Quagmire's Gate

by Allan E Petersen

  “I did.”

  “And what did he say?”

  She took a deliberate step closer to him. His wide and shocked eyes looked straight into her fiery orbs. Rather quick to recognize the confrontation Doctor Nelson grabbed his tea and quickly removed himself from the field of battle retreating to the other side of the desk. Whelan prudently slid between them. Her heavy sneering did not deter Joseph from coolly waiting for an answer. The stare down was in full effect. Whelan did not think it was a good idea to let them vent their frustrations and so said,

  “Okay children, let’s get on with the report shall we.”

  In a huff she typed and was very blasé about it, after all she had already filled out one report on the poor scientist. Suddenly one of the questions in the report stopped her. After a careful thought she turned to Whelan and asked,

  “And what should I put down as the cause of death?”

  Both security officers were stumped, neither wanting to say what really happened to him. Finally Whelan boldly spoke.

  “Just put down, ‘to be determined’ for now.”

  “You mean unknown don’t you? Are you saying that you do not know the cause of death or that you do not want to tell me?”

  There was frustration in Whelan’s reply.

  “Just put down not available.”

  The way he said it left her no choice but to turn around and type in, N/A.

  Chapter 6

  General Irsthill

  General Irsthill’s grand office at the Deep Lab 6 Research Facility greatly reflected his power and authority, at least in his own mind. He had gone to great lengths making sure of it. At his teak desk was an extravagant calf-leather office chair complete with lumbar adjustments. The office reflected his control over Deep Lab 6.

  For a man of such great responsibility and power, his desk was orderly. Neatness was always the order of the day. Of the few items allowed to occupy the surface was the red phone, the ever-important direct line to the president. Much to his chagrin, it was an in-line phone only. Perhaps the most disappointing feature of all, it never seemed to ring. As important as that phone was, it was not the ‘Hot Line’. The most important phone on his desk was the black one. When that one rang, he jumped as high as his blood pressure. It was the sat-link connection to his superior, a rank high above the President.

  Sitting at his desk and relishing in his self-centered supremacy, he reflected a contemplative mood. Chubby fingers stroked a multitude of chins and bloodshot eyes tried to focus through the thick black-framed glasses. The focus of his attention was on his desk and as he thought, it was staring at him, trying to persuade him to the necessary thing. Because leadership was such a demanding position, it was a difficult conundrum. Should he have another shot of Scotch? Considering that it was still morning, perhaps five shots was already enough to get the day started.

  His dilemma dispersed into thin air when his secretary’s voice intruded through the intercom. Annoyed, he made no effort to hide it and bellowed,

  “Perhaps my explicit order of no calls was not made clear enough Miss. Crammer.”

  Miss Crammer’s response was missing the trembling fear he was hoping to project. It was too casual and reeking of disrespect for his liking.

  “Yes General. However, the workday is moving right along and there is now a fair backlog of appointments to be considered. Perhaps you should donate some of your valuable time to Security Officer Whelan Christianson. He has been patiently sitting here for quite some time. If I may be permitted to add, and greatly annoying me.”

  The General hated the policy of hiring civilians. They are not properly trained to respect military authority.

  Because of his high office, he had long ago learned to sweep a discerning eye over his desk before permitting entry into his private domain. He did not want subordinates to see classified material or anything unbecoming his authority scattered about on it. After all, he holds many secrets. It was for this reason he did not want anybody to see the ancient leather-bound book next to the black phone. It was slightly larger than a textbook and more voluminous than most. The ratty string biding it was losing the battle to keep it together. ‘Ancient’ certainly was an apt description for it. The writing on the cracked leather binding was still visible but just barely. It appeared to be Sanskrit but he did not understand it. When the title was translated into English it read, ‘Book of the Under’.

  He quickly placed it in the drawer, next to his revolver. He had not been in a good mood since learning that the girl pushed off the cliff died from the fall. He was sure this time they had finally located the gate to his Master’s underworld. It was right where the interpreters of the ancient script thought it should have been. He wondered why the sought after gate was still closed and denying him entry to the great Under World.

  Chief Security Officer Whelan Christianson must have understood his Commander’s need for privacy. Before entering, he discretely paused by the office door. Not recognizing that Whelan was respecting the General by pausing, Secretary Crammer wondered what he was waiting for. She was not a stereotypical secretary. She was near sixty, short gray hair and slim. After watching her flitter about with a file, Whelan finally asked,

  “Do you suppose he has returned the bottle to the cabinet by now?”

  She uttered a discourteous reply,

  “Sure. It would be empty by now anyway. Look for it in the garbage can.”

  Upon entering the office, there was no salute from the subordinate. There was also no permission granted to approach. Much to the irritation of General Irsthill, Whelan all too casually trotted into his office and without being asked to do so, sat in the chair across from his desk. Irsthill never invited anybody to sit. He preferred his visitors to stand, hence their feeling of awkwardness became a power over them. After a courteous smile, Whelan had the audacity to place his dirty briefcase on his sterile desk.

  The volcano was fuming. Who gave him permission to place that cheap thing on his clean desk without a coaster? The magnetism of the bottle hidden in the top drawer pulled his eyes toward it. It was only when Whelan spoke that eyes reluctantly drifted back to the offender. Whelan said,

  “Have you had a chance to approve my application for Security Level ‘Apple Jack’ concerning Doctor Lynda Gray?”

  As Whelan pushed some papers toward him, the General watched in annoyance.

  With no intention of picking up the application or even looking at it, the General leaned his great girth forward and growled,

  “No I haven’t. I am not in the habit of arbitrarily increasing security levels. May I inquire why you think a common Doctor should get clearance to enter one of the highest security labs in the country?”

  Pushing the application closer to him Whelan said,

  “Because for one thing she has a Master’s Degree in Biochemical medicine. That qualification is a great asset for investigating the contamination. Another reason for the application is that she is already here. You know yourself that because of what happened yesterday there is a chance of a security leak not to mention the Astrophysical Securities Council finding out about the contamination.”

  The General realized that keeping this incident quiet for as long as possible would be to his advantage. His eyes then darted to the red phone. Nothing good had ever come from that thing. The last thing he wanted right now was that damn phone ringing and the hated Astrophysical Securities Council questioning his authority or worse, removing it. He knew it is just a matter of time before the ASC finds out what happened to Jimmy Hatcher. So far, he had not been able to find out who the spy in this facility was but knew there was one and giving reports to that dreaded Council.

  The General looked at the application and then back to his number one security man. He was right of course. At least for now nobody should be allowed into the laboratory from outside the facility. To do so would be disastrous and start the black phone ringing. His secret agenda concerning the experiment in the lab must also be kept se
cret for as long as possible.

  After a heavy sigh the General said,

  “How do we know this Jimmy Hatcher character is actually dead?”

  Whelan was stunned. There was sarcasm in his reply.

  “Well for one thing the people over in Fort Lincoln reported that he disappeared right in front of them.”

  To add insult to the senseless question, Whelan added,

  “And he didn’t come to work this morning.”

  To get away from a question he knew that he should not have asked, Irsthill changed the subject.

  “Obviously what I meant was, could it not have been contamination of some sort from the surface?”

  “With no intentional disrespect to you, we are two hundred feet underground and the lab is hermetically sealed.”

  The General caught the insolence but the influence of the bottle made him docile to the insult. Whelan strongly added,

  “Like it or not, you know darn well there is a containment breach somewhere in the lab.”

  It was an awkward few seconds for Whelan. He saw that the General was actually contemplating the possibility Hatcher may have simply walked away. Yet, the General was in the infirmary and saw the arm disappear. Why was he trying to cover it up? Although not a scientist, the General knows that the experiments conducted in the lab are dangerous. Whelan wondered what option the General had but to sign the upgraded security papers for Doctor Lynda Gray.

  The General was smart enough to recognize that his security officer was beginning to question his hesitancy. He suddenly felt a need to defend himself and after a nervous cough finally said,

  “Yes of course. You must understand that even one as high ranked as yourself is restricted to information and on a need to know basis. I agree that what happened here must be held to the highest security level. An outsider coming in to investigate is of great concern to me. I think it best to keep this ‘in house’ for the time being or at least for as long as possible. I have not reported this ---,”

  He waved his hands in the air hoping they could find the right words, He finally continued,

  “Shall we just say, ‘incident’ to the Astrophysical Securities Council.”

  Whelan jolted back in his chair. Not reported? That was a major breach of protocol. Everything from an equipment failure to a cough must be entered and sent to the Securities Council daily. The last time he checked, more than just a casual cough caused Hatcher’s death. As his partner would be saying right about now, ‘That is a breach of page 32, paragraph 3’.

  The General suddenly realized that he should have been more careful confiding information to Whelan. For all he knew he was the ASC spy. He had just given Whelan reason to wonder why the death had not been reported. If everything was above board, there was no reason, financial or security wise not to report it. Was his security officer now wondering if there were other reasons for the delay? Of course he was. That was his nature, his job.

  Whelan put away his suspicions for now. It was a tactical move learned from experience. Change the subject and make the General think you never heard what was so foolishly blurted out. File it to memory and come back to it later. Whelan casually said,

  “Well, I guess it might be a good move to hold that report back. Hatcher was the perfect employee. He was not married, no close family and as far as we know, his only friends live within these walls. Nobody on the other side of the fence will actually miss him, at least not for a while.”

  His ploy seemed to have worked for the General sat back and visibly relaxed. The little beads of sweat on his baldhead seemed to soak back in and staring eyes calmed. The General said,

  “Yes, well just in case, can I assume that your partner, Officer Mann is spreading some excuse for Hatcher’s absence?”

  “Of course. Mind you, Hatcher was very essential to the research and will eventually have to be replaced.”

  With a flippant wave of his hand the General easily dismissed that concern. He again leaned forward and said,

  “Not to worry. I have many scientists.”

  He then added,

  “So, tell me again why I should risk allowing this Doctor Gray into the lab?”

  Whelan again pushed the file closer to the General and said,

  “Her name is Doctor Lynda Gray. I am recommending her for the Apple Jack clearance because of her qualifications. I suspect that the cause of Hatcher’s death was by a bio-chemical or macro-biotic contamination. This implies that something very wrong is present in the lab. The way his arm continuously degraded and cauterized indicates that. After questioning the scientists in the lab, it is clear that they have no idea what happened. There is no containment leak, at least any that they know of. It implies that at least for the time being we need a preliminary medical examination of the lab for micro-organism contamination. She is qualified for both of those requirements. If she finds anything then we can easily remind her of the confidentiality restraints of an Apple Jack security contract and call in the necessary experts to deal with it.”

  This time the General took the file in his hands but did not look at it. Whelan observed as he seemingly sunk into a meditative moment. He was no doubt wondering how he could wiggle out of this disaster and look good. After waiting for what Whelan deemed to be sufficient politeness, he pointed to the file and said,

  “Her qualifications are all there.”

  Snapping out of his stupor the General nodded and said,

  “I see. So, you are proposing that because she is a Doctor with the proper medical background and already somewhat involved that she should be the one to do the preliminary medical examination. Then if she discovers the cause of death we can always shut her up.”

  “No Sir that is not what I was saying. I was implying that because of her years spent in a military background she already has the discipline and medical experience to work within the ‘Shut Mouth’ system.”

  The General casually flipped open the report and read the first page. Without looking up, he said,

  “Yes, I thought so. This is the doctor reported to be disrespectful to authority. That is not a qualification for authorization into a top-level security lab is it? Certainly not in a lab of this caliber anyway.”

  Whelan had already suffered first hand her snippy and insubordinate attitude. Were there ulterior motives for wanting to work beside her? Just how badly was he smitten by her audacity toward authority?

  The General casually flipped thought the pages and stopped at one. He said,

  “Ah, yes. Here it is. I see what you mean. She has a daughter. As we might say in our field, she has accountability. I was worried when I saw that she was married but there is no husband anymore is there. That’s good too I suppose.”

  Whelan cut in.

  “According to this report he left her a few years ago. Apparently she took it rather hard and was institutionalized within the confines of the Australian Air Force because of a mental breakdown. They obviously look after their own. She received a few months of intensive psychological treatment for the trauma.”

  He knew why the General was smiling. He just discovered that he had a medical professional on Base with baggage, a tainted mental past as well as the liability of a daughter. In the event that she violates her Apple Jack security restraints, he will not hesitate to leverage the daughter, even to threaten her life if that was what it took to bring the Doctor back in line. He also liked that she had a history of mental distress. The General produced a sleazy grin, raised his eyes from the file and asked,

  “It says here that the daughter is away at a university. Do you know where?”

  Knowing what the General was thinking, it was not the first time he lied to his Commander. He blurted out a surprisingly conscience free lie.

  “We don’t know yet Sir.”

  The General’s question was more of a command.

  “But you will?”

  “Yes Sir, without a doubt.”

  Chubby fingers pulled a gold pen from the rec
eptacle near the black phone and scribbled a signature that would make any Doctor proud. Doctor Lynda Gray, with her Doctorate in Bio-chemical medicine and somewhat of an annoyance to higher rank, was now approved to investigate the strange death of Jimmy Hatcher. The General said,

  “Get her on this investigation right away.”

  Before the General could change his unpredictable mind, Whelan snapped the folder shut and pulled it toward him. As there was no more manipulation needed, without a thank you, he got up and left. When the door slammed shut, the General understood he was not going to get a respectable salute. After a few contemplative moments wondering what he had gotten himself into, his eyes drifted toward the welcome sight in the desk drawer. The formality of a glass was forgotten and two massive gulps later, the rest of the Scotch was gone.