“You see Doctor Gray I understand the Professor. His main purpose, his only reason for living is to escape from here. Oh, I do not mean to imply that he will run at the first opportunity. That is not his idea of an escape. He and most of the others in this place have formed a sort of secret scientific circle, a pool of intelligence as it were. Do you remember the other man you saw, Professor Eldridge? Well, the master plan to escape from here is to find some kind of a dimensional gate so they can escape to another world. I know it sounds ludicrous but that is the purpose of the so-called coven, to escape this cruel world for one more receptive to their out of sync minds. That is what Eldridge is working on and did not want you to see. I naturally assume that the plan is not working out for them or they would not still be here.”
Maggie shook her head and added,
“So that’s what Professor Quagmire wants, the equation for the missing vibrations or whatever he calls them.”
Lynda was looking long and hard at Maggie wondering if she did not belong here too. Who is the inmate here? Giving up on the conundrum Lynda said,
“Well I don’t think you have too much to worry about. I mean it is pretty well all Kangaroo droppings anyway isn’t it.”
Maggie nodded and replied,
“Yes it is. The reason I am telling you this is that as you have seen during lunch, he is a high maintenance case. If you take him away are you prepared to tend to his every need, his feeding, dressing, undressing and toilet needs?”
A startled question shot out of Lynda’s mouth.
“Toilet needs?”
“Yes, toilet needs. He can’t even go to the bathroom by himself.”
The things she was prepared to do for the sake of the world. Such brilliant minds and they cannot even go to the bathroom by themselves. Despite the shock, she was willing to suffer that humility for the sake of, as the Professor had said, ‘to save the world.’
She may have been willing to save the world, but there was one thing she was not willing to do. Leaning toward Maggie, she asked,
“Is this road the only way in or out of here?”
“Well no, actually nobody really uses that road anymore. The guard at the gate is there principally to turn lost people back. He was surprised to see you approach the gate with a security pass. All the staff here pretty well come and go by helicopter. Didn’t you notice that your car was the only one here?”
“Yes I did and that’s the reason I’m asking.”
Maggie chuckled and said,
“Can you just imagine the hell if we all had to drive that road daily?”
“Yes I can. Do you think it’s possible for me to be flown out of here?”
“Of course it is. I will call them right away. It usually takes about an hour to show up. May I ask about the car then, what is to become of it?”
There was a snicker of malice in her reply.
“It belongs to Deep Lab 6 so naturally I don’t give a Dingo’s fart what you do with it.”
Somehow, she felt better. A little revenge for making her drive all this way when there was an air service. She hoped the tires rot off.
An hour later, both are sitting in a helicopter lifting off the ground. The noise level inside was so intrusive that it prevented communication. The only way to talk to each other was to don the headphones and adjust the mouthpiece. Professor Quagmire seemed infatuated with his new surroundings. He was fiddling so intently with the headphones that she decided to give him a few minutes before questioning him on this so-called escape plan from Roads End that Nurse Maggie had conveyed to her. She also had questions about the hole. The fear that it might reach the depth of hell was paramount.
If she had learned one thing about this long tedious car trip, it was that she was not a scientist. Most of what he said might as well be from another planet. It was just as confusing as why Yanks bothered to put the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car. Slowly Professor Quagmire turned to Lynda and said,
“Nurse Maggie sure is a strange woman isn’t she?”
The pilot wondered what they were laughing at.
Chapter 19
The Secret Meeting of the Astrophysical Securities Council
Chief Security Officer Whelan Christianson was in his office busy collecting notes on what he thought might be applicable for the hastily called meeting over at the ASC. Because high level security meetings make him nervous, never knowing what secrets to reveal and what can be openly discussed, he sits at those meetings on pins and needles. For the better part, he always comes out of them wondering why he ever gave up drinking and smoking.
Considering his rank as Head of Security at one of the most secret bases in the world, there was no indication of it in his simple office. Because he spends more time here than in his apartment there are allowances here for that. He had a shower installed along with a toilet and sink. The half-empty box of stale donuts and dried chicken wings on the desk was an indication he also eats most of his meals here. As evidence that the trappings of neatness had not captured him, there are four empty coffee cups on the desk. Whelan’s world was one of secrecy and discretion of fact and deception of mind. It was therefore not surprising that there are no pictures on the walls serving as a window to his memories and past.
Young Joseph Mann was sitting on the other side of his desk surrounded by an air of smugness. He observed his superior nervously scrolling through the files rejecting or saving whatever he thought was needed. Although Joseph knew his boss detested those meetings, he could not help but notice that this time there seemed an extra edge of anxiety about him. With a tinge of curiosity he asked,
“Why are you deleting so many files, isn’t ASC going to want to see them all?”
Whelan was so intent on the scrolling screen he had forgotten that his assistant was sitting there. Bolting his eyes from the screen to his patronizing floppy eared excuse for a Second in Command, he struggled to restrain what he really wanted to say and instead said,
“You are already questioning my decisions are you? When the time comes for you to get my position I will struggle out of my rocking chair and question what you have in your files and what is deemed important to the ASC. Until then please allow me the freedom to make that decision.”
Whelan had not expected the eager beaver to respond and therefore returned his attention to the screen. He does not know why, maybe just a feeling or maybe just a whole lifetime spent in security, but something made him slowly peel his eyes from the monitor and look at his antagonist. He was glad he did. There was that condescending smirk he hated. As soon as Joseph noticed the boss was looking at him, he dropped his disrespectful smirk and tried to create a blank expression.
Fully understanding what he had witnessed, Whelan shook his head and returned his attention to the screen. It was hard to concentrate on the task. He had always suspected that the spy within the system was Joseph. The way he acted and the things he said were enough to make him a suspect. The realization hurt but what pained him mostly was the damage his proud reputation was suffering. His inner sense had always served him well and now it was telling him not to trust his assistant.
He was proud of this career. In only a few years, he had gone from Security Officer over at Roads End to Military Intelligence and finally here, a lucrative position in the most secret lab in the world. He said to Joseph,
“ASC has simply asked for a meeting to explain why they have to pay out death benefits to two employees within the space of a few days. I’m hoping to minimize the impact by bringing with me only what I deem necessary to the case.”
Joseph could not help himself. What he said next just came out as naturally as sewage drains into a septic tank.
“Yet on page 305 of our contract, protocol plainly states that all records reaching back to the last security meeting must be presented in full and complete unedited version. There shall be no attempt to detract from the original minutes or there will be a perceptiveness of tampering.”
Over the ye
ars, Whelan had perfected his intimidating stare. It appeared to the victim of the consternation that he had somehow managed to make one eye bigger. Joseph had been the recipient of it many times and every time it served its purpose. This time was no exception. Joseph recoiled and quickly returned to his position of servitude. Still casting the evil eye, Whelan said,
“It is not a Security Meeting. It is a Show Cause meeting. There is a difference.”
Both men now stood in the shelter of the Helicopter landing site waiting for the far dot in the sky to get bigger. Whelan said to Joseph,
“If you want something to do while I’m gone feel free to question the project leaders in the lab. Make sure they adhere to the operating protocols that you are so fond of. Because the lab has been sealed and computers frozen, I am sure you are aware this department now has the right to approach them for questioning. I’d be very interested to know if sabotage is the cause of that hole in the floor.”
Joseph’s ears perked like a puppy just shown a bone. He eagerly asked,
“Do you suspect sabotage?”
“We both know that General Irsthill is out of sync regarding the operation procedures of the lab. There is no doubt that he is up to something. Sending Doctor Gray to Roads End for no apparent reason, points to that. I am very interested to know why. Be it an agenda of his own making or simply following orders of the Senators and Congressmen who resource the budget for this secret project. It could be above our need to know but I do not think so. Something most definitely is afoot.”
Joseph thought he might have the answer and said,
“Well if you ask me, Doctor Nelson is high on my list. I know for a fact that he is fraternizing with one of the male scientists in the lab, maybe more. If you ask me he’s seducing them for information.”
As the helicopter descended, Whelan raised his voice and asked,
“And by what great deduction is this man put on your large list of suspects?
“It’s just the way he sneaks around the base at night, traipsing off to those little trysts of his.”
Whelan was not impressed.
“I see. So you don’t think he is secretive because he is trying to hide the fact that he is gay do you? That is how I see it. I should imagine it is probably a normal reaction in that world. It’s a self-defence trait to protect themselves from intolerable homophobes like you.”
As Whelan waited for the rotors to stop and the pilot’s voice to screech through the speaker above them, he continued,
“Can I presume there is something else a little more tangible that points to him as one of your suspects?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Why does he hang a little bell on the top of his office door announcing whenever somebody is coming in? I will tell you why. It’s because he needs a warning that somebody has come in that’s why.”
“Yes, I suspect you are right.”
Suddenly proud that he had impressed his boss Joseph boasted,
“You bet I am.”
A tinny voice from the speaker blared out.
“All clear Sir, permission to board is granted.”
Gripping his briefcase tight, as he prepared to dash over to the chopper, he said to Joseph,
“The only thing you are right about is that the bell is indeed a warning that somebody has come in to the infirmary. It is not because he is doing something covert but rather something inappropriate. He and his lover are in the back area doing whatever gay people do. That’s why the damn bell is there.”
As the rotors again kicked up the sand, Joseph observed the chopper lift off. He stayed in the booth not taking his eyes from the dot in the sky until it got smaller and finally disappeared over the distant mountain range. He just wanted to make sure Whelan was gone and he was finally in charge of the Base. As he walked away, he pondered his other thought. ‘How does Whelan know that the bell is a warning signal that somebody is coming?
Chapter 20
Fort Lincoln
When it came to distance, Fort Lincoln was only 150 miles to the east of Deep Lab 6. However, it was as far removed from Deep Lab 6 as the earth from the sun when it came to geological location. Deep Lab 6 was located where the mountains end and the desert begins, isolated from all outside influences and prying eyes. Fort Lincoln was just the opposite, located on the outskirts of Erno, a city on the border of Nevada and Utah. Half the population of Erno consisted of army personnel and their families. The rest were civilian supporters such as storeowners and office workers. Deep Lab 6 had one dusty dirt road leading in and out whereas Fort Lincoln’s roads are paved and scatter in all directions throughout the State.
As the helicopter circled for final approach, Whelan looked out the window and saw five jeeps on the tarmac waiting to escort him to the meeting. Shaking his head at the overkill, he wondered how Fort Lincoln could afford this excessive manpower and yet his budget request for a Temporal Distortion Amplifier was thrown into the dumpster. He thought this parade of personnel was for his benefit, that this was the big boys showing him how big boys play. However, shows of grandeur are not as essential to his ego as apparently they are here. He was not impressed.
Three minutes before calling the meeting to order, the parade of jeeps was still winding its way through the camp. As they snaked around large buildings and sped through the Parade Grounds, he knew he was arriving with only seconds to spare. He also understood the importance of the tight schedule. By everybody arriving all at once and at the last minute, there was no time to gather in groups and plot or speculate about the purpose of the meeting.
When the convoy came to a grinding halt outside the main headquarters, the escorting men darted out of the jeeps. As he casually walked past the line of soldiers standing at attention, he found himself shaking his head. He would rather have had the TD Amplifier. A terrible insecure thought came to mind. Was this a ‘goodbye’ detail? He got the impression that the last man was going to hand him a blindfold.
The guard at the boardroom door snapped alert and flung it open for the approaching Whelan. He was very familiar with this room. It was large of course and naturally, the great round table was oak and adorned with gold leaf around the edges. Around the table were six high backed leather swivel chairs, all but one occupied. Gracing the walls were the official portraits of all the past presidents arranged in consecutive order from Washington to the present. Whelan always thought it odd that of the entire official portraits, only one president smiled. Draped on a flagpole behind the head of the table hung the stars and stripes.
Whelan was the last to arrive. All the others had just opened their laptops and arranged papers in preparation for the meeting. It was obvious that his rank meant nothing here. Nobody acknowledged or stood to salute him. He felt the emotional letdown from the grand escort outside. As he continued to his chair, he wondered if this meeting was called specially to discuss the future of his career. Insecurity was an occupational hazard of secrecy and deception.
Major Dickerson, the Commanding officer of the Base, was over by the refreshment table pouring copious amounts of Vodka into a small glass. He turned around just in time to see Whelan enter. He robotically beamed that patronizing grin all superiors seem to reserve for subordinates and announced in a booming voice for all to hear,
“Ahh, Security Officer Whelan Christianson.”
Pointing to the empty chair, he continued,
“Please, take your place so we can get this meeting underway.”
Whelan knew that the Major said, ‘take your place,’ however, what he really heard was, ‘know your place.’ As he capitulated and sat, he saw that all eyes stayed on the Major. While taking his place at the head of the table, he managed not to spill an ounce of the precious liquid. Pointing to the other members, he introduced them to Whalen, who already recognized most of them.
“I believe you already know Congressman Tait.”
Considering the recent tragedy over the loss of his wife and favorite yacht, the Congressman looked co
mposed. Cheeks struggled to lift and produce a labored smile. To prove that politicians can produce that honey voice through diversity and tragedy, he politely spewed forth.
“Good afternoon Mister Christianson.”
Mister Christianson politely nodded.
The man to his right was the mirror image of a mouse. Big ears and two rat like teeth. The only thing missing from the image were long whiskers. Whelan thought his smile was more like an attempt to pucker up and kiss him. He looked like a ten-dollar bill in a million dollar suit. There was no doubt in Whelan’s mind that he was a politician.
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