by Jerry Sohl
“You are bitter, aren’t you?” the general said softly. “Well, I don’t blame you. But you have proven initiative. You have a high I. Q. Why don’t you let me explain what we want you to do?”
“Why don’t you send one of your own men on this job, whatever it is? I might fumble the ball.”
General Deems was grave. “We did send one of our men. His name was Forrest Killian. We have reason to believe he is dead.”
“If one of your own men couldn’t handle this thing, how in hell do you expect me to?”
“Will you stop talking for a while and listen? That’s all I ask.”
Martin accepted another cigarette. “Go ahead.”
“While I’m talking to you, you are being cleared, that’s how much confidence I’ve got that you’ll accept. At Park Hill there are five research teams, each independent of the others. All are working on top secret programs. One of these projects is under the direction of Dr. Penn. His is one of the most important tasks ever undertaken by a scientist, let alone a man. Do you know what it is?”
“All I know,” Martin said, “is that Dr. Penn won the Nobel Prize for research on cells and that he is now concerned with some phase of that for the army and that I’m supposed to do a cover story about him. The decision was made by the New York office. That’s a laugh.”
“Go ahead and laugh,” the general said. “But the fact remains we’re not pushing civilian institutions around just to please our fancy. There’s a reason for it.
“Dr. Penn happens to be working on regeneration. He is trying to grow new arms and legs on men for ones that are destroyed. From the military standpoint perhaps that doesn’t seem vital at the moment, since the military forces are so bent on destroying rather than creating. But in the long view, if Dr. Penn succeeds, it will be a tremendous boost for morale and our soldiers will be better fighting men than ever, for they will be able to fight fearlessly, always confident that if they are wounded and lose a limb a new one can be grown to replace it.”
Martin grunted. “How about a dead soldier? I’ve seen many of them. Will this bring them back to life?”
The general snorted. “Very funny. Of course not. But it may be that someday Dr. Penn will have the solution to I that, too. Who knows? He’s a brilliant man. Think of what it would mean to have no more basket cases, no more armless or legless veterans. The procedure can later be turned over to civilian doctors. It may eventually offer hope to people who are now wearing wooden legs and arms and working springs and levers for fingers.”
“Well, it’s interesting,” Martin said. “I can’t deny that. It is a good thing, too. But where does National Scene come into the picture?”
“Some time ago it was brought to our attention by Colonel Sherrington, commanding officer at Park Hill, that valuable records of certain experiments carried over a long period of time were reported lost or stolen. Laboratory equipment that took months to make was found broken as if accidentally. It was more than mere coincidence. The colonel asked us to find out if someone just didn’t want Penn Project, as it is called, to succeed.”
“You mean he thinks someone is trying to keep the project from being completed?”
“Exactly. It’s puzzling because it is actually a humane project with the eventual discoveries to be shared with all the nations of what we hope will be a grateful world.”
“It would only be an insane man who would interfere with work of that nature,” Martin declared.
“That’s what we thought. A routine check was made by military police at Park Hill. They questioned Dr. Penn, the five research scientists and the twenty technicians he has working for him on the project. They made no progress.
“Three months ago, unknown to Dr. Penn or anyone else connected with the project, one of our men was sent. Forrest Killian went to work at Park Hill as a laboratory technician with Penn Project under civil service.
“Forrest Killian was a shrewd, careful man; he had been with the CIC for many years. He worked there for two weeks before communicating with me. He then said he didn’t think anyone on the project could have hindered it, adding that he had made a complete and exhaustive study of the whole situation. He said the men were more than interested in their work. They worked long hours and talked of nothing else away from the laboratory.
“We were satisfied and the next time he called we were going to take him off the case and mark it up to coincidence after all. But he called up one night from the camp soon afterward and said he had been misled and that he had discovered someone who was hamstringing the work. Who do you suppose it was?”
“Dr. Penn.”
The general’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How did you guess?”
“In all the stories I read it’s always the one you least suspect.”
“You may have something there. It’s true in this case, anyway. Mr. Killian said he suspected Dr. Penn and I asked him why. He said he didn’t have time to explain over the phone but that he would let me know all about it after he confronted the doctor with the evidence.”
“What happened?”
“We never heard from Forrest Killian again. That was a month ago. He disappeared, an impossible thing to do at Park Hill. You can’t get on or off the reservation without going through the single gate and being subjected to the closest examination. A search was instituted, but there was no trace of him. They went over every square inch of the camp. We’ve been biting our fingernails here ever since. We know the guilty man but we cannot move against him.”
They sat there for a while, neither saying anything. It was a respectful silence, as if it were for the missing agent.
“Stop me if I’m wrong,” Martin said finally. “You want to get close to Dr. Penn to study him and try to learn what it was this Forrest Killian evidently found out about him, but you don’t know how to do it through your own organization. So you conceive the brilliant idea of sending a writer to do his life story.”
The general cleared his throat. “Let me put it this way, Mr. Enders. Dr. Penn would be suspicious of any new technician. If he and those in league with him have any organization at all, we could get no place through the regular channels. It has to be something unusual. Every man is susceptible to flattery, so the man who went to see him to write his success story would, we hope, catch him off guard.”
The general opened a locked drawer, took out a sheaf of correspondence, plopped it on the table. “If it will help any, take a look at these. They are directives from the President himself giving priority to Penn Project.”
Martin took him at his word, did not examine the papers.
“All who know about it feel regeneration is a humane project,” the general continued. “Perhaps it is our collective conscience talking. But it would be earth-shaking if we did accomplish what we set out to do. If there is someone hampering it, we ought to know who and why. Don’t you think regeneration would be a fine thing?”
Martin nodded. “Yes, of course it would be very worth while. I can’t see why anyone would want to sabotage it—especially the man directing the research on it.”
“Exactly. It’s a puzzler all right.”
“You went to National Scene and convinced them they ought to send someone to do this story. Is that right?”
“Yes. They were very co-operative. I went right to Eldon D’Orsey, the editor in chief himself. He is the only one besides you who knows what this is all about.”
“Some have their suspicions something is up.”
“Really?”
“Nothing serious. But look: Am I supposed to do the story or not? I’m an unknown quantity as a criminal investigator; I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“We don’t want you to be a criminal investigator. Be a writer. All we want you to do is to go to Park Hill and be the most interested, the most inquisitive reporter you can. Go through the motions of writing his life story. We can’t ask you to do anything else. But I would like it if you would follow up any leads that look
suspicious and report back to me what you find out.”
“And we never use the story, I suppose?”
The general gathered up the papers and put them back in the drawer. “If our suspicions prove correct, you may have quite a story yet, though it won’t be the kind you planned. Otherwise, the story just never sees print. Mr. D’Orsey agreed to it that way.”
“I ought to warn you, General Deems, that my interests don’t run along these lines. I’m more interested in national affairs. I like to write stories that help create friendly international relations. Maybe I’m daft on that point, I don’t know. If I am, maybe the war made me that way. But it is obvious this involves humanity and progress. If someone is deliberately standing in the way of this thing, I think he should be identified and made to account for it. So I’ll go along with you. What are your instructions?”
The general beamed. “I knew you’d do it, Mr. Enders. So did Mr. D’Orsey.”
Chapter 4
Dr. Penn returned to his office, spluttering and lighting a new pipe from the desk as he sat down behind it.
“Grown men,” he said. “That’s what they are. Every one of the five. And not one of them can follow an order.” He used the lighted pipe to emphasize his remarks by shaking it at Martin. “That’s the trouble with scientists. They’re all too temperamental. Always wanting their own way. Too long out of school. Where would they be today if they hadn’t done what their teachers told them to do?”
Martin felt helpless before the doctor’s wrath. He could only listen, watch the dancing eyes, the flush of anger on the cheeks. The doctor’s pipe had gone out with the gesturing and he had to light it again.
“Take that Dr. Merrill. I suppose you are already aware by my talk with him on the phone that he and I don’t see eye to eye. He wants to work his way and I want him to work mine. Co-operation! That’s what we need. If each of the five was to do something different we’d never get anything done. Sometimes I think it would be better if I got rid of them all and did the work myself. At least then I’d know it was being done right.”
Finally the anger died and the doctor looked at him and smiled. “Now I feel better, Mr. Enders. Didn’t mean to make you suffer through it. But I feel better when I blow off a little steam once in a while. God knows I can’t do it in front of them or they’d all quit. That would be a fine kettle of fish. Where were we?”
“You were telling me something about regeneration,” Martin said. “But before you continue, I want you to know I stepped over to the window for a while. I couldn’t help seeing those pictures on your desk.”
“Virginia and Bobby?” The big man picked up the pictures, smiled affectionately at them. “Of course you’d want to know about them. Virginia is my daughter. She does most of the statistical work at the laboratory. She’s very careful, very thorough. I’d like you to say she takes after her father, but there’s more of her mother there, really. She’ll be twenty-three soon.”
“That other picture your son?” Martin Enders asked.
Dr. Penn nodded. “Bright lad. He’s seven. His mother died when he was born. He’ll be a scientist, I feel sure.”
Martin made a few notations in his notebook. “What’s he interested in, Doctor?”
“Bobby?” He pursed his lips. “He’s just a boy. The things a boy of seven is usually interested in. The cowboy movie stars. He sees them at the reservation movies. He likes to build things, too.”
“Does he have any pets?”
“No. No, he hasn’t. He had a pet rabbit I let him take out of the lab once. But he didn’t take care of it and I had to put it back.”
“Is he interested in magic?”
“Magic? No, I don’t think so. I don’t know if he even knows what the word means.”
Martin clutched his notebook in his two hands, looked the doctor straight in the eye. This would be the way to do it, to find out about it directly. He would be able to tell something by the answer.
“Dr. Penn,” Martin said slowly. “I saw Bobby this afternoon.”
“Really?” The doctor was surprised. “I don’t see how you could have. He was in school. Unless you mean you saw him when you looked out of the window here. He could have walked past.”
“No,” Martin said firmly. “I saw him as I was coming in. Just before three o’clock. I saw him do a very strange thing.”
The doctor lit his pipe again, studied Martin out of the corner of his eye. “What was that?”
Martin explained how he had seen the red-hued sphere disappear and how the cat materialized and ran away. The doctor didn’t seem disturbed. He merely sat there sucking his pipe, his hands folded across his chest. Martin could not determine by his expression just what the doctor was thinking. He sensed no emotion. His face was a blank.
When Martin finished, the doctor picked up the phone, called a number. “Will you have Bobby come to my office in the administration building right away?” Then he put the phone back.
“You will find, Mr. Enders,” the doctor said calmly, “that you could not have seen such a thing.”
The next few minutes were embarrassing for both men. Martin did not wish to proceed until the matter had been proved to the doctor’s satisfaction. The doctor evidently had nothing to say since his integrity seemed suddenly at stake. They sat sharing small talk and smoking nervously.
At length the staccato of running feet came down the hall, the door burst open and a child ran across the room to Dr. Penn. The boy entered his father’s embrace.
“Bobby, lad, what have you been doing?”
“Just playing, Dad. I was listening to Tornado Bill when you called. Miss Winters made me turn it off. I ran all the way.”
“Bobby,” the doctor said. “I’d like you to meet a new friend of mine. Mr. Martin Enders. He works for a magazine.”
The boy stood in the circle of the man’s arms and turned to look at Martin. There was no sign of recognition in his eyes.
“Do you ever listen to Tornado Bill?” the boy asked.
“No, I’m afraid not, Bobby,” Martin said, his mind in a whirl. This was the boy, but the boy surely should have remembered. Perhaps the glance had not been enough...
“Bobby,” Dr. Penn said. The boy turned to him. “What have you been doing this afternoon?”
“After school?”
“What time did you get out?”
“Three fifteen. You know the time.”
“You didn’t leave earlier?”
The boy shook his head, troubled. Martin concluded Bobby was the most accomplished child liar he had ever seen.
“I saw you a little before three,” Martin said gently.
“I didn’t see you. Where were you? Were you in school? Sometimes we have visitors, but mostly from other parts of the camp. Would you like to come and see the school? Tomorrow?”
“I didn’t see you at school. I saw you as I was coming along the walk from the east gate to the administration building. Shall I tell you what you were doing?”
The boy’s eyes grew wide in wonder and there was a trace of fear in them. His mouth was slack.
“You had a red sphere and you were making it dance. You waved your arm and it disappeared. Then you closed your eyes and something whirled in the air and a cat fell to the ground and ran away. Then you turned and looked at me. You were frightened and ran away. Don’t you remember that?”
The boy was alarmed now and clung to his father. “What does he mean, Daddy? Why does he say I did that? What does he want?”
“You’d better not say anything more, Mr. Enders,” the doctor said firmly. “You can see you’ve got the boy all worked up.”
“But I’m telling you, I did see him!”
“Mr. Enders. I don’t know what your purpose is, but you obviously did not see the boy. Isn’t that apparent?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“You can believe what you will. I cannot alter what you say you saw. It is up to you to do that. All I am saying is that the
boy did not lie. You can tell that.”
“I tell you—”
“Don’t let him do anything to me, Daddy!”
“Mr. Enders!”
Martin collapsed in his chair, letting the fury go out of him. It had been ridiculous to get so worked up. He was unfamiliar with children. The boy just didn’t want to let his father know he played hookey from school. Perhaps it had been a bad thing to bring it up at all. He hoped he had not alienated the father who now held the child’s head to his breast, stroking his hair. Martin had thought the recitation of what he had seen and the admission of them by the boy would lead to a useful development. Now he was stymied. He had played a high card and had lost.
“I’m sorry,” Martin heard himself saying. “I was sure it was this boy. It must have been someone else.”
“That’s better.” The doctor lifted the boy’s head from his chest, looked into his eyes. “Mr. Enders is mistaken, Bobby. He only thought he saw you.” The boy looked at Martin with mixed suspicion and fear. “I’m sure Mr. Enders will beg your pardon.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, Bobby.” He ground his teeth as he said it. The little imp. Has his father wrapped around his finger like adhesive tape. “I’m sorry, too, you had to miss Tornado Bill because of me.”
“That’s nice of you to say so, Mr. Enders.” Dr. Penn patted his son’s hair. “Better run along now, Bobby.”
After the child had gone, Dr. Penn turned to him and asked, seriously, “Why did you do that, Mr. Enders?”
The father believed the boy. There was no sense in trying to convince him otherwise. “I was fully convinced he was the boy,” Martin said, “until he denied it so emphatically. Now I see I must have made a mistake. It must have been another boy.”
“But there are so few boys on the reservation!” Dr. Penn put up his hands in a gesture of despair. “I give up. You sounded so sure of yourself and Bobby never lies to me. I am only trying to find some reason for your acting as you did. You surprised me with your insistence.”