?" I asked, not that it really mattered.

"You are British I take it, Mr Joe?" I nodded. "Then yes, British pounds."

Niki would normally haggle with any price – just her Chinese way; but on this occasion she kept quiet. She knew it was a small price for what we were about to achieve.

"However," Smirnoff continued, "I would like to make a proposal."

I nearly said, 'Okay, shoot,' but thought better of it.

"Okay, go ahead."

"If you can do something for me, then I will undertake this little business for you free of charge – just this time."

"What do you have in mind, Mr Smirnoff?" Niki asked.

"I would like you to help me visit my mother – before she died."

Niki and I looked at each other. "Okay," I said, "just tell us when and where."

"Moscow, 1997. I was not there for her when she passed away, and it has been troubling my soul ever since. You do not have to do this before I take care of your current business. Already, you have let me meet Mr Lenin... I know you will do this other thing for me."

We agreed to Smirnoff's request, and began to make our plans for 'the Hit'. Smirnoff should jump forward in time to do the deed, rather than undertake it in the present time period ('undertake' seemed such an appropriate word in this business). This plan seemed much safer. (It was Niki's idea). We would both accompany the Russian to the future – just in case anything went wrong – and choose a time when the future president would be studying at university. Security would not be so tight then, we thought, and therefore more opportunities for 'the kill'.

Thanks to Mike and Yoyo, we knew exactly which university he would be enrolled, and the courses he would be taking. And we were in luck: Johnny Clinton would be following in his mother's footsteps and studying at Oxford University – just a short train ride from London.

"We have to take a train to Oxford?" exclaimed Smirnoff when he heard the news.

"Well, yes. It's the quickest way. Do you have another idea?"

"You mean we can travel one hundred years back in time in the blink of an eye, but to travel eighty kilometres, we must travel by train?"

"Or take a bus," Niki added.

"We can only travel in time, not space," I explained. "So if you want to visit your mother in Russia, we must actually travel to Russia in the normal way, and then make the time–jump back to 1997."

"Okay, okay – I get it. But we still do it my way. We travel separately: you and Niki go to Oxford first, and I'll meet you there, understood?"

"Perfectly," Niki replied.

*

Whilst we'd been talking with Smirnoff, our older selves had been researching Johnny Clinton's whereabouts during his second year at University. We thought they'd be less attention on the grandson of an ex–US president in his sophomore year, which would commence at the start of October 2024. Smirnoff made it very clear that he never discusses the details of his assignments – he just gets it done. Safer that way, he said. No doubt we could read about it in a future edition of the Guardian if we wanted to. It would be in Mike and Yoyo's history once they jumped home, of course.

We chose the end October for the jump, which meant it would be during term time. Johnny would be studying law – not a bad subject for a future President of the United States of America, I suppose? No, even don't think about that.

We spent the next few weeks considering our trip, winning money, spending it, and (on occasions) worrying about bumping off a future president of the United States. We weren't actually pulling the trigger or turning the knife; but we were paying someone to do it for us, which amounted to the same thing. Almost. Niki was better at dealing with this aspect than me, truth be told.

The days seemed to pass quickly, and it was soon time to drive to Oxford. Yes, drive. We had originally intended to take the train, but thought it was better to take the car – no official record of us travelling to Oxford that day.

I must say, I like Oxford. One of my uncles lives just outside the town, though it didn't seem like a good time to go visiting. I imagined a conversation with him: 'Oh, and what brings you to this neck of the woods Joe?' 'Well, Niki and I have just hired a contract killer to knock off the future President of the United States of America...'

Nik called Smirnoff from a pub close to the University when we'd arrived in the city. All I heard her say was the name of the pub and the street – and that was that. We ordered a couple of drinks and two packets of crisps – and waited. When I came back from the bar with the drinks, Niki was in deep thought.

"You okay?"

"I've been thinking."

"Whoa! Don't do that – it's dangerous!"

She ignored my schoolboy humour and continued.

"What happens if someone sees us with you–know–who ten years into the future? If he's picked up by the Police after the thing, won't we be under suspicion too?"

It was a good question – one I hadn't really considered. I sat in deep thought for a minute, sipping my drink almost mindlessly.

"You're right," I said at last, "it is possible. We do need to be careful. Actually, we didn't need to come to Oxford with him at all – we could have done the jump from London."

"Well, we're here now."

"Okay, let's do the jump well away from the University – somewhere very quiet."

She agreed this was a good idea. But there was something else.

"We should also make sure we don't return to Oxford on this day in ten years' time."

I could see where she was going with this. For one thing, it would mean there could be two of each of us in Oxford on that particular day. Which would increase the risk of being associated with Smirnoff should he get caught. It was all very implausible, but we did need to consider the possibility. We were, after all, about to become accomplices in the murder of a future President – we must do our best to cover all the bases.

A few minutes later, Smirnoff arrived. He didn't enter the pub, but tapped on the window, just as we'd planned.

"Remember this day," I said to him as we walked along the street.

"And don't come back to Oxford in ten years' time," Niki added. The Russian gave her a puzzled look. "Don't ask," she added as we walked quickly along some back streets looking for a suitable jump point. We had originally planned to make the time trip within the University grounds, very close to where Johnny Clinton would be living in ten years' time, but in light of our discussion, it was safer away from the University. We found a small, secluded park about ten minutes' walk from the pub, which seemed ideal. The three of us held arms and made the jump.

"See you back here," I whispered after we'd travelled ten years forwards. "Strange... it still looks the same," I said scanning the area.

"It probably hasn't changed for five hundred years!" Niki exclaimed.

*

Within forty–five minutes, Smirnoff was back. Without speaking, we jumped back to the present date, and walked calmly away from the park.

"Fancy a lift back to London," I smiled.

"You know my rules," he said.

"Better than the bus," Niki added. "And the job won't have been completed for another ten years, so no–one's looking for you."

The big Russian stopped in his tracks.

"That's true," he said, "but I thought you took the train?"

"Ah, that's something you'll have to learn about us, Mr Smirnoff," Niki replied "always expect the unexpected."

As we drove back down the motorway, I asked Smirnoff how the job went. I really shouldn't have asked – I knew he wouldn't tell me, and he was a bit peeved that I asked. So I pointed out that we could easily jump to the future and read the news about it, so he said, "Okay, so you will read that the grandson of a former American President had an unfortunate accident in his student accommodation one afternoon in Oxford, and died of his injuries."

"Our prayers will be with his family," I replied.

***

Twenty–Four

We were anxious to return to London and talk to Mike and Yoyo. We wanted to know whether or not our trip had achieved its objectives. We were in for a surprise.

"Well," Niki said as we opened the door and saw Mike and Yoyo sitting comfortably in the lounge. "Did we prevent World War Three?"

"World War Three?" repeated Yoyo.

"It's not something you easily forget!" Niki replied.

"Well, no, I wouldn't think so," replied Mike. "What's this all about?"

Niki and I looked at each other. Did this mean that we had prevented the War and Yoyo and Mike's memories were now altered as a result, contrary to what we previously thought?

"Hey, had you going for a minute!" beamed Mike. "Come and have a glass of wine." Mike poured two more glasses of our favourite red wine, and we sat down to chat.

"Hope you don't mind us making ourselves at home," Mike said.

"Of course not – it's your home too!" replied Nik.

"So?" I queried.

"We jumped forward in time to check, and it really did work," said Mike.

"Wow!" exclaimed Niki. "Who's the new US President?"

"Sasha Obama," Yoyo replied.

"You're kidding!" Niki exclaimed. "Obama's youngest daughter!"

"So Johnny Clinton is now history?" I said.

"'fraid so," replied Mike.

"To the future – our future." Yoyo raised her glass and we toasted each other. It all seemed so surreal. We were celebrating the avoidance of a World War that versions of ourselves had said would happen forty–two years in the future. Our plan had involved the killing of a young man, previously destined to be an American President, by a hired Russian hit–man. It was like something out of a Science Fiction novel.

"So, how did it go with Smirnoff?" Mike asked.

"It was great – he's a real professional," I replied. "He said he made it look like an accident."

"An accident!" exclaimed Mike. "How do you accidently get your throat cut?"

Niki and I looked at each other.

"According to Yougle..." Yoyo started.

"Yougle? What's that?" Niki asked.

"You'll find out in about ten years' time," Mike replied. "Very personalised version of Google."

"According to Yougle," Yoyo continued, "young Johnny Clinton was found dead in his apartment on 29th October 2024. His throat had been cut, and a fellow student was arrested on suspicion of murder. He was released when no evidence could be found linking him to the crime. The murder was never solved.

"Well, I suppose that telling a small lie is nothing compared with the job he does," I said.

"You're right... but it does show that you have to be careful with Smirnoff. Don't forget what he is, and that your lives are in his hands."

We were all quiet for moment. Then Niki said, "So I guess Sasha Obama didn't react to the North Korean's missiles the way Johnny Clinton would have done?"

"There were no North Korean missiles," replied Yoyo. "The whole sequence of events changed from the moment Johnny was assassinated. Sasha was a very different president from the one Johnny would have become. She didn't antagonise the North Koreans in any way."

"So... no US military base in the Korean Peninsula then?"

"That's right Joe," smiled Mike. "We really are creating new realities, new universes by our actions – and we should always be mindful of that.

***

Twenty–Five

It had been very strange seeing ourselves in forty years' time. It had also made me think very carefully about what we could and should do with our 'gift' in future.

Whilst our elder doubles were with us, Niki had noticed a small scar on Yoyo's right arm, and asked her about it (naturally curious about the condition of her own body in the future). Yoyo replied that it was from a cycling accident around twenty–five years ago, which prompted Niki to thank her for the information. After a short pause, she added, "Can you give me the exact date? I'd like to make sure I don't ride a bike that day."

So it got me thinking: apart from averting acts of terrorism, world wars, global disasters and the like, could we also help on a more person level? Could we use our time–travelling ability to change events which had led to some personal tragedy and thereby make a difference to peoples' lives on this level? Or are some things just meant to be? Perhaps a lesson has to be learned, and to remove the consequences of someone's actions or his or her way of thinking would contravene the Laws of the Universe, or something like that.

To my mind, changing physical events and changing states of mind are two different things. For example, a man could lose a leg in an accident, and we could go back in time and prevent that accident occurring. But if the man does not change whatever habits or attitudes of mind, had caused him to have the accident, then we cannot guarantee that a similar thing will not happen again. I relayed my thoughts on this topic to Niki that evening.

"I know what you mean about changing habits Joe – but we don't need time–travel for that. Just stop feeding me chocolate and ice–cream, and I'll lose weight."

"Ha–ha! Yes, obesity is a big problem these days."

"You're calling me obese!"

"Well, let's have a look at you... oh, what have we got here? Spare tyre?"

"That's not funny."

"Of course you're not obese – you're not even fat! You're Chinese, you don't get fat. It's all those vegetables you eat, and all the burgers and chips you don't. And it's your metabolism. You've got a great shape."

"Thanks baby," she said planting a kiss on my lips.

"Clearly, I should give you compliments more often!"

We talked about the different ways we could make people's lives better. It was a little like the story of the Genie and the Lamp. If you could have three wishes to make the World a better place, what would they be? We tried brainstorming this topic for ten minutes.

"Eliminate World Hunger!" started Niki.

"Chelsea to win the Champions League – again!"

"How does that benefit anyone?" asked Niki incredulously.

"It makes Chelsea supporters feel good – and there's a lot of us around the World."

"Joe!"

We both went quiet. This wasn't as easy as I thought. Then Niki said,

"Okay, if we want to make a lot of people feel good – let's save Princess Diana."

"Wow!" Could we really do that?"

"Why not? You brought mama back to life, didn't you?"

"Yes, that's true... after killing her off... and I suppose we'd make Mr Al–Fayed a very happy man too – assuming we can bring back his son Dodi."

"Which he won't remember. In fact, no–one will remember that either of them died – it didn't happen in their universe."

"That's a bugger. I can forget about the knighthood then?"

"I'm afraid so Joe."

After putting forward other ideas, neither of us could think of anything better than bringing Diana, the 'People's Princess' back to life. And so that was our next target.

*

Where, when and exactly how the Princess of Wales died was very well documented in the history books and online, and at first it seemed a simple enough job to reverse history and prevent her death. But there was something we didn't know.

We were sitting in our sun lounge at the rear of the house. This house was the type you would imagine multimillionaires owning – which of course we were. Our garden was the size of a football pitch, and I had installed an area for practising golf. In another part, Niki had a beautiful Chinese Garden with a medium–sized pond, around which we would often sit in the summer.

As we were talking, Nik suddenly remembered something.

"Joe, weren't we going to take Smirnoff to see his mother? We promised him."

"Oh god, yes! I'd forgotten about that. When did he say she died?"

"1997 I think. Oh!"

"What is it Nik?"

"That's the same year Diana died."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah... I remember it pretty well – not the sort of thing you forget. It was at the last day of August – a Sunday – and I was due to start year nine at school the next day. Definitely August 1997, but you can look it up if you like. Do we know what month Smirnoff's mama died?"

"I don't remember him telling us that. Does it matter?"

"Well if he wants to see her before she dies it does!"

Niki got in contact with Smirnoff again. As usual, he would not take any direct calls, and she had to leave a message then wait for him to reply. The answer was one word: September. This meant that we could go to Paris, fix the Princess, and then travel on to Moscow with Smirnoff to see his mother. We thought it would be a good idea to set up a meeting with the Russian to talk about our Diana idea, and also the arrangements for travelling to Moscow. This time, Smirnoff chose Euston railway station for our rendezvous.

"It's a good plan!" the big man said, drawing on one of his Russian cigarettes, after we'd outlined our plans, "My mother would love the idea, god–bless her soul."

"She would?" I said.

"Sure... everyone loved Diana, and mama used to talk about the princess as if she was her own daughter. She used to have pictures of Diana on her wall... one of them was signed."

"Your mother met Diana?" Niki asked, wide–eyed.

"She did, yes. When Diana visited a hospital in Moscow, mama happened to be there at the same time. It was a children's hospital and mama was there with Katrina, my sister's daughter. She had a throat infection, I remember, and mama took her to Tushinskaya... it's a well–known children's hospital. Imagine her surprise when a British Princess came to visit! It was the first time mama had been so close to anyone like this from your country, and it had a big effect on her. She thought Diana was the most wonderful person on the planet, and couldn't stop talking about it. Diana sat on Katrina's bed and held her hand."

"So your mother actually spoke with Diana?" I asked.

"Sure she did – for or about twenty minutes. Mama was like that – you just couldn't shut her up when she got going. And if she liked someone, it was impossible to tear them apart."

Niki and I just looked at each other. How spooky was this?

"Anyway, Diana sent her a signed photograph later on – someone from the British Embassy delivered it in person, with a hand–written note from Diana saying how much she'd enjoyed their talk. Mama couldn't understand English, but Ana, my sister, translated it for her."

"When was this?" Niki asked. Although we'd done a lot of research into Diana's death, we'd missed anything about the visit to a Russian hospital.

"Let me see... I know it was two years before mama died, so that makes it 1995. And I'm sure it was either May or June. You'll find it on the internet... Tushinskaya Children's Hospital." Smirnoff paused for a moment, then continued. "You know, mama was devastated when Diana was murdered."

"Murdered? Are you sure?" I said.

Smirnoff laughed. "This is my business, I know these things... and I know who did it. If you want me to stop this killing, it won't be easy. If we stop it in 1997, no–one can guarantee that it won't happen again. We're not talking about people like me here – we're talking about big people, and big money."

This had given us much food for thought. We asked Smirnoff if he would think about our idea and draw up a plan, which he said he'd do. He wasn't sure exactly which location would be best, but it would be either in London or Paris. After that, we all could travel to Moscow.

***

Twenty–Six

The next day, we reflected on the meeting with Smirnoff and our plan to prevent the death of Diana, Princess of Wales.

"Do you still want to go through with this Nik?" I asked her at breakfast.

"Yes of course. Why not?"

"I'm just thinking about what Smirnoff said – about there being no guarantee someone won't try to kill her again even if we stop it this time. Assuming it was murder."

"That's no reason not to try," she replied, a little frostily.

"Sure... no problem. I just wanted to clarify the situation," I said defensively.

"Thanks for your input."

After a pause, I said, "How about Smirnoff's mother?"

"What about her?"

"We could save her life too."

"Joe, she was old – she died of old age! If you've found the key to eternal youth, please tell me. I'm sure ma will be very interested!"

"Excuse me for breathing."

"Okay, I'll tell you what I think: yes, we could actually go back twenty years in time, pick up Smirnoff's mum and transport her to the present day. Then they'd be two Mrs Smirnoffs – one old, one young. So when one dies, the other can live on and keep Smirnoff happy. She'll be the same age as his sister, but never mind."

"It does sound a little crazy," I admitted. Niki smiled back with that false one she does when she's in no mood for smiling.

I got out my laptop and continued researching the events leading up to Diana's death. Smirnoff was right about her visiting Tushinskaya Children's Hospital in Moscow – and the date was June 16. In fact, the Princess also visited Moscow one year later as a patron of the hospital. His mother died on September 2, 1997 – just two days after Diana was killed.

It wasn't long before Smirnoff got back in touch regarding our previous discussions. He asked if we could meet at our house – to which we agreed. We didn't think the neighbours would recognise the contract killer, and we knew it would be a one–off (though you can never tell with Smirnoff). It was a pleasant September afternoon, and we sat outside enjoying the air in Niki's Chinese garden.

"It's an interesting case," said Smirnoff with a smile. He'd refused the brandy I offered him – he never drinks on business – and sipped the strong black coffee Niki gave him instead.

"We thought you'd like it," I smiled. Although I was 99.9 percent certain that no–one could possibly hear our conversation in our obscenely large garden, we still had to be careful. Niki and I sat close together and spoke in hushed tones. Smirnoff, on the other hand, was unusually animated and it was hard to keep him quiet.

"The first thing is to prevent the driver from taking the route through the tunnel. That seems to be key. If someone like the SAS were involved, they will always find a way to complete their mission. I've worked with these guys, and they're tough. Not like anyone else you normally come across. Joe: you seem like a nice guy. Do you think you could actually kill anyone?"

"Well, maybe if..."

"Ha! You could never be an SAS soldier. These guys would kill their grandmothers if they were ordered to. There are no conditions, just orders. You're given a job, and you do it. No–one can afford to hesitate for a moment... no maybes, no ifs or buts. Not quite as ruthless as their Russian brothers, but still..."

"That's why we need you, Smirnoff," Niki said with smile.

"Okay, to business then. As I said yesterday, we could easily prevent this 'attack' on Diana – but it will happen again and again, until the job is finished. These guys do not accept failure. So, we have three possible options: number one, we hit the source. The SAS are just following orders, so we take out the people giving those orders. Probably a government ministry, or people attached to the government. For some reason, Dodi Fayad's father..."

"Mohamed Al–Fayad," I added.

"Yes... he is not popular with your government, right?"

I nodded. "Something to do with 'cash for questions' in the nineties."

"Option number two," Smirnoff continued. "We stop the killing this time, and then I become Diana's secret bodyguard. I've done this type of work before – I like it. Take me back to 1997 and I'll live in that time. Things weren't so bad then."

"It does mean there'll be two of you living in 1997..." Niki observed.

"Great! We can do the job twice as well then! I'll say he's my kid brother."

"And number three?"

"We talk to Diana. We give her videos, newspapers, magazines... anything to show where her life is going. We should go back to a time before the divorce. After that, it's too late."

Niki was smiling. "I like that idea!"

"Yeah, but we've tried it before," I pointed out, "and it didn't work."

We explained our failed attempt to prevent the rise of Hitler and the Second World War by taking evidence of the atrocities, the holocaust and D–Day to a government minister. Smirnoff was clearly interested.

"Hey, you should have given me that job!"

"What job?"

"Taking out the Fuhrer... wow! I wouldn't bungle it like those guys did."

"My money's on you," I agreed. "But there'd probably be another Hitler to take his place."

Smirnoff nodded sagely.

"I think the Diana situation is very different, Joe," Niki said. "With the rise of Germany, there were too many people involved. We were dealing with governments with their own agendas at that time. With Diana and Charles, it's more personal – it's really in their own hands. That's my feeling."

I had to say that Niki was right. And the fact we'd done something similar before meant we were equipped to do it again – and better this time. So we all sanctioned Smirnoff's third option. He would accompany us to make sure we got to talk with Diana. As a hit–man, he could find his way into just about anywhere unseen.

***

Twenty–Seven

Having decided how we were going to intervene in the death of Princess Diana, the next thing to decide was exactly where and when.

Niki had researched Charles and Diana's relationship on the internet, and the key dates were their separation in December, 1992 and subsequent divorce at the end of August, 1996. Then there was Diana's revealing and candid BBC interview in November, 1995, which pretty much put a nail in their relationship, if not her coffin. So it seemed that meeting up with the Princess of Wales during her visit to Moscow on 16th June, 1995 would be a good idea – a suitable time to talk to Diana, and a chance for Smirnoff to see his mother. And Moscow would not be freezing cold at that time of year, as Niki pointed out.

The next step was to collect the documents we needed to show Diana – old newspapers and magazines, videos, photographs of the crash – that sort of thing. We were busy downloading all this stuff, when Niki had a thought.

"Joe, what are we going to say when Diana asks where we got all this?"

"Just tell her the truth."

"We're from the future?"

"Sure – why not? If none of this works, we can always try Plan B."

"The one where Smirnoff signs up as her bodyguard?"

"Yeah, that one."

Unlike some other time jumps, we didn't need to change our clothing for this trip. We did think it would be useful to take an iPad though – for showing any videos and pictures. There was nothing like that on the market in 1995, but Apple had launched a 'Message Pad' a couple of years earlier, so our device wouldn't blow her mind too much. And if it did, it would show we must be from the future, right?

Niki suggested we synchronise the days of the week in 1995 with our present time. Diana would be in Moscow on Thursday, 15th June, 1995 and we needed to arrive the day before, so we made sure we flew out on a Wednesday. Otherwise, the day changes would do my head in!

Smirnoff's role was to facilitate our operation – in whatever way necessary. Again, he wanted to travel alone, so Niki booked two business class seats for our four–hour Virgin Atlantic flight to Moscow. We suspected Smirnoff would take an Aeroflot flight a few days earlier to catch up with friends and family. Seeing as he let us have the last hit for free, we made sure he was paid for this job upfront. Fortunately, he didn't need cash, so I made a transfer of 50,000 pounds to his bank account before we left. He even gave me an invoice! This was for building work on a fictitious extension to our house. Yes, Smirnoff had set up a small business in the UK, and even paid tax! A good cover for his other occupation.

Once everything was ready, we made our way to Gatwick Airport for our flight. These days, we only flew business or first class, which usually gave us access to the VIP lounges. If you've got it, flaunt it, as my mother would say.

I'd never been to Moscow before, but Niki had stopped off there one time when her flight to Shanghai was grounded. It was January, and she and her parents were off to visit relatives for Chinese New Year – and Moscow was freezing. The airline put them up in a hotel at the airport for the night, but they weren't allowed to go into the city. Our plan this trip was to arrive in Moscow the day before Diana's visit, book into a hotel, and make the final preparations for our meeting with the Princess. I was glad we were leaving the most difficult part of this to Smirnoff. Given the tight security she must be under, and the fact that we couldn't speak the local language, it would be impossible to talk to her in private without him.

We'd arranged to meet Smirnoff at Moscow Domodedovo airport at 5pm after arriving from London. He had a big grin all over his face when he greeted us at the arrival gate.

"Welcome to Russia!" He hugged us both, and grabbed Niki's suitcase. He was clearly not worried about being seen with us in his home country. "How was your trip?" he continued.

"Oh, you know... not bad... not as good as Aeroflot though," I jested.

"Aeroflot? That's Russian rubbish. I always fly British Airways."

If Smirnoff was Pinocchio, his nose would be two feet long by now: he never 'always' did anything.

He had arranged for a private car to take us to our hotel, the downtown Marriott Royal Aurora, where he'd booked a room for us. Smirnoff wanted us to enjoy our stay in Moscow and see the sights after conducting our 'business'. He didn't stop talking all the way to the hotel – it was clearly a big thing for him to be back home, and he was certainly looking forward to seeing his mother again.

The Russian dropped us at our hotel and we arranged to meet up at the Children's Hospital at 10am the next morning. As we were waving him away, Nik said, "Are you sure you know where the hospital is Joe? We didn't ask Smirnoff for the address."

"Yes, got it; don't worry. I checked the location online before we left London." Niki always wants to make sure things are organised properly – she doesn't like leaving anything to chance. It's a good trait of hers, but I was sure about the hospital.

That evening, we went for a slow walk in the vicinity of the hotel. Smirnoff said he wanted to show us Red Square and the main sights of the city once the job was over, so we didn't go far. After returning to the hotel, we made our final preparations, and had an early night.

*

The next day after breakfast, we made our way to Tushinskaya Children's Hospital, which was located in the western part of the city, close to the MKAD ring–road. A receptionist at the hotel had written the address in Russian for us, so we had no problem getting there in a taxi. However, we did have a problem when we arrived: no Smirnoff. I called him on his mobile, but no answer. We waited until around 10:20, and then I went inside the hospital in case he was there. I looked around for a few minutes, then re–joined Niki outside.

"He's never late, something's wrong," I said whilst Niki was staring at the building. "What are you looking at?"

"Joe, how old d'you think this hospital is?"

"Oh, I dunno... eight or nine years maybe – no more than that." Then the penny dropped. This hospital could not have been there in 1995. To double–check, we jumped back nineteen years – and found ourselves on a building plot. We quickly jumped back to the present and entered the hospital. Niki found someone who spoke Chinese (yes, it was actually easier finding a Chinese speaker than an English one!) and discovered that the original hospital building was downtown, but no longer in use. She got the address and we grabbed a taxi. It was well after eleven by this time, and with the heavy traffic we didn't arrive at the old hospital until midday. There was Smirnoff, leaning against the building, casually smoking one of his cigarettes.

"So... you still think you're on British time, my friends?"

"Very funny. Why is your phone switched off?" I was rather irritated by this time. Partly because Smirnoff never answers my calls, but mainly because I had ignored Niki's thoughts about checking the address of the hospital.

"My phone was not switched off. But maybe you had forgotten that I would be using my Russian mobile? And maybe I could not call you because your phone cannot be used outside of the UK?"

"Tian a! Is that true Joe?" Oh boy, was I in trouble.

"Okay, okay – I've messed up – sorry. Can't we just jump to 1995 and move on?"

"Well, we can," replied Niki, "but we can't be sure Diana will still be there. It's nearly 12:30pm now."

Of course, we could have simply time–jumped back to 10:00am on 15th June, 1995, to catch up with the Princess. But seeing as Diana had another appointment in the afternoon, we could meet her at her next engagement. This was to be a visit to the offices of the wheelchair charity, 'Motivation'. Smirnoff said he knew the place, and thought this would be a better location to meet Diana – smaller, and less formal. In 2018, the Moscow office had closed, but we had the address from 1995, so it was just a matter of getting there early and waiting for Diana and party to arrive. Motivation wasn't far from the old hospital, and it took us less than twenty minutes to get there. After a quick bite to eat at a local café recommended by Smirnoff, we found a quiet street nearby and made the jump.

In our amended plan, Smirnoff would smuggle us into a room in the Charity's offices, and then somehow get Diana into the room to talk to us. He found a window unlocked at the rear of the building which he opened and climbed through. He then unlocked a rear door and let us in. From that room we had a good view of a corridor, at the end of which Diana would enter. Smirnoff would meet the Princess of Wales there. He was looking very official, with badges and the right sort of clothes for his role.

After ten minutes, we heard the front door open and the familiar sound of Diana's voice. As she entered, we noticed she was talking to a young boy in a wheelchair in the corridor. There was a minimum amount of security and the atmosphere was warm and engaging. Smirnoff changed all that.

"Your royal highness, I need to speak with you urgently," he said, approaching the Princess directly.

"What it is – who are you?" Diana replied.

"Viktor Korikov, madam, head of Moscow security." Smirnoff was wearing a photo ID around his neck with his name and 'Moscow State Security' displayed. It looked very authentic.

"I don't like this ma'am," her personal bodyguard said, "I haven't been informed about this."

"I'm sorry, but your life is in danger, madam. You must come with me. Your man can accompany you," Smirnoff said, indicating the bodyguard, "and the Police should guard the entrance."

"Oh, very well," Diana replied a little flustered. "I won't be long," she smiled at the young boy.

The Russian led Diana and her bodyguard into our room, and with the speed of a viper he injected the bodyguard with a syringe, holding his hand over the man's mouth so he couldn't talk. The man slipped out of consciousness within seconds. Diana gasped.

"Just a sedative," he explained. "He'll have a nasty headache when he wakes up, but that's all." Diana was understandably alarmed by this action, but Smirnoff reassured her. "We mean you no harm madam, and your life really is in danger. Please take a seat." Smirnoff signalled to us, and we introduced ourselves to the Princess. We had to be quick – we didn't know how long the local police would stay outside the building.

"My name is Joe Cooper and this is my wife Niki. We're from London, and we have some important information regarding an attempt on your life in Paris which you need to see. Please take a look at these." I tried to be as calm and business–like as possible. I'd never talked to a princess before.

We showed her everything we'd brought with us. She watched with mesmerised confusion as she scanned through all the pictures and newspaper articles. The fact that she was looking at them on a device which was ten years ahead of its time had passed her by.

"I don't understand," she said eventually, "is this some sort of simulation – a future that could happen? Not a very nice one, I should add."

"Yes, you could say that," Niki replied.

"But there could be many different futures that become reality – hundreds, if not thousands... why pick this one?"

"Because," I stated bluntly, "unless you make some changes to your life now, this one will come true."

"I'm sorry, I don't have time for this bullshit. People need me..." Diana got up from her seat and headed for the door.

"Joe, do something!" Niki screamed.

As quickly as I could I got out my phone, grabbed Diana's arm and changed the date. Feeling the wobble, and aware that something had just happened, Diana turned round to find that Niki, Smirnoff and her bodyguard had vanished. In their place was a doctor behind a desk talking with a nurse.

"Can I help you?" the doctor asked sternly.

"Maybe another time," I replied, quickly leading Diana out of the room.

The policemen and the rest of Diana's entourage had vanished.

"Where is everyone?" she said with surprise.

"They'll be back... in a couple of years. They're still in 1995 just now."

"Then where are we?"

I looked at my phone. "September first, 1997. Follow me...."

"Where are we going?" she asked as she ran after me.

"Less talking and more walking would be good, thanks."

Naturally, this little diversion was not planned. We hadn't anticipated Diana walking out like that, and I had to act quickly. As we hurried through the streets of Moscow, I was looking for a newspaper stand or bookstore selling the English version of the Moscow Times, and we suddenly came across a small bookshop not far from the charity offices we'd just left.

"I don't suppose you've got any roubles?"

"This is utterly crazy... you're going to get into so much trouble for this!"

"Ah, here's some." I fished out some coins from my pocket.

"Why is everyone staring like that – as if they've seen a ghost?"

"Well, probably because of this..."

I showed her the Moscow Times and she sunk to her knees. An assistant quickly got her a chair. September 1, 1997 was the day after Diana's car crash in Paris, and the story was on the cover of just about every national newspaper around the World. She read the whole article and looked at the pictures. Eventually she said, "I don't know what to say... am I dreaming? It feels like a nightmare."

"It's a chance to change history."

"I'd like to have another look at the other things you brought me – can you give them to Trevor? He'll bring them back to London. I'll make sure you have them back, of course."

"No problem. We want to do whatever we can to avoid this," I said pointing at the paper. "We need to get back now... the others will be worried."

In a quiet corner of the street outside, I set the date back to June 15, 1995, and we walked back to the Charity office from the bookshop.

"Why do you have to hold my arm to do that?" Diana asked as we walked.

"Ah, only people or objects connected to the phone will be transported."

"Transported?"

"Through time." This was a mountain of unbelievability for a Princess to accept – in fact for anyone – but she was doing pretty well.

"Is that's a mobile phone?" she asked.

"It is – but don't ask for one in the shops; they might think you're crazy."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm used to people thinking I'm crazy!"

Niki was relieved to see us back at the charity, as were Diana's people. Whilst they were quizzing her on what had happened, Nik and I talked privately.

"They've been going mental here Joe... where did you take her?"

"1st September, 1997."

"Did it work?"

"Seems to have done. She wants to take another look at the documents and videos we brought with us."

"Great!"

"I said she could take them with her."

"What! You mean take my iPad to London... 1995 London?"

"She'll give it back."

"Right... after she's changed the development of tablet technology!"

"Could be a good thing."

"We don't know that!"

"Well, I don't think she'll show it to anyone else – I trust her."

Niki shook her head and went over to talk to Smirnoff. He was checking on the bodyguard, who was still out cold, whilst everyone else seemed to be in a state of confusion. Diana prized herself away from her entourage and came over to talk to me. I let her have the iPad and documents I'd promised.

"Thank you Joe. I still don't know how you've done all this, but it's given me a lot to think about."

"Don't think about it too long."

"I won't. How can I get these back to you? Could you call at Kensington Palace next week? I want to make sure you have them back as soon as possible. And don't worry about me showing anyone else. If they see all this, they'll have me committed – and I'm not ready for that just now."

I said we'd call mid–week, and went to find Niki and Smirnoff. The bodyguard had come round, and Nik and the Russian had left the building before too many questions were asked. Outside, Niki was in the shade, sheltering from the bright sunlight of a warm June day. She waved when she saw me.

"Smirnoff's gone to see his mother," she said. "Did Diana take it seriously?"

"I think so... she asked if we could call at the big house next week so she can return the material. Whether or not anything changes is up to her now – she knows as much as we do."

Smirnoff stayed in 1995, whilst we returned to our own time zone for the rest of the day. He still intended to show us the sights of Moscow, and said he'd bring his mother, if that was okay with us. We arranged to meet them both in Red Square the following day.

***

Twenty–Eight

The next day, it was good to relax and see the main tourist sights of the Capital of Russia, accompanied by two people who knew Moscow far better than we know London. We did a lot of walking (far more exhausting that time–travel), and in the evening had a nice dinner with Smirnoff and his mother.

Mrs Smirnoff was very good company, and despite knowing very little English we could see the impact Diana's visit to the children's hospital had had on her. She hardly stopped talking about it. The day seemed to pass quickly, and we were soon saying our goodbyes and returning to our hotel. Smirnoff said he'd like to stay in 1995 Moscow with his mother and other relatives for a few days – whilst he had the chance. Meanwhile, we decided to travel to St. Petersburg – a city that Niki has always wanted to visit. We arranged to meet Smirnoff back in 1995 Moscow, return him to 2018 and then travel back to London.

*

On the plane home, we'd decided that no matter what the outcome of our trip to Russia, Diana's fate was now entirely in her hands – and we would not attempt to influence her choice or change history again. Unless of course our intervention had caused something far worse than the death of three individuals.

It was early Wednesday afternoon when we finally arrived back at Gatwick. Smirnoff left us at the airport, and we took the train to Central London. We were very tired: we'd been travelling across both space and time, and doing both at once can be exhausting. (Anyone who's travelled from east to west on a plane for fifteen or more hours can tell you that). Despite the tiredness, we really wanted to retrieve the iPad and documents loaned to the Princess of Wales, so we called at Kensington Palace before going home.

The Palace is located in Kensington Gardens, adjacent to Hyde Park, Central London, and we knew it well. Standing within eyeshot of the house, we could see a very long queue of people waiting to enter the former home of the Princess and take a nostalgic journey back in time. Our own journey back in time would be to Wednesday June 21st, 1995.

"I hate queuing," I said to Niki with a smile, as I changed the date on the phone.

Suddenly, instead of the queues, there were two uniformed guards on the door. We gave our names and told them we were expected, prompting one of the guards to make a call on some sort of outdated intercom (outdated to us). Niki had hoped to see Diana again, but we learned she was away on business. The man who greeted us at the door (whom we took to be her butler), thanked us for calling and handed me a package. He said everything was there. We were just about to leave, but he added, "Oh, I forgot to say... her royal highness did ask if you wouldn't mind leaving your contact details, if that would be in order."

This was a little problematic: if we gave him our 1995 mobile numbers (if we could recall them), the 1995 versions of Joe and Niki would have no idea why the household of the Princess of Wales was contacting them (could be interesting). Whilst I was dithering about this, Niki said to the man, "Can we give you the details tomorrow?"

"Certainly," the Butler replied.

As we walked away from the house I hissed, "That means we're got to come back tomorrow!"

"Oh, never heard of time–travel then?" she replied.

"Duh!" I said slapping my forehead.

We stopped by the duck pond close to the palace.

"Why don't we give him mama and baba's address and phone number?" suggested Nik.

I agreed this was a good idea – but we should check the contents of our package first. We were relieved to see that everything had been returned, plus there was a card from Diana. On the outside, a beautiful winter scene in Moscow; and inside a handwritten note from the Princess.

'Dearest Joe & Niki, words cannot describe the feelings that I have for what you have done for me. I still cannot really believe or understand what happened in Moscow, but no doubt I will soon discover where my future lies. Please keep in touch. Much Love, Diana.'

We were very tempted at that moment to jump to September 1997 to see if things had changed for Diana, but resisted the thought. Instead, I set my phone to just one day later.

"This'll be interesting!" I said.

"Ah, Mr Joe and Miss Niki – nice to see you again. I trust everything was in order yesterday?"

We were stopped in our tracks for a moment. In our time frame, we had spoken to the Butler less than fifteen minutes previously; but in his frame of reference, it had been a whole day. We gave the man Niki's parents' contact details, left the house and walked back across the park. It was a clear June day and many couples were walking and enjoying the sunshine and warm air. We found a secluded spot under a large oak tree and I gave Niki the phone to set the date back to our present time. We were in for a surprise when we arrived home.

***

Twenty–Nine

I was standing in our lounge, my suitcase still by my side. On the mantle–shelf, there were cards marked 'Thank You', 'Invitation', and 'Happy Birthday', amongst other things. When I looked inside, they were mostly from Diana.

"Nik – come and look at this... Diana is one of our best friends now!"

Niki was in the kitchen looking for food. She came out to see what I was talking about.

"Really?"

"One of the cards is dated this year, so it looks like she's still alive."

"Let me see..."

There could be little doubt about it. It seemed that we had received several invitations to various functions over the years (mostly charity dinners), as well as signed pictures of the Princess of Wales.

"It must have worked," I said. "No invitations to funerals, but lots to other things. Diana is very much alive and well... or so it seems."

I couldn't resist checking the internet for news of Diana's life since 1995. I could hardly believe what I read. Everything had been pretty much the same as the history we knew until August 1997. The Princess of Wales still gave her interview on BBC's Panorama programme, but the content was quite different. It was far more embracing of the Royal Family, and talked fondly of Charles and how she longed to get back together with him and the boys as a family. The interview must have helped: Charles and Diana reunited after their separation and never divorced. Success! But then came the shocker.

"Camilla is dead?" Niki exclaimed.

"Yep, seems so," I replied. "She died in a car crash in Paris in August 1997."

"That's unbelievable!"

"There's more... it was in the same tunnel, and on the same night that Diana had died in our previous universe."

"What! Let me see..." Niki came over to look at the computer screen. "Who else was in the car?"

"You're not going to believe this: the same driver, and the same bodyguard that Diana had in Russia."

"You mean Trevor – the man Smirnoff put to sleep?"

"The same. He survived the crash – again – but the driver died at the scene, as did a male friend of Camilla's who was travelling with her. Niki, this is incredible!"

We sat back to take it all in. We had helped to prevent the loss of two lives – Diana Princess of Wales and Dodi Al–Fayed – and at the same time helped to bring about the death of two others. But if that was an eye–opener, what we heard the next day was mind–blowing.

We'd just finished a late lunch, and were relaxing outside when Niki received a text from Smirnoff. He wanted to see us as soon as possible, and was checking we were home.

"Well, so much for his 'never the same place twice' rule," I said wryly.

"Smirnoff has no rules. I wonder what's so urgent?"

We found out soon enough. Smirnoff entered the house almost dancing on air. He was carrying a couple of bottles of red wine, Russian vodka, a bouquet of flowers and chocolates.

"For Nikita, my Chinese Princess," he said pushing the flowers and chocolates into Niki's hands and kissing her on both cheeks. "Joe, I don't know what to say... thank you!" He gave me a big bear hug, almost suffocating me. I quizzically looked at Nik, who returned the same surprised look.

"Well, you helped us," I said at last, "we couldn't have saved Diana without you."

"Diana? Who cares about Diana... I'm talking about my mama!"

"Oh, well you're welcome – I'm glad you had the opportunity to see your mother before she died."

"Mama is alive!"

"Your mama – she's alive... now?" Niki asked, incredulously.

"I don't know how you did it, but thank you, thank you!" he hugged Niki warmly.

"Whoa – wait a minute! Are you saying that at the current time, not 1995, your mother is not dead?"

"Listen to him!" Smirnoff said to Niki. "Such a modest man. You guys say you go to St. Petersburg, but now I know what you were really doing."

"I think we need to talk Smirnoff," I said ushering him into an armchair.

"Okay, first of all, if your mother is alive..."

"There is no 'if', Joe... I spoke to her this morning, on the phone. She talks as if her death never happened."

"Right. Then I have to tell you that although Niki and I are very, very happy about this, we did nothing knowingly to make this happen." Niki nodded her confirmation.

"Then... then how can this be?" the Russian asked. We sat in deep silence for a moment.

"I think I know," Niki said at last. "But it might be a little difficult to accept."

Niki told Smirnoff about Camilla, which shocked him a little, and then she talked about his mother. Mrs Smirnoff seemed to have a very special connection with the Princess. What if, Niki suggested, that connection was at a deep spiritual level – what if they are actually part of the same Soul? In which case, when one leaves the Earth, the other has to follow. And if one stays, they both stay. In Chinese Buddhist beliefs, people understand this.

"Well, I know nothing about spiritual things, but mama is a believer in this. I suppose it's possible," agreed Smirnoff. "Mama and Diana were certainly close on more than a physical level. But then what about Dodi Al–Fayed? From what you say, he was not involved in the car crash in Paris – what's happened to him?"

I did a quick check on the Internet. Dodi was very much alive, and now the new boss at Harrods in Knightsbridge. It seemed to bear up Niki's hypothesis, though I had to admit it was difficult to go along with her spiritual idea. But whatever the reason, the fact was that Diana, Dodi Al–Fayed, and Smirnoff's mother were now once again living and breathing on planet Earth, whilst Camilla Parker–Bowles and her friend had moved on.

We didn't let the latter dampen our spirits, and opened one of Smirnoff's bottles of wine to celebrate the return of his mum.

"You never did tell us your mother's name," I said to Smirnoff.

"Oh yes – I get it. You think I'm in a good mood now, and yes I'm very happy. So I tell you her family name, and then you know mine. Is that what you want?"

"I'll think about it," I replied.

"Well think fast, my friend, because if I tell you my family name, then I have to kill you. Na zdorov'ya!"

"Na zdorov'ya!" we repeated, toasting drinks with Smirnoff.

"And I guess that means cheers in Russian," I said.

"Actually it means 'good health'. Look after yours my friends."

***

Thirty

After our 'Russian Adventure', as it became known, Niki didn't want to fix things, change history, or save any lives for a while. She just wanted to take a break and go on holiday.

"Okay, good idea," I said as we were having breakfast a week after returning from Moscow. "Where would you like to go?"

"Ancient Egypt."

"Ah! I wondered when that would come up."

Niki had studied history and archaeology as minor subjects at university, and both ancient Egypt and ancient China still held strong fascinations for her. She was particularly interested in the Egyptian pyramids, situated on the Giza plateau just outside modern day Cairo. Unlike the tombs in the Valleys of the Kings and Queens in Luxor, where the mummified bodies and treasures of Tutankhamen and other pharaohs had been discovered, the Giza pyramids had never revealed any signs of any bodies or treasures. Consequently, it was Niki's belief that the pyramids had been constructed for some other, unknown, purpose.

Both Niki and I were also keen to understand how the ancient Egyptians had managed to construct such magnificent structures. The building blocks were immensely heavy and made of hard granite; and with just simple hand–tools at their disposal, it was difficult to understand how the blocks could be cut, transported and then set in place. Yes, there were theories about how this was done – but modern day attempts to replicate the construction were never convincing. (One such attempt resorted to using a modern JCB digger to make just a small–sized pyramid).

According to Nik, archaeologists generally agreed that the Giza pyramids were built during the Old Kingdom, probably between 2589 and 2504 BC – which meant around 4550 years ago. Our plan, therefore, was to travel to Egypt and then jump to 2500 BC. After taking a look at the pyramids (and snapping a few photos, of course) we would return home before we're noticed. No changing history this time – just Niki and me as time tourists.

So, one spring morning, we booked flights to Cairo out of Heathrow and a room in a local hotel close to the Giza plateau. Our hope was to witness the construction of at least one of the huge pyramids. I was so looking forward to this trip.

This would be the first time either of us had travelled to Egypt – and the first time we'd gone this far back in time. Before we made the trip, I played around with Date Me (the app I used to easily and quickly change the date on my phone) to see if we could go so far back in time, but it wouldn't let me enter BC dates. I mentioned this to Niki.

"No problem, Micky in Shanghai will fix it."

"What, tonight?"

"I'll send him a WeChat message now."

The next morning, I had a Date Me update waiting for download when I woke up. But I hesitated before installing it. Somehow, for some reason, Date Me enabled us to time travel. Could we be sure that the update would do the same? I talked to Nik about this.

"You mean you'd like me to ask Micky if you'll still be able to travel through time using the update?"

"You've got it exactly, yes!"

She gave me a strange look and sent Micky another message, which she read aloud as she typed. "Joe says thanks for the update, but asks if he can still travel through time using the new app – like he did with the old version." She received a reply straightaway, with a smiley face.

"Whatever he was able to do with the old app, he can do with the new one... and more! Happy time travelling!"

Micky told Nik he'd factored in all sorts of changes to the calendar made over the centuries, incorporating the Roman and Greek versions and including the Julian calendar. He said it wouldn't be perfect, but if we were really only interested in years, not specific days, it would work well.

I was dying to try this out (better to make sure it worked in London before flying to Egypt), and whilst Niki was busy cooking dinner that evening, I changed the phone's date to 2500 BC. I got a hell of a wobble, and found myself sitting on damp grass in some sort of countryside area (rather than our sofa in suburban London). This seemed to indicate that I must have travelled backwards in time. In the distance, I could detect some movement, so I changed the date back to the present as quickly as I could. I didn't particularly want to get stuck in 2500 BC England on my own just then – even though I'm sure it could have been interesting.

After I jumped back, Niki was in the lounge... looking very stern.

"Joe – where have you been?"

"Ah... just experimenting – making sure the app worked."

"And did it?"

"Four-thousand, five-hundred-year-old grass," I showed her, holding up the wet strands in my hand.

Niki wasn't too pleased that I'd experimented on my own, but she was glad to hear the app worked. She also thought it would be a good idea to take a look at England in 2500 BC sometime – and maybe discover what Stonehenge was really used for.

Having confirmed that we could indeed jump so far back in time, we took the express train to Heathrow two days' later, and boarded our flight to Cairo. Travelling first class is definitely the way to go if you've got the money (or know how to win it) – and it was a very relaxed five–hour flight to the capital of Egypt. We didn't want to hang around in the city, so we took a taxi from the airport directly to Le Meridien Pyramids hotel in Giza, on the outskirts of Cairo. We had an amazing view of the huge pyramids from our bedroom window, and couldn't wait to take a look.

The next morning, after breakfast, we took the hotel shuttle bus to get a closer view of the pyramid plateau. We were both awestruck by the sight. Without doubt, the three Giza pyramids and the Sphinx had gone through much weathering over the years, and the pyramids had lost the vast majority of the limestone covering that once adorned their entire surfaces. However, they were still an amazing sight, and we took some great photographs.

We returned to the hotel for lunch – and to prepare for our time trip. We put together everything we thought we might need in a rucksack, including phone battery chargers, flashlights, sunscreen, hats, some snack food and plenty of drinks.

This time, we walked towards the pyramids and located what we thought would be a good spot for our time jump. This was quite a little bit away from the monuments – we didn't want to find ourselves in the middle of a pyramid building site. We found a secluded spot not far from the hotel and I used Date Me to set the date to 2500 BC. I looked at Nik.

"Ready to fulfil your dreams?" She nodded, and I pressed Go!

"Oh!" she gasped. We felt the big wobble I'd experienced in London. It was far greater than any other trip we'd been on. The hotel had disappeared (naturally), but the pyramids were still there... and they looked amazing! Glistening in a shell of white limestone, they seemed other worldly. Some people nearby soon noticed our presence and started walking towards us, so we quickly went back in time a further fifty years. Still no change to the structures, which wasn't a big surprise; we were expecting them to be built between 2500 and 2600 BC. So another fifty years – and then another. Still little change. Okay, so the figure we had was just an estimate – an educated guess at best. We added one hundred years, then another hundred, and another. The pyramids looked even more magnificent, but still no signs of any construction work. We began to jump in five hundred–year blocks, and by the time we'd gone back to 5000 BC, Niki and I just looked at each other with puzzled looks.

"This is crazy," I said, "it doesn't make sense. We've gone back more than seven thousand years in time... I thought the Egyptian civilisation started five thousand years ago!"

"Yes, it did! The early dynastic period began around three thousand BC. Before that, from around 5500 BC, there were just small tribes in the area, such as the Badari. They were known for their high quality ceramics, stone tools and use of copper..."

"But not for pyramid building?"

"Not that I've heard of," Niki smiled. "Before 5500 BC there was nothing – no Egyptian civilisation."

"So what now... where do we go from here?"

"We go further back... to find the people who actually built the pyramids."

"But I thought you said there was nothing before 5500 BC!"

"If you study the standard history books, there is nothing. But if you read Hancock or Bauval, there's another possibility."

Niki explained Graham Hancock and Robert Bauval's theories regarding the Giza pyramids and the adjacent Sphinx. Both men believed that two things pointed to an earlier date for the construction of these monuments. The first was the deep erosion marks on the side of the Sphinx, which the authors identified as being caused by a thousand years of heavy rain. Such weather conditions last existed in Egypt around 10,000 BC, meaning that the Sphinx could be more than 12,000 years old (not the accepted 4,500 years). Their other idea was that the pyramids and structures around them were built to align with, and replicate, the night sky of 10,500 BC, with the three great pyramids representing the three stars of 'Orion's belt' in the constellation of Orion. So both the Pyramids and the Sphinx could have been constructed around 12,500 years ago. I had caught something about this on a TV documentary several years ago, but dismissed it as a crackpot theory – like the idea that the Apollo Moon landings were faked.

"So are you saying that some sort of lost civilisation built the pyramids? The people of Atlantis perhaps?"

"I'm not sure about Atlantis... but yes."

We were standing in 5000 BC discussing something that had happened more than 5000 years before that. I had a feeling for Ancient Egypt having seen all the Egyptian mummies, artefacts, and pictures of Old Egyptian life in the British Museum. But a lost civilisation in 10,000 BC was totally outside my understanding. We agreed to call it a day, and make the longer jump in the morning when we felt fresher. It was very hot and dusty where we were, and we both needed a shower. So we headed back to the hotel to plan for the next day.

*

After washing away the desert and having a bite to eat, we sat in the hotel bar to talk about our next step. The plan was to jump back far enough in time to witness the building of one of the great wonders of the civilised World. Whilst I'd read stories of Atlantis, and heard the name Lemuria, I must admit I regarded them as fables – far less believable than the stories of King Arthur or Robin Hood. Now my mind was changing, and I was eager to discover the race of people who had constructed these giant structures. Niki surprised me with her knowledge of this alternative theory regarding the age of the pyramids, and if the theory was correct she was right about one thing: the pyramids were not used as tombs for the deceased Egyptian Pharaohs, who would not be around for another six thousand years. What then was the purpose of the three pyramids at Giza?

The next thing was to decide what we should do when we reached our destination. Although I always like to plan trips to the nth degree, Niki prefers to do things when she gets there – see the lay of the land, and act accordingly. It's the cause of a little friction at times.

***

Thirty–One

The next day, Nik and I returned to the jump area we'd used before. But this time, a tour group was occupying the vicinity, so we moved a little further away from the pyramid plateau. It was a good thing we did. I opened Date Me, set the date to 10,500 BC and pressed the button. This time, the wobble knocked us both to the floor. It lasted several seconds – at least ten – and we discovered later that we could expect a one second wobble for each 1000 years travelled.

"Are you okay?" I whispered as we lay on the ground, within what appeared to be a small park. She confirmed she was. We hid from view behind some bushes, which still afforded a view of the plateau. We were certainly no longer in a desert area. All around were trees and rich vegetation, and it felt more like a green park in England than anything else. When we stood up, the sight that met our eyes was out of this World. The area around the plateau was a Metropolis with the pyramids the central point. There were also other large constructions adjoining them.

"What are all those people doing?" Nik asked me.

People were arriving and departing the area regularly, disappearing inside one of the buildings as they arrived. Just then we could hear a high pitched noise close to the great pyramid. We decided to get closer to see what was happening, which was a little risky, but we just had to find out more. Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound, and to our complete and utter amazement, some sort of small aircraft shot into the sky from one of the slopes of the great pyramid.

"Tian a!" Niki gasped. I was totally speechless.

Using the side of the pyramid as a take–off ramp, the craft shot into the sky at a forty–five–degree angle and then veered off into the distance, soon disappearing from view. It was the most incredible things I had ever witnessed. The flying machine seemed large enough to hold maybe four to six people at the most. There was no smoke plume, and I'd no idea how it was powered.

"What was that?"

"It looks like a wake–up call, Joe"

Niki was right. If we think that twenty–first–century humans are the only technologically advanced civilisation that has ever inhabited the Earth, we have to think again. Someone else has already been–there–done–that.

"Where d'you think it's going?"

"I dunno. Heathrow perhaps?" I joked.

"Or maybe China? If you think about it, there are pyramid structures all around the globe – Egypt, Asia, Europe, Central and South America..."

"Are you saying that other pyramids could also be take–off ramps for some sort of flying machines?"

"Definitely."

I was trying to get my head around all this. We'd leapt more than 12,000 years back in time, but it felt like we'd travelled into the future. If what Niki said was true, then these people could visit other countries all over the globe at will – and at high speed – just as we do in aeroplanes. And how about outer space? I was desperate to find out more.

"Nik," I whispered, "what d'you think about us taking a closer look?" She nodded, and we crept out from our hiding place, and moved carefully and quietly in the direction of the largest of the pyramids.

As we moved out of hiding, making our way down a gentle slope towards the plateau, I began thinking about this civilisation we were witnessing – and what had happened to them. All knowledge of their technology had clearly been lost – how had that happened?

We reached the buildings surrounding the first pyramid without being noticed. It seemed to be a very relaxed atmosphere, and we had no difficulty walking inside what appeared to be the main building. If we wanted to blend in, then an international airport was a good place to be.

Whilst most people were not so different from us in shape and size, we were taken aback by the appearance of others. They had large heads with large eyes, but their faces and teeth were small, giving them a sort of 'alien' look. Larger brain sizes, perhaps? Around a quarter of the people we saw were like this. There were others that looked a little Asian, some African, and others maybe European. I really wanted to talk to someone, but we didn't want to attract attention.

Our attire was completely out of fashion and we did receive a few strange looks. Most people were wearing incredibly bright and colourful clothes – the type you'd see in an exotic stage musical, and we couldn't help gazing at the amazing array of dress and colour. One man, garbed in what we guessed was some sort of uniform, approached us and said something in a language we did not understand. We smiled at the man and moved away quickly.

We could hear aircraft taking off at regular intervals now, and we went outside to watch. Their take–off was very different from that of aeroplanes in our time and the whole process seemed to be more like taking a ride at a theme park. Three of the four sides of the pyramid were being used, sending the crafts in different directions. I wondered how long it would take to fly to Shanghai or Acapulco from where we were. How I would have loved to have jumped on one of the machines there and then! Niki and I looked at each other with the same thought.

"Maybe next time," she said.

We decided to take a look around the plateau before heading home: we still wanted to know how the pyramids had been constructed. We were standing close to the largest one, and beyond this were the other two (Khafre and Menkaure according to Niki). We could hear the sound of what we thought might be construction work near the second pyramid, so we decided to walk down to take a look. It was difficult to relate the thriving complex we were now amongst to the bleakness of the Giza plateau we had left twelve thousand five hundred years ago. Only the three pyramids assured us that we were in the same place.

As we walked, I asked Niki what she thought about the strange–looking people we had seen in the airport building.

"Boskops," she said.

"Boskops?"

"People that were believed to have existed between 36,500 and 11,500 years ago. They had large brain capacities, small child–like faces and big eyes. Well, that's what archaeologists believe. In 1913 two farmers discovered parts of a skull in Nan Fei..."

"South Africa?"

"Yes, close to a village called Boskop."

"What happened to them?"

"I think they took the pieces to a museum," replied Nik

"Duh! I mean what happened to the Boskops?"

"Oh, it's said they were wiped out by climate changes – floods, land upheavals – that sort of thing. After the first skull was found, many others were dug up in other places."

"Proving it couldn't have been a genetic defect that caused this," I observed.

"Yeah... and not a hoax either."

"Like the Piltdown Man?"

"Right."

This was all very interesting. A different type of human, with a larger brain size, could definitely account for this advanced technology.

As we got closer to the second pyramid, the sound of some sort of construction work became louder... and then we saw something that really opened our eyes. About two hundred metres ahead, a huge piece of stone was being levitated right in front of us! It must have weighed several tonnes, yet there was seemingly nothing between the stone and the ground. Workmen were clearly manoeuvring it using some sort of device they had in front of them. They could move the stone in any direction they wanted. As I was gazing at this in amazement, Niki drew my attention to something else.

"Look–at–that Joe!" she gasped.

Close to the man levitating the huge stone block, another engineer was cutting another block in half. Again, he was pointing some device in the direction of the stone, which seemed to cut it by magic.

"Is that a laser?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "I think it's something we've yet to discover... we can't lift or cut stones like that with light." We both looked on incredulously. "I think it's sound!" she whispered.

It looked like these amazing people had discovered how to use ultrasound to cut and lift huge blocks of rose granite – effortlessly. It was truly amazing to witness, and I discretely took as many photographs as I could with my phone. In our world, the most we can do with ultrasound is clean our teeth or monitor a foetus in the womb. These humanoids twelve thousand years ago had taken the technology to a whole new level.

Both Niki's big questions had now been answered. First, the pyramids were not built by the Egyptians. Their construction was at least 8000 years earlier than the experts imagined – well before the Ancient Egyptians made their appearance – utilising an advanced form of ultrasound. Second, they were designed as take–off ramps for small aircraft which travelled the globe. This race of people had astounded us by their technology and know–how, and we both wanted to engage in some sort of conversation with them and learn more.

As we were reflecting on our discovery, someone approached us from behind, grabbing our arms and confiscating my phone. We turned to see two men dressed in uniform, speaking harsh–sounding words.

"I'm sorry, we don't speak your language," I apologised. "Je ne comprend pas!"

"Ting bu dong," Nik said in Chinese.

Clearly, conversing with these people in any language we knew was useless – but it wasn't difficult to understand their discontent with our presence on the building site. They tied our arms and forcibly led us away to a small structure close to one of the smaller pyramids. We were pushed through an entrance by one of the guards, whilst the other guard went elsewhere.

"Was this the type of holiday you imagined Nik?" I said, trying to make light of the situation. The rap on my back from the guard told me clearly that talking was not a good idea. The second guard returned ten minutes later with a woman. She was small in stature, and around thirty–five, I guessed. Her appearance was very different from the men, and she wore a beautiful multi–coloured silk robe. She was undoubtedly one of the Boskop people.

The woman beckoned us to sit on two small stools in the room. We complied, and she sat close to us, across a stone table. She spoke some words, which sounded very different from the language the guards used. Her voice had an amazing soft, yet resonant, quality about it. With my arms tied, I shrugged by shoulders, thinking it was the only way to convey my non–understanding. She seemed to get it, and her attention switched to Niki. The Boskop seemed very interested in Nik's appearance – her face, hair and dress – and examined her very closely. Suddenly the woman reached out to touch Nik's face – to which Nik automatically moved her head away. The woman smiled reassuringly and beckoned Nik to let her touch her head.

"I think it's okay – I don't think she's going to hurt you," I said. Niki nodded and allowed the woman to touch first her hair then her skin. I watched the woman's eyes as she carefully and gently caressed Nik's face. She had dazzling large eyes, which shone with a brilliant blue radiance. She then placed two fingers from each hand on the temples of Nik's head and closed her own eyes.

"Oh!" gasped Niki.

After a minute, Nik closed her eyes and her breathing slowed. Soon she appeared to be completely relaxed. My instincts told me to just watch and monitor. There was little I could do with my arms secured in any case, and the Boskop woman didn't seem like the sort who would harm Niki. After about twenty minutes, the woman took her hands from Niki's head, kissed her on both cheeks, and smiled at me.

"Now I know," she spoke in broken English. "I know about your World. Welcome to ours."

I was stunned – utterly stunned. What exactly had happened at that moment was beyond belief. We had travelled more than twelve thousand years back in time and discovered a race far more advanced, in many ways, than our own. A peaceful race, I conjectured. And this woman, this anomaly in humankind which twenty–first century scientists had named the 'Boskops', had just spoken to me in my native tongue.

Niki came round as if from a long and very restful sleep.

"Joe," she said gently rubbing her eyes, "I just had an amazing dream!" She turned to see the woman smiling at her. "And this is Crimson."

"How... how on earth do you know that?" I asked.

"We just connected," she replied. I looked into Niki's eyes to see her more contented, more joyous and more at peace than I'd seen for a very long time.

"Would you like to see our World? I mean, visit it in person?" Niki asked Crimson.

"I would," she replied, "but another time. People need me here now – and I have much work to do. But please return – I would like to show you more of our land."

"We will," Nik replied, embracing Crimson. "Thank you."

Crimson took my phone from the guard and returned it to me. We left the building and returned to the small park, from where we jumped back to the present. It had been an amazing, eye–opening day, and we needed time to take it all in.

***

Thirty–Two

Having returned to London, it was difficult at first to get back to our normal lives without thinking about Egypt. The experience had had a big effect on both of us – particularly on Niki, who seemed to have gone through some sort of personality change. She was much quieter and more thoughtful than usual, and would sit still for long periods within her own world. Eventually, though, we both gradually got back to our usual routines.

We were sitting having dinner in Niki's favourite Italian restaurant, and the conversation inevitably came round to our Egyptian adventure.

"That was something else, wasn't it Nik?" I said. "Egypt I mean."

She nodded, and put down her fork. "I don't think I'll ever forget it Joe – we must go back."

"We will... we have to. When I see the photos we took, they don't look real. They're more like something out of a movie set." I paused. "What exactly happened with Crimson, Nik? I mean, what was that 'Vulcan mind' thing when she connected with you?" She looked away, recalling the experience.

"It was like I was connected to the Universe, to the Cosmos. And all the things that people usually worry about – money, health, security, war – just meant nothing. And then I suddenly could see her world, and how it was so different from ours. It was based on pure love, and that was all that mattered."

"All you need is love," I quipped, then instantly regretted it.

Niki just smiled. "If you could go back in time to any period you wanted Joe, where would you go?"

"What do you mean 'if'? We can go anywhere we want, at any time, can't we?"

"I mean if I let you," she grinned. This was the Niki I knew.

We had been back from Egypt for over two weeks now, and having travelled to the place she always wanted to go, Niki was eager for me to explore my must–see destination.

"Okay. Of all the places I'd like to go, it would have to be China, of course. You know I've always been interested in ancient Chinese artefacts."

"Are you calling me an ancient artefact?"

"Well, you are a bit arty. Seriously, I'd like to go to Xi'an at the time of Emperor Qin Shi Huang. I'd really like to know what's in that tomb of his."

Emperor Qin was the first King to unite the many disparate kingdoms within Niki's homeland into one country. It is said that the name China actually came from the name of the Emperor. It's said that he achieved this unification by first waging wars with the kings close to his home territory (wars which he always won), and second by making friends and allegiances with distant kingdoms – those really too far away for expensive wars. It seemed to work.

Qin's capital, Xi'an, is situated in Shaanxi Province in Central China. The city's wall, still completely intact, dates from the Ming Dynasty (around AD 1370). The area is famous for the Terracotta Warriors, thousands of lifelike earthenware soldiers and horses which were constructed to guard the area surrounding Emperor Qin's mausoleum. I'd seen the warriors on a trip to China to visit Niki's relatives several years ago, and that's when I became fascinated by Qin's tomb. You wouldn't think that pottery figures could scare anyone away, but it seems that the mausoleum has never been plundered or excavated.

"I'm always ready to go to China with you Joe, but you don't need to go to Xi'an just to know what's in the tomb: it's all written down in the history books."

"Are those the same books which tell us about the pyramids? I said.

"That's different! We record our history properly in China – we have meticulous records."

"Meticulous! I've never heard you use that word before."

"Don't forget I've read more English literature than you, Joe Cooper."

"Well, reading about what's in the tomb, and seeing it with your own eyes are two very different things."

"You're right," admitted Niki.

"I am?"

"Yes, you're always right. But whilst reading about the treasures is perfectly safe, seeing them with your own eyes is going to get you killed."

She did have a point. According to the 'meticulous records', craftsmen were ordered to make crossbows and arrows which were then primed to shoot at anyone who entered the tomb. And if that didn't work, rivers of mercury (simulating the great rivers of China) ran throughout the entire complex – and we all know how poisonous mercury can be.

After Qin's grand funeral ceremony had been completed, and the treasures were hidden away, the inner gates were blocked and the outer gates lowered – trapping inside all the workers and craftsmen who had been employed within the tomb. No–one could escape – all those who knew of the tomb's treasures and secrets were either killed or buried alive with their secrets. But despite the possible dangers, a burning curiosity was driving me to take a look inside the tomb.

"Maybe if you were invisible, you could get away with it." Niki suggested as we left the restaurant and headed for home.

"Good idea. I'll look for an Invisible app for the phone this evening."

*

I decided that we needed to do more research if this idea of mine was to be successful. By successful I mean not getting shot by crossbow arrows, overcome by mercury poisoning or buried alive in the Emperor's tomb. Niki had been right about the Chinese records of the time – they were pretty good. In particular, I discovered that a peasant rebellion broke out during the late Qin Dynasty. This was quelled by military general Zhang Han utilising all 700,000 people employed on the construction of Qin's mausoleum. As a result, work on tomb was suspended. This seemed like a good time to visit the site. But how to become invisible?

"Well, for a start, you can't go like that," Niki replied whilst I was in our home office, researching the trip on the internet.

She was right of course. As a twenty–first century foreigner, I was going to stand out like a sore thumb; and wearing jeans and a tee–shirt with John Lennon's face emblazoned across the front would be a dead giveaway. But seeing that I was dead set on time jumping to ancient China, she said she'd help. Somehow, Niki was going to make me look Chinese – and also make us both resemble natives of 209 BC China, the period of the peasant rebellion in question. I was interested to see how she was going to achieve this.

Apart from the question of appearance, there was the problem of language (for me anyway). What tongue did the locals speak at that time? According to Niki, modern Mandarin is based on the standardisation of the language which the Qin Dynasty introduced, and understanding and conversing with the natives in modern Mandarin would be something akin to me having a chat in English with Bill Shakespeare. Her own modern accent and speech would naturally seem strange; but with so many different kingdoms incorporated into the Qin Empire in 209 BC, hearing another dialect might not seem so uncommon.

However, written language would be more difficult. Written Chinese at that time was in a sort of logographic style, as it had been in the earlier Zhou Dynasty. Nik said she'd seen these old characters, but had no idea how to read them; so we'd just have to wing it as far as that goes. Anyway, hopefully we wouldn't have to read or write anything (it's not like there's going to be signs saying: 'This way to the secret Mausoleum').

So, it was decided: our next big jump would be to Xi'an, China, 209 BC.

***

Thirty–Three

The biggest part of this trip was not the time leap but the flight to China. We found a British Airways flight to Xi'an which stopped off in Shanghai, enabling us to visit some of Niki's relatives en route. The total flight time was just under seventeen hours. We were going through our wardrobes, looking for suitable clothes for the trip, when Niki had an idea.

"Why don't we take Smirnoff?"

"Smirnoff? Why?"

"It could be dangerous over there at that time. Did you know that Qin Er Shi used to bury scholars alive if they didn't hand in their books for burning?"

"What! Seems a little harsh...What sort of books? Stuff against the government you mean?"

"Yeah. Anything that challenged the law or state," replied Nik.

"Well, it still happens today in some parts of the World," I observed.

"And you didn't want to be late for work if you were employed in Qin's government."

"Why's that? Did they give you fifty lashes?"

"No, they killed you."

"Jesus! So that's why you think we need a bodyguard?"

"It's just an idea."

We were quiet for a while. For some reason, I didn't want to take Smirnoff this time. It added an unnecessary complication to what should be a routine trip. We weren't going to kill anyone or change history, after all... it was just a time travel holiday. Then I had an idea. "How about taking your cousin Jin He instead? He's from Xi'an, speaks Chinese, and he could watch our backs. It would be an eye–opener for him too."

"Then you don't mind sharing our secret with someone else?"

"He's not just someone else – he's family!"

Niki smiled. "Okay, great idea!" I guessed she'd thought of Jin already, and suggesting Smirnoff was just to get me used to the idea of taking someone else along.

The next step was to try to make me look Chinese. Because of my large Western nose, Nik said it was best to disguise me as someone from the West of China, where it's common for men have larger noses. In that case, my skin needed to be quite a bit darker, and my hair should be jet black. Niki said she could do all this herself (with the right type of make–up and hair colour) but it might be better to get it done professionally. As it happened, Jin He's mother (Aunt Peng) used to practise stage make–up in Xi'an. Peng therefore seemed the perfect solution. I left Nik to contact both her Aunt and Jin He whilst I booked the flights.

*

Being virtually free agents, we could choose just about any day to travel to China. It was early December at that time, so I booked our plane tickets for the middle of the month. The peasants' rebellion in China lasted from in July to December, 209 BC, so jumping to 1st September, 209 BC, seemed good time to choose. We'd no idea what the climate would be like in that part of China more than two thousand years ago, so we made sure we took plenty of layers. As regards style, Niki had already talked to Aunt Peng about costumes during the Qin Dynasty, and she said she could help with that. Naturally, Nik did not tell her we would be travelling 2200 years back in time – merely that we had been invited to an elaborate fancy dress party in Xi'an.

Nik had also chatted with Cousin Jin He. Although he was from Xi'an, he was currently working in Shanghai, and that was where we'd meet up with him. Jin He had chosen the English name 'Magic' – after the ex–American basketball player Earvin 'Magic' Johnson (who also happened to be a multi–millionaire). Basketball is extremely popular in China – as is making loads of money – so Magic seemed like a good name. He was thrilled at the idea of helping us in Xi'an, though Niki had not mentioned time travel, of course. With Magic's work commitments, a weekend was best for him. This was no problem for us, and we arranged to fly together to Xi'an on Friday, 21st December.

This was the trip I had been waiting for... I just had to get this one on camera.

***

Thirty–Four

Shanghai is an amazing city. It is divided by the Huangpu River into two main regions – Puxi and Pudong. The views across the river to Pudong from Puxi have been used as a back–drop for many futuristic Sci–fi movies, whilst gazing in the opposite direction you could be forgiven for thinking you were looking at the waterfront of an old European city. Other parts of the city are distinctly Chinese – notably Yu Gardens. Shanghai is not really a cosmopolitan metropolis like London or New York, but it has the greatest western influence of all Chinese cities. Home to around twenty–five million people, you are never alone in Shanghai.

Magic lived on Puxi side in an area called Hongqiao, not far from one of the two international airports in the city – and also the high–speed rail hub. He was working at an American bank in Shanghai, and got off early that afternoon to meet us at Pudong International Airport. It was great to see him again.

"Joe! Long time no see!"

We had just met at the arrivals section of the airport. Magic was looking well, and more grown up than the last time we met. His English (Americanised) was pretty good too. He'd studied in the US and clearly picked both the accent and a lot of self–confidence. He sat in the front seat next to the driver, whilst Niki and I sat in the back.

"So glad you guys came over here!" he continued.

"Thanks," I said. "We thought it was about time for a visit."

"Ling Ling – nide toufa ting haode!" he said to Niki, complementing her on her hairstyle. Then he turned back to me. "Hey Joe – tell me about this project of yours – the one in Xi'an."

"Oh, the historical production... It's going to be very, very authentic. You'll think you're really back in 209 BC China – trust me."

"I'd no idea you were into that sort of stuff! I thought you were just a money man."

"Who said I don't want to make money doing this?"

Magic laughed and continued to talk to Niki in Chinese for the rest of the journey. By the time we arrived at his apartment, we were both very tired and went for a rest in Magic's spare bedroom. The clock said 6pm, but our bodies told us it was 2am in the morning – which it would be in London. They say the golden rule when travelling long distances across several time–zones is to use the local time. So no matter how tired we were, we should wait until our normal bedtime before hitting the sack. That protocol when straight out of the window: we fell asleep and didn't wake until 8am the next morning: we slept for fourteen hours.

Magic had gone to work by the time we were up. He left a note saying where everything was, and telling us to help ourselves to breakfast. We arranged to meet him for dinner later that day after he'd finished work.

The next couple of days were spent shopping – one of Niki's favourite pastimes – and preparing for our trip to Xi'an. Nik phoned Aunt Peng (Magic's mum), who said she'd booked a hotel for the two of us not far from her home. Magic would stay with Peng. Friday came round quickly, and it wasn't long before we were on our way to the airport. This time we didn't need to travel all the way to Pudong, we could take a high–speed train from nearby Hongqiao.

Magic was good company – and a great help. With Xi'an being his hometown, he was used to the trip to Central China. He recommended the train, rather than flying. It was so much more convenient to travel on the high–speed railway system that had developed so quickly across the country – no delays and without the high security checks common at airports.

After arriving at Xi'an Railway Station, we took a taxi to Aunt Peng's house. This was situated in the south–west of the city. Peng was delighted to see us. I'd just met her one time before – at our wedding – and it was good to catch up. My Chinese is, well, crap, so Niki and Magic translated for me. It was getting late by this time, so Magic took us to our hotel. We arranged to see Aunt Peng at 10am the next morning.

*

"I can't quite believe we're going to do this Nik," I said as we lay in bed the next day.

"Do what?"

"Go back in time and see Emperor Qin's tomb."

"Don't get too excited – it might be the last thing you see!"

I wasn't really worried too much about the possible dangers. I thought we'd be safe as long as the three of us kept together.

"Magic will look after us," I replied. Xi'an was his home town, and he seemed like the sort of guy who thrives on new ideas and challenges. "By the way Nik, how are you going to tell him about us travelling more than two thousand years back in time?"

"Oh, I'm leaving that to you."

We had breakfast in the hotel, and then ambled over to Aunt Peng's. The story Nik had given both Peng and Magic was that we were taking part in an historical enactment of the death of Emperor Qin Shi Huang at the site of his tomb. They didn't question it, and Peng said she was glad to help with make–up and costumes. She used to work part–time at the Shaanxi Grand Opera House in Xi'an, and was very used to preparing actors for performances of Chinese Opera. Magic was rather reluctant to take part in our enactment at first, thinking that we were going to look like old Opera stars (not very cool), but we told him it would be nothing like that: we'd look like normal people two thousand years ago. It would be fun – and we'd say nothing to his friends or colleagues at work.

Apparently, Aunt Peng was a master of her trade. Nik explained that I needed to look Chinese, and Peng suggested making me up like a Muslim from Xinjiang Province in the west of China. There have been Muslims in that area for more than 2000 years, she said, and it would not be so unusual to see one in or around Xi'an. Peng agreed with Nik that my skin needed to be a lot darker, and suggested a black wig, plus some false facial hair. She said this was common in the make–up department at the Theatre, and suggested we go there that afternoon. As regards clothing, the way people dressed in those times was well known to Peng, and she said we could borrow something suitable from the Theatre using her contacts there.

The Opera House is situated very close to the south section of the old city wall. It was a bright afternoon, and we walked along part of the wall en route. It was in remarkably good condition, given that it was more than 600 years old. Inside the theatre, Aunt Peng was clearly well–known to the staff, and she had no problem taking us back stage to the costume and make–up area. A big smile came over Nik's face as she saw the extensive wardrobes.

"Women and clothes, hey Magic?" I said to the young man. He had been unusually quiet ever since we arrived at Aunt Peng's – not the outward, funny young man who travelled with us from Shanghai. He just smiled at my remark. "Everything okay?" I asked.

"Sure, no problem," he replied. Then, when Peng and Niki were out of earshot, he added, "It's just a little strange being here with my mother. It makes me feel like a little boy again. You know, Chinese mothers do everything for their children, and in some ways it holds them back. It can make you very spoiled too. I'm so glad I spent four years in America – it helped me to grow up and be independent."

"Are you looking forward to tomorrow – you still want to do it, right?"

"Sure, glad to help you guys. I'm not sure exactly what you want me to do, but it'll be fun. Everyone knows the stories about the tomb of Qin Shi Huang and the curse..."

"Sorry, did you say 'the curse'?" I interrupted.

"Yeah... didn't you know?

I certainly did not know, and needed to speak to my Chinese wife urgently.

"Nik, can I have a word with you please," I said as she was looking at facial hair with Peng.

"How about this one?" she said, placing a false black beard across my face. I removed it quickly.

"There's something rather more important we need to talk about just now."

"Okay, go ahead..."

"In private." We walked to the far end of the large room, out of earshot of the others. "You didn't tell me about the curse."

"Curse? What curse?"

"The one on Emperor Qin's tomb!"

"Oh, that one. Well, you didn't seem too worried about the crossbows, arrows, or rivers of mercury, so I didn't think you'd be bothered about a little curse."

"How little is little?"

"According to legend, the Emperor placed a powerful curse on anyone who dares to invade his final resting place."

"And?"

"And whoever opens the tomb, their country's regime will fall. Can I go back to what I was doing now?"

This was both shocking and interesting. I'd heard about the curses of Egyptian Pharaohs (mostly by watching my Indiana Jones boxed–set), but never heard of one connected with a Chinese Emperor. I don't really believe in curses, to be honest, but I like to have all the information up front. So, what was on my mind was this: if the curse is true, which country's government will fall if all three of us enter the tomb? Britain's, China's... or maybe both?

***

Thirty–Five

Aunt Peng did us proud. I would never recognise myself in the outfit she'd put together for me. Niki also looked great, as did Magic, though he was not at all keen on the false beard. "It's so your friends don't recognise you in the photographs," I explained. We'd soon have to tell him something a little more difficult to accept: time–travel. But that could wait.

Our plan was to take our costumes to the site of the Mausoleum and change there. My make–up, however, really needed to be applied in advance. This was done by Aunt Peng that Sunday morning, before taking a taxi to the necropolis. Our taxi driver gave me some strange looks, I can tell you.

Emperor Qin's tomb is situated in the countryside, some distance from modern Xi'an. Once we reached the grassy, earth pyramid, below which the tomb had been hidden for more than two thousand years, we found a quiet, tree–lined area and changed into our period costumes. Dark clouds in the distance were heading our way, and we could hear the sound of thunder getting closer. It probably wasn't the best time to stand under trees.

Magic told Nik he was concerned about two things: what his role would be in the 'enactment of history'; and where all the others were who would be taking part in the show. It was time to come clean.

"Magic," I said, "do you believe in time–travel?"

"Time travel!" He thought about it for a moment. "I think it may be possible one day. Perhaps we'll invent it in China," he smiled.

"That day might have come sooner than you think," I said. "When was the last time it snowed in Xi'an?"

"Oh, last winter – when I was home during the Spring Festival. We had a lot of snow at the end of January."

"I'd like to see that – wouldn't you Nik?" She nodded, grabbing one of Magic's arms, whilst I took the other, changing the date on my phone at the same time. The next thing we knew we were standing under the same tree in a winter wonderland. Deep snow was everywhere, and we stayed for a couple of minutes before quickly jumping back to the present.

"Wah! What was that?" Magic managed to say.

"Time–travel... get used to it," Nik stated, picking up our bag of clothes. I helped her to hide it behind some trees.

"Let's go," I said, to a speechless Magic.

Niki and I walked towards the tomb with Magic in tow. Fortunately, there were not a huge number of visitors that day – probably due to the threat of stormy weather; but around fifty people were walking up and down the steps leading to the top of the mausoleum. From a distance, you could mistake the tomb for a naturally formed hill. But up close and personal, it became obvious that this was very much man–made. As we walked, Nik talked to Magic, explaining how we had discovered the gift of time–travel, and stressing the importance of not telling a soul about it.

"So, where are we going now?" the young man asked.

"We're going back to 209 BC," I said. "We had to tell you we were just playacting, but we really are going there."

"Cool!"

"Does that date mean anything to you?"

"I remember at school we read a book called Shiji by the Chinese writer Sima Qian. In English, the book is called 'Records of the Grand Historian'. The book definitely talked about Qin Shi Huang and an uprising against the Qin government. I'm pretty sure that was around 209 BC. Qin Shi Huang died a few years before that, and people wanted changes in the laws."

Halfway up the pyramid mound, we left the main stone steps leading to the top and followed a dirt track to another side, away from the tourists. We stopped at a location where no–one could see us.

"Okay Magic, it's time to jump..."

"Jump?"

"Time jump. To travel at the same time, we must be in physical contact with each other. You take Niki's arm, and she'll hold mine."

I used Date Me to change the date to 1st November, 209 BC – and then got the shock of my life. For a moment we were in free fall, landing on what appeared to be trodden–down soil with a bump. We must have dropped at least five metres.

"Shit!" I exclaimed. It was very damp down there. "Are you both okay?"

"I think I've broken my ankle!" Niki groaned.

"Oh great," I sighed. "Let me see." It was very dark down there and difficult to see anything. Niki couldn't move her foot without great pain. "How about you Magic?"

"I'm okay."

"You two go on, I'll wait here," Nik said; but we couldn't do that.

"No–no, we'll go back to the present and try again." I was thinking that if we returned to our own time, Nik's ankle would miraculously return to what it was before we jumped. I had no proof of this – just speculation.

"Have you seen my phone Magic? I dropped it when we hit the ground."

"You can use mine," he replied.

"Thanks – but unless it's got a time–travel app, I don't think it's going to help.".

"It's got a torch," he beamed.

With the light, I could see Nik and her ankle clearly. I didn't know if it was broken or not, but it was very swollen and looked painful. I needed to get us back to the present as soon as possible, but without the phone we were a bit stuck – to say the least. I looked around using the light and noticed we seemed to be in a newly formed corridor. The walls were made of stone, but the floor was damp earth. In some places, there were small pools of water. Worst case scenario: my phone could be in one of those.

"We've got to find the phone," I said to Magic. "I don't want to be here for the next two thousand years."

"I'll call it," said Magic.

"Unless China mobile, GPS or Wi–Fi were around in 209 BC, I don't think you've got much chance of doing that."

"Do you have an app that helps you to find your phone?" He asked. "You just have to whistle or snap your fingers and it plays a sound to let you know it's there."

"Hey, great idea! No, I don't."

We continued searching for my mobile using the lights on both Magic's and Niki's phones. These were consuming battery power quickly, and we were running out of time. Suddenly Magic called me.

"Joe – over here!" He'd found the phone stuck in the mud a couple of metres from where Niki was sitting. A black phone with a black case wasn't the easiest thing to find down there.

"Brilliant!" I cleaned the phone as best as I could with my clothes and tried to switch it on... without success. I tried a few times, but no use. I sighed deeply. "Ok, let's go to plan B."

"What's plan B Joe?"

"There is no plan B," replied Niki, "we have to make one up."

"We really should get Niki to a hospital," Magic said sincerely. He still hadn't grasped the fact that we'd travelled two thousand two hundred years back in time. And why should he? Apart from falling down a hole, we had no evidence that we were now stuck in a previous civilisation. But evidence was on its way.

No doubt having heard our voices, a guard appeared from the corridor. There was no chance to get away – not with Niki's broken ankle – so we just had to try to bluff our way out of there. The man was squat and short and looked strong. He spoke to us in a gruff tone. I certainly couldn't understand a single word, though his speech did sound like Chinese. Nik didn't seem to understand what he was saying either, but Magic got it: the guard was speaking a language very similar to the local Xi'an dialect he knew. He replied to the guard in the same tongue. The man didn't understand at first, but Magic repeated himself slowly, which seemed to work. The guard looked carefully at Niki's ankle, and then disappeared. He returned a few minutes later with what looked like a wooden stretcher. I took one end whilst Magic took the other. "What did you say to him?" Niki whispered to Magic.

"I told him there had been uprisings against the government in our village. We are strong supporters of the Qin government, and we had been attacked... that's how your ankle was broken. We managed to escape with our lives, and are seeking sanctuary here. He seemed to buy that. He's taking us to a place that will be more comfortable to rest. There is a Physician there who can treat your injury. He said they get many injuries like this on the building site."

As we were walking, the corridor suddenly opened into a huge courtyard, and I could barely stifle my amazement. This was what we had come to see! It was like a small city, with a Palace at one end, and large ornate buildings around the other sides of a rectangular plaza. This was what I had read about! According to the archaeologists, the Imperial underground Palace is about the size of fifteen football pitches! It was an amazing sight. Constructed of stone, it had four towers – each with gold inlays and beautifully decorated windows. The style had many similarities with what I had seen in Ancient Egypt, and I wondered if the two civilisations had a common root. Certainly, they shared the same belief of an afterlife and the importance of the Emperor or Pharaoh taking his treasures, wives and servants into the next life. I really wanted to explore, but we had to go where we were directed. As we crossed the square, we could now see the sun as it streamed down from a semi–cloudy sky. I was then aware of a wall surrounding the area, which must have been around four or five metres high. No doubt, we had fallen from the top of this wall earlier after we jumped back in time. We proceeded through a narrow lane between two of the buildings surrounding the square, which led to other buildings. The guard took us into one of these.

We were ushered into a room which smelled of herbs and other strange odours. Dried plants and things I couldn't recognise hung from the ceiling – not dissimilar to some of the Chinese medicine shops I'd seen and smelled in London and Shanghai. Magic had been chatting with the guard on the way to what appeared to be a Physician's room. As soon as we were all in the room, the guard called out and another man in different dress appeared from a door to one side. He seemed very surprised to see us, and questioned the guard. Magic told me the Physician asked who we were and why we were there. The Physician was clearly not as sympathetic to our cause as the guard, but agreed to help. After gently feeling Nik's ankle, he said something to the guard, and returned to the room he came from. Whilst he was away, Magic told Niki in modern day Mandarin that the ankle was very badly sprained, but not broken. The guard was listening to them, and asked Magic what language this was. He told the guard we were from the West Provinces, and I was a Muslim. The guard nodded in understanding. The Physician returned a couple of minutes later with a long piece of cloth, and a pottery container. He soaked the cloth in some sort of liquid inside the pot, and wrung it dry. He then quickly tied this very tightly around Nik's ankle. She cried out in pain for a moment. The Physician told her not to walk on the ankle for ten days and not to wash the leg until then. Whilst the Physician was attending to Niki, the guard left the room and returned with a pole that could be used as a crutch. Magic thanked him for all his help.

We were led out of the Palace area and up some steps to take us back to where we came from. As we were leaving, the guard said something in a serious tone to us all. Magic nodded and said something in reply. Once we were outside of the main entrance, I asked him what was said.

"He stressed that we must not breathe a word of what we have seen here today. He helped us because he sees us as brothers, and we should all help each other – but other guards would not have allowed us to leave with our lives. He thinks Qin Shi Huang was a great man who accomplished what none had managed before him – to unite so many kingdoms under one country. He fears for the future because there is no–one else like Qin Shi Huang, and there are too many against the Qin government."

"We were lucky that he found us then," I remarked. "How's the ankle Nik?"

"Much better," she said. "At first, when he put the bandage on, it felt very cold, but now it feels warm. The heat is soothing, and I'm glad it's not broken."

"Well, we don't know how long we're going to be here, so you'd better get a good rest," I said.

"Still nothing from your phone?"

"No, nothing. It's as dead as..." I was going to say, 'as dead as Emperor Qin,' but thought better of it. "...a dodo."

"What's a dodo?" asked Magic.

"Oh, it's a flightless bird which will become extinct in about nineteen hundred years' time," I replied. Magic looked at me blankly. "You still haven't got your head around this time–travel idea, have you?"

Magic shook his head. "It's hard to take in... it feels like a dream just now. A very real dream." He paused for a moment. "Joe, what will happen if we can't get home?"

"Don't worry about that – we'll get home, I'm sure of it." But the truth was, if I couldn't get my phone to work, we were going to be stuck in the year 209 BC.

***

Thirty–Six

Having accepted that we were not going to return home for a while, we looked for somewhere to spend the night. There weren't really a lot of options. In the distance, Magic spotted smoke rising from some buildings, and we decided to investigate. We had already consumed the limited food supplies we'd brought with us, and I didn't know where our next meal was coming from, or where we would rest our heads that night. Consequently, finding food and a roof over our heads was a priority.

As we reached the buildings, we realised this was temporary accommodation – probably for the labourers who were employed on the building of the Mausoleum. I had read that 700,000 people were employed to complete the tomb, but the majority of them had to be redeployed by the government to fight with the army and quell the peasants' uprisings.

If this was such a labourer's camp, then that would explain the quiet and deserted feel to the village which greeted us. Then we suddenly heard children's and women's voices coming from the far end of the camp. We walked in that direction to investigate. A woman must have heard us approach, and carefully came out of a small wooden building brandishing a large knife.

"Stay away!" she said in Xi'an dialect.

"We mean you no harm," Magic replied. "We seek only shelter for the night."

"Where are you from?" the women asked, dropping the knife to her side.

Magic told her we were from the West, and had come to visit relatives who were working on the building of the Qin Mausoleum. We had not realised they had been taken away to fight with the soldiers. The woman seemed to believe his story, and said we could stay the night if we didn't mind helping her with a few things. Her husband and his brother were fighting with the other labourers and she had no–one to help with gathering food or with other chores. We said we'd be glad to help. Seeing Niki hobbling on the crutch, the woman also asked about Niki's ankle and offered to take a look at it for her.

As we were helping to bring in the vegetables that had been planted in a neighbouring field, it was a chance to talk to Magic.

"I'm impressed," I said.

"Impressed with what Uncle Joe?"

"You speak the language, and you know the right things to say."

"Ah yes – my parents taught me a lot. But they never told me about time–travel."

"I guess not! How do you feel about staying here?"

"In this time period?" he asked. I nodded. "I don't know... maybe I could get used to it. I think you can get used to anything if you have to. I'd miss my phone and computer though. And I'm not sure I could eat traditional food all the time."

We took the food back to the make–shift home for cooking. Niki and the woman, whom was called Yong, were trying to have a conversation.

"She's teaching me the local dialect," Nik explained. "It's not so difficult."

"And what are you teaching her?" I asked.

"About men," she smiled.

We ate a simple dinner with home–made wine, and then Yong sang to us. It was a local folk song with a beautiful melody, and we all clapped in appreciation. Magic sang his favourite Karaoke song, which Yong thought was very funny and very beautiful at the same time. I wondered what she thought of us... we must have seemed very strange to her. By this time, we were all tired, and Yong showed us where we could sleep. Nik and I shared one bed, and Magic the other. It was warm and cosy there and we felt safe in Yong's small home. I soon drifted off to sleep.

*

We awoke the next morning to the sound of voices – men's voices. It was light, but couldn't have been much more than six. Yong came to our bed urgently.

"Soldiers here – are they looking for you?" Niki understood the words 'soldiers' and 'you', which was enough to get us out of bed quickly.

"Someone must have told them," I said – maybe the doctor?"

We had no time to philosophize about who informed on us, or why, we just had to escape as soon as we could. Magic was already awake and getting dressed when we went to his room.

"I heard – we have to go quickly."

We said our goodbyes and hugged Yong, who gave us some food to take with us. Soldiers were searching other homes, and would be at Yong's very soon. Nik could not run with her damaged ankle, so Magic carried her. We had reached about fifty metres from the house when I heard a ringing noise, and then a swoosh as an arrow landed just a couple of metres behind us. We stopped to see four soldiers, two of whom were aiming crossbows in our direction. There was nowhere to hide, and it was no use trying to get away. We turned to face the soldiers. They did not look at all friendly, and were getting closer and closer.

"You two run!" urged Niki, but there was no way we would leave her at the mercy of these men. This was not the way I wanted our trip to end.

"What's that sound?" asked Magic as the ominous–looking warriors stopped just two paces from us.

"Oh my god – it's the alarm on my phone!" I whispered. I quickly removed the phone from my pocket – it was working!

"Joe, just do it – now!" Niki hissed as one of the soldiers grabbed her arm. I changed the date as Niki kneed the soldier in the groin and she and Magic grabbed my arms – and we were gone.

*

The soldiers had vanished and the workers' village was no more. Instead, we could see Japanese tanks driving across the countryside in the distance.

"What year is this?" Nik asked.

"Nineteen thirty–six," I replied after checking my phone. The others looked at me with puzzled brows.

"I just entered any number! I thought you wanted to get away as quickly as possible! Ready to go home now?"

"That would be nice," replied Nik.

*

Back in 2018, we returned to the tree where we'd left our twenty–first century clothes and caught the local bus back to downtown Xi'an. We were too tired to change from our costumes... if people wanted to stare, let them stare. We'd just escaped death in Ancient China.

On the way back to town, I sat next to Magic.

"Thanks again for all your help – we couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome Uncle Joe. I've never had an experience quite like that one, and I know it's real now... time–travel I mean."

'Oh, really... and what convinced you?"

"Believe it or not, it wasn't seeing the winter snow, or marvelling at the underground Palace, or even the soldiers."

"Then what was it?" I asked.

"It was seeing the Japanese tanks."

"Really? Why's that?"

"Nobody would ever allow Japanese tanks to be driven across the Chinese countryside again – not even in a War movie. Not after what happened in the past. It had to be real.

***

Thirty–Seven

Having returned home to London via Shanghai, we needed a couple of weeks to recover from our time trip to ancient Xi'an. For one thing, Niki needed time to mend her ankle and get that better. I thought it would magically fix itself merely by returning to the present day – but no such luck. Perhaps we could have reverse engineered the accident by jumping back to a time just before it happened and making sure she didn't fall – we did consider that. But seeing as it was only a sprained ankle, it wasn't worth the trauma of another trip to the same place in 209 BC. The thoughts, feelings and sounds of the crossbow–wielding soldiers still haunt us. (I've changed the ringtone on my mobile now, but every now and then I hear it on someone else's phone, causing my heart to skip a beat).

We both got back to our hobbies after our China trip – Niki to painting, and me to writing and winning more money. But it wasn't long before my mind turned to time travel again.

One thing we had not yet done was visit the far future. I had been reading my copy of 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells which Niki gave me as an anniversary present. This had fuelled my desire to travel forward in time for a change. In Wells' novel, a young man travels 800,000 years into the future and discovers a very different world to his present one. Should we jump to the same period of time to verify or refute his picture of humanity in that era? I said nothing to Nik about my idea for the time being, but kept it at the back of my mind for the next few weeks. Eventually, I just had to blurt it out.

We were having coffee in the lounge after breakfast one morning, and I told her I'd been reading the book she gave me for our anniversary.

"Good," she replied, not looking up from her iPad.

"Interesting ideas in there. In one part, the time traveller goes forward 800,000 years into the future..."

"Yes, I know Joe... I've read the book, remember?"

"Ah, yes – I remember."

"And I know why you're talking about this."

"You do?"

"Of course. You're transparent as glass Joe Cooper," she smiled. "So how far forward do you want to travel into the future this time?"

We discussed a range of dates from AD 200 to AD 200,000, and in the end decided to jump as far into the future as we had recently gone back to the past; that is, around 2,200 years forwards in time. We thought this was far enough forward to make the Earth a very different place, but not so far forward as to make communication with the natives completely impossible. So, AD 4,200 it was.

*

Preparing for a trip to a future World was not easy. For starters, we had no idea what sort of climate would greet us on arrival. Scientists had been talking about Global Warming for a long time now – could the future be much warmer and wetter? Could sea levels rise to such a height that many coastlines around the World would disappear – perhaps whole countries sinking beneath the waves? Or would parts of the planet be wiped out by the sort of nuclear war that we had managed to avert in 2056? The choice of where and when we jumped back in time was therefore rather important. Finding ourselves fifty metres under water would not be the best start to a trip.

It had been known for a quite a while that the UK's landmass was tilting, with the South–East of England going down and the North–West of Scotland rising up. Travelling to Scotland therefore seemed a safe bet. I had been a student at the University of Edinburgh and recalled the large hill known as Arthur's Seat which dominated the city skyline. Niki agreed the place sounded a safe enough viewpoint, and it would also give us a chance to see how the city had changed in over two thousand years. So, Edinburgh in the year 4200 it was. Now, what should we take with us?

"Smirnoff," replied Niki without hesitation after I posed this question one Saturday afternoon after lunch.

"The vodka or the contract killer?" I asked.

"The hitman. You know I hate vodka Joe – it's worse that bai jiu."

Bai jiu (literally 'white alcohol') is the Chinese spirit drunk at many business and family dinners in China. It can be as strong as 80% proof, so we both avoided it like the plague.

"So, you'd rather take Smirnoff this time – not Magic?"

"Magic was great in China. But for going to an unknown and possibly dangerous future, we need someone who is prepared to kill to protect us.

"Okay, let's give him a call then. Usual rate? He might fancy a trip to Scotland."

As it turned out, he was very interested in the project. Having not heard from us for a while, he had been wondering whether or not we still required his services. He was therefore pleasantly surprised to hear from Niki, and we arranged to meet up at Kew Gardens in West London.

"Count me in," the Russian said almost as soon as we met up with him. We were standing on the Treetop Walkway, looking down on the gardens below. "Will they still have whiskey in AD 4200?"

"We'll take a bottle for you" Nik promised.

"Only one? This must be a very short trip..."

"I thought you never drank on business, Smirnoff," I said.

"Smirnoff is a never–say–never sort of guy, Joe."

"Ah, you see! Nikita understands me! You need to learn this Joe." He paused to light one of his Russian cigarettes. "So, what's this big trip into the future about... trying to stop a crazy dictator pushing the button?"

"Not exactly," I replied, "we just want to know the future of the planet... the effects of global warming."

"And you think you can stop it by telling all those small–minded presidents around the World what is going to happen if we continue to burn coal, oil and gas... that sort of thing?"

"Something like that."

"Okay, well I tell you the truth Joe, as a friend: no–one is going to listen to you. They'll ask you how you know what is going to happen, and you'll say you've just been to the future and seen it for yourself. And then they'll lock you away. They don't give a shit now, and they won't give a shit then."

"We want to take a look anyway," said Niki. "Personally, I'm not interested in making a difference anymore – I just want to know the future. Call it curiosity."

"And you think it could be dangerous?" We both nodded. "Then I'm your man," he smiled.

*

Back at home, we talked about how we were going to get up to Scotland, and I suggested a camper van. It would give us the mobility to move around, plus the option of sleeping in the van overnight if other accommodation was difficult to come by.

"Great! But just one problem," Nik pointed out. "We don't have a camper van."

"Then we'll go and buy one! I won quite a bit at the Casino yesterday..."

"And when we get to Scotland, how do we take it with us to the year 4200?"

This was a good point, a very good point. My gut feeling was that we just hold on to the vehicle, and then time jump in the usual way – based on the principle that anything attached to us always seems to travel with us. But we'd never taken anything as big as a van to the past or into the future before. In the end, we decided to try it first – a dry run with our own car – before splashing out on the camper van.

Nik and I drove up to Hampstead Heath the very next evening, and attempted to leap a couple of years into the future with the car. If it worked with a two–year jump, then surely it would work for two thousand years?

First, we sat inside the car with Nik holding onto a door handle. At the same time, I held the steering wheel with one hand and changed the date on my phone with the other. I'd placed an old beer bottle outside the car in the road as a control. (If the beer bottle was still there after we'd attempted the jump, then we clearly hadn't gone anywhere). We both stared at the bottle, willing it to disappear, but it went nowhere. We tried jumping twenty years forward, but just the same.

Plan B was to stand outside the car. We each took a firm grip of a door handle, and I attempted to send us flying into the future again. But still no joy.

"Why didn't that work?" Nik queried.

"Search me," I said after a moment.

"Why? Are you hiding something?"

"It's an expression Nik – you must have heard of it? It means I don't know. Wo bu zhi dao."

"Mmm... touchy."

"There must be some reason..." I said, staring into the distance.

"Did you leave the handbrake on?" Nik smiled.

"Oh, you're not going to say that the handbrake stops us travelling through time!"

"Do you have a better idea?"

I had to admit that I didn't, and we both sat in the car again – this time with the handbrake off (making sure we were on level ground, of course). And it worked! We jumped two years forwards, and the beer bottle was gone. It also worked when we held on to the vehicle from the outside.

"Well, I'll be..."

"You'll be what Joe?"

"I'll be going to buy a camper van in the morning," I smirked. "I guess it worked without the handbrake because then the car is a moveable object. Whereas, with the brake on, it's sort of fixed to the ground..."

"Like our house."

"Yeah. We never take our house with us when we jump from it. Not that I've noticed..."

"You're not as dumb as you look, Joe Cooper."

*

The vehicle we purchased in the end was more of a motor home than camper van. We wanted to have enough room for food, clothing and other things – and we might need to accommodate the three of us. Our money and credit cards would be worthless two thousand years in the future, so we had to make sure we'd got everything we needed to survive for a while. Yes, we could always jump back to the present – but only if our phone continued to work as a time machine. Our experience in ancient China had taught us to err on the side of caution and assume that if things can go wrong, then they probably will.

Smirnoff said he would meet us at our destination rather than accompany us on the journey up North. So Nik and I had plenty of time to talk on the way to Scotland.

"Joe, are you getting bored of time travelling?" Niki asked me as we drove along the motorway. The question surprised me.

"Bored? No! How could anyone get bored of time travel! Why d'you ask? Are you getting bored with it?"

"Sometimes I wonder why we're doing it."

"Making a difference... curiosity... they're the main reasons I do it."

"It can be dangerous."

"Sure it can – I know that. We don't want to get stuck like we nearly did in China. But I still think it's worth doing. If we told anyone we were bored with time–travel, they'd think we'd gone crazy!"

"There's one thing time–travel can't do."

"Which is?"

"Make us live longer."

I had thought about this a few times. We continued to age normally however much we travelled through time, and irrespective of the time zones we occupied. But would we really want to live forever?

"Maybe people in the future will find a way to live longer," Nik conjectured.

"Discover the secret of eternal life?"

"Yeah – something like that."

"But would you really want to live on this planet forever... particularly with the way things are going environmentally?"

We both went quiet with that thought. Deep questions about the purpose of life and what awaits us after death were round the corner, and at that moment neither of us wanted to face such questions. But we would be forced to face them one day.

We'd left London early to avoid the morning rush hour traffic. After chatting for a while, Niki took a rest in the back whilst I drove. I turned on the radio and listened to some laid back jazz. We took our turns at driving and resting and didn't rush to get up to Edinburgh, having arranged to meet Smirnoff in Holyrood Park in the city at 3pm that next day. I was looking forward to seeing him again.

***

Thirty–Eight

Arthur's Seat is situated in Holyrood Park, which is also the location of Holyrood Palace, one of the homes of our Queen when she visits Scotland. Edinburgh is said to be built on seven hills, and Arthur's Seat is the highest at 250 metres. I figured that if parts of Edinburgh had been flooded by AD 4200, the top of Arthur's seat would be one of the safest locations for us all. I had lived close to the hill during my student days at the University and regularly used to run up the north side to keep fit. The view from the top is amazing, with a postcard picture view of the city. It's said to be the site of an extinct volcano, with a row of sandstone rocks called the Salisbury Crags running down from the summit.

Smirnoff looked quite different. He'd shaved off the stubble, had his hair cut and was sporting a new leather jacket. He greeted us like family.

"Joe, Nikita!"

"So, what have you been up to?" I asked the Russian, not expecting an honest reply.

"Oh, you know... killing time... and other things. Nice motor!" he said changing the subject. "What did you pay for it?"

"Enough," I said.

"So, instead of paying me, you can give me this vehicle... yes?"

We had paid close to 40,000 pounds for the motor home, so it seemed a good enough deal.

"Okay, we'll think about it," I said. I wanted to talk to Niki privately before handing over the keys. I wanted to make sure his contribution was worth that sort of money.

Smirnoff gave me his bags to carry into the van. One felt incredibly heavy.

"Jeez, what have you got in there – a small machine gun?"

"You said you might need firepower, so that's what I brought."

Once we were ready, we drove along the road leading towards the Arthur's Seat. There's a small lake fairly high up called Dunsapie Loch, close to which we could park the van and then walk to the summit.

I'd always had a good feeling about this area. I used to have a view of the hill from my room in the adjacent student halls of residence where I stayed. From one direction, Arthur's Seat looked just like a sleeping lion, guarding the city and waiting to be reawakened. Before jumping to the future, Niki wanted to see the city from the top of the hill and take some photographs, so we headed up a well–trodden path to the summit. Smirnoff preferred to stay by the van to have a smoke.

There were quite a few people at the top enjoying the fresh air and the views of across Edinburgh. The vista was virtually unchanged since my student days.

"What's that over there – the rock with the buildings on?" Nik asked.

"Oh, that's Castle Rock... and the famous Edinburgh Castle."

"Is that the tallest building in Edinburgh?"

"I suppose so – if you include the rock. But if you want the tallest free–standing building, it's that one over there." I pointed towards a church spire in the distance.

"It's a church!" she exclaimed.

"Yes! St Margaret's I think it's called. It's around ninety meters high."

After we'd satisfied our curiosity, we returned to Smirnoff and the van.

"Can we drive the van up the hill a little?" asked the Russian as we walked down the grassy slope.

"Well, we're not supposed to, and it's quite steep," I said, "but I guess we could try. Are you thinking the van would be safer up there?"

"I am," he replied.

We returned to the camper van, and drove it up the slope in the direction of the summit. I was glad we'd purchased a vehicle with four–wheel drive. After about a hundred metres, we thought it was far enough and stopped the van. We were ready to jump to the future.

"Can we stay in the van to do this?" Smirnoff asked?

I told him about our experiments in London, and how we had to leave the handbrake off in order to take the van with us. Accordingly, Smirnoff put some rocks behind the wheels so it couldn't roll away down the hill.

Sitting in the van, and making sure no–one was watching, we all grabbed hold of an immoveable part of the vehicle, whilst opened Date Me on my phone.

"Ready?" I asked. The others nodded. I noticed there was a camper's tent around two hundred metres away – that would be a good test of whether or not we had actually moved through time. I changed the date to AD 4200 and we experienced the biggest wobble yet – it felt like a small earthquake. It was all I could do to hold onto the vehicle. When it was over, the tent had disappeared. But more than that, the whole vista looked very different – mainly because the car park below us was now a small lake! It was a good thing we followed Smirnoff's idea and moved the van up the hill. We grabbed a bag from the van, containing a camera, binoculars and a couple of Smirnoff's hand guns, and returned to the top of the hill. I stared at the view in awe.

"Oh–my–god!" Nik exclaimed.

Where once buildings lay, there was now only a vast expanse of water. Pretty much the entire city of Edinburgh had been consumed by sea.

"It's amazing," I murmured.

"So, this is the capital of Scotland?" Smirnoff observed. "I've always wanted to see it."

"Well if you've brought your scuba gear, you probably still can," I replied.

"The top of the Castle is still there," Nik observed excitedly. "It looks like an island!"

Just the buildings were still visible – seemingly floating on the sea.

"What's that over there – in the distance?" Niki was looking through her binoculars and pointing at two towers standing out of the water towards the West. I took the binoculars and stared where she was pointing.

"Oh! It's the Forth Road Bridge – what's left of it."

"Let me see," Niki said, taking back the binoculars from my hands.

I remember the Bridge used to be around a hundred and fifty metres high, and it looked like there was about a third left above water. So the flood was probably around a hundred metres deep. That was enough to submerge all the city buildings – save those on Castle Hill.

The question was: where did everybody go? If Edinburgh had gone, it was likely that other towns and cities in the region had met the same fate. People must have headed for higher ground, assuming the residents had had time to escape the flood. It could well have been gradual over time – sea levels had already been rising in our own time with the effects of global warming.

"Joe," Niki said, "I don't get it. You said that the UK was tilting... London and South–East England sinking, and North–West Scotland rising."

"That's right."

"Then why is part of Scotland under water?"

It was a good question.

"Well, for one thing," I replied, "we're in the east of Central Scotland. And who knows what changes could have happened in two thousand years. Maybe the tilting of the country caused it to break in half, with the north and south sinking and the middle saying above water."

"We should try the mountains, the highlands. If people are anywhere, they'll be there," suggested Smirnoff. We both agreed with his plan – it made perfect sense. The question was: how could we drive anywhere surrounded by a vast expanse of water? The answer in the end was simple – if you can time–travel, of course. We returned to the van, jumped back to the present, and then drove towards Stirling – the gateway to the Highlands of Scotland.

***

Thirty–Nine

It was late by the time we arrived in Stirling. We managed to find a small hotel with rooms for the three of us in the town centre. Smirnoff said he didn't mind sharing a hotel with us – he didn't think he'd be known in this neck of the woods. After having a few drinks in the hotel bar, we said goodnight and went to our respective rooms. We had a lot to think about before travelling to the mountains the next day.

*

In the morning, Smirnoff was nowhere to be seen, so Niki and I breakfasted alone.

"Mmm... real Scottish marmalade!" remarked Niki crunching her way through the toast.

"You're really not Chinese anymore, are you Nik? You're supposed to enjoy congee and baozi for breakfast, not toast and marmalade."

"Do you think they'll still have haggis where we're going?" she asked, ignoring my quip.

"You never know," I said, pouring more coffee. "But with the floods, and whatever else will happen in the future, it's difficult to imagine what we're going to find where we're going." My mind turned to the Russian. "I should look for Smirnoff – I thought he was joining us for breakfast. Don't you think he's different this trip Nik?"

"He looks different," she replied.

"Yeah, but I mean his character... more distant."

"You worry too much Joe – Smirnoff's Smirnoff – he's always like that. Unpredictable."

Maybe Niki was right, but I wasn't so sure. I looked around the hotel, and found him in the bar. He was sitting talking to the barman.

"Has he told you what he does for a living?" I asked the barman.

"Aye, he has – he's told me all aboot it, and I'm certainly interested. I might just give him a call."

"Really?" I said, curious to what Smirnoff had told the man.

"Aye, I've wanted to put an extension on the back o' the hoose for a wee time now, and this gentleman might get some business from me."

"Ready to go?" Smirnoff asked me.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

We checked out of the hotel, and Smirnoff insisted on taking the wheel for the drive up to the Highlands. The journey from our hotel to Callander was less than sixteen miles, and took us thirty minutes to get there. We chose this town because it was inland, 130 metres above sea level, and at the foot of a range of mountains. So there was a very good chance it would survive the flood. But, as Niki pointed out, it wasn't unusual for the River Teith to break its banks and flood the town in the winter, so that was an ominous sign for the future.

From the town, you don't have to go far to reach the mountains. We drove a little way out and parked the van in a forest park, from where we could look down on Callander. It was very much a picture postcard sort of town, with just one main street, and it had been used in various movies over the years. The buildings were either grey or red brick.

We readied ourselves for the jump again, taking what we thought we would need from inside the van. Holding on the vehicle firmly, I shouted "Any last requests?"

"Keep us dry!" shouted back Niki. Then we jumped.

*

Think about what buildings can still be seen around the World from 2,000 years ago? Really only Roman, Greek and Middle Eastern stone structures remain to this day, albeit in a ruined state. Brick buildings rarely stand the test of time. In Callander 4200 AD, we saw the time–decayed remnants of what we had seen two minutes previously – now swamped in what had been a fast–flowing river, but was now a sizable lake covering most of the town. Clearly, no–one was living there.

There was little point investigating this area further, so we returned to the van and drove towards the range of hills and mountains in the near distance. So far, we had seen no evidence of human life in AD 4200... but that was about to change.

As we drove onwards and upwards, the eerie silence felt a little disturbing. This part of Scotland had always been a quiet part of the country, though in the summer season you could be bumper to bumper with thousands of tourists heading for the Scottish hills. Now, not even a bird sang. But what was most noticeable was the lack of trees... there were none. I had observed the lack of foliage when we made the jump, but not thought much of it. You'd expect a few changes after more than two millenniums.

"It looks like Orkney," Smirnoff observed.

"You've been to the Orkney Islands?" I exclaimed.

"Sure, I did a job there once. Inside an Indian Restaurant in Kirkwall."

"That was you?"

Smirnoff nodded and smiled. "It was an unsolved case for twelve years after the job, but then they framed a soldier – a Black Watch sniper. Why would a sniper shoot a waiter at point blank range when he could have picked him off from distance? It didn't make any sense."

"But that was good for you, right?"

"Sure... I always cover my back."

This was only the second time he had discussed his work with us. The first time he didn't tell us the truth. Maybe he felt safe after travelling four thousand years into a future where nobody could ever know him?

What had been the A84, the main road between Stirling and Loch Earn, was now no more than a track – and a difficult track to negotiate at that. More like driving across a very bumpy field than a road. I suppose akin to some Roman Roads in England which were disused for centuries. So the going was very slow. As Smirnoff drove, Niki and I kept our eyes peeled for any signs of life – anything.

Then Niki saw something which brought us to a sudden halt.

"What's that – over there on the hill?"

She was pointing excitedly at six or more towers on the top of a small hill. I picked up the binoculars to take a look, but Smirnoff already seem to know what they were.

"Ventilation shafts. We used them in Russia for underground bases for many years... you Brits too. Only ours were not so obvious. We should be careful now – we don't know what kind of people we're going to meet here." As he was talking he pulled out an assault rifle, a hand gun and ammunition from the back of the van. I'll go first and take a look – you two wait there. "I'll be back," he said in his best Terminator voice.

"Don't forget, the natives might be friendly!" Niki called after him.

"Better to assume they're not," he replied without looking back.

We watched Smirnoff scale the hill in a zigzag pattern, keeping his head low to the ground. He was wearing what looked like SAS camouflage dress. Soon he had disappeared over the ridge of the hill.

"What d'you think he'll find?" asked Nik as we sat in the van waiting for news from the Russian.

"Dunno. I keep thinking of comparisons between the Romans in two hundred BC and the Ancient Britons. After the Romans left, there was no progress – things deteriorated. What they call the Dark Ages. That's what I expect to find – people living off the land, fighting for survival."

"Have you noticed the air?" Niki asked.

"What about it?"

"It's not good."

"Worse than Shanghai?"

"A lot worse," she replied putting on a pollution face–mask.

We waited for nearly an hour. After an hour and a half, I'd had enough.

"I'm going out there."

"It could be dangerous Joe – you heard what Smirnoff said."

"I know – but we can't wait here forever. Look, I'll set the phone ready to jump back to 2018, so if I do find any trouble, I can get the hell out of there."

"You're not going alone!"

"It might be dangerous."

"Oh, and it's safer in the car on my own? I'm coming with you – don't forget our arrangement."

I had to agree she was right: I shouldn't leave her on her own – we should stick together. Neither of us was comfortable taking a gun with us, but I did anyway – and Nik took a knife. Plus, some waterproof clothing, warm hats, gloves and two torches. Seeing as Smirnoff had taken the main key to the van, I locked up with the spare. We'd no idea what we would find at the top of the hill.

***

Forty

Breathless, we stood at the top of the grassy knoll. I wondered how Smirnoff had got up there and then disappeared so quickly. He was clearly fitter than both of us. The ventilation shafts, as Smirnoff had described them, were in the form of circular tubes around three metres high, half a metre in diameter and made of some sort of baked clay. Once we were at the summit of the hill, we realized it was not a pinnacle but the top of a vast area that seemed to go on for miles. Ventilation shafts were spread all over.

"Do you think we're standing on the top of an underground city?" I asked Nik.

"Possibly. Maybe like Qin Shi Huang's tomb in Xi'an. But how do we get in?"

"Good question."

But it seemed like a question to which we had no answers. We walked over the hill for some time looking for an entrance – but nothing. Then Niki said, "Joe, how do we get into our house?" For some reason, she suddenly seemed interested in our home in London.

"We use a key."

"And we put the key in...?"

"Well, I usually put it in the door – I don't know about you Chinese."

"Which is where?"

"For god's sake Nik, where is this leading?"

"Down there, hopefully," she replied, pointing at the grass. "Just answer the question, will you?"

I felt a bit like a young child answering my primary school teacher's questions.

"On the ground floor – or in China, the first."

Niki smiled at me. She could at least have given me some candy for my correct answers. And then it dawned on me. "Okay, got it... we should be looking lower down – not on the roof!"

We walked down the hill, and then around it – until we found a well–worn track on the opposite side of the hill from which we had come. And then an entrance. It was hidden by being recessed into the hill, but once you were at it, there was no doubting it was a door. It was made of dark brown, varnished wood and looked old.

"Should we knock?" asked Niki.

"I suppose it's polite to."

"It could be dangerous."

We looked at the door for a moment. Then I said, "Take this," handing Niki the gun. "I'm going to try it."

I slowly turned the large handle on the door, and it opened easily. Inside, blue luminous lights led along a corridor. Not very bright, but good enough to lead the way. I beckoned Niki to follow me. We could hear voices at the end of the corridor, so we moved as quietly as we could. As the corridor opened into a large room at the end, there was Smirnoff – sitting on some sort of a sofa with a glass of something in his hand, smiling at a woman opposite him. I don't think I'd ever seen Smirnoff look so contented. We had a good view of the room without being seen ourselves. The woman had beautiful fair skin, silver hair and was dressed in a blue robe of some kind. She must have sensed our presence, because she suddenly called out:

"Do enter... qing jin," she said in a warm voice. We looked at each other, and then entered the room.

"You speak Chinese?" asked Niki. The woman just smiled and indicated two seats next to Smirnoff. I began to notice other people in the dimly–lit room. One was a man, slightly younger than the woman, who was standing to one side, plus six other people seated around the room, which was lit by the same type of lights as in the corridor, but in other colours.

"I believe you've travelled a long way," the man said in a rich voice.

"Don't try to hide anything," warned Smirnoff. "It's not worth it. They can read your minds." I didn't know whether he was joking or not, but took his advice.

"We have, yes... from the year 2018," I said. The man looked at the woman, who nodded.

"I'm Ben and this is Madelaine." I was about to stand up and politely shake their hands, but was stopped before I began.

"Sorry, we don't," Ben said, waving me away. "No–one does that now – not since the epidemic."

"What have you seen so far?" Madelaine asked.

"We've seen Edinburgh... well, where it had been. And what's left of Callander," said Niki, not afraid to talk to the strangers.

"Ah! Well, I hope you haven't stayed outside too long," Madelaine replied.

"Why's that?" I asked.

"The air's poisoned," Smirnoff answered. He was clearly serious.

"Yes, it's true," said Ben. "It's alright to go out for very short periods – but it's best to stay inside."

I wondered if this was connected to the epidemic Ben spoke of, but didn't want to state something that might be obvious.

"Yes, it is," said Madelaine, answering the question that I'd only formed in my mind. It took me aback, and I was tempted to say, 'What is?' or 'Sorry?' to pretend I hadn't had this thought. But it seemed we couldn't hide anything from these people, as Smirnoff said. "You know, it's better if you just speak your thoughts. No–one here is going to judge you or say you're wrong," Madelaine stated.

"Unless of course you are wrong," smiled Ben.

"Thoughts are very special substances," Madelaine continued.

"Substances?" queried Niki.

"Now you know why I've been here so long!" quipped Smirnoff.

"Yes – thoughts are made of substance, matter. What did you think they were made of?"

"I don't know – I've never really considered it," Nik replied.

"Well, this is your chance now," said Madelaine. "But first you should have a drink. Is tea all right for you?"

We confirmed it was, and one of the girls who had been sitting at the back of the room stood up and left to make the tea. This gave me a chance to study the area more carefully. The walls were lined with timber, and the furniture was all constructed of various types of wood. Very little metal was evident, and certainly no plastics. Everyone was dressed in clothes that looked home–made, rather than mass manufactured. But beautifully put together.

The tea arrived and Madelaine poured for us. The cups and teapot were traditional pottery ones, similar to those you'd find in our own time. Madelaine and Ben sat down close to us and Ben began to speak.

"A long time ago, but still many years in your future, the Earth was affected by several worldwide changes. You could call them disasters, but really they were just the consequences of the way mankind had misused the Earth. The first was the rising sea–levels, caused by what was then called 'global warming'. It developed fairly slowly at first and then accelerated. It shouldn't have been a surprise – the scientists and environmentalists had been warning for many years that this would happen. But most people had the idea that it would not happen to them, or it wouldn't happen in their lifetimes, and so they didn't care about it. When first Venice and then Bangkok disappeared under the waves, people began to take things a bit more seriously – but by then it was too late. The combined effect of the warming sea temperatures and the melting ice–poles caused the sea levels to rise dramatically.

"At the same time, the earthquakes which had been very common around the Earth, but rarely hit cities, began to increase in magnitude and occur in densely populated areas. Also, according to our history documents, during the twentieth and twenty–first centuries governments around the globe authorized the testing of atomic bombs underground, either blissfully ignorant of the consequences, or not really caring about them. Not only that, but the large–scale mining of coal, gas, oil and minerals intensified – creating great chasms within the Earth. In addition, forests were decimated at a rate far beyond the rate they could re–grow. These combined agents had a profound effect on the Earth, which had to adjust itself to the changes – producing cataclysmic earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis – and extreme weather.

"There is nothing man can do to stop Mother Nature once she gets going. Unlike wild animals, which had retained the intuitive guidance they needed for survival, Man had long since lost the intuition that could have guided him away from the trouble spots. People instead were misguided by their scientists; and whilst they were very good at giving details about earthquakes and other natural dangers after the events, they could do nothing to predict with any certainty exactly where or when an earthquake, flood or volcano would hit next. Even when people knew they lived in an earthquake area, such as the West Coast of America, they were reluctant to leave their homes, and took their chances with their friends and families.

"It was, we understand, a huge chain reaction that spread across the globe. Not only whole cities, but in some cases whole countries disappeared beneath the waves. You are familiar with Japan, I take it?" I said we were. "It is no more. It sank below the ocean many, many years ago."

Ben paused to take a sip of his tea, and Niki and I just stared at each other.

"When will all this happen?" she asked.

"From your time period, the large–scale events will begin within fifty years. But I think you are already accustomed to earthquakes and extreme weather... is that right?" We nodded soberly. The weather had certainly been getting more and more extreme in recent years, and flooding in many parts of the World had now become an accepted, though unwanted, part of life.

"But how can a whole country disappear from the face of the Earth?" asked Nik.

"Easily. It's happened many times in the history of this planet. Have you not heard of Atlantis?" I was beginning to hear the name Atlantis more and more often. I nodded, and Ben continued. "Atlantis was a powerful and strong country for thousands of years. They had flying machines, and could travel across continents – just as you do in your own time – except that theirs were cleaner."

Having witnessed the flying machines in Ancient Egypt, Ben's words were totally believable.

"Then there was another factor in the destruction of your civilization," Ben added. "I understand that nuclear power is used extensively in your time for the generation of electricity and energy. Can you imagine what would happen if hundreds of these power stations were hit by earthquakes?"

In 2011, the Fukushima nuclear power station in Japan was hit by a tsunami, triggered by an underwater earthquake, causing the release of radioactive materials into the atmosphere. Before that there was the Russian Chernobyl disaster in 1986.

"I guess a great number of people would die... and the atmosphere would be poisoned," I said.

"Indeed," replied Ben. And not just the atmosphere – the soil too."

"What about England?" Nik asked, "Did it survive?"

"The United Kingdom, as it was called in your time, is no longer united. The landmass physically split into two parts, along a line from South Wales to the North–East of England. Most of the South is now below water, and only the high grounds in Scotland, Wales and the North of England are usable. It's been like that for many centuries."

I was suddenly aware that Smirnoff had disappeared. Neither Niki nor I had seen him leave – we'd been so engrossed in what Ben was telling us.

"Did you see where our friend went?" I asked.

"He said he had to fetch something from your vehicle, I believe," answered Madelaine. "Don't worry... I'm sure he'll be back soon. Would you like some more tea? We gratefully accepted a top–up of what tasted like blackberry tea – something I must admit I'd never tried.

"Joe, I think you should go and find Smirnoff... I feel uneasy," Niki whispered.

"Okay," I replied. I made my apologies to Madelaine and Ben, telling them I'd be back in a few minutes. Then I realized I hadn't got my phone. "Have you got my mobile Nik?" I asked.

"No... didn't you put it on the table when you sat down?"

"Ah, I did see your friend pick up a device of some kind from the table," observed Ben. I thought it must be his."

"Oh shit!" I exclaimed and ran after Smirnoff. Why would he take my phone? He couldn't use it to call anyone, he couldn't use the GPS. It was useless to him... unless... unless...

As I ran down the hill, I could see the Russian at the car. He had something in his hand, and the way he was holding the door handle with the other hand sent shivers through my spine.

"Smirnoff!" I shouted down to him – but it was too late. Both the van and the man had disappeared, leaving Niki and I completely trapped in this desolate world – 2,200 years in the future.

*****

To be continued in Timeleap 2!

Other books by Steve Howrie

Time Leap 2 – The Time is Now

SYNOPSIS:

In the second Time Leap book, we follow Niki and Joe as they continue their time-travelling adventures into the ancient past and the far future. This time, they meet King Arthur and his knights in post-Roman Britain, and make new friends in ancient Palestine. Again, they employ the services of Russian hitman Smirnoff, but we also meet new characters in the form of Joe's old friend Gareth from university and Crystal and Miranda from AD 4200.

Alien Virus (Science Fiction, Adventure)

SYNOPSIS:

When journalist Kevin Lee first meets retired academic Frank Peters and hears about an intelligent alien virus that has invaded the Earth, he is naturally very sceptical. However, when Peters is murdered, his scepticism soon turns to a real concern for the future of the planet and the survival of mankind. Kevin joins a group of liked-minded people in Edinburgh dedicated to eradicating the virus. Returning to London, he rescues his colleague Sandi from a London hospital. Finding himself a wanted man, he seeks refuge with members of the group on a remote Scottish island. There he gains a new understanding of Frank Peters – who turns out to be much more than he first appeared. Together, the group make a final bid to eradicate the virus from humanity – and from the Universe.

Bucket & Broom in China (Fiction, Humour).

SYNOPSIS:

A very funny, light–hearted fictional diary, seen through the eyes of misfit twenty–something Simon Broom. After starting a microbiology course, Simon lands an English teaching job in Shanghai, China, and heads off on a life–changing adventure with quirky girlfriend Julie Bucket. The story covers eight months in the young couple's lives, as they interact with other expat teachers and strive to find themselves in an alien culture.

READER REVIEWS:

This is absolutely and utterly hilarious! I am very picky about my humour; most of what passes for it is witless and dumb. Yours is of the smart observational kind, and wickedly funny. (Andi Brown, 'Animal Cracker').

What madness! Is getting a job in China really that easy? Wonderfully escapist stuff with plenty of smile–raising moments. On my watchlist as we speak. (Simon Marks, 'That English Weirdo').

I like it! An easy read for when you need cheering up or when relaxing by a pool. (Claire Lyman, 'Inevitable').

A la Adrian Mole – a really humorous foray into teaching. (Sarah Churchill, UK).

Bucket & Broom Tie the Knot (Fiction, Humour).

This is the continuing story of misfit Simon Broom and his side–kick girlfriend Julie Bucket as they experience life in China, as told through Simon's eyes, ears and everything else! In 'Bucket & Broom Tie the Knot', the couple have finally found their feet in Shanghai – and Simon finds that Julie really is pregnant. But who is the father? Simon is driven from pillar to post whilst he strives to answer this question – stumbling across American journalist Sam James on the way. Falling in love with Sam, Simon is more confused than ever about his life and turns, as usual, to his friend and mentor Anton for guidance. Meanwhile, we meet the Bucket family for the first time, and catch up with Simon's father, who makes a surprising announcement. A cocktail of entertaining and interesting questions about life are humorously mixed with Bucket & Broom's unique blend of comic rapport to produce the Bucket & Broom philosophy on life.

44 Acorn Grove and other stories.

An anthology of short stories from author Steve Howrie. Each of story has an unpredictable twist in the tale - see if you can spot them! The topics range from Murder and Mystery, to Horror, Humour, Love and Relationships, Despite the huge popularity of novels today, short stories remain a wonderful way to put across interesting and thought-provoking ideas in just a few pages. Enjoy!

*

All books available on the Kindle stores at: amazon.com, amazon.co.uk and other Amazon websites.

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