The Sagittarius Project

By Len Cooke

Retired Royal Marine, now Cumbria-based mountain guide, Rory McMcregor, comes to the aid of a young woman threatened by a violent and sexual assault. Unfortunately, at the time of the rescue, he is not aware that the beautiful damsel in distress, and her would-be rapist, are from a distant, totalitarian future. Thus, begins a nightmare sequence of events as the woman's evil and powerful nemesis seeks revenge on both herself and her handsome, unwitting saviour. One thing, however, does seem certain, the end game of what proves to be a conflict enacted in different time periods, when it finally comes, will be a fight ending in death. The only question then being, when the conclusion does arrive, who will live and who will die?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Len Cooke
• Release date: Dec 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393008712

Len Cooke

As with many writers, Len regards the art as being very much part of his DNA. After taking early retirement from his work on nuclear submarines, his passion for justice and decency led him to work as a volunteer in one of Her Majesty's Prisons and that collective experience, together with his travels to many parts of the world, has given him an unrivalled maturity, and at times, wicked sense of humour that can often be seen in his work.  

Book preview

The Sagittarius Project

Len Cooke

Published by Red Panda Press 2020

Copyright 2020 Len Cooke

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Also by Len Cooke

September

The Illusionists

The Time Travellers’ Guide to Total Chaos

or

Harry Sandy and the Zandron

The Extraordinary Adventures of Charlie Frank

The Guardian Angel

The Mindhunter

The Jupiter-Three Dilemma

Beyond the Sea

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any events, persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination

One

The 150 wedding guests and the warm, June day, had conspired to make it uncomfortably warm in the hotel function room and Rory McGregor decided that he desperately needed some fresh air. After placing his empty glass on a nearby table and skilfully avoiding a dozen or more laughing and less than sober dancers, he walked through the room’s open French doors and out onto a moonlit patio area that overlooked the hostelry’s large, well-stocked garden.

Although it was cooler and fresher in the garden, it was still a very warm evening, unusually so for Cumbria, one of the most northerly counties in England. He loosened his tie and collapsed, wearily, into one of the many abandoned chairs that adorned the large patio and after reaching into a jacket pocket for a cigarette smiled, knowingly. He had given up the destructive habit over two months previously and yet he still had an occasional craving for tobacco that both annoyed, and at times, frustrated him.

As the noise from the function room suddenly decreased, he looked upwards into a star-strewn, cloudless night that, complete with a full moon, was both welcoming and beautiful. It was at that moment, as he relaxed, contentedly, into the comfortable chair, that he first heard the sound. Initially, he found the noise difficult to identify and was unsure as to whether its source was human or animal, but then he heard, quite unmistakeably, a woman’s voice. Moreover, it was the voice of a woman under pressure, even in distress.

‘Please!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Please, David... please don’t!’

Rory glanced in the direction of the voice and determined it was coming from behind a large rhododendron bush, some twenty yards from where he was sitting. The situation he now found himself in was confusing. Had he really heard a modern-day damsel in distress or was it merely the objections of a woman who was feeling less than interested in her lover’s ardour and who would momentarily appear from behind the bush with her frustrated, would-be lover, in hot pursuit behind her. It was as he considered this possibility that he heard the loud smacking, followed immediately by a half-scream that had undoubtedly been stifled, perhaps, by a rough, uncaring hand placed over an objecting mouth.

The former Royal Marine Commando sprang out of the chair faster than a pedigree racehorse leaving a trap and within seconds had reached the other side of the bush where, as a young woman struggled pointlessly with a small but powerful looking man, he was immediately confronted by his worst fears.

‘Stop struggling, you fucking bitch!’ insisted the man as, with a ripping sound, he tried to pull the woman’s dress down and expose her breasts.

‘Leave me alone!’ she returned, desperately trying to hang on to both her dress and her dignity.

Both protagonists were so engrossed with their violent interaction that neither party either heard or saw the tall, heavily built man as he moved stealthily towards them. Indeed, it was only when the would-be rapist once again raised his right hand to hit his victim, that Rory grabbed both it and the attacker’s forearm before twisting the hand so violently the action caused a sickening snapping sound as both radius and ulna became partially detached from the wrist. The man screamed in absolute agony but seemingly completely indifferent to the injury he had already inflicted, Rory spun the thug around and hit him with as much force as he could possibly muster in the midriff. Instantly, his erstwhile opponent collapsed, coughing and gasping, onto the newly cut grass of the hotel lawn and for the first time Rory turned to look at the dark-haired woman he was convinced he had saved from an extremely violent, sexual assault.

‘My name’s Rory McGregor are you all right?’ he asked, as she tried to cover her breasts with her damaged dress.

‘Anwen Flint and yes... yes, I am,’ she replied, hesitantly whilst just managing a brief smile. ‘Thank you, I thought I was in real trouble there.’

‘No problem,’ he replied, removing his jacket and draping it over her shoulders, ‘glad to be of service. I think you’d better let me walk you back inside, my estranged wife and I are staying here and I’m sure she’ll let you use her room to get cleaned up. While you do that, I’ll telephone the police.’ Even in the dimly lit garden, Rory could see the fear in his distressed damsel’s eyes and he took her hand, reassuringly. ‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, gently.

She managed a half-smile and shook her head. ‘No police,’ she insisted, looking down at her attacker, still writhing and groaning at her feet. ‘I know him, his name’s David, he’s very drunk and I’m sure you’ve taught him a lesson he’s unlikely to forget. Don’t bother your ex, I’m staying here too, I’ll just go to my room if you don’t mind.’

‘Men like him should be locked up,’ protested Rory, ‘he’s a danger to every woman in the country.’

Once again, she shook her head. ‘Please,’ she replied, ‘I really do not want a fuss; if you could take me back inside, I’d like to clean up and try to do something with this dress.’

As requested, Rory took Anwen back into the hotel where, despite her protestations, both he and his ex-wife, Jennifer, saw her safely to her room. Then, after briefly returning to the dance, where he enjoyed a much-needed lager, went back into the garden to check on the man called David, but the injured man was gone. With little interest in the thug’s whereabouts, Rory turned back towards the hotel but as he did so spotted something lying in the short grass and glinting in the strong moonlight. He bent to pick it up and after a cursory examination concluded the find to be an expensive, if rather unusual looking, health tracker. Casually, he dropped it into one of his jacket pockets intending to hand it over to the hotel security.

It was in the hotel restaurant, as he was eating breakfast that Rory saw Anwen again. Now dressed in a tight-fitting, cobalt blue tank-top, and leg-hugging skinny jeans, such was the curly-haired brunette’s beauty that nearly every adult in the eating area looked up from their food as she entered the room.

She spotted Rory immediately and smiling broadly, walked across to his table. ‘Thank you for last night,’ she began, seemingly embarrassed by the attention she was still receiving from many of the other guests.

‘No problem,’ insisted Rory, rising to his feet and for the first time noting her delightfully melodic, Welsh accent, ‘will you join me?’

Anwen, more than pleased to lower her profile, was grateful for the offer and sat down, instantly. ‘Has your ex finished eating?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes,’ replied Rory, ‘both she and her new husband have to be back in London this afternoon, they left very early.’ He grimaced. ‘To be perfectly honest with you we’re hardly on speaking terms; however, the bride’s family are old friends so I wasn’t going to let an acrimonious divorce stop my attending. Anyway, how are you today?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you,’ she glanced nervously around the room, ‘have you seen anything of David?’

‘Your attacker?’

She nodded.

‘No, I went back into the garden last night, to see how he was, but he’d disappeared.’

‘He might have been concerned you’d call the police,’ she suggested.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘had it not been for yourself, I would have done.’

She shook her head. ‘There was no need, I think you taught him a lesson he’ll take a long time to forget.’

Rory waited whilst Anwen gave a waitress her order before continuing. ‘I hope so, anyway, who were you a guest of bride or groom?’

‘Neither actually; I happened to meet the groom’s parents at the bar last night; seems they’d decided to make a long weekend out of the celebrations. Anyway, they very kindly invited me to the night do.’

Rory nodded with understanding. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you earlier in the evening, I thought then I’d never seen you before.’

She smiled somewhat ruefully. ‘I was quite enjoying myself until...’ she shrugged, knowingly.

‘Of course,’ replied Rory, then, changing the subject. ‘When are you leaving?’

‘Oh, this morning,’ she said, as the waitress arrived with her breakfast, ‘as soon as I’ve finished this.’

‘Oh, pity,’ said Rory, ‘I was hoping we might spend the day together, I’m free and I could have shown you around the county.’

‘You’re staying on then?’

He shook his head. ‘Oh no, I booked in last night so I wouldn’t have to drive home, I only live three miles down the road.’

‘Sorry, I have to be back at work today, but thanks for asking it would have been nice.’

Something about the way she had said ‘sorry’ told him that his invitation really was unwanted and diplomatically, whilst being sensitive to her still semi-traumatised condition, he dropped the subject, preferring instead to concentrate on his toast and marmalade.

Ten minutes later, after eating her breakfast at what Rory thought must be a record speed, Anwen thanked him once again and after holding out her right hand, stood to leave. It was only then he noticed she was wearing a wrist health tracker identical to the one he had found in the garden, but the hotel guest gave him no chance to question her about it and after the briefest handshake, found himself sitting puzzled and, once again, alone.

One Month Later

Rory opened the front door of his ancient Lakeland cottage and gasped, audibly, with amazement. ‘Anwen?’ he asked, both surprised and delighted by the presence of his unexpected visitor.

The woman shook her head and smiled, wistfully. ‘No,’ she replied, almost regretfully, ‘I’m Meghan, Anwen’s my sister, I take it that you’re Rory.’

Rory nodded, a look of confused disbelief on his face. ‘Rory McGregor to be precise and the resemblance to your sister is uncanny; you even sound just like her. Anyway, how can I help you?’

‘May I come in and talk to you?’ she asked, glancing nervously around his front garden.

‘Of course,’ he confirmed, pulling back the door to allow her passage. ‘Forgive my appalling manners, have you travelled far? Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’

‘Tea would be nice,’ she replied as he showed her into a comfortably appointed, heavily beamed lounge, ‘milk no sugar.’

‘No problem,’ he confirmed, ‘please, take a seat; I’ll be back in a moment.’

The tea actually took five minutes and as he placed a steaming mug on an occasional table at the side of her chair, he smiled, warmly. ‘So, Meghan, to what do I owe the pleasure; I take it Anwen’s okay? By the way, how did you find me?’

‘Firstly, please call me Meg,’ she began, after taking a sip of her tea; ‘as for Anwen, well that’s why I’m here, she’s worried about you I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, why’s that then?’

Meg sighed, heavily. ‘It all goes back to David Littlestone and your Sir Galahad act in the hotel garden a month ago.’

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’d all but forgotten about that, so, what’s the problem?’

Instead of replying immediately, his guest looked at him, thoughtfully. ‘Do you have an open mind, Rory; are you the sort of person who’s prepared to listen non-judgementally until someone has finished taking to you?’

‘Try me,’ he replied, sitting back in his chair whilst being more than happy to have the opportunity of continuing to look at the beautiful, honey-skinned, dark-haired woman who had so unexpectedly entered his life that wet, April afternoon.

Meg nodded, took another sip of her tea and settled down into the comfort of the expensive armchair. ‘Firstly, I found you because I think you have one of these,’ she began, before undoing the cuff of her blouse and revealing a tracker watch identical to the one he had found on the lawn of the hotel, one month previously.

‘Oh yes,’ he agreed, awkwardly, ‘I can explain that; you see I found it and had every intention of handing it in to___’

Meg held up a restraining hand. ‘No explanation is necessary, Rory. What you found that night looks like a conventional health tracker and has the capability of functioning like one, but its primary function is as a communicator and transponder,’ she smiled. ‘It’s not been switched off and that’s how I knew exactly where to find you.’

Rory was embarrassed. ‘I really did have every intention of___’

Impatient to continue her story, Meg waved him to silence. ‘Right, well that’s the easy bit completed, now for the hard bit. The reason you found the communicator, or tracker if you prefer, as I’m sure you realised at the time, was because David Littlestone lost it in the scuffle he had with yourself. Fortunately for him, when on a mission, we always carry a spare and David was no exception.’

‘Mission?’ said Rory.

‘By mission I mean going on a journey, in this case backwards in time,’ she replied, matter-of-factly. ‘You see, cutting quickly to the chase, Anwen, myself and David are all from the future.’ She paused, momentarily, to allow the meaning of her words to sink in before continuing. ‘To put what I’ve said into context, right now, in this time period, I don’t actually exist.’

‘Good God!’ said Rory, not really knowing what to say, preferring instead to take a large mouthful of tea out of his mug. ‘How far in the future do you come from?’ he asked, cautiously, whilst feeling very unsure as to whether he was being taken for an extremely long ride.

‘Fifty years, barring a few weeks; you see, Anwen and myself work for The Northern School of Applied Physics or NSAP, which in fifty years time will be based here, in Ambleside. We’re both research historians, engaged in Sagittarius, the college’s most brilliant and top-secret discovery – time travel!’

‘Good God!’ said Rory, pointlessly.

Meg smiled at her host’s astonishment before continuing with her story. ‘Anwen wants to apologise for not being more grateful for your intervention with David but after what happened that evening she was more than a little concerned about personal consequences; in the event, quite rightly.’

‘Why, what happened?’

‘David is a member of the university security team and amongst other duties he’s expected to accompany experimental time travellers as a sort of minder or if you prefer, personal protection officer. When Anwen made her fateful visit here a month ago she had just ended a five-month relationship with him. The break-up was extremely acrimonious and David would not accept it was all over, that is why he tried to assert his dominance over her in the hotel garden.’

‘What went wrong?’ asked Rory. ‘Why did she split with him?’

‘Because he’s a bullying control freak; he wanted to pick her friends, where she lived, what she ate and even how she thought. He was suffocating her and eventually, thank goodness; she saw the light and binned him.’

Rory nodded with understanding. ‘Of course, I understand now, what I witnessed that night was him trying to sexually dominate her.’

‘Exactly,’ she agreed, ‘unfortunately, a type of visceral male behaviour that is not an uncommon reaction to rejection. Anyway, Anwen reported him when she returned and because he had some previous complaints of a similar nature on his file the vice chancellor suspended him without pay for six weeks; in the event, the six weeks it will take him to at least partially recover from your beating.’

‘Is that all?’ said Rory, disapprovingly, ‘that is very wrong, the man would have been jailed if I’d