"We've got activity" called out the colonel.

"Where?" asked Mr J.

"We're still honing in on the exact location, but preliminary waves indicate that its somewhere in the vicinity of Samarkand" replied the colonel.

"So, the professor's theory was correct then" chuckled Mr J.

He inspected the paper map sprawled out across his desk. The thing was enormous. There wasn't space for it to be unfolded in its entirety. The section that Mr J had open showed the borderlands between Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan. The meeting point of Central Asia, the cross-roads of the old Silk Road. Here and there were a series of red circles, drawn quickly by hand. They marked points of historical significance, geographic areas that had a high density of history. That phrase "density of history" had been a favourite of the professor's. He believed that the portals followed a pattern, that the Silkworm was drawn to certain places because of their historical associations. Samarkand was heavily circled with red. The professor had been convinced that sooner or later a portal would open in the city. Well, as with most things, it seemed that the professor was right.

"Prepare your men colonel and make sure you bring a spare set of equipment" said Mr J.

"Sir?" asked the colonel.

"I've decided to accompany you on the mission" said Mr J.

The colonel knew better than to protest, but Mr J could tell that he was unhappy. Having a civilian on the mission increased the risk of something going wrong. Civilians weren't trained for warfare, they hadn't had their instincts honed through years of brutal training. They didn't live and breathe the life of a combat unit. They couldn't move as one with their fellow warriors and like any well-oiled machine, all it took was for one loose cog for the whole thing to breakdown. Mr J was aware of all this yet what the colonel didn't know, couldn't know, was that Mr J had received a message earlier today from the Minister.

In a roundabout way that politicians often had, the Minister had informed him that he was withdrawing his support. In other words, he was denying knowing anything about the Silkworm or Mr J's mission, which he had been such an enthusiastic supporter until today. Luckily Mr J had prepared for such a moment. He knew that sooner or later the Minister would succumb to fear, would let a desire to save his own neck stray him from the path of building a better China. Let the Minister squirm, thought Mr J, he was made of sterner stuff. Besides, as every good student of Confucius knew, when those who ruled lost the Mandate of Heaven, it was the duty of their subjects to replace them.

Given the current environment, it was no longer prudent for Mr J to stay in this time period. He had elected to accompany the colonel for two reasons. To ensure that his mission was a success and to re-emerge in a world where he no longer needed the Minister. If all went to plan then this time, his time, the modern world, would be changed beyond all recognition. Mr J allowed himself a rare smile. He was singlehandedly changing the course of history. All for the greater good of China of course, but there was no denying it, at this point in time, right now, there was more power in his hands than in the entire nuclear arsenal of the United States. The saying of Archimedes, the western philosopher, came to him 'give me a place to stand and I shall move the earth'.

"The equipment is ready, sir" said the colonel, interrupting his train of thought.

"Very good colonel. Let's shut up shop then. Bring the map, destroy everything else" said Mr J.

He put on his sunglasses and stepped out of the portacabin. The camp was deserted. The local workers had been dismissed along with the Chinese engineers. Heavy machinery sat in jumbled rows. The smell of petrol filled the air. Behind him the soldiers were busily dousing the portacabins in fuel. Mr J took a drag on his electronic cigarette. No one could ever know about their work. It was as if the greatest painter in the world had painted a picture that no one would ever look at and admire. Mr J sighed. He was glad that he was not tarnished with pride, because a more boastful man, a man who wanted recognition for his labours, would be tempted to leave some sign for future generations, some marker of his success. But Mr J was not such a man. The soldiers filed out of the portacabin and the colonel handed him the map, neatly folded into an envelope sized square.

"Ready when you are sir" said the colonel.

Mr J nodded and made his way to the helicopter without looking round. Behind him the soldiers set light to the portacabins. Tongues of flame, nearly twenty metres high, leapt up into the sky. Palms of ash floated on the breeze, along with the smell of burning plastic. It was time for them to leave. As the helicopter circled over the camp one last time, Mr J couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the boy who had disappeared through the portal. In all likelihood he was dead. He had been totally unprepared for life in the past. But then again, perhaps not. History was littered with quirks of fate. The crackle of the radio pushed all thoughts of the boy from his mind.

'ETA one hour. We have eyes on the professor" said the colonel.

Mr J checked the chamber of his pistol to make sure that it was loaded. There was still one loose end that he had to tie up.