The Vortex

by Robert R. Dozier

  Escondido is a small, lovely town in southern California just north of San Diego. Its attractive climate and convenient location made it a natural retirement community, the last place one would suspect hives of agents, foreign and domestic, to be buzzing around. He checked into a motel just out of town and called Bill Rabold.

  “Hello. Is this Mr. Rabold? This is Curt Jenson.”

  “Hello Mr. Jenson. Williams called from Santa Fe this morning – said you were on your way and if we didn’t give you a red carpet greeting, he’d have it out of our hides.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say. ”

  “No, don’t be embarrassed, Mr. Jenson. When someone helps us, we know… well… we want to help back.”

  “All I really want is a chance to talk to Dr. Ralph Phillips.”

  “I can’t guarantee he’ll talk to you – but I’ll be sure that none of us get in your way. Would you mind answering a few questions first?”

  After giving the names of his minister in Montana, his high school principal, his mentor in graduate school, his next door neighbor in San Francisco, the make and year of his VW and where he had learned how to treat lung wounds, Curt was cleared by Rabold to try his luck with Phillips. Indeed, Rabold even gave him Phillips’ phone number.

  “Dr. Phillips, this is Curt Jenson. I know you don’t know me, but I am employed by Miss Sheila Aikens in Albuquerque, New Mexico, to find the whereabouts of her aunt, Elizabeth Aikens.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, Dr. Phillips. She has been missing for some time now and the last lead I had on her…”

  “Then she was out here!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Young man, if this is a trick to see me, I’ll see that you are reported to the authorities.”

  “It’s no trick, sir. Elizabeth apparently was looking for information about Ronald, her brother, when she came out here about six months ago.”

  “Well, we’d better not talk about it on the phone and let the whole world know about it. When can you come to my house?”

  Curt was amazed that it was this easy to see the man. After all, he and Sheila had almost concluded that Phillips and Ronald were a pair of mad scientists manipulating others for some nefarious reason. But here was the open invitation he could hardly have hoped for.

  Phillips’ house in Escondido was a small, wooden-frame building surrounded by trees on a hill overlooking the town. As Curt pulled into the driveway, he noticed a tall, elderly man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat trimming the hedges.

  “Hello,” he said as he approached the man, “I’m Curt Jenson.”

  “Ralph Phillips. How do you do?”

  After shaking hands, Phillips led Curt to a pair of lawn chairs under one of the trees.

  “It’s hot today, why don’t we sit in the yard? Besides, it’s harder for them to hear us out here.”

  After seating themselves and passing a few amenities, Phillips came to the point.

  “You say Elizabeth was in Escondido about six months ago. I believe I saw her, although I can’t be sure.”

  “How’s that, Dr. Phillips?”

  “Well, the woman I saw wasn’t limping, and Elizabeth had a decided limp from an old injury she sustained in Brazil, I believe some years ago. This woman also was in jogging clothes coming down the hill,” he pointed east, up the hill. “Rather late one night I was sitting in the yard smoking my pipe because I had been unable to sleep, when I saw her come down the hill. I thought I recognized her under the street lights when she suddenly stopped, and seemingly almost involuntarily, began backing up the hill again. She caught her balance and actually ran back up the hill. I tried to run after her, but at my age, I’m afraid my legs gave out before I reached the top. After resting, I walked the rest of the way, but I could see no one. I hurried home, hoping she would call, but I never heard from her.”

  “No communication whatsoever?”

  “None! And frankly, given my personal circumstances, I had little hope after a few days. You know, of course, that every word we say is probably being recorded.”

  “No. I didn’t know it was that bad. A detective in Albuquerque, who Elizabeth sent here to find Ernesto Ruiz, said that you were ringed with agents but I didn’t know every word you uttered…”

  “Well, I’ve grown accustomed to it. In fact, I might as well be honest with you. I didn’t believe your story about looking for Elizabeth, but I hoped you might have some news of her. I… you see, we were almost married a long time ago.”

  “Yes, I knew that, but believe me, I’m only interested in finding Elizabeth, even though you were my last hope. Let me tell you how I came to be here, and then you can decide whether or not you want to help. I know it’s useless to ask you to keep this to yourself if everyone is listening, but the most important thing I have to do is find Elizabeth even if every secret agent in the world knows what I’m doing.”

  After Curt finished, Phillips thought for a few minutes.

  “I can’t see what Ronald’s death has to do with anything, but if Elizabeth thought it important, I’ll tell you about it. It’s classified, but an open secret in international espionage.”

  “It all began in 1957 when the potentials of nuclear power were just beginning to be realized as an alternative to fossil fuels. Our chief worry then was the exhaustion of our supplies of uranium; remember, this was before the breeder reactor. The search was on for synthetic nuclear fuel, or for other substances that could replace uranium. Ron Aikens had presented several papers at conventions outlining a new method of registering electron loss which, if ever implemented, would have revolutionized our knowledge of the movement of electrons in the universe. It was natural for Abrums, who was named head of a research team at Los Alamos to explore synthetic sources, to entice Ron to join in the work. Dr. Frank Barrows, who had worked along similar lines, came in when Aikens joined, and I was recruited for my knowledge of fission. I suspect they wanted Teller, but settled for me when they couldn’t get him. But, back to the story. Ron was allowed an absolutely free hand in building his electron counter based upon his theories. He and Barrows threw themselves into the work, and, in just over a year built what was, and for that matter still is, the most sensitive equipment ever built for recording the movement or loss of electrons. Because of the shape of its registry chamber, which was roughly rectangular, we called it the coffin. It is still running and forms the basis of the counter at Kilgore Laboratories at Los Alamos.”

  “You mean the machine Aikens built is still in operation?” Curt interrupted.

  “Why, yes, for the most part. You see - it depends upon the electromagnetic stabilization of ions in a confined space - continuous power is necessary to maintain its balance. Should the electric current to the coffin be interrupted for even a microsecond, the balance would be destroyed and it would take months, or perhaps even a year, to regain it. Other new counters in other countries are more easily set, but none has the sensitivity of Ron’s machine. We had six backup power units with three running continuously, used or not, to guarantee that there would never be a lack of power.”

  “Well, Ron and Frank experimented with the counter on various substances, and came to exciting results. They discovered that all substances, elements and compounds no matter how complex, suffer electron-loss, and that these could be determined exactly by the coffin. It was in describing this loss that Ron probably made his fatal mistake. He called it ageing – as the process of electron loss by uranium was called at that time.”

  “You mean radioactive ageing?”

  “Yes, the process by which uranium is transformed into lead.”

  “Why did you say that this was a fatal mistake?”

  “Because it led Ron and Frank to postulate theories that all ageing was the result of electron losses. In short, Ron and Frank thought they had d
iscovered the basic mechanism of Time – that Time was not a single dimension – the fourth as Einstein had postulated – but a multi-layered series of dimensions depending for its recognition upon the substance being investigated.”

  “I think that’s a fascinating theory, Dr. Phillips, but I don’t see how…”

  “Well, it was the first step which led to Ron’s death, but hear me out. There were other steps in the process. Abrums and I were as excited about Ron and Franks’ success as they were, but for a different reason. Leaving aside their theories about time, if they were right about the exact count of electron loss, we reasoned that we could restore lead to uranium by reversing the loss of electrons. That is, by replacing the electrons the lead has lost to become itself, we could recreate uranium. Remember, we were looking for fuel. What was needed was a means of reversing the electron loss. Therefore, we devoted ourselves to the creation of a bombardment chamber. This was not in conflict with our original charge, which was partially to find a means of discovering the interior of missiles to discard the dummies and concentrate on the lethal ones. I wish now that I had never begun the project, but at the time it seemed the reasonable thing to do. I’ll never give anyone the details about it, but it was completed in November, 1960, and our first experiment was on a square centimeter of lead, microelectronic in thickness.”

  “What happened?” Curt asked, excited in spite of himself.

  “We never learned,” Phillips said wonderingly. “The lead disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes, completely. There were no traces of it in any form after the experiment.”

  “But, isn’t that impossible?”

  “From all we know about the properties of matter- which I firmly believe can neither be created or destroyed, this result should have been impossible. Further, we tried different substances, and they too disappeared totally and no matter how carefully we checked we could find no trace of them”

  “This sounds like a breakthrough of incredible importance!”

  “Breakthrough! For what? For the most devastating weapon ever devised? Either way – whether Abrums and I were correct or whether Ron and Frank were, if the instrument were used by non-scientists, could you calculate the horror we would have unleashed?”

  Curt pondered the question. With a shudder he recognized the implications of the effects of the machine. Complete obliteration, with no matter replacing that which was destroyed. A matter-destroying machine was even more horrible than any of the most gruesome weapons in existence. But a Time Machine! As an ex-historian, Curt could see only the possibilities.

  “What if Ron and Frank’s theories were correct? What dangers would that pose?”

  “Aside from diminishing the universe in which we live, it could disrupt the time – space continuum. It could lead, at the very least, to a branching of that continuum with the threat of collision in the future.”

  “I’m afraid you’re over my head.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, for Ron very likely proved his theory wrong.”

  “How?”

  “Ron had courted and married Abrums’ daughter, Betty. Frank had given him a run for his money, but Betty had finally chosen Ron. Indeed, they were married only a month or so when the accidents occurred. We had planned to celebrate New Year’s Eve at the laboratory. All the workers, most of whom lived in Los Alamos, had pooled their resources and had big plans for the occasion. Ironically Ron and Betty had their first quarrel, over Frank Barrows, just before leaving, and apparently Ron had lost his temper. On the way to the lab, Ron, driving furiously, had miscalculated and wrecked his car. According to what Barrows said later, Betty was trapped in the burning car and Ron had injured himself trying to get her out. The car exploded, killing Betty. The news was flashed to us at the party, and Abrums and Barrows went to take care of the details and to get Ron to a hospital in Santa Fe. Frank drove Ron back to Albuquerque. I told everyone at the party to go home as there was little to celebrate. I lived in Santa Fe and heard the next morning that Ron had been killed. In reality, he killed himself.”

  “He committed suicide?”

  “Perhaps not in his own mind, - or certainly not by intention. But from my perspective, and from that of Abrums, what he did was the equivalent of blowing his brains out.”

  “What happened?” Curt asked, knowing that at last he was going to find out the full scenario.

  “Well, Frank took him home and tried to calm him down. As he put it later, however, Ron was determined to use our equipment at the laboratory to transport himself back in time – to the minutes before the accident that killed Betty – so that he could stop the car, or drive differently, or in some manner, avoid the accident.”

  “Great Scott! Do you mean…”

  “Yes, He was going to change the circumstances which had led to Betty’s death.”

  Unable to sit quietly, Curt rose and walked over to a lemon tree and stared intently at the leaves.

  “Let me take it from there, Dr. Phillips,” he said. “He talked Frank into driving him back to the laboratory – tried the machine on himself, and disappeared.”

  “Yes,” Phillips answered softly. “That’s essentially what happened. Frank somehow managed to call Abrums before they left Albuquerque, hoping to think of some way of stopping Ron. Abrums arrived at the laboratory too late. Ron had knocked Frank unconscious, thrown him out of the work room, and barricaded the door. By the time they managed to break their way in, Ron was gone. They immediately destroyed the bombardment chamber because they knew the police would have to be called, and the chamber was simply too dangerous to be known. Abrums wanted to destroy the counter as well, but Frank talked him out of it.”

  Phillips lapsed into silence for a few moments. Curt picked a leaf off the tree and let it fall to the ground.

  “Later,” Phillips began wearily, “Abrums and I destroyed our notes, the blueprints, and even the order forms for the pieces of equipment for the chamber and vowed never to build another. Abrums blamed himself for the whole thing, and was filled with remorse. He had lost his daughter and son-in-law. I believe these losses were the cause of his suicide later. I quit the project, worked for a few years teaching until my life became infested with agents attempting to pry out the secrets of the chamber. Frank Barrows left the project immediately, travelled in Europe for awhile then came home and committed himself to a mental hospital. I visited him once, but I could scarcely recognize him. He looked years younger, but was quite incomprehensible, saying that he had heard and seen Ron, and begged me to turn off the counter. He died shortly thereafter as a result of self-inflicted injuries.”

  Curt nodded, “Yes, the whole story is horrible. Sheila said that Elizabeth never spoke about it. Did she know the particulars?”

  Phillips moved uncomfortably in his chair. “We told the security police, and later, the FBI the whole story, but…” he paused. “Damn it! We were so afraid that news of the bombardment chamber might leak out that we agreed never to reveal the whole story to anyone else. You are the first to hear it in twenty-four years, only because the news of it has leaked out. Those listening to us now know what happened, but that isn’t what they want. They also know I have a means of killing myself that they cannot deactivate. As I am the last person with knowledge of the chamber, all want to keep me alive, or at least to monitor what I’m telling others. Sooner or later, one or another would rather see me dead than face the possibility that I might reveal the principles of the chamber. They don’t know if I have made arrangements in the event of my death or disappearance, to have the plans turned over to the government and it is probably that ignorance which has kept me alive.”

  “I’ve really blundered into something over my head, haven’t I,” Curt said musingly.

  “Well, those listening know I haven’t told you anything they don’t know. The main reason I ended
my engagement to Elizabeth was because of the danger I would have placed her in as my wife. She would have been subject continually to the threat of kidnapping, as leverage on me. Of course, I could never have told anything, and she might have been killed.”

  “And so you never told Elizabeth?”

  “How could I? It would have seemed far too melodramatic. I made up some excuse about my life having no place for marriage and she threw herself into her philanthropic activities. It was a mistake on my part, I now know, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “IS THIS THE HOOVER RESIDENCE?” Curt made his report to Myers, including the “personal” relationship between Phillips and Elizabeth and waited while his boss tried to assimilate all the new information he had collected and finally, with a less-than-confident voice, Bob Myers gave him opinions.

  “The way I see it, you’ve got two possibilities, one weak and one not-so-strong. It’s likely that Elizabeth was captured by some of those agents Phillips talked about and she refused to cooperate. So they killed her. If so, your job is over.”