Blackout by Andrew Cope Page A

had to be able to remember the war. It didn’t really matter which war: any world war would do. The essential ingredient was that these people had been recruited, mostly from old people’s homes, with one thing in common: life was better in the olden days.
    The Past Master looked around proudly at his team. Some of the ladies were knitting and chatting. There was a small TV in the corner and some of the team had an eye on that. It was a programme about family trees and they loved that kind of thing. Not the new kind of thing. They all agreed that too many TV programmes were rude or just plain loud. ‘When our machine gets working, we’ll be back to just three TV channels, like in the olden days,’ said Iris, her knitting needles clicking reassuringly.
    ‘Oh goody,’ said Joan. ‘Of course, in the really old days, we didn’t have a telly, you know. We just had books.’
    ‘And our imaginations,’ sighed Iris.
    ‘And rickets,’ remembered Gladys, joining in from the other side of the room. ‘My dad says that, during the war, he always left his back door open.’
    ‘That’s probably why his submarine sank, Gladys,’ offered Iris, glancing up from her knitting.
    Geoffrey was brewing the tea. There was always tea available and they made sure it was proper tea, strong and sugary. Not newfangled herbal tea. Theirs was tea from a teapot, made
with tea leaves and a tea-strainer. Dot had made a cake and Frank was passing the mints around. And the Past Master knew that after they’d eaten there’d be a sing-song and a game of Scrabble. But, most importantly, there would be chatter and laughter, and stories of when they’d visited the seaside or worked in a factory. Or down the pit.
Not that there are any pits any more
, he thought.
Or many factories, come to think of it. Everyone works in offices. On computers. But our little GoD project will put a stop to all that
.
    He eyed the machine. The tests had gone swimmingly. He looked at the huge map of Europe on the wall. Wales and Scotland already had big red crosses through them.
Two down
, he thought.
    He was immensely proud of his creation. And now, instead of one laser, the diamonds had been arranged in such a way that it would shoot multiple beams, taking down dozens of satellites orbiting above Western Europe. The good old days would be returned. He imagined receiving his knighthood for ‘services to society’.
    There was just one more diamond required and he knew exactly which one. The newspaper
was spread out on the table before him, Shakespeare’s face leering at him, the diamond hanging heavily from his neck. This was the final piece of the jigsaw: this diamond would power the machine. A European blackout beckoned and, because there was no room for error, the Past Master had sent his best agent.
    He wondered how Maude was getting on.
    Maude had spotted the cat within five minutes of coming aboard the
TriTanic
. She spent her time observing from a distance. She knew it was important to choose the right moment. The old lady watched Professor Cortex overacting terribly, playing the role of Maximus Rich so well that he’d begun to believe it.
    Shakespeare’s neck was aching.
It’s a real effort keeping it held high, with the weight of the biggest carats in the world! But I’m playing a crucial role in capturing the diamond thief
. He forced his neck upright.
Here’s the diamond. Come and get it
.
    He’d been determined to keep his cat’s eyes peeled. But, by day two, the cruise was coming to an end and Shakespeare was feeling frustrated. He’d stayed alert, on the lookout for
evil baddies. The cabaret had a magician who looked a bit shifty. The head chef’s eyes were too close together.
But everyone else just seems kind of normal
. Shakespeare had studied the pattern of diamond crimes and the professor’s words were ringing in his head.
Old people. All the robbers have been very old indeed
. He noticed there was an awful lot of wealth, which is to be