Time Travel in Rock: 1984 by Tim C. Taylor

Author:Tim C. Taylor [Taylor, Tim C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Human Legion Publications
Published: 2024-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 33

During working hours, these running tunnels were still in use, but after about a mile we took a branch into a tunnel where no trains had run for a very long time. Just as well, because before long our flashlights were illuminating a concrete structure blocking the tracks.

It took a moment to figure out what we were seeing.

In the middle of an underground running tunnel was a lavatory block.

I thoroughly enjoyed Zudge’s wide eyes. I hadn’t told her about this.

“We’re here,” I announced.

“Stiletto?” she said.

“Yes, Zudge.”

“Why is there a toilet on the track?”

“Air raid shelter. Built 1940. Can’t expect them to have used buckets.”

It was spooky here. Noticeably damper and with our beams reflecting back faint wisps of mist, we passed through rows of cubicles that contained the rusting frames of beds. They lined the tunnel and then out onto an old platform that still bore its name marked out in glazed tiles. King William Street.

Making use of our lock cracker, and on one occasion my pocket fusion torch, we found what had been the emergency staircase back in the Victorian era. After ascending about seventy feet we transitioned into the basement of an office building. Ten minutes of shifting desks and half-rotted office furniture revealed steps that led up to another level of basement. And from there… a street level door.

I beamed with pleasure. I’d done it! So far…

Zudge hugged me and I beamed even more.

Now to see whether coming to King William Street had been worth it.

I inserted my comm earpiece.

“Spanish Fly,” I said. “Spanish Fly. Can you hear me?”

“This is Waterloo Rose,” snapped an angry woman over the air.

“Waterloo what? Nah, you’re no use to me. I’m searching for a Spanish binta with perky nose and hot, smoky eyes.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a complete bastard asshole, Stiletto?”

“Not since last Tuesday.”

“Were you tagged?”

“If you mean were we followed… yes, but we’re confident we’ve lost them.”

“Shit! You do not inspire confidence.”

“Sorry, Vasquez. What we do is a risky business. We have a route out tonight, but it won’t be open tomorrow.”

“As my colleague has just reminded me, you tomfools are our least worst hope. How do we proceed?”

“Are you at the location?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’re not far. I’ll send my assistant out to retrieve you. Ouch!”

The Devil! For such a wee thing, Zudge packed a vicious punch.

Before going our separate ways after the sewers, we’d agreed a rendezvous location. This was a 200-foot fluted stone column topped with a hairy gold something-or-other, which had gleamed like star fire in the sun of yesterday afternoon when Zudge and I had taken a look. London had suffered a big fire back in the 1600s and this monument commemorated it. The architects had sneaked a big telescope and observatory inside, which was a pretty neat idea.

I opened the door and there was no need to send out my pretty assistant because the Spaniards were already there. The monument was only twenty feet away. I had a sinking feeling that maybe my impressive secret plan was more obvious than I’d hoped.

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