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fredbassettAuthor : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester, Lyle, Cutter, Claudia, Abby, Connor, Stephen, Ryan, OFB
Pairing : Lester/Lyle
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Lyle), no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : The team have an outing at taxpayer’s expense.
Word Count : 7,288
Warning : Contains mentions of Shakespeare.
A/N : Written for
joereaves for the Primeval ficathon, using prompts, something with Lester playing a large part, and an anomaly in a public place. Sorry, this probably isn’t quite as public as you meant, but I blame the bear!! Many thanks to bigtitch for the beta. The Home Office. 10.30am
Claudia Brown hit a speed-dial button on her mobile phone, an anxious frown crossing her face.
Really, this whole thing was getting out of hand, she was starting to regret ever sending round that wretched email in the first place.
“Abby? Sorry to disturb your day off, but you couldn’t make it into the office later, could you? There’s a bit of a situation developing and I think we need to put our heads together…………. An hour and a half? That would be great. Tell reception to buzz me when you arrive, not Lester. We can grab some lunch afterwards, if you’ve time.”
Claudia Brown’s Office. 12 noon.
Abby Maitland ran a hand through her short blonde hair and stared at the older woman in amazement.
“Paint-balling? They want to go paint-balling for a team night out?”
Claudia nodded morosely and waved her hand at the slips of folded paper strewn on the desk. “Well, to be quite precise, Connor wants to go paint-balling and Stephen, Ryan and Lyle have obviously decided it’s better than an evening watching re-runs of
“Does Lester know you’ve peeked?”
“No and let’s keep it that way.”
“What does he want to do?”
“Hold hands with Lyle at the ballet for all I know. He says he’ll put his voting slip in at the last minute.”
Abby grinned. “He doesn’t trust you?”
“He doesn’t trust Connor.” Claudia returned the grin. “Actually, he doesn’t trust me either. He knows I hate ballet and opera.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to cheat,” said Claudia, calmly. “It’s all we can do.”
The Following Day. Sir James Lester’s Office. 4.15pm
Claudia shook the cardboard box under Nick Cutter’s nose.
He sighed and pushed a folded piece of paper though the slot.
“And you, James ……..”
Lester shared a rare moment of perfect accord with Cutter, then deposited his piece of paper into the improvised ballot box. “If we end up watching Jurassic Bloody Park 6, I’m calling in the scrutineers.”
“Six? Do you know something I don’t?” asked Connor, hopefully.
Lester sighed. “Where would you like me to start,
Claudia dispensed a generalised glare at everything in the room in possession of a penis, whether it had recently sinned against her or not.
Stephen shot her a sympathetic look.
Ryan lent against the wall, more interested in the back of Stephen Hart’s neck than he was in where they were going for a team-building evening at the Home Office’s expense.
Lyle lounged on Lester’s desk, grinning.
Claudia held out the box. “Abby, would you do the honours?”
Lester coughed politely. “Far be it from me to impugn anyone’s character, ladies, but you two were seen lunching together yesterday ……..” He pressed a button on his intercom. “Sara, would you be so good as to join us for a moment?”
Claudia slapped the ballot box down on the desk and muttered, “Really, James, it’s not the bloody election, you know.”
“Quite,” beamed Lester. “Election results we can safely ignore, this however, has far more direct impact.”
His secretary smiled nervously. “Can I claim diplomatic immunity if you don’t like the result?” She dipped her hand in the box and rummaged around. “And for your team night out, you’ll all be …………………” she unfolded the paper and paused for dramatic effect, totally ignoring the look on Lester’s face, “…………. going to see A Winter’s Tale by The Production in the Park.”
Lester looked pleasantly surprised.
The rest of the men, including Cutter, looked stunned.
Claudia picked up the ballot paper, dropped it back into the box with the others and announced brightly, “Well, it could have been worse. Thank you, Sara. Shall I arrange the tickets?”
“Can we demand a re-count?” asked Lyle, hopefully.
Lester sighed. “No, you can’t. Now bugger off, the lot of you, I have an expenses claim to submit.”
Four Days Later. Sir James Lester’s
Lyle lounged on the bed, reading the paper, waiting for Lester to finish in the shower.
They had four hours before the production was due to start, but the plan, as laid down by Claudia, was that they would all meet at a local pub for drinks, before watching the late afternoon performance, then returning to the same pub for a meal afterwards.
The Special Forces lieutenant could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon and evening – chasing bloody great big critters around was the first and most obvious that sprung to mind – going to the bloody opera was another. Even William Bloody Shakespeare was better than the opera. In fact he was inclined to think that even a red hot poker up his arse could well be better than the bloody opera.
Lester wandered out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over his hair, making it stand up in wet and rather interesting spikes. “Your turn. Taxi’ll be here in twenty minutes, by the way.”
“Can’t we have a quick shag?”
Lester gave him a withering look and pointed to the shower.
Five minutes later, a still damp Jon Lyle started to wander vaguely around the bedroom in search of clean clothes, making sure he took every possible opportunity to bend over. He’d give Lester five minutes to give in, then he’d take direct action if it was still needed.
“Your tee shirts are in the top drawer.”
“You’ve been tidying up,” said Lyle mildly, with just a hint of disapproval. A moment later, he let out a yelp of startled laughter. “Where the bloody hell did you get this from?” he asked, brandishing a bottle labelled, in large bold lettering, GUN OIL.
“Handy thing, the Internet,” said Lester, “although it gave young Mr. Temple rather a shock when he hacked into my internet history, last week. I was saving it for tonight, but from the way you’ve been waving your delectable arse in the air, it does appear that fucking you senseless now rather than later might well be the order of the day. Read the advertising blurb, by the way, it’s priceless.”
Lyle rummaged a bit further in the drawer and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. In between snorts, he managed to intone, in a fair take off of a TV advert:
“Gun Oil - the premium, condom-safe lubricant that keeps a man's most important weapon well oiled. If the military issued a lube, this is what they'd distribute with the condoms and artillery. During
Lester looked at him speculatively, “Well, are you going to let me try it or not? And before you ask, no, I haven’t a clue what any of the other ingredients are, but I heard Hart talking to Ditzy about it, and he’s decreed it safe for use.”
Lyle grinned, and obligingly lent forward over the chest of drawers, resting on his elbows and presenting his arse for testing duty.
“You look like one of those bloody chimpanzees on that wildlife film last night,” commented Lester.
A minute later, with minimal preparation, he was sliding deep into Lyle’s body, doing his best to ignore the disconcerting sensation of Lyle shaking with laughter.
“What’s it feel like?” the lieutenant asked, pushing his hips backwards to meet the intrusion, and turning round to stare over one shoulder.
“Like a slightly tighter version of Heaven, if you must know, or wasn’t that what you meant, darling?”
Lyle dragged in a deep and slightly shuddering breath as Lester’s next stroke caught him unawares. “More friction? Less?”
Lester reached in front of him and wrapped one hand round Lyle’s cock. “Jon, let’s save the detailed product analysis for later, shall we? I thought you just wanted a quick shag?”
The lieutenant blew a kiss over his shoulder, then dropped his head onto his folded forearms, letting each hard, fast movement of his lover’s hips drive him forward into the encircling hand.
Less than a minute later, he came, with a slightly startled, and to Lester’s ears rather adorable yelp, sounding like a puppy who’d just had its tail accidentally trodden on. Seconds later, Lester followed him over the edge, panting and biting at Lyle’s shoulder.
“Need another shower,” Lyle muttered, pushing himself up on slightly shaky arms.
“Use a wet cloth,” said Sir James Lester, frowning in mock distaste at the mess Lyle had left trailing down the antique furniture.
“On it or me?”
“Both. Under no circumstances am I explaining that to Mrs. Hodgkins, I can assure you.”
“She likes me!”
“I’m not saying she doesn’t, but I can assure you that she’ll take a dim view of finding a snail trail of your bodily fluids decorating the furniture, however much she might like you, so fetch a wet cloth, darling, and be quick. If we’re late, you’re paying for the taxi.”
The Black Swan. Lounge Bar. 3pm.
Ryan slid a pint along the bar to Lyle and remarked, “When the sleeve of your tee shirt rides up, the world, its wife and the dog can see Lester’s teeth marks.”
“Is that why Claudia was looking cross? Is she jealous?”
Ryan snorted in the middle a mouthful of beer, nearly choking. “Doubt it. Cutter’s the most likely cause, he usually is, but if he finds an excuse to duck out of this, she’ll bloody kill him.”
“I could offer to console her ………..”
“Lester’ll kill you.”
Lyle sighed theatrically, and hitched his tee shirt sleeve up just enough to display the teeth marks. The girl behind the bar shot him a lingering look. So did one of the guys who’d been talking to her. Ryan rolled his eyes and ordered half a dozen packets of peanuts. They never had any problem getting served in a bar when Lyle looked this debauched.
Ten minutes later, Nick Cutter arrived, muttering the words students, dissertations and the Dean in no particular order.
Claudia treated him to a beaming smile and Stephen sauntered off to the bar to fetch another pint. He never had any trouble getting served in crowded bars either.
“Isn’t this nice?” said Lyle, brightly. “Who shall we bitch about? Isn’t that what we’re meant to do on team outings?”
“Is that what you normally do?” asked Abby, trying not to stare at the teeth marks on the soldier’s shoulder.
“No, we normally shoot things, which is why paintballing seemed like a good idea. We’d have felt at home running around a wood getting filthy and being shot at.”
“Which is why the ladies rigged the draw,” drawled Lester. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Connor was still demanding to know how it had been done when they were settling down on a large picnic rug in the park, about 10 metres from the stage, as the grassy area around them gradually filled up.
Lester had to admit that fiddling the result had been one of his assistant’s better ideas. He hadn’t quite worked out how it had been done, but he suspected his secretary had been involved in the Great Conspiracy of Women. Still, things could have been worse. They could have found themselves spending an evening at a health spa, although the sight of Lyle in a Jacuzzi was strangely appealing. However, it was countered by the extremely unappealing mental image of
“So who’s got the popcorn?” asked Connor, settling back on his elbows and staring happily at the sky.
Abby pulled a bag from her rucksack and threw it at him.
“Cool!”
“No it’s not, it’s rather warm, actually,” said Lester, lazily. “Miss Maitland, would I get the same reward if I asked who’s got the cold beers?”
Claudia sighed. “James, why do you think Ryan’s carrying that enormous cold-bag?”
“I presumed it contained some sort of collapsible weaponry, together with a large supply of things that go bang. That’s what he normally seems to carry.”
“Only when he’s working, James, and he’s not working right now. None of us are. And if it hadn’t escaped your notice, we’re meant to be getting to know each other better. You could start by calling everyone by their first names for a change.”
Lester shuddered theatrically and stared at her out of eyes half closed against the afternoon sun. “That would simply be taking things to extremes. And you know how I hate extremes.”
“James!” There was no mistaking the warning in Claudia’s tone.
Connor smirked.
Lester smoothly changed tactic. “And a very useful exercise this is proving to be, Claudia. I’ve already learnt that you’re prepared to cheat given a sufficiently strong incentive. I’ve learnt that Miss Maitland, sorry, Abby, takes an equally dim view of paint-balling as you do, and is equally prone to cheating. I’ve learnt that I’m an old-fashioned sort who’s really not terribly good at using first names, but I can also tell you that Professor Cutter has a slightly greater sense of self-preservation than I originally credited him with and Dr. Hart and Captain Ryan are extremely adept at choosing an acceptable range of cold beverages to bring on a picnic. So all in all, Home Office money well spent, in my view. Remind me to get Sara to send a memo to whoever dreamed the idea up, congratulating them on their perspicacity.”
Connor exchanged a high-five with Lyle.
Lester had started the bitching off in fine form. It was going to be grand afternoon out. There was no doubt about it.
One Hour Later.
“What’s it all about?” asked Connor, directing his question at Abby in a stage whisper so loud that the actors probably heard it as well.
Abby exchanged a helpless glance with Lester who was struggling against the urge to laugh.
“Shall I begin at the beginning, Mr. Temple?” said Lester, deciding Abby probably needed a little help in answering this one. “ The Big Bang theory, maybe?”
Connor flipped a piece of popcorn at Lester’s nose and missed. Lyle caught it and tossed it back with a somewhat greater degree of accuracy.
“It’s Shakespeare, Connor,” said Cutter. “I don’t think we’re meant to understand it.”
“I know that, I’m not totally stupid, Professor!”
“The guy on stage is about to abandon the Queen’s baby daughter,” said Claudia, helpfully. “Her husband, Leontes, thinks the child isn’t his, so he’s had her thrown into prison ……….”
“You’ll like the next bit,” interrupted Abby, seeing Connor’s eyes start to glaze over. “There’s a bear in it.”
“A bear? A real live bear?” In spite of himself, Connor sounded interested, and if Abby was enjoying herself, he was determined to at least make an attempt to sound keen.
“A real live bear. Her name’s Juno. I’ll take you back-stage afterwards to meet her, if you like.”
“You know her?” Connor sat up abruptly. “You know a real live performing bear? Wow.” He looked momentarily confused. “Er, isn’t that a bit, you know, unethical, or something? Exploiting bears? I mean you won’t even buy PG Tips because of what they used to do to chimps, so isn’t this as bad?”
“It’s nowhere near as bad as the way she was brought up. She was rescued from a travelling circus in
Connor looked shocked.
“Juno’s appearance fee goes to help animal charities who rescue bears, Connor, it’s all in the program.” Claudia waved hers under Connor’s nose. “They also get part of the profit from the production. You can give a donation if you like.”
While Connor read the blub on the back of the programme, a large brown bear shambled slowly onto the stage. Abby attracted his attention with a sharp dig in the ribs.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Lyle, “she’s impressive. Bloody good job she hasn’t got any teeth.”
Abby sat up, a look of amazement on her face. “That isn’t Juno.”
“Maybe it’s an understudy?” Lyle said, sounding more hopeful than he felt. When no-one answered, he added, “Why am I getting a really bad feeling in my thumbs about this, guys?”
“Because there’s sod all chance of us lot ever getting to have a quiet afternoon out?” asked Ryan, reaching instinctively for the gun that he wasn’t carrying.
“This is in danger of taking the stage direction Exit pursued by a bear to extremes,” remarked Lester. “Is this in the script, Miss Maitland, or are we watching some form of avant garde improvised entertainment?”
“That isn’t Juno,” repeated Abby. “She’s less than half that fella’s size.”
The bear reared up on its hind legs, towering over the tallest person on the stage by at least a metre. The actor playing Antigonus took one look at his literary nemesis and beat a hasty retreat. Or at least he attempted to. The bear moved even faster. Antigonus screamed and threw the cloth wrapped bundle he’d been carrying at the animal.
The baby cried out.
A mouth full of teeth closed round it and the cry was abruptly curtailed.
The audience watched, stunned into silent immobility.
The bear lumbered forward, executing possibly the most famous stage direction in the history of the theatre with a surprising amount of grace, considering its bulk. The pathetic white bundle dropped to the stage, and led there unmoving.
“That’s not in the script and that’s not Juno!” Abby was on her feet and moving almost as fast as the bear, but unlike various members of the audience, she was heading towards the stage, not away from it.
Ryan and Stephen were no more than half a dozen steps behind her.
“Why have I never got a gun when I want one?” asked Lyle, of no-one in particular, as he bent down and grabbed the handle of the cool bag and started off after the other two, lugging the remains of their picnic with him.
For once, Lester looked almost as bemused as Connor, then he was on his feet as well. “Call for medics, Claudia. Then I want men with big guns, and I want them now.”
* * * * *
Ryan vaulted onto the stage, ignoring the screaming around him. Stephen followed, no more than two paces behind. The soldier reached out a tentative hand. Nothing could have survived the bite from a jaw as long as his forearm, with teeth that had seemed unnaturally large even by comparison with what they were used to, but he had to be sure.
“There’s no blood,” breathed Stephen. “There’s no blood, Ryan ……..”
Ryan gently brushed the cloth away from the baby’s face.
A pair of sightless blue eyes stared up at him from a head that had been all too easily detached from a pale, smooth body.
He froze.
Stephen reached down and picked up the head. The movement disturbed the body, and the broken words Mama, Mama, issued from the doll’s neck.
A woman, no more than two metres from the stage, still rooted to the spot in shock promptly threw up.
Then the screaming started.
* * * * *
Abby rounded the corner of the stage and almost tripped over an actor who had in turn tripped and fallen down the small flight of steps leading out onto the grass at the back.
The bear stopped at the edge of the stage and stared down at them.
“Stop yelling,” she advised the man, in a quiet but forceful voice.
Four hundred and fifty kilograms of extremely irritated cave bear started to advance down the steps towards them.
“Ankle ……… broken …………” whined the man on the ground.
“You’ve probably just sprained it,” said Abby, not taking her eyes off the bear. “Now don’t make any loud noises, please.”
The man scrabbled at the grass with his hands, trying to shuffle backwards on his bottom, kicking out with his uninjured foot. The bear stared at him, then let out a deep rumbling growl.
The man screamed.
“What part of don’t make any loud noises didn’t you understand, chum?” asked Lyle as he came to a halt next to Abby and dropped the cool box on the ground. “That thing’s come through a bloody anomaly, hasn’t it?”
“Well, I doubt it’s hitched a lift here from London Zoo. See if it likes egg sandwiches, will you?”
“Egg?” said Lyle sounding almost as disturbed by the thought of egg sandwiches as Father Ted.
“Or tuna, or chicken. There’s some evidence to say that Ursus Spelaeus may have been carnivorous so it’s always worth a try.”
“I’ll offer it a choice, shall I?”
“Yes, and make it quick, will you?” Without taking her eyes off the bear, Abby aimed a sharp kick at the screaming man, who was still writhing ineffectually at her feet. “Shut up. Now.”
Lyle scrabbled in the cool bag, muttering, “Egg, Mrs. Doyle?” He opened a packet at random and chucked it underhand at the bear. “Bugger, that looks like cheese.”
The bear sniffed disdainfully at the sandwich and continued its slow progress towards them.
The man on the ground opened his mouth again.
Abby clamped her hand across his lips and hissed, “Scream and we leave you. Got it?”
Another sandwich headed in the bear’s direction. It paused and sniffed. A second later the sandwich was scooped up by a long tongue and disappeared down its throat.
“Bingo! He likes tuna.”
“Then find him another one!”
A third sandwich followed the others and was promptly ignored.
“Doesn’t like prawn. Sod it, I think Connor’s eaten the rest of the tuna.”
Abby rolled her eyes.
The bear looked up and stared balefully out of eyes that seemed disproportionately small for the massive head.
Lyle glanced round and saw Lester approaching through the milling crowd, Connor at his side. His lover was shaking his head, and Lyle heard the words, “We’re on our own!” over the noise.
“That makes a bloody change,” said the soldier, calmly. “OK, you two grab Mr. Noisy and drag him out of here. On the count of three?”
“The bear’ll attack if you do!” countered Abby.
“Then we’ll distract him ……….” Lyle grabbed a can of lager from the bag and started to shake it. “ ………two ………….three……”
Lester and Connor got hold of the injured man under the armpits and hauled. He shrieked. The bear started to move and was promptly hit in the face by a spray of froth, followed by the can.
Lyle and Abby dived to the left while the other two pulled the man backwards and then onto his feet. At that stage, the injured actor ignored the pain in his ankle and started to lurch away surprisingly quickly.
“I told him it wasn’t broken,” said Abby, irritably.
“You’re a hard woman,” Lester said, admiringly.
“What’s the problem with Ditzy and the rest of the lads?” Lyle asked, as he sprayed a second can of lager in the bear’s face.
“There’s a tanker spillage on one of the bridges. The area’s already gridlocked.” Lester armed himself with a can and started shaking it. “Our back up seems to consist of
Lyle shook his head. “Sorry, honey. You know your every wish is my command. We’re just going to have to improvise. Start clearing the area. This’ll be a sight easier if we haven’t got to contend with the Great British Public as well. Use basic crowd control techniques. Just yell louder than them and shove a lot. It usually works.” He glanced at Abby. “Any suggestions for how to deal with Big Boy?”
“Keep spraying him, that seems to be working.”
“Gonna run out of beer pretty quickly at this rate ……….”
Abby clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Trust the men to under cater for a party. All right. I’m going to run. Let’s see if he’ll follow me.”
Before Lyle even had time to frame a protest, the girl had let out shrill whistle, attracting the animal’s attention then she started to run. The bear followed. Lyle swore. It was fast, too fucking fast. She didn’t stand a chance.
With the bear a scant half dozen body lengths behind her, Abby vaulted up onto a table and from there clambered quickly and efficiently to the top of one of the portakabins that served as changing rooms behind the stage for the actors. The bear reared up and crashed its weight down onto the white patio table. The plastic crumpled. Abby ran lightly along the roof of the cabin and jumped a metre wide gap onto the next roof. The bear followed, still shaking its head, growling and scattering drops of beer everywhere.
Abby stared down at it. “Come on, sweetheart, keep following me, there’s a good bear. Yes, I have been eating your porridge and sleeping in your bed ………..”
As he watched the petite blonde using herself a bait, Sir James Lester didn’t think this was what the Home Office team bonding gurus had envisaged when they’d dreamed up the idea of a trip out at the taxpayers expense. It wasn’t what he’d imagined either, but after a lifetime in management in one field or another, he was damned if he was going let something like a panicked crowd get the better of him, so he took Lyle’s advice and started yelling orders. Somewhat to his surprise, it worked.
His first objective was to clear the area around the stage and start moving people back towards the exits. He worked out almost immediately that the maxim women and children first only appeared to work in the movies. There appeared to be an inordinate amount of women and small children left behind. He scooped up one squealing toddler, dumped it unceremoniously in a pram and ordered its dazed looking mother to start pushing. She stared at him blankly, apparently in shock.
“It ate the baby,” she quavered.
“It was a doll,” said Connor, appearing at the woman’s elbow and starting to steer her round to face towards the exit from the park. “It was a doll not a baby. No-one seems to be hurt so far, so let’s try and keep it that way, shall we? Come on, it’s time you were leaving ………”
The woman gaped at him, but started to do as she was told. Lester moved on to the next person, and the next. Some of the women without children started to help. Things improved.
Then got worse again, almost as quickly.
Connor crouched on the flattened grass, trying to turn a man onto his back. He stared up at Lester, dark eyes steady but worried. “I think he’s had a heart attack or something. I can’t find a pulse.”
Lester bent down. Neither could he. The man’s skin had an unhealthy pallor and there were traces of blue round his lips. He stared round, wondering whether to start trying to give CPR. To his immense relief, a man and a woman, both wearing
Connor rapidly made way for them, exchanging a helpless shrug with Lester.
The two men left the man to the experts, and went back to the job of clearing the area.
Five minutes later, Nick Cutter came round the far side of the stage, at a run, carrying a long table umbrella, slung over one shoulder. “It was all I could find,” he commented. “Stephen’s found the anomaly. It’s in a patch of rhododendrons over there.”
“How many of the bloody things have come through?” asked Lester, knowing it would be too much to hope for that they only had one to deal with.
“At least two. We haven’t found the second one yet, but we’ve seen the tracks. Stephen and Ryan are still looking. Looks like the bloody thing opened up right next to their nice cozy cave.”
“You’ve been through?”
Cutter shook his head. “Ryan went. Just long enough for a quick look. We need to lead them back there. Where the hell’s the first bear got to?”
In response to a jerk of Lester’s head, he set off again. Connor looked at Lester enquiringly. He got a shrug in return. The immediate area was clear. The only people in the vicinity of the stage were the two medics still working on the man on the ground, while Claudia hovered anxiously.
Connor’s phone suddenly jangled the Star Wars theme. He answered it with a hurried, “Yes? Where are you?” A moment later he ended the call with, “OK, I’ll tell him.” In response to Lester’s hopeful expression he shook his head. “That was Ditzy. The whole area’s still snarled solid. They’re trying to get a helicopter, but he reckons twenty minutes, half an hour, at least.”
“Well, at least the press will be equally hampered, so we may as well be thankful for small mercies.”
Lester put a hand gently on his shoulder. “Come on, Connor, there’s nothing more we can do here. Leave it to the experts.”
The young man gulped heavily and nodded. “Abby, need to find Abby ………”
A shrill whistle, one that Connor had heard numerous times, normally summoning him to do the washing up, split the air. Both men broke into a run. Claudia shot an apologetic look which the two medics who were both to busy to notice and followed them.
On any given day, meeting one enormous cave bear would be considered a misfortune, but to meet two was well beyond the bounds of carelessness. The second bear had clearly decided to join the party. It took one look at the over-sized patio umbrella that Nick Cutter had grabbed as an improvised weapon and batted at it almost casually with one huge paw. The material ripped, the metal crumpled and just to reinforce its point, the bear grabbed the pole in its teeth and dragged it from Cutters hands like an adult taking a stick from a small dog. One paw smashed down on the pole and it snapped.
“Bloody B & Q,” remarked Lyle. “I’d ask for your money back, if I were you, Prof. Abby, we’re running out of disposable items down here, but it’s all right, Connor’s arrived, so we can use him as bait now!”
Abby put two fingers to her mouth again and let out another piercing whistle, drowning Connor’s squawk of protest. Both bears stopped prowling and stared up at her, heads tilted to one side, listening. As a distraction, it seemed to work, but it didn’t hold their attention for long.
Lyle lobbed another sandwich, more in hope than expectation.
Lester sighed. “Lyle, didn’t anyone tell you as a kid not to feed the zoo animals? And no, before you ask, you can’t keep it. I’ll get you a hamster instead. Professor, I rather suspect that even Miss Maitland’s undoubted ability to dance on portakabins while whistling at the same time won’t keep out two furry friends entertained for much longer, so we could really do with some constructive suggestions right now.”
“I’m an evolutionary zoologist, not a bloody ring master!” snapped Cutter.
“I’ll take that as a no, shall I? Do send me a memo if anything useful occurs to you. In the meantime, may I suggest some action heroics might well be in order? They do appear to be getting dangerously close to over-turning that cabin. In the meantime, Connor, would you be so kind as to accompany me?”
Connor cast a frantic glance at Abby, was still succeeding in keeping the bear’s attention fixed on her by waving her arms and whistling. “Abby ……..”
“Is more than capable of looking after herself, I can assure you. And Lyle is on hand to offer refreshments at the interval, now come on!”
With one last backward glance, Connor followed. “Where are we going?”
Lester gestured towards a large brick building with a tin roof, some way off, nestling inside a neatly tended shrubbery. “Groundsman’s store, by the look of it. Let’s see if we can find anything more useful than Cutter’s umbrella to wave under their noses.”
To Lester’s annoyance, the door was firmly locked. A kick did nothing more than jar his knee. He started to hunt around for another means of entry, when Connor called out, “We’re in!”
“How the hell did you manage that?”
“Looked under the plant pot by the door,” the student admitted with a grin. “It’s where my nan always keeps her shed key.”
After a rapid exploration of the store room, both men reached the same conclusion. The only argument was over who’d drive.
Lester was in the process of unhitching a small trailer from the quad bike, when a nervous cough from Connor attracted his attention. “Is it too much to hope for that we’ve just met the illusive Juno?” he asked, straightening up slowly and carefully, looking round for something – anything – to use as a weapon if his assumption proved inaccurate. There was quite a lot of choice, but it was all just out of arm’s reach.
“She’s a lot smaller than the others ……..” Connor’s voice was low and surprisingly steady.
The bear ambled past Connor, took a sniff at Lester, then climbed into the trailer and sat down, staring expectantly at both men.
“Juno? Do you want to go for a ride?”
The bear sat back on her haunches and held out a paw.
“I think she’s offering to shake hands,” said Connor. “Try it and see if she’s friendly.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“Then you’ll be the first one to find out.”
“Thank you for those few reassuring words, Mr. Temple. I’d like to remind you that I’m the desk-bound civil servant and you’re the aspiring young action hero.”
“Time for a job-swap?”
Lester extended a hand tentatively. The bear reached out and patted it.
“Try a high five ………”
Lester followed the instruction.
The bear followed suit.
They’d found Juno.
Five minutes later, with Juno as a passenger, they had managed to maneuver the quad bike and trailer out of the shed and onto the grass. Connor grabbed any gardening implement he could find with a long pole and sharp point, and loaded them in next to her. Juno gave his ear an encouraging lick, but didn’t relinquish her place in the trailer.
Even with a bear and Connor in the trailer, the quad bike managed a surprising turn of speed across the neatly tended lawns.
It was debatable who was most surprised when the unlikely trio arrived back to join the party around the portakabin, but as a distraction it certainly worked. Both of the cave bears turned and stared. The rest of the audience followed suit. Juno raised one paw in a regal gesture of farewell as Lester turned the machine in the direction of a rhododendron patch and twisted the throttle for as much speed as he could get.
The bears followed, at a lumbering run that quickly gathered pace.
After a dismayed exchange of glances, Cutter and Lyle followed.
“They’re gaining on us!” Connor’s voice sounded surprisingly calm for someone who was bouncing around in a small trailer with a performing bear for company.
“How splendid. Lucky us. Suggestions, Mr. Temple? And please refrain from repeating any Shakespearean stage directions, relevant or otherwise.”
“Go faster?”
“No, you’re safe there, I don’t remember that one appearing in the First Folio.” Lester twisted the throttle again, and to his surprise, the quad bike responded. They pulled away from their pursuers by a few valuable metres, just enough to make the two enormous cave bears begin to lose interest in the chase.
“They’re slowing, we’re losing them.”
“Not what we want,” said Lester calmly, and to Connor’s dismay, he eased back on the power.
The bears picked up speed again.
In front of them, two figures stepped out of the undergrowth, and one of them held a wriggling bundle, wrapped in a jacket.
“Oh dear God,” breathed Lester, “they’ve got a bloody cub.”
“It followed them home, so they kept it?” Connor hazarded.
“I rather suspect Dr. Hart has talked our normally cautious captain into something that can only be described as foolhardy and dangerous. Try and grab the cub as we go past, then hold on, I suspect things are about to get bumpy. When we stop, climb a tree, or throw a hoe, or something.”
The bear cub squealed loudly as it found itself passed from hand to hand. The noise acted as a lure for the adults and the last thing Connor saw before the bike and trailer plunged into the bushes was Stephen and Ryan, both jumping aside.
“Straight on!” yelled Ryan.
“What, through the large tree?” Lester demanded, of no-one in particular, as he fought to keep control of the quad bike.
The back wheel of the trailer snagged on a root, holding the bike back for a heart-stopping moment, then they were through and onto a surprisingly bare patch of ground, strewn with woodchips and looking like it had recently undergone a radical bush-ectomy.
And ahead of them, the anomaly hung in the air, flickering and dancing with all the potentially fatal allure of a will o’ the wisp in a marsh. Lester yanked hard on the handles and dragged the bike around, the tires struggling for grip on the now softer ground.
“Connor, time to send baby bear home!”
The younger man was already moving, even before the bike and its trailer had come to a halt. Behind him he could hear the rustle of branches, but now didn’t seem like a good time to turn round and look. He skidded to a half a scant half metre in front of the anomaly and dropped the bear cub. It turned round and tried to head back in the direction they’d come.
“Not in the script, chum!” panted Connor, scooping it up again and diving through into the past.
His shoulder hit a tree.
He yelled in surprise and dropped the cub.
It mewled.
Two larger, and by now remarkably irate adult bears came crashing through in pursuit.
Without pausing for breath, Connor dodged past them, taking advantage of their momentary confusion in the sharp, broken light and headed back for what he hoped was the safety of his own time.
Hands grabbed him and yanked him away from the anomaly.
Connor heard the bike engine revving up again and realized that Lester had managed to tow the trailer a short distance away into the bushes and unhitch it, leaving Juno still sitting in it calmly watching their antics. An impressive wheelie brought Lester and the bike to a halt immediately in front of the shimmering gateway to the past.
“Cigarette lighter? Matches?” demanded Lester, one hand held out as he started to fiddle with something on the back of the quad bike.
“I don’t smoke!” Connor’s voice had risen several octaves in surprise.
“Ryan? Stephen?”
The two men stared at him wearing equally blank expressions.
“We’re on a sodding picnic! Didn’t anyone bring some matches?”
“Catch!” the voice was Claudia’s.
“Get back!” instructed Lester, a second before he dropped a lighted match into the bike’s fuel tank.
The explosion was surprisingly loud.
The onlookers stared in amazement.
Lester dusted his hands off on his trousers. “Thank you, Miss Brown. Nice to know that someone here believes in taking precautions against all eventualities.” He glanced over at the black oily smoke pouring off the wreckage of the bike. “I imagine the smell by itself will be enough to put them off coming back in this direction.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Cutter, gesturing towards the abandoned trailer.
“I think you’ll find she’s with us,” said Lester calmly.
The remaining bear ambled over, sat down on her haunches and lifted one paw, which was solemnly high-fived by both Lester and Connor.
Sir James Lester’s Office, The Following Morning.
“Hero Bear Foils Terrorist Plot? You have got to be joking?” Cutter sounded incredulous. “Who on earth dreamed that one up?”
Claudia shrugged modestly.
Connor grinned. “The full page photo of Juno pinning Kermit down looks great!”
“That’s one for the notice board in the mess,” said Lyle, swiping the paper off him. “Shame she’s got him face down in a puddle.”
“The Sun are donating ten thousand pounds to the Bear Rescue Charity,” Sara announced, waving a note under Claudia’s nose. The Editor just phoned.”
“The Zoo have had queues round the block since we opened,” commented Abby. “Juno’s a star.”
“Terrorists loosed man-eating bears on an unsuspecting public, enjoying an afternoon out at an open-air theatre production but they had reckoned without the real star of the show, Juno, rescued last year by
Sara put her head back round the door. “I’ve got the PM’s personal secretary on Line 1 for you, sir, she says he just loves the terrorist angle!”
Cutter groaned. “Can’t we just go back to the old film company routine?”
“Most certainly not!” said Claudia, acerbically. “You didn’t want the public blaming Juno for this one, did you, Nick? Now, as our team outing was so rudely interrupted, Abby and I have been thinking …………”
“No!” chorused Cutter and Lester, united for once in the face of a common threat.