CODENAME: ATHENA (2025 Edition) by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

CHAPTER 15 – SHOOTOUT

05:45 (GMT)

Tuesday, September 24, 1940

Apartment # 11, 24 St James’s Place

London

Nancy was awakened by a kiss from Mike Crawford, who was ready to go back to his

apartment and prepare for his workday.

“See you at supper, Nancy. Have a good day.”

“You too, Mike.”

She rose from her bed as the door closed behind the American. After brushing her teeth and washing up, she prepared herself a cup of instant coffee, promising to herself to buy a coffee machine as soon as she could. Then she had to decide how she would prepare for her first day of work at the Prime Minister’s Office. She already had decided on wearing a pine green two-piece classic style ensemble with trousers and a deep vee jacket. It was anyway her only civilian formal outfit in the limited wardrobe she had with her in her car when she had been involuntarily transported back in time. She then thought for a moment about the personal security aspect of her situation. With what the Germans already knew about her, she must now be a high priority target for them. Encountering a German assassination team here in London was thus not impossible. Going into her bedroom’s closet, she pulled out her body armor vest and slipped it over a light T-shirt, then adjusted the Velcro retaining straps for a snug fit. A dark green blouse covered the vest, making it nearly unnoticeable on her muscular body. Putting on the trousers with their elasticized waistband, she added a light gun belt supporting her now mandatory Glock 26 9mm pistol. Once she put her jacket on, the gun was effectively out of sight. A pair of shiny black, low heel leather boots completed her dress. Nancy then took five minutes to apply some light makeup and comb her hair. A nice gold chain with a gold and amethyst medallion went around her neck, left plainly visible by the deep vee of her jacket. Nancy finally clipped on a pair of matching earrings before looking at herself in a full-length mirror.

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‘Dressed to kill’ , she thought with amusement before getting her heavy-duty computer carrying

bag. She loaded inside it her laptop computer, her transformer/recharger unit, a few selected laser disks and memory cards and her iPad with light earphones. Looking at the space left in the case, she thought again about a possible attempt on her life. The Glock 26 was a fine little weapon for conceal and carry and for close range fighting. However, the Germans could well come at her with sub machineguns, in which case she would be heavily outgunned. Since the computer case would be a constant companion at work, it would be ideal to carry a more serious weapon close at hand. Taking her gun case out of the closet and putting it on the bed, she loaded a full magazine in her Desert Eagle pistol and chambered a round with a vigorous pull on the slide. She had to dismount the scope on top of the weapon to make it fit in the outside compartment of her computer case, along with two spare magazines. Passing the case’s carrying strap over her shoulder, she tried a couple of times to take out quickly the .50 caliber pistol. After a small adjustment to the strap, she was satisfied with the results and went downstairs for a quick breakfast.

Mike Crawford and Daniel Adams were already at the dining table, eating English

muffins with jam on them. They, along with Joan Stanley, stared in admiration at her.

“WOW! Where can I get an outfit like this one, Miss Laplante?”

“I’m afraid you won’t find anything like this in London, Madam Stanley.”

“A shame, truly.” interjected Adams. “They should adopt this style here: it has a very

modern look to it.”

Mike Crawford looked with amusement at his colleague: Adams didn’t know how true his statement was.

“You are truly resplendent this morning, Nancy.”

“Why, Thank you all. Unfortunately, this is my only formal outfit, so I will have to be back

in uniform tomorrow. Maybe I should have this outfit duplicated by a good tailor.”

“Excellent idea! Now, have a seat and I will bring more muffins for you.”

Joan Stanley soon brought her a plate of muffins along with a cup of tea. Nancy munched quickly, glancing at her watch: it was already ten to seven. She finished a second muffin in a hurry, gulped down some more tea and kissed Mike Crawford before walking out. Daniel Adams watched her go, then looked at Mike.

“Don’t tell me that you broke your own record and bagged her in a single evening, Mike.”

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“Wrong, Dan: she bagged me.”

Following St James’s Place, Nancy turned right on St James Street, adopting a long,

regular step. Two hundred yards down the street, she came across the gateway towers of St James’s Palace, with their red bricks and stone trim. Taking Marlborough Road, she walked for three hundred yards before crossing the Mall Road and taking the pedestrian trail through St James’s Park. By then she was conscious that somebody was following her. Looking discreetly behind her, she recognized the thin man who had gone in the gunsmith’s shop while she was talking with the owner yesterday. He was keeping at least a one-hundred-yard distance from her, so he was not an immediate threat, yet. Her heart pounding faster, she kept her regular pace while casually getting her right hand closer to the Velcro-fastened flap of her computer case’s outer compartment which contained her heavy pistol. Her attention was suddenly attracted to a man walking towards her on the park trail: he was about six foot tall, broad-shouldered and wore a long trench coat, with his right hand stuck in a pocket. He was now about forty yards away. What had attracted Nancy’s attention was the way he was staring directly at her: that was not an admiring stare but rather a targeting stare. She cut her pace and put her hand inside her carrying case. The man saw that and hesitated, then pulled out a revolver from his coat pocket and pointed it at her.

Two things played against Klaus Manheim: first, his personal emotions about Nancy,

which made him hesitate and lose the initiative; second, his own pistol training, excellent by 1940 European standards but no match for Nancy’s championship-level style of American combat pistolcraft of the 21st Century. He had time to fire one .38 caliber round from the classic but inefficient single hand stance, missing by a few inches at forty yards, before Nancy’s gun erupted in a monstruous blast. The full jacket .50 caliber slug tore through his right clavicle, slamming him backward to the ground while his own revolver flew well out of reach.

As the man was going down, Nancy saw from the corner of her left eye two men come

out of a car parked fifty yards away on the Mall Road and then run towards her with submachine guns in their hands. Checking quickly the position of her follower, who had stopped a hundred yards away, she faced both men but held her fire: they could be British security men coming to

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her aid. That notion quickly went down the drain when half a dozen bullets zipped past her head. She leveled her own gun in a two-handed combat crouch stand and fired. BOOM BOOM

Both men went down like broken puppets. The car from which they had exited started to pull out of its parking spot but never had a chance to cover more than thirty yards, as Nancy plugged it with four .50 caliber slugs. It crashed in the low stone perimeter wall of the park, with nobody then coming out of it.

As people around her screamed and cowered or ran away, she cautiously walked

towards the wounded assassin, her pistol at the ready. She stopped six feet from him: he was conscious but unable to move and obviously in great pain. His right shoulder area was a mess. Moving closer with her pistol still pointed at him, she spoke in German.

“Who sent you? The SD Ausland? The Abwehr?”

He looked at her in pain and fear, barely able to talk.

“Why should I tell you anything? The British will execute me anyway as a spy and a

saboteur.”

“If you are a SD or Gestapo man, then I will let you die without remorse. If you are from

the Abwehr, then I could intercede in your favor. Do you want to live?”

“Of course I want to live, Nancy! I… I wish that we could have met on better terms.”

Nancy slowly lowered her pistol, taken aback by his use of her first name and his statement.

“What do you mean? You just tried to kill me.”

“It was my duty to try. You just did yours better than me.”

Intrigued by all this, Nancy knelt beside the wounded man, who was bleeding profusely. She took a handkerchief from her inside jacket pocket and tried to stop the bleeding as best she could while keeping the conversation on.

“I saw you hesitate before drawing your weapon. Why?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Nancy.”

“Try me!”

“I… I think that I was falling in love with you. You are so… special.”

Instead of laughing at him, as Klaus expected Nancy to do, she simply smiled at him.

“You may actually be a nice man. You simply serve the wrong masters.”

“I serve Germany. I will never be ashamed of that.”

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She nodded her head in understanding and spoke softly.

“I won’t blame you for that. I have nothing against Germans per say, only against Nazis.

What is your name?”

“Manheim… Klaus Manheim.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of a number of running British soldiers, rifles at the ready.

“DROP YOUR GUN AND RAISE YOUR HANDS UP!”

Not wanting to get stupidly killed by an overexcited soldier, Nancy complied and turned slowly towards the officer leading the soldiers.

“I’m Captain Laplante. I work at the Prime Minister’s Office. I can show you my security

pass.”

The officer approached slowly, his revolver pointed at her.

“Alright, take out your pass slowly and throw it at me.”

“I’m going to take it out of this side pocket of my carrying case. Have someone cover

that man there: he is a German agent. Check out also the two men and the crashed car by the Mall Road: they were his accomplices.”

Once the Guards officer had examined her pass, he relaxed and shouted orders.

“SHE’S WITH US! PRIVATE LUMLEY, COVER THAT MAN ON THE GROUND.

CORPORAL SMITH, TAKE FOUR MEN AND CHECK OUT THE TWO BODIES AND THE CRASHED CAR BY THE MALL ROAD.”

“Do you or one of your men have a first aid kit or a bandage for this man, Lieutenant?”

asked Nancy. The officer nodded and directed two of his men to start treating Manheim. He looked in awe at the huge pistol which she picked up and put back in her carrying case.

“My god! Where did you find such an elephant gun, miss?”

“I bought it in the United States. Do you know what will happen to this man, Lieutenant?”

The Guards officer shrugged as he looked at Manheim, who was grimacing with pain as two soldiers applied a field dressing to his gaping wound.

“Even if he is a German soldier, he was caught out of uniform while trying to kill you.

He’s in at least for attempted murder.”

Corporal Smith returned a moment later, reporting at rigid attention in front of the lieutenant.

“Sir, both men on the grass are dead. The driver of the car is seriously wounded but

should make it. By the way, sir, he speaks with a strong Irish accent. All of the three men were armed and we found grenades and explosives in the car, sir.”

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The lieutenant looked at Nancy, smiling to her.

“It looks like you bagged quite a catch today, Captain. Congratulations!”

“Thanks! Look, I got to go to my office or I will be late. If anyone asks for me, tell him to

go see Captain Nancy Laplante at the Prime Minister’s Office. Here is my calling card.” That was when she saw her previous follower, now twenty yards away and taking pictures of her with a still camera. She then yelled at him.

“YOU, IDENTIFY YOURSELF, NOW!”

She then walked quickly towards him. The man did not move, probably scared that she would shoot him down if he did. Nancy went nose to nose with the man, who was a good five centimeters shorter than her and had a slim body.

“You’ve been following me since yesterday. Who the hell are you?”

He cautiously handed her an official press card with a sheepish smile.

“Peter O’Neal, reporter at the Daily Telegraph. I was just preparing a story on you about

the Victoria Cross you won recently. It is all legal and legitimate, I assure you. Could you tell me what just happened here, Miss?”

Her smile had a dangerous quality to it.

“Simple: the Germans tried to kill me but they failed. Look, Mister O’Neal, I don’t care if

you publish your article or not, except for one condition: do not mention the street or even the district I live in. There are children in my building and I don’t want them to be caught in the crossfire if somebody else tries to kill me again. If you break that condition, I will personally come to blow your kneecaps off. Do you understand me?”

“I…I understand.”

He let out a sigh of relief as she walked away on the trail towards Whitehall. He suddenly thought about something and yelled at her.

“MISS, WHY WOULD THE GERMANS TRY TO KILL YOU?”

“BECAUSE THEY ARE SCARED OF WOMEN.” was her sarcastic reply. O’Neal then

heard the Guards officer behind him start laughing.

07:51 (GMT)

Prime Minister’s Office, London

“Hi Jennifer! I’m ready to start working.”

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“Good morning, Nancy! You made it with a few minutes to spare. What kept you?” the

secretary asked jokingly.

“Oh, I had to shoot my way through, that’s all.”

Jennifer Collins looked at a grinning Nancy with a raised eyebrow.

“So, we have a funny person here this morning. Come, I will show you your desk.”

She then guided her to an old empty desk in the corner of the office.

“I’m sorry that we could not find you a closed office but space is at a premium in this

building and your position is so new that we could not get better than this.” Nancy went through the desk’s drawers and found them supplied with various office items and stacks of empty paper. She noted down the number of the telephone on her desk, then came back to Jennifer’s desk.

“Two things: first, do you have stuff for me to go through yet?”

“Certainly, Nancy: you are now a bureaucrat. Here you go!”

She handed her a three inches thick pile of files and correspondence.

“What’s your second thing?”

“About me shooting my way through: I was not kidding. The Germans tried to plug me

in St James’ Park on my way in. You may want to inform the Prime Minister before he gets a call from the M.I.5.”

“My God! Do you think they know where you live?”

“I don’t think so: St James’ Park is close to Buckingham Palace and is a dangerous

place to attempt an assassination. If they knew exactly where I lived, they would have tried it you’re your house instead of in the park. Anyway, they are not about to try again soon: out of four, two are dead and the two others are wounded and in our hands.” Jennifer was speechless for a long moment, while the other secretary, Mary Miles, stared at Nancy in disbelief. Finally picking up her phone with a shaking hand, Jennifer called the Prime Minister and asked him if they could see him for a minute. She then hung up and looked at Nancy.

“Decidedly, life is not dull around you. Let’s go see the P.M.”

Jennifer led Nancy through a short hallway to a polished wooden door and knocked on it,

opening it after hearing a gruff answer. Winston Churchill was sitting at his desk, a cigar in his mouth and a question in his eyes. Jennifer talked first.

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“I’m sorry to interrupt your work like this, Mister Prime Minister, but something serious

happened this morning. Nancy?”

Nancy then spent the next minute explaining to Churchill what happened, with the old politician listening on while apparently staying surprisingly calm. He in turn had only one question.

“Do you wish to be moved out to another flat, Captain Laplante?”

“Certainly not, sir. Also, I don’t want a security detail around me: it would just attract

more attention to me. I can take care of myself, sir.”

“Considering your track record, I would tend to agree with you, Captain. Carry on!”

They were about to leave the office when Churchill’s voice stopped Nancy.

“Captain! Good shooting!”

He was now smiling with amusement.

“Thank you, sir!”

Nancy and Jennifer returned to the secretarial office in time to greet two men from the

M.I.5, who took down her detailed version of the events while Jennifer and Mary listened on discreetly, captivated. Nancy finally had one question for the M.I.5 men.

“What is going to happen to the German I shot and wounded?”

The senior agent looked briefly in his notepad before replying.

“For the moment, he is being treated in St Thomas Hospital. His life is not in danger but

his shoulder wound is quite serious. He will probably be offered a chance to work for us in exchange for a jail sentence. If he refuses to cooperate, then he will most probably end up in front of a firing squad.”

“Look, mister, this may sound strange but I would like to avoid execution for that man.

He was doing his duty as a German, even if he was not in uniform. Jail would be enough to neutralize him for the rest of the war.”

The agent looked at her as if she just had stated a heresy.

“Miss, you are talking about an undercover German agent caught within sight of

Buckingham Palace. At least he will not be brutalized or tortured, like our own agents captured by the Gestapo in Europe. Why do you care for him?”

“Mister, I am very much aware of what the Gestapo does to our people. My point is that

killing this German instead of jailing him will not advance our cause further. He may even think

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again while in jail and offer us information in order to reduce his sentence. Dead men don’t talk, mister.”

“Miss, I fail to understand your interest in this particular German. He is just a Kraut, after

all.”

Nancy shot up from her chair and glared at him.

“Mister, know that my fight is with the Nazis, not with the German people per say.

Germans are still human beings, contrary to what you may believe.”

“I see!” said coldly the agent. “Good day, Miss!”

The two M.I.5 men then stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind them.

There was an awkward silence in the office while Nancy sat at her desk and started

sifting through her paperwork. She suddenly let the file she had in her hands flop on the desk, then massaged her temples with both hands.

“Look, girls, I nearly got killed less than an hour ago and I’m still a bit on edge, so could

we just pretend that it didn’t happen and carry on?”

A few minutes later, Jennifer approached her desk with a sheepish smile on her face.

“Er, could we talk a little, Nancy?”

“Sure, have a seat.”

Jennifer shifted a chair to the front of Nancy’s desk and sat, staring at her for a moment before speaking.

“Nancy, I was told very little about you and I am getting to hear all kinds of strange

rumors concerning you. I just don’t know what to think.”

Nancy looked at her with surprise.

“You mean to say that we are going to work in the same office and that you were not told

about me? What security clearance do you hold?”

“Most secret.”

“And you don’t know where I come from?”

Jennifer shook her head. Nancy signaled her to get close and whispered in her ear for about a minute. Jennifer’s eyes progressively got bigger with surprise and shock, until Nancy sat back in her chair. Jennifer then swallowed hard.

“Well, that certainly puts a different light on things.”

“You could say that. By the way, could you tell me what this file here is all about?”

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The secretary looked at the cover, reading Churchill’s hand-written note on it before answering.

“This has been pending your arrival here for a few days already: you have to fill the

blanks and sign the sworn affidavit attached to the forms, so that you can be reimbursed for the personal equipment that Scientific Intelligence requisitioned from you. You have to give the value of each item here, here and here, in pounds sterling of course.” Nancy stopped for a moment to mentally thank the good Doctor Jones. She had to ask Jennifer to find the current exchange rate of the Canadian dollar before she could price correctly her GPS receiver, her cellular telephone and her radar detector, while also considering the huge difference in the cost of living between 1940 and 2012. Despite that last factor, the amount totaled over 1,500 pounds sterling, which impressed Jennifer. Nancy, not knowing the purchasing power of the 1940 British pound, wondered aloud about it, making Jennifer smile.

``Oh, with 1,500 pounds, you could buy yourself a real luxury car, you know. Alright,

sign here and I will take care of the rest.”

Nancy speedily complied: it was not that she was greedy but, with her limited wardrobe, she would soon look like a pauper if she didn’t buy some clothes quickly. Somehow, she suspected that the twelve or so pounds left in her wallet would not purchase much of a wardrobe.

Feeling better about life now, Nancy went through her files methodically. Most were

background information on planned meetings that she would need to attend, while some were outright requests for her expert knowledge on weapon systems. She was particularly happy to see a draft from the Vickers-Armstrong Company for a proposed new tank design: it incorporated all the points she had argued for at that War Office committee meeting. She was soon making phone calls left and right, arranging appointments, confirming future attendances or giving technical information if it was not considered classified. Using her laptop computer constantly, she kept switching between datafiles as she talked on the phone. She got so engrossed in her work that she completely lost track of the time. Winston Churchill reminded her of it by sticking his head in the secretarial office.

“Would you care having lunch with me, Captain Laplante?”

She looked at her watch and saw that it was already 11:46 hours.

“Sir, it would be truly a great honor. I accept with pleasure.”

“Good! By the way, bring that hand cannon of yours along. We are leaving in ten

minutes: meet me at the main entrance.”

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Once Churchill had disappeared, Nancy looked at Mary Miles, the most junior secretary in the office, since Jennifer was out of the office at the time.

“Doesn’t he have his own bodyguards, Mary?”

She looked as surprised as Nancy was.

“He sure does. I don’t understand why you would need to be armed.”

“Anyway, an order is an order. Do you have an old rag I can use to clean my gun? It

still has powder stains on it.”

“Sure, give me a minute.”

Nancy used that time to pack up her computer and put it back in it carrying case, then took out the Desert Eagle pistol and unloaded it. By the time Mary was back, the pistol was disassembled in its main components and ready for a rough cleaning. Nancy wiped the parts as best she could with the rag while Mary looked at the gun pieces with awe. She touched the gold-plated pistol slide with Nancy’s name engraved on it, admiring it.

“Such a beautiful but deadly thing! What do you use it for, usually?”

“Long range target practice. I normally have a scope installed on it, with which I can

drop metal plate targets at distances past 200 yards.”

“Wow! You must be a pro at this, then?”

Nancy smiled with pride as she finished reassembling the pistol.

“I have a respectable record.”

She then looked at her watch and did a doubletake.

“Oops, I better get moving.”

Putting the pistol in the side pouch of her carrying case, she shouldered the carrying strap and hurried downstairs.

She had to wait only a minute or so inside the main entrance of the Home Office

administration building before Churchill showed up with two very fit men in business suits.

“I’m ready, sir.”

She then looked at the bodyguards, who were themselves sizing her up.

“Let me guess, guys: Parachute Regiment?”

They both smiled, with the older one answering her.

“Correct, Captain. What do you know of the Parachute Regiment?”

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``Enough! I once participated in an escape and evasion exercise with your guys playing

the hounds. The handling I got when I was taken was, well, rough. But it was all part of the game.”

They were all grinning now.

“By the way, Captain, that was good shooting this morning: first round hits from forty

yards and while under fire. We should have a friendly pistol match one day at our barracks.”

“You’re on! Beware before you place bets: I was ranked 12th at the last American

combat pistol shooting competitions and fourth at the long-range pistol target competition in Texas.”

“In the female category?”

“No, overall!”

She liked the way he winced. Churchill, on his part, loved the exchange.

“Alright! You gun nuts can continue this conversation in the car or we are going to be

late.”

A dozen reporters and photographers rushed towards them when they emerged on

Downing Street but were contained by the uniformed policemen surrounding Churchill’s car. The reporters then shouted questions at Nancy about the morning’s shootout as they were about to get in the car. She put her head near Churchill’s ear in order to whisper to him.

“Should I ignore them, sir, or do you prefer that I throw them a bone to calm them

down?”

“Give them a short statement: this is an open democracy after all. I will wait for you in

the car.”

The reporters grew quiet as soon as she announced that she would speak. Nancy tried to look as relaxed and unconcerned as she could while facing them.

“As you know by now, four men, at least one of whom was a German agent, tried to kill

me in St James’ Park early this morning. They failed and paid the price for it. I will allow you three questions: I have little free time on my schedule.”

She then pointed at one of the reporters trying to attract her attention, who then presented himself.

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“John MacDougall, London Time. Why would the Germans send an assassination team

to London to try to kill a mere advisor? Besides, how come a woman was named military advisor to the Prime Minister? Who are you really, Miss Laplante?”

“As for the why, you should ask the Germans, not me. About who I am, I can only say

this: I am a Canadian military intelligence officer. Next question!”

“Mike Turner, Daily Mail. Is it true that you recently won the Victoria Cross during a

commando raid in German-occupied France?”

“Yes! Next question!”

The reporter she had confronted in St James’ Park then pushed his way to the front rank.

“Peter O’Neal, Daily Telegraph. We met in the park this morning, miss. I have been

gathering information about you around London and Northolt, where you apparently first appeared. Most would agree by now that you are way out of the ordinary as a woman goes, especially in regards to your military skills and knowledge. Is it true that you are a time traveler from the year 2012?”

The crowd fell dead silent as she looked at the reporter, trying to stay impassive.

“Where did you get such a wild idea, Mister O’Neal?”

“From interviewing a number of servicemen and people who met you. Your own car,

which I had an engineer discreetly look at, is a complete anachronism and even bears a mechanical inspection sticker dated May 12, 2012. You are also said to own a television set that shows color pictures.”

The reporters saw her hesitation then. Many who had thought that their colleague had gone nuts started to pay attention to her answer.

“I will not comment on such speculations. Now, if you will excuse me, the Prime Minister

is waiting.”

She then hurried inside the official car, sighing in relief as it sped away from the shouting reporters.

“Sir, this is getting out of hand. Soon, everybody’s cat will know the truth: it’s bad

enough that the Germans know about me. Is there something that can be done to kill these speculations, sir?”

Churchill looked glumly at her.

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“I’m afraid that the cat is truly out of the bag now, Captain Laplante. Besides, you are

too much of an oddity not to attract attention around you. The cabinet will have to decide on a policy about you soon.”

Seeing her look of alarm, he gently pressed her hand.

“Don’t worry, my friend: we will not put you away in some kind of cage or parade you

like a prize horse. Maybe the best thing to do is to tell the truth about you and then make them understand that it is in the interest of all to respect your privacy and need for personal security. You may need a security detail after all.”

Nancy looked down at the car’s carpet in discouragement on hearing that: she may be about to learn firsthand about the plight of celebrities hounded everywhere by reporters and photographers. It didn’t look like it would be fun at all. She was so absorbed by her thoughts that she didn’t realize where they were going until the car stopped and the bodyguards opened the doors. They were at Buckingham Palace! A bit overwhelmed, Nancy simply followed Winston Churchill as they were guided through the magnificent corridors of the palace. The old politician at one time bowed politely as he passed a teenage girl in the corridor. Nancy suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening, then put one knee down and bent her head down.

“Your Majesty!”

The girl, as well as Churchill, looked surprised by her reaction and stopped. The teenager then smiled at Nancy.

“Miss, my proper title is ‘Your Highness’. ‘Your Majesty’ is a title reserved for the King

and the Queen.”

Nancy looked up at Elizabeth Windsor, not knowing at first what to say. The fourteen-year-old girl was still only a princess in 1940.

“You will always be the Queen for me, Your Majesty.”

Churchill, looking grave now, spoke softly to the confused princess.

“Captain Laplante means no disrespect to your father, Your Highness. Keep this strictly

to yourself, but she is a time traveler from the year 2012. I believe that you were the Queen by then.”

Elizabeth stepped back under the shock, looking with her mouth wide open at Nancy.

“How… how could this be?”

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“I came quite involuntarily to this time period, Your Majesty. I believe that persons from

the far future abducted me and transported me here to perform some kind of experiment.” Nancy then thought about something and, taking out her wallet, quickly searched in it, pulling out a Canadian one-dollar coin and presenting it to Elizabeth.

“Please accept this little souvenir from the future as a token of my respect to you, Your

Majesty.”

“This… this is me? But I look so old on this drawing.”

She then saw the printing date of the coin.

“2010? My god!”

Looking back at Nancy with awe, the princess smiled to her.

“Thank you sincerely for this, miss, I will keep this preciously. Good day, miss!”

“Good day, Your Majesty!”

Churchill let out his breath as the excited teenager walked away, then looked at Nancy, who was getting back to her feet.

“There are decidedly no dull moments around you, Captain. Er, do you have more

money from 2012 with you, by chance?”

“Sure! Here is a lucky coin for you, sir.” said Nancy, handing him a two-dollar coin with

the effigy of Queen Elizabeth II on one side. The Prime Minister examined it for a moment, then pocketed it while grinning at her.

“We better move on or the King will grow impatient.”

They soon arrived at a relatively small dining room where King George VI was waiting for

them. She realized then that she knew next to nothing about royal etiquette and bowed her head.

“Pardon my ignorance, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid that I don’t even know how a proper

curtsy looks like.”

The King, wearing a civilian suit, laughed at her embarrassment before replying, his chronic stuttering making his speech laborious.

“Don’t worry, Captain: we won’t chop your head off for this.”

Churchill then replied for Nancy.

“It’s partly my fault, Your Majesty: she did not know that we were coming here. In fact,

she doesn’t even know why we are here.”

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George VI smiled and pointed at his watch.

“For lunch, of course! What else could it be for at this time of the day? Let’s serve

ourselves.”

To Nancy’s astonishment there were no servants in the room, only a small buffet table from which the king and Churchill filled their plates themselves. Picking up a plate, she quickly found out that the menu was extremely modest for such a setting. Churchill laughed when she remarked on it.

“At last, something she doesn’t already know. Well, let’s say that the King and I have

recently started to have lunch together on most Tuesdays, in order to discuss the affairs of the state. As for the limited menu, one of the reasons that the British people love their King is that he is willing to endure the same hardships as they do.”

“In that case, Your Majesty, please accept my humblest apologies for my ignorant

remark.”

“No offence taken, Captain. Now, let’s sit and talk.”

Once they were seated, the king looked at Nancy, who appeared ready to ask another question.

“In case you are wondering what a junior officer is doing having lunch with me and the

Prime Minister, I can tell you that there are two reasons for it: first, you may play a crucial role in the near future for Great Britain; secondly, I am fond of firearms and I have been wondering what kind of cannon you used this morning to wake the Queen up. Don’t present excuses for that: I have been trying for years to find a way to get her out of bed early.”

“In that case, Your Majesty, I would be glad to show you my wakeup piece. May I?”

With the king’s approval, she took out her Desert Eagle pistol, removed the magazine and locked the slide in the open position before handing the gun to George VI, whose hand dropped noticeably when he took it.

“By Jove it’s heavy! What caliber is it?”

“.50 Action Express. In 2012, it is the most powerful cartridge in use in a semi-automatic

pistol. Originally, this gun was made in Israel, but its manufacture then switched to the United States.”

“Israel?”

The King seemed confused by that. Nancy suddenly understood why.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Israel is the Jewish state to be founded after the war from

parts of the actual Palestine.”

209

 

She took out one of the bullets from the pistol magazine and gave it to George VI, whose eyes widened.

“No wonder it woke up the queen. May I keep one bullet, Captain?”

“Please do, Your Majesty.”

George VI handed her back the pistol and pocketed the cartridge, then looked at her soberly.

“Now, to pass to more serious matters, let’s talk about your future.”

Churchill cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid that this has become still more complicated, Your Majesty.”

He then explained the encounter with the reporters to the King, who made a face.

“So, we may have to go public on this much sooner than we hoped.”

“If I may say so, Your Majesty,” interjected Nancy, “this looks by now to be a fairly open

secret. I expect to be soon chased constantly by reporters, photographers and other pests. May I ask your advice on this: how do you deal with constant scrutiny from these people without going nuts?”

The King turned very serious at her question, thinking for a moment before replying.

“The only way is to simply ignore them. Do your normal daily routine and don’t pay

attention to them, but be courteous. Losing your temper will only make matters much worse. If they really overstep their bounds, let either lawyers or policemen deal with them.”

“Hmm, a good thing that television direct newscasts do not exist yet.”

“What is that?”

“A form of electronic media where a reporter with a camera and telescopic lense can

watch your every move from a distance and retransmit them instantly worldwide for all to see.”

“My God! This sounds positively dreadful.”

“It can be, Your Majesty, but they say it’s the price of freedom.”

“Maybe! Now, let’s see what we can do about you.”

14:23 (GMT)

Prime Minister`s Office, London

“Hi girls, I’m back!”

Nancy dropped her carrying case on her desk under the amused looks of Jennifer and Mary.

210

 

“I’d say you’re picking up bureaucratic bad habits quickly: a two-and-a-half-hour lunch

break.”

“Well, it’s pretty hard to walk out on the King.”

“YOU HAD LUNCH WITH THE KING?”

Both Jennifer and Mary had yelled at the same time.

“Pah, it’s nothing! He just wanted to see my pistol.”

“Oh yeah? Well, if you’re so well treated now, I guess you don’t need this cheque

anymore.” said Jennifer as she waved an envelope, smiling.

“WHAT? Gimme that cheque or I’ll tickle you to death!”

After a few seconds of mock fighting and giggling, Nancy finally got hold of the envelope. Ripping it open, she took out a cheque and read it aloud.

“Payable to Nancy Laplante, the sum of 1,551 pounds…”

“Don’t forget the six pence at the end.”

“You’re right! How could I be so negligent? Damn, I better go open a bank account

quickly.”

“WHAT? You took half of the afternoon for lunch and now you want time off to go to the

bank? You’ll make Prime Minister in six months at this rate.”

“AHEM!”

Jennifer snapped her head towards the door of the office, only to see Winston Churchill in the doorway, a severe expression on his face. That look turned into a malicious smile when she blushed to a deep red. Nancy couldn’t contain a giggle at that, prompting Churchill in pointing an index at her.

“Captain Laplante, that giggle just earned you the rest of the day off. I want you back

tomorrow morning at eight in full dress uniform. Please try not to get into a gunfight on your way in tomorrow.”

“I’ll do my best, sir. What about on my way out?”

“Shootouts are permitted after working hours. You’d better go now: banks close at

15:30 hours.”

“Thank you, sir! Good afternoon, girls!”

Jennifer stuck her tongue out as Nancy walked out gingerly, her carrying case by her side.

211

 

Nancy was lucky in finding a small bank on St James’ Street, not far from her own street.

With her government papers, it took only twenty minutes to open a bank account and deposit most of her cheque, leaving her with enough cash for a serious shopping spree. That idea was however quickly forgotten as she walked out of the bank and encountered a boy selling newspapers by yelling the main titles.

“DAILY TELEGRAPH SPECIAL EDITION! SHOOTOUT IN ST JAMES’S PARK! READ

ALL ABOUT IT!”

“I’ll take one, kid.”

She gave him two pence and grabbed the newspaper he was offering. The large front-page picture froze her on the spot before she could make another step: it showed her, clearly recognizable, approaching Manheim with her Desert Eagle pointed at him while he lay on the ground. Three more pictures showed respectively the crashed car, the two dead accomplices of Manheim and finally a close shot of herself talking with the Guards officer. Then, a caption under that last picture really got her attention. She read it aloud.

“Is this woman a time traveler from the year 2012?”

She shook her head in disgust: there was no way for her now to do any shopping without becoming a traveling circus scene. Nancy suddenly realized that the newspaper boy had stopped yelling. Turning her head, she saw that he was looking at her with his mouth wide open. She smiled at him in return and took out a one shilling coin, putting it in his hand.

“Do me a favor, boy: just pretend that you never saw me today.”

She then walked away quickly, the newspaper still in her hands.

18:40 (GMT)

Apartment # 11, 24 St James`s Place

Nancy let Mike Crawford in her apartment, then locked the door. The supper had been a

tense affair, with Joan Stanley and Daniel Adams throwing side looks at her but at least being considerate enough not to ask about her adventures of the day. She got some solace from Mike, who had squeezed her hand discreetly under the table.

212

 

She went to her portable radio/CD player and put on a favorite song of hers, then tightly

embraced Mike while slowly dancing to the music with him. He followed the rhythm along with her, enjoying the close contact with her most feminine body.

“What are you going to do now that about everybody knows your secret?”

“I’m not sure and it scares me, Mike. The only thing I know is that my life is going to turn

around abruptly for a second time in less than a month. I hope that I’m not going to become some kind of exotic animal to be stared at by everyone.”

She was silent for the rest of the song, desperately hugging him in search of comfort and reassurance. Mike was starting by now to love her a lot more than just in the physical sense: she possessed a rare combination of intelligence, beauty, courage and strength which he had never encountered before in such intensity.

“Can I stay with you tonight? We could listen to more music, dance a bit, maybe watch a

movie together.”

Nancy looked at him, tears starting to come out of her eyes.

“Oh please do, Mike! I don’t want you to leave my side.”