Castaways in Time (The After Cilmeri Series) (34 page)

“You comfort me.” David felt himself
drifting off to sleep.

And then Lili spoke again, quietly and not
for anyone’s ears but David’s, “My love, you have changed the
world. I think Callum, wherever he is, would be proud.”

September, 2017

Cassie

T
he black SUV came
for them at midnight on the fourth day after Callum had been shot.
They’d been told it was coming, of course, and where they were
going, but when the Security Service agents came through Callum’s
hospital room door, Cassie still didn’t quite expect to see them.
She wore a dress, which was to her hilariously funny given where
she’d spent the last five years living; Callum had a new suit, one
without a dark red stain across the lapel and a hole in the
shoulder.

They showed Callum their badges but didn’t
tell Cassie their names, and she didn’t ask. A near continual
stream of nameless and faceless men in suits with earpieces had
come and gone since Callum had been shot and David had left. Cassie
had given up trying to make small talk. One of the men wheeled
Callum in a wheelchair down to the garage and helped him into the
SUV. Cassie knew they didn’t want her to come, but Callum had
insisted.

“I know you’re sick of being baggage,”
Callum said, in the moment they were alone inside the car.

“You’re sick of being sick, so I guess that
makes us even,” Cassie said, which was her attempt not to be sour
about this whole thing. She restrained the rest of her thoughts,
such as the hope that she could stop being baggage soon.

Callum took Cassie’s hand as they drove
through the deserted streets of Cardiff, a far cry from that
frantic afternoon chasing David’s ambulance. It was the end of a
long day in a string of long days. If Cassie never saw the inside
of a hospital again it would be too soon.

Callum was
fine
. Or would be once his
wound healed. It seemed that David was fine too, given that he’d
disappeared before he hit the ground. Cassie hoped that he’d landed
gently on the other side.

The SUV rolled up to a side door of the
government building. The First Minister of the Welsh government
greeted them as they got out. This time Callum declined the
wheelchair and walked into the building, holding Cassie’s hand in
his good one.

They took an elevator to a large office on
the third floor; once there, the First Minister held out his hand
to indicate that Cassie and Callum should enter without him. “This
is where I stop.”

This interview was too top secret even for
him.

The men inside the room stood as they
entered: the Prime Minister of Great Britain, his Minister of
Defense, and the head of the CIA. They introduced themselves, each
one shaking Cassie’s hand and looking into her eyes, though the
Prime Minister almost made to kiss her cheek but held himself back
at the last second.

“Please sit.” The Prime Minister indicated
one of the soft couches arranged in a talking group.

Callum walked to an upright spindle chair
instead. “If I sit there, I may never get up again.” And then he
smiled to indicate that he meant no offense. Cassie sat at the end
of one of the couches, next to Callum’s chair.

“Before we get any further,” the head of the
CIA said, “I’d like you to have this.” He took a United States
passport out of his breast pocket and handed it to Cassie.

She opened it and stared at the picture. She
didn’t know where they’d gotten it—off a camera somewhere,
clearly—and wasn’t entirely unhappy with the likeness. She looked
up. “Thank you.”

“Since you lived in Scotland for five years
and are married to Agent Callum, you may apply for a UK passport as
well, but we hoped this would be enough to be going on with,” the
Prime Minister said.

Cassie nodded, oddly moved by the gift.

“You have my personal assurance,” the CIA
director said, “as well as that of the United States government,
that we had no hand in any of the events leading up to David’s
disappearance.”

Cassie nodded again, but with the
formalities over, they weren’t looking at her any more and had
moved on to Callum and the real purpose for this meeting. “You’ve
read the newspapers, of course.” It was the Defense Minister’s turn
to talk. “And I understand you also received a copy of Director
Cooke’s files.”

“I did,” Callum said. “Before she was
killed, she told me about them and that she’d arranged to have them
made public.”

As Lady Jane had said to Callum an hour
before she died, her documents exposed a host of individuals in the
government—from MI-5 to Whitehall, the Home Office, and Parliament,
to the cabinet itself—as being in the pocket of the Dunland Group,
the organization that had orchestrated the abduction of David. As
the information had been disseminated throughout London, the halls
of government had run red with blood, figuratively speaking.

With Lady Jane and Driscoll dead, Natasha on
the run, and a half dozen other agents also incriminated in the
documents, MI-5 in particular had been decimated. Smythe hadn’t
been named in Lady Jane’s files, but he’d kowtowed to those who
had. All in all, it was a mess.

On top of that, MI-5 sorely missed Lady
Jane’s leadership. She’d had her finger in more pies and known more
about more things than anyone had given her credit for. Callum had
decided that the manner in which he’d been treated from the start
by MI-5 had been intended by Lady Jane to drive him towards the
path he’d ultimately followed. He hadn’t yet asked Jones if he’d
waited eight seconds to report to Lady Jane after they’d left, or
ten. But neither he nor Cassie doubted now that they’d been a part
of Lady Jane’s carefully laid trap from the moment she learned of
their appearance in the Bristol Channel. Cassie was just sorry that
her machinations had ultimately ensnared her too.

“Then you know that Thomas Smythe was not
implicated directly in the scandal,” the Defense Minister said.

“So I understood,” Callum said. “Are you
telling me that he has been appointed director of the Security
Service?”

“No,” said the Prime Minister. “That has yet
to be decided. At issue today is your future. I spoke with Director
Cooke only hours before she was killed. She suggested at that time
that I name you as the head of the Project.”

Callum canted his head. “I am unfamiliar
with that file.”

The CIA Director laughed. “That’s because we
just invented it.” His British companions shot him sour looks, but
he ignored them. “Seriously, given the current upheaval, our two
governments have resolved to create a joint task force to address
and oversee what we are otherwise calling
the time travel
initiative
.”

“We are asking that you, Agent Callum,
accept the posting as Director of the Project, reporting directly
to Downing Street,” the Prime Minister said, “not the Home
Office.”

Callum and Cassie had talked about this—not
about the Project (with a capital ‘P’) specifically, since the
terminology was new, but about the role that Callum might play in
MI-5 in the future. His absence over the last ten months, and his
unswerving loyalty, had left him the last man standing at Cardiff
station. And Cardiff station had the
time travel initiative
file, to use the CIA man’s phrasing.

Callum didn’t want the job, but he feared
the consequences if he didn’t take it. The issue for him was the
balance between the unpleasantness of the job, with all the
politics and behind-the-scenes maneuvering becoming director
entailed, and what might happen if he left the Project in the hands
of someone else. Someone he didn’t trust. Since Callum didn’t trust
anyone, it was hard to see how he could refuse it. It could be
disastrous if someone with Smythe’s sensibilities was running
things the next time David—or Anna or Meg—appeared.

“Would I still be a member of the Security
Service?” Callum said.

“Only on paper,” the Prime Minister said.
“But in point of fact, you would be the director of a new agency,
with the commensurate compensation, of course.”

“I’m concerned about oversight,” Callum
said. “I would need the freedom to run the agency as I saw fit,
without meddling or micro-management.”

“Whitehall and the Home Office have been
severely implicated in the Dunland scandal,” the Prime Minister
said. “I cannot, and will not, promise you free rein, but we have
read your report and believe we understand your position.”

“Just so we’re clear: my position is that
David’s world—the medieval world—is not an opportunity to enrich
our government or private interests,” Callum said. “No agency under
my direction will pursue such a directive.”

The three men exchanged glances; they all
nodded. “You are the right man for the job,” the Prime Minister
said.

“Then I accept your offer,” Callum said. “I
will direct the Project.”

While the three politicians congratulated
each other, smiles all around, Callum reached over and took
Cassie’s hand. “Am I making a mistake?”

“We promised we’d have David’s back,” she
said. “This is the way to do it.”

Callum sucked on his teeth. “What about you?
I’m hoping you’re going to be my first hire.”

Cassie almost laughed. They’d spent so much
time plotting out what would happen with Callum’s job, she hadn’t
given any thought to what she was going to do. As the men called
Callum’s attention to them once again, it occurred to her that
perhaps it wasn’t only David who time traveled because he was
needed somewhere. Maybe those who were caught up in it with him
were needed too.

Maybe
she
was needed too.

Cassie took out her passport and waved it to
catch the attention of the Prime Minister. “Are our relations with
the Home Office amicable enough to extend to a work permit?”

Callum’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and
for the first time since Lady Jane’s death, he genuinely smiled.
Cassie squeezed his hand. They’d been through a lot in the few
months they’d been together, but she had a feeling that their
adventures were only just beginning.

Thank you for reading
Castaways in
Time
. Look for the next book in the
After Cilmeri
series
in 2014. If you would like to be notified the moment it is
released, please see my web page to enter your name and email into
the side bar:
http://www.sarahwoodbury.com/

Keep reading for the first chapter of
The
Good Knight,
the first
Gareth and Gwen

Medieval Mystery

The Good Knight:
Chapter One

August, 1143 AD

Gwynedd (North Wales)

“
L
ook at you, girl.”

Gwen’s father, Meilyr, tsked under his
breath and brought his borrowed horse closer to her side of the
path. He’d been out of sorts since early morning when he’d found
his horse lame and King Anarawd and his company of soldiers had
left the castle without them, refusing to wait for Meilyr to find a
replacement mount. Anarawd’s men-at-arms would have provided Meilyr
with the fine escort he coveted.

“You’ll have no cause for complaint once we
reach Owain Gwynedd’s court.” A breeze wafted over Gwen’s face and
she closed her eyes, letting her pony find his own way for a
moment. “I won’t embarrass you at the wedding.”

“If you cared more for your appearance, you
would have been married yourself years ago and given me
grandchildren long since.”

Gwen opened her eyes, her forehead wrinkling
in annoyance. “And whose fault is it that I’m unmarried?” Her
fingers flexed about the reins but she forced herself to relax. Her
present appearance was her own doing, even if her father found it
intolerable. In her bag, she had fine clothes and ribbons to weave
through her hair, but saw no point in sullying any of them on the
long journey to Aber Castle.

King Owain Gwynedd’s daughter was due to
marry King Anarawd in three days’ time. Owain Gwynedd had invited
Gwen, her father, and her almost twelve-year old brother,
Gwalchmai, to furnish the entertainment for the event, provided
King Owain and her father could bridge the six years of animosity
and silence that separated them. Meilyr had sung for King Owain’s
father, Gruffydd; he’d practically raised King Owain’s son, Hywel.
But six years was six years. No wonder her father’s temper was
short.

Even so, she couldn’t let her father’s
comments go. Responsibility for the fact that she had no husband
rested firmly on his shoulders. “Who refused the contract?”

“Rhys was a rapscallion and a laze-about,”
Meilyr said.

And you weren’t about to give up your
housekeeper, maidservant, cook, and child-minder to just anyone,
were you?