The Secret of Excalibur

by Sahara Foley

  Staring into the dark barrels of the guards' weapons, with a wolfish grin, I slowly rise from the nonlollygagging chair and mentally focus on the guards. Their at-attention stances melt to loose-limbed stances. With idiotic smiles, the two guards amble over, handing me their weapons, and the cuffs. I holster their guns back on their belts, ordering them, “Nice of you to stop by, men. Now, please go take a break.”

  “Yes, sir.” They salute and do an about-face, marching out the door, with Tober yelling at them to return, to no avail.

  With that deer-in-the-headlight look again, Dr. Burns asks in a quivering voice, “Was that a form of hypnosis?”

  Being a bit peeved, I give her a curt nod and an icy glare. Realization dawns on Tober and Ruth. I could've made the guards turn their weapons on themselves, or the doctors. Tober pales and plops bonelessly on his plush office chair.

  Gathering his wits, Tober stammers, “You must realize, Arthur, I meant you no harm, but you're a very valuable speci-, er, I mean asset to us in our research.”

  With indignation, I glower down at him. “Doctor, I came to your Institute for several reasons. First, I thought your team would treat me differently and take my abilities seriously. You can't detain me, or hold me one second longer than I want.” Shaking my head at his stupidity, I continue, “Don't you realize how I arrived in your office? After listening to your conversation in the lab, I teleported into your office.”

  “But, there were only Dr. Burns and Dr. Gordon when I left,” Tober blusters, fumbling for his handkerchief.

  “There were three people, Doctor,” I taunt, wagging my finger at him. “You just couldn't see me.”

  Nervously shifting from foot to foot, twisting a woman's wedding band on her right hand, Dr. Burns sends me that peculiar look again.

  Peering down my nose with an angry scowl, I say, “Yes, Dr. Burns, you must've felt my presence.”

  With handkerchief in hand, Dr. Tober removes his glasses, wiping his enlarged eyes again.

  I continue my lecture, “If I work for, or with, any Institution or government, it's because I want to. No one can force me to do a damn thing.” I'd expected this type of treatment, but it's still disappointing they want to treat me like a lab rat. So much for believing in the humanity of man.

  Tober studies me for several seconds, calculating, then hesitantly asks, “Uh, Arthur, could you please excuse us for a few moments? I must discuss this with Dr. Burns, in private. Uh, we have a cafeteria on the second floor. Perhaps you could have a spot of tea while you wait?”

  I study them for a few seconds, then sigh heavily. I have to give them a second chance. “Where at on the second floor?”

  “Uh, the whole east side of the building.”

  Trying to impress on the doctors their inability to detain me, I give them one last piercing glare, then teleport to the second floor, into the stairwell outside the cafeteria.

  Entering the cafeteria, I see my two guards sharing a table. They give me the same idiotic smiles and wave. With an acknowledging nod, I order a cup of really bad looking coffee, and sit alone, waiting.

  Chapter Two

  “My God, Ruth, he disappeared!” Tober exclaims with incredulity, glancing around his office. Replacing his glasses, he studies Dr. Burns.

  “Mr. Merlin told you he could teleport, sir,” she reminds him, echoing the same level of disbelief. “I'm starting to believe he can do everything he claims he can.”

  Ruth sits heavily in the uncomfortable chair, nervously looking around and fingering her necklace. What just happened? How badly is Gordy burned? We've been friends and lab-partners for years. I can't imagine coming to work without him. Sometimes his schoolboy charm and a shoulder to cry on are the only things keeping her going.

  Why did that crude American have to pick on me? Ruth frets, biting her lower lip. He could've read anyone else's mind, but no, he had to read mine. Now he knows a secret even Dr. Tober doesn't. If Dr. Tober knew, he'd have to tell Commander Dobie, and that would be the end of her career.

  Why, oh why, did that insufferable man have to come to their Institution? There are other research facilities around the world. Why come here? Just to torment me? Ruth shakes her head, twirling the wedding band on her finger. There's something about him that speaks to me, though. I guess he could be considered handsome, with his dark, rugged looks and wavy, raven-black hair, just a tad too long for my taste. But it's actually his eyes that compel her, such a strange gray color. Did they turn color when he was angry? Just thinking about him is causing feelings she's not sure are good or bad. All I know is, I don't want anything to do with that deplorable man.

  Tober is leaning back in his chair, looking thoughtful, when suddenly he bolts upright. “Ruth, we have to keep an eye on Mr. Merlin, no matter the sacrifice. I'll contact MI6, but we know they can't detain him either. So, it's up to us.” He points to her, then himself. “You and me.”

  “But sir, how do you propose to hold a man who can disappear at will?” Ruth asks with a frown. I don't want to be a part of Dr. Tober's plans.

  “I'm going to ask you a very big favor Doctor, for me, for the Institute, hell, maybe for the whole country.” Taking off his glasses, he paces his small office a few times before going on. “Uh, I'm going to ask, but will make it an order, if you prefer, that you allow Mr. Merlin to stay at your home while we conduct our tests.”

  “What?” Ruth shouts, jumping from her chair. This is the last thing I want. That MAN staying in my home.

  “Uh, yes, I know it will be an inconvenience for you, but I also know you have the extra room,” he says, trying to be reasonable.

  “Sir, my private life is my own, and I don't want or need an arrogant man disturbing it.” Tugging at the ring on her necklace, she begins pacing more than Dr. Tober had. How am I going to get out of this mess?

  Sitting on the edge of his desk, he tells her, “I fully realize your private life is your own. But I think he may become a part of your life anyhow, so why not start it ourselves?”

  “What are you talking about, Dr. Tober?” With clenched teeth, she sits back down, anger flashing in her jade eyes.

  Cautiously, Tober asks her, “Ruth, what did Mr. Merlin say to you before, that Gordy and I couldn't hear?”

  She squirms in embarrassment, not meeting his eyes. “Sir, I must protest.”

  “Uh, yes. What he told you was personal, correct?” Tober asks, fiddling with a folder on his desk.

  Ruth scowls at him. How did I suddenly become the center of everyone's attention? Why can't they just leave me alone?

  Looking into her angry eyes, Tober says, “But don't you understand? Whatever it is, he already knows. Mr. Merlin is quite taken with you, Ruth. I think we can turn his attraction to you into a beneficial, working relationship.”

  Leaping to her feet again, Ruth yells, “You're suggesting I have a romantic relationship with that arrogant, bloody American?”

  “Doctor Burns, I will not tolerate that type of language in this office,” Tober sternly reprimands her. “Now, young lady, sit down, and listen.”

  Ruth reluctantly backs up and sits, with eyes ablaze. She has never been this angry in her life. Fuming, she perches on that uncomfortable chair, arms and legs crossed, kicking one leg back and forth. I feel like I'm in the Headmistress's Office being punished for something that wasn't my fault.

  Trying to calm Ruth down, Tober explains, “I'm not suggesting anything, Doctor, except if you let him stay at your home we can have a modicum of control over his actions. I also feel you'll learn more about him there than we can here. How else will we be able to keep him under some kind of control, woman?” Waving towards his window turned screen, he asks, “If he wants to leave, what do we do? We'd be letting the most valuable specimen we've found slip right through our fingers, simply because you don't want to be bothered in your precious private life.” Tober's voice hardens, eyes narrowing. “Don't forget who helped you get here, Ruth, and everything I've done for you over the yea
rs, since your parents died.”

  Defeated, deflated, she succumbs with a loud sigh, “I suppose I'd better say yes, before you launch into the spiel about national security, sir.”

  “Good girl. The threat to our national security was next. Think what would happen if the Russians had him, Ruth.”

  “I'd like to see them detain him, sir,” she scoffs.

  “Yes, unless he wants to be there,” Dr. Tober points out.

  Ruth ponders that remark. Maybe the American doesn't care who he works for, as long as he receives his accolades. With resignation, she says, “All right, Dr. Tober, I'll invite Mr. Merlin to stay at my house while he's in London.” Glowering at her mentor, she states, “But I want it understood I do this under the strongest official and personal protest, sir. If you had made it an order, I would've resigned.”

  “Noted and understood, Doctor,” Tober acknowledges with relief. “Now, please go find Mr. Merlin before he becomes bored and leaves,” he instructs. “I must contact Dobie, as much as I hate to.”

  Ruth stalks to a cabinet, opening a drawer. “It's Friday, sir. If he accepts my offer, I'll leave straightaway, then we'll be back on Monday.” She gathers some forms, and a box from the cabinet.

  “Yes, take all the random tests, and call me every day. Please?”

  Ruth doesn't respond, giving a slight nod as she flounces out.

  Dr. Tober sits behind his desk, repeatedly wiping his eyes, then picks up his telephone and dials a number.

  * * *

  Ruth slowly climbs down the steps, still fuming at her predicament. She doesn't want that arrogant, self-satisfied man staying at her home. How can you share a house with someone who can disappear and reappear at will? What kind of morals and character does he have? Does he know what being a gentleman means? He already invaded my privacy by reading my mind, what would stop him from peeping at me while I slept, or was taking a shower? She shivers, goosebumps traveling up her arms. Why does the thought of him watching me make me quiver, with a tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach? That's not possible. He shouldn't be affecting her this way.

  She shrugs, shaking her head. What about Dr. Tober and his demand? In the last twelve years, he's never made reference to her parents, nor the fact he helped her after their deaths. Their plane crash devastated her, but with his help, she received her doctorate sooner than she would've done on her own. Then, he hired her to his staff at the Institute, a position she'd yearned to earn for years, but never imagined she would obtain. Yes, I owe Dr. Tober, but calling in my debt over that damn American makes me feel used and disappointed in my mentor.

  Oh well, for God, Queen, and Country, she thinks sadly as she enters the dismal, gray cafeteria.

  Chapter Three

  “May I join you, Arthur?” Ruth asks coolly, standing uncertainly next to me. She's trying to act aloof, but I can still see the glitter of anger in her mesmerizing eyes.

  “Certainly, Doctor, would you like something?” I offer, pushing out the chair across from me with my foot. Just having her here makes the dreary cafeteria seem brighter, livelier.

  Sitting demurely on the tacky, orange cafeteria chair, Ruth replies in her soft, cultured, husky voice, “No, thank you. I need to talk with you for a moment.” But in her mind, I hear, “Yes, drop dead, you bloody bastard.”

  Stubbing out my cigarette, I lean back in my chair, cross my arms, and appraise her. She starts fidgeting, turning the ring on her necklace, but she doesn't break eye contact.

  Eliminating the small talk, I tell her with an icy stare, “Yes, Doctor, this arrogant bastard of an American would love to stay at your home. No, I wouldn't work for the Russians. I'm sorry you can't stand the most valuable specimen you've run across.” Placing my right hand over my heart, I say with a smirk, “I will try not to interfere in your private life, and will try to be a perfect gentleman, though you doubt I know what a gentleman is.”

  Her eyes ignite with green fire again as she says with all the quiet dignity she can muster, “Yes. I should've realized you'd be reading my mind, and say something to further embarrass me.” She gracefully rises and turning away, says over her shoulder, “Mr. Merlin, because you're so smart, I won't have to tell you where my car is parked. I'll get my belongings and expect you there in half an hour.”

  I watch her quickly weave her way out of the cafeteria. Damn nice body. Why am I going out of my way to upset her? Can it be because she's a lesbian? From my first telepathic contact, I'd learned that she'd been beaten and raped the day before her fifteenth birthday. Since then, she's harbored a hate/fear feeling towards men. At least, men closer to her own age, or who she thinks are looking at her in that 'special way.' And I'm sure those funny looks she cast my way earlier are due to the feelings she's arousing in me. I can't help it. She makes my male hormones want to stand at attention.

  Leaving the rest of the foul-tasting coffee behind, I get ready to meet her. Because I'm almost out of cash, I exit the cafeteria and leave the Institute, going quickly across the street to a bank. When I arrive at Ruth's car, located at an underground parking lot, she's sitting in her car, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

  I tell her, “Sorry, I had to make a pit-stop.” That remark goes right over her head, and she attaches some disgusting sexual meaning to it. She's going to be a tough cookie all right. As Ruth stamps on the gas, angrily driving away from the parking lot, I politely ask, “Do you know Dr. Tober called a Commander Dobie of MI6?”

  Ruth shifts a gear, staring straight ahead. Traffic is flowing towards me on my side of the car, making me feel disconcerted.

  “Look, Ruth, I don't want to become a military objective. If I have to, I can be a formidable enemy. Can't we try to be friends?” I ask, momentarily glancing away from the traffic to flash my most charming smile.

  Grind. Shift. Silence.

  I'm finding it hard to restrain myself from grabbing the wheel and steering away from the oncoming traffic. Where are the damn brakes? Ignoring the rushing vehicles with a sigh, I tell her, “All right, if you won't talk, can we at least stop at a store where I can buy some good brandy and T-bones for dinner? I haven't eaten all day.”

  Silence. In her mind is something I rarely encounter, a blue haze. She's concentrating on blocking me from reading her thoughts.

  “Ruth, contrary to what some experts say, I can still scan your mind. So save the effort, it won't even slow me down.” I'm starting to get miffed she isn't trying to cooperate with me.

  She turns the car so fast the tires squeal, coming to an abrupt stop. “Mr. Merlin, this, in my country, is called a grocery,” she coldly lectures me. “You can purchase items to either eat or drink. I will wait here for you.”

  I'm smashed up against my door and the dashboard. We just crossed two lanes of traffic, which for me is going the wrong direction. Was she aiming for that bus? I shakily climb out of the car and hurry into the store. What else is left to say?

  Fifteen minutes later, I stroll out carrying a large box. Ruth quirks her eyebrow and looks at me like I'm crazy. “That box won't fit in my car, Mr. Merlin.”

  I study her small Blue Triumph. She's absolutely right. Quickly searching around the parking lot and seeing no one close by or watching us, I mentally focus on the box. I mentioned to Dr. Tober I use a form of molecular transference they've probably had little exposure to. I must've been right, for as the box shrinks to shoebox size, Ruth makes a strangling noise. When I glance up, all color has drained from her face.

  I climb into the car and shut the door, saying smugly, “Ready, Doctor?” But for a few long seconds, we don't move. I have the last word this time.

  After Ruth stops staring wide-eyed at the shoebox sized box and its little contents, she grinds off a large part of reverse, before she remembers the clutch. Then a big jerk, hard stop, and a lunge forward. She grinds more gears, holding the wheel so tightly her knuckles have as much color as her face, and over or understeers like a drunk.

  Fearing for her sa
fety, I try to calm her down, “If you don't relax, Ruth, you're going to wreck your beautiful little car.” She does settle down, but not much. The normal drive time from the Institute to Ruth's home is forty minutes, but today, it takes an hour and fifteen minutes, and probably half the car's transmission.

  Dr. Ruth Burns comes from old-line money. She's pretty well-off, by most standards, living in her family home of many generations, located In White Water. Her family estate has a big sprawling house, and behind it, a modest servant's cottage. Her servant family consists of Michael, who's gardener, caretaker, and protector; then Gladys, his wife, who cooks, and supervises the house. The third is their daughter, Toni. She's the maid, helper, and unknown to her family, one of Ruth's closest and most active lesbian lovers. Currently Michael's away, taking care of his dying mother.

  As we drive between the tall, wrought-iron gates standing guard before the long, curving driveway, I apologize contritely, “I'm sorry if I startled you at the grocery.”

  Steering up the long driveway lined with old silver maples, she says softly, “I wonder what other tricks you can do that you haven't told us about?”

  “Honestly, Ruth, name it, I can probably do it,” I tell her, trying not to sound boastful or arrogant.

  In her mind I hear, -Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.-

  With a sigh, I say, “Look, I have a private life too, and I don't want anyone messing around in it either.”

  “But you know everything about mine,” she protests, “and I know nothing about yours. It's distressing when a complete stranger knows so much about oneself.”

  “This arrangement may be a lot easier for you if you think of me as a lifelong friend, who you've shared your innermost secrets with.”

  “No way, Mr. Merlin,” she sternly disagrees, staring daggers at me.

  “Okay, we drop your private life; it's not open for discussion,” I suggest, trying to find a middle ground so she will relax around me.