*****
Miles away, in a sprawling mansion, a lone individual sat in front of a roaring fire. A pile of paper, technical diagrams, and blueprints lay at his feet. The flames flickered as single papers flew over the licks and burnt. He cackled as he read the page contents, then placed them into the pyre.
“Tanz feure, tanz” he cooed as the flickering light splashed over alien looking technology lying beside his chair.
He picked up some papers.
“Ah, the work of Dr. Lash. So very close….”
Hours later, as the sun rose over the horizon, the man rose from the chair, gathered his things, and looked around the room.
“I will miss these Amerikaners, they are so naiv…naïve, gullible. Auf wiedersehn. “
He moved toward the door. A ‘click’ sounded.
A tall man entered the room. He motioned toward the ‘gun’, and took it from the German. Rolling it around in his hands, he pointed it at the German, and snarled.
The German looked around, shock crossed his face, and flames whooshed him out of existence. The tall man left the room silently.
Once outside the house, he smiled. He rubbed his hands together, and jumped into his convertible. Turning the car key, he roared away, accelerating out of the driveway. He pushed a button. The house lit up and sent embers flying into the air. He began to practice a speech.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, share holders. I mean, Symposium attendees…”
END
NO MAN’S LAND
By R P Steeves
Chapter One
The Call
Lynn Lash, scientific detective, stood, his lean, wiry frame bent over a series of pipes and tubes that snaked across the length of his laboratory, covering nearly every inch of his workstation in a twisted street map of gleaming aluminum and fragile glass. Colored liquids in every hue of the rainbow – and quite a few shades not found in nature – coursed through the network, stopping here and there to deposit drips and drops into waiting beakers and flasks, some heated over burners, some marked with severe, dark lines. Lash’s eyes flashed as he adjusted valves and recorded measurements.
He was about to put a match to one last burner, completing the final step of his experiment, one that had kept him in the lab for weeks, testing and tweaking. Suddenly, the door to the lab flew open.
“Lash, Lash, you gotta take this call!”
Rickey, Lash’s thin, boyish secretary, stood in the doorway, oblivious to Lash’s frustration as, startled from the interruption on the very cusp of his triumph, he knocked over the final burner, sending it to the floor with a clang and a near-miss of flame on woolen cuff.
Lash stamped out the fire with a polished wingtip and turned to Rickey. “I thought I told you not to disturb me under any circumstances.” He was annoyed, certainly, but not mad. Lynn Lash rarely lost control of his emotions. He pulled a small, polished flask from his hip pocket, filling it up with a frothy green liquid from one of the spigots, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“That’s not what you said, Lash,” Rickey replied, a sullen edge to her voice. “You said ‘Don’t disturb me unless the world is coming to an end!’”
“And? Is it?”
“Well, Detective Captain Sam Casey’s on the phone, and he certainly thinks it is!”
*****
As much as he hated to leave his greatest experiment just short of completion, Lynn Lash knew that Sam Casey’s emergency took precedence. Lash was an “official police consultant,” a somewhat nebulous position that had been created specifically for Lash. The title gave him carte blanche to use his unique talents, which came in quite handy when dealing with threats and technology far beyond the ken of the ordinary New York City man in blue. In his time working alongside the police, Lash had frequently partnered with Detective Sam Casey, and the two had a strong rapport. Indeed, Lash trusted Casey completely, so when Casey barked over the telephone line telling Lash to jump, the scientist did not need to inquire about the altitude.
To transport Lash to the scene of the crime, Casey had sent over a car, a long, blue stretch limo – bulletproof, naturally. Red, the car’s usual driver, greeted Lash with a curt nod as he settled into the back seat, and then sped through the streets of Manhattan, taking the scientist up Broadway to 116th street, arriving at the Morningside Heights campus of Columbia University. The limousine passed several NYC police cars, an ambulance and two fire trucks on its way to Schermerhorn Hall. Lash thanked Red, exited the car and nearly ran into Sam Casey.
“Glad you could make it, Lash. I need your help.”
“You interrupted perhaps the most exciting experiment of my career, Casey. This better be good.”
“It is,” the detective said. “Now come.”
Lash nodded and followed the detective as he strode into the academic building, which Lash knew quite well. Several of his closest colleagues had offices in Columbia’s Schermerhorn Hall. Lash had recently presented a paper in this very building on the topic of “Methods of Reaching Extreme Altitudes.” He was, as usual, well ahead of his time.
Casey took the stairs two at a time and Lash followed quickly behind.
“What is it, Casey? You said on the phone that this was far more important than a mere matter of life and death.”
Casey stopped abruptly and Lash almost crashed into him. “About that, Lash. I may have, perhaps, overstated matters just a tad. Your assistant can be awfully stubborn when you tell her you don’t want any calls.”
“So you told her the fate of the world was at stake?” Lash’s voice was cool and even.
“I wasn’t sure that the fate of a single scientist would be enough to get you out of your lab.”
“Depends on the scientist, I suppose.”
Casey raised his eyebrows. “What if I said that Dr. Phillips was missing under suspicious circumstances?”
“Then I would wonder why on God’s green earth I wasn’t called earlier!”
The detective grinned. “Then follow me.”
Chapter Two
The Crime
As the two men arrived at the offices of the tenured professors, Casey gave Lash the details.
“Dr. Phillips’ lab assistant, a grad student named Clara, came to us about an hour ago, frightened out of her wits, barely able to give us the story. Last night, she and Dr. Phillips worked late, and Phillips sent the girl home well after midnight. But Clara had left her cigarette case in the lab and arrived early this morning to retrieve it.”
Lash and Casey came to a frosted glass door that read “Dr. Veronica Phillips, Chair, Geology Department.” Casey paused before entering.
“What did the girl find, Sam?”
The detective’s face clouded. “The lab was in shambles. Clara initially thought that Dr. Phillips had been kidnapped, but when she looked closer, she realized that the doctor had removed every single item related to her most recent experiment. Notes, samples, and, well, whatever else you science types have laying around.”
Lash nodded and listened, but Casey could see the scientific detective’s mind whirring, obviously one step ahead of the situation.
“But you didn’t bring me to the lab. You brought me to Dr. Phillips’ office.”
Casey nodded. He was continually impressed by Lash’s deductive abilities. “Very astute, Lash. Clara couldn’t understand why Phillips would disappear with her research. She was, according to the girl, on the verge of a breakthrough. Clara suspected foul play, so she came straight to me.”
“You?”
“She was looking for you, Lash. She thought you were the only one who might fully grasp the situation.”
Lash nodded. He did understand. “No legitimate scientist would abandon her experiments on the cusp of a breakthrough and abscond with all of her research.”
Casey shrugged. “That remains to be seen. I had a uniform check out Phillips’ home office. It, too, was cleared out.”
Now Lash understood. “So this is the last hope for a clue
.”
With a melodramatic flourish, Casey flung open the door to the office…
…which was being ransacked by a large, scarred man in a pinstriped suit. The intruder cursed, dropping the notebook he’d been holding, and reached into his suit jacket.
Casey dropped to one knee and drew his own weapon.
As the men fired their pistols simultaneously, Lash dove at Casey, knocking him out of the path of an oncoming bullet, which lodged itself in the frame of the wooden door. But the impact caused Casey’s own shot to miss his target.
“Lash!” Casey cried as he and Lash slammed into the floor.
“I’ll explain later,” said Lash, reaching into his own jacket pocket, retrieving a small disc.
Meanwhile, the burly man in the suit leapt onto the desk and took aim with his weapon. Casey attempted to raise his gun, but before he could bring it around, Lash threw his left arm over his own eyes, crying for Casey to do the same.
Lash twisted the rim of the disk and the attacker cried out, stepping backwards and falling off the desk.
Lash leapt off Casey and ran toward the desk. He knew that his portable Dazzler would only startle the thug for a few moments. Its design was based on the Sinister Ray that had plagued the city of New York months earlier with its blinding effects, but its small size decreased its power.
The scientific detective kicked the intruder’s gun away and reached into the pocket of the man’s pinstriped jacket, removing a lumpy, rag-wrapped object.
The thug kicked Lash in the knee and the scientist cursed, stumbling backwards and slamming into Casey, who had been partially stunned by the Dazzler, and crashed headfirst into a bookcase, tumbling to the floor, a cascade of academic text raining down on him.
Casey spit an even filthier curse and fired his gun from his prone position, barely missing the intruder, who had risen from the ground and was stumbling toward the wide-open window.
Lash sprang forward just as the goon stepped through the window and dropped. The scientific detective peered out and saw that the man clinging desperately to the extended ladder of one of the fire trucks Lash had passed on his way to the campus. He cursed himself for being annoyed with Casey and not paying close attention to the vehicles. Otherwise, he would have noticed that the numbering on the side of the truck was not consistent with the local ladder company.
But he hadn’t, and now the vehicle was escaping, the intruder holding on for dear life. He represented the best lead in this case, and Lash would not let him get away.
“Lash!” Casey cried. He had disentangled himself from the pile of texts and, weapon drawn, had rushed to join Lash at the window. “What’s happening?”
Lash handed the small wrapped bundle to Casey. “Take care of this. It’s important.” Before Casey could question him, Lash unbuckled his belt and removed it from its loops. Then he stepped onto the sill and leapt.
Chapter Three
The Chase
As Lynn Lash flew through the air, he whipped out with his belt, which was, of course, no ordinary article of clothing. As he flicked his wrist, his thumb touched a small stud on the belt’s edge. Inside the mundane leather was a strong cord that extended outward as he fell. The buckle looped around a nearby telephone pole and the cord pulled taut in his hands. Lash swung through the air like Tarzan in the serials and landed roughly on the dusty street.
He looked to his right and saw the faux-fire truck, its siren blaring, speeding south, destination unknown. If Lash wanted to solve this mystery, he needed to catch that truck.
He whipped his head back and forth, catching sight of a thin, pimply teenager about to mount his motorcycle.
“Young man!” Lash called, dropping his belt and hurrying toward the youth. “I need – ”
The boy turned and his jaw dropped. “Lynn Lash, scientific detective!” He cried, a smile spreading across his face. “I saw you lecture last month on methods of – ”
“I need your motorcycle, son,” Lash said, mounting the vehicle. “Police business.”
The boy stepped away and nodded. “Get the bad guy, Dr. Lash.”
Lash nodded, revved the engine, and sped off in pursuit of the fire truck.
*****
The kid had a good bike and he took good care of it.
Lash was grateful for that, as the fire truck had a head start and plenty of horsepower of its own.
He tore south down Broadway, weaving around the automobiles that had made way for the speeding emergency vehicle.
He caught up quickly, spotting the fire engine as it swung a wide left turn at 110th street, honking its horn as cars smashed together, trying to get out of its way. Lash accelerated, following his prey as the truck headed east toward Central Park.
Lash cut left as well, leaping the curb, shouting and waving pedestrians off the sidewalk. He sliced through the cursing New Yorkers and skidded onto 110th Street, now immediately behind the fire engine.
On the rear of the huge red vehicle, Lash could see his nemesis, the man in the pinstriped suit, aiming a pistol. He must have hidden a spare weapon on the truck. Lash both admired and cursed the thug’s resourcefulness.
Lash weaved to the left, as bullets whizzed past his right ear, striking the street behind him. He zigged and zagged as the thug continued to fire, just missing Lash’s head -- and his tires.
Then, as the chase approached the traffic circle at the edge of Central Park, the mystery driver of the fire engine swung it in a wide arc, spinning sideways and fishtailing onto the grass.
The pinstriped man leapt off the truck and Lash could see the driver, a lean man in a navy blue suit, exit the cab.
Lash tried to stop his forward momentum. He had not expected the chase to end so abruptly and attempting to use his brakes judiciously, lost control of the motorcycle, skidding uncontrollably toward the fire engine.
At the last moment, he leapt from the bike, rolling onto the grass as the cycle crashed into the truck with an enormous CLANG.
Shrugging off the pain that peppered his every movement, Lash rose up and cast his gaze across the park.
Catching sight of the two men, he began the chase.
Lash’s tall, lanky frame served him well and, within seconds, he drew close to the men. Just then he heard a whirring noise above the heaving of his own breath. Seconds later, he saw the source of that noise.
The two goons were running toward a vehicle that was little more than a metallic frame with two large, spinning blades mounted on pillars at either end of the machine. Lash recognized the design. It was a gyrocopter, and unfortunately meant escape for the two goons.
The man in the pinstripes paused to fire his weapon, but his gun clicked empty. Cursing, he slipped it into the waistband of his pants and turned toward the gyrocopter. The man in the navy suit was clambering aboard the craft, seconds away from his escape.
Lash would not give up. He dug deep into his reserve of strength and sprinted forward, leaping like a Princeton linebacker, reaching for the pinstriped man.
Lash’s fingers closed on the flaps of the man’s jacket. The scientific detective shouted with triumph…
… and then the man grabbed ahold of the fuselage, pulling himself onto the craft and shrugging off his coat, dropping Lash to the ground with a thud, the wind fleeing from his lungs.
Before Lash could react, the gyrocopter was off, and as it rose into the air, it took the criminals – and Lash’s best lead – with it.
Lash stood and threw the jacket onto the ground in disgust. The villains had escaped for now, but he would find them and solve this mystery.
Chapter Four
The Connections
Rickey burst into Dr. Phillips’ office, her arms virtually overflowing with folders and notebooks. “I brought them all, Lash. Every clipping from the past six months.”
Lash nodded and gestured to the cherry-finished desk. Upon returning to Columbia after losing the man in the pinstriped suit, Lash immediately located Casey. Casey was busy haran
guing the uniformed officers for not interrogating the driver of the fire truck, who clearly was not one of New York’s bravest. They rarely wore tailored suits after all.
Pulling Casey away from his diatribe, Lash brought him up to Dr. Phillips’ office and called Rickey, asking his assistant to bring the information he needed.
As soon as the boyish woman dropped her burden, she, Casey, Lash and the lab assistant, Clara, who had been brought up from the precinct on Casey’s request, divvied up the materials. The graduate student was a wisp of a girl, tall and dangerously thin, with pale, almost white hair and nearly translucent skin.
“What are we looking for, Lash?” Casey asked, annoyed that the case had devolved into office work.
“There was another scientist who quickly and unexpectedly left her teaching position recently. I had suspicions at the time, but now I am certain -- the two disappearances are connected.”
“Explain yourself, Lash.” Casey demanded.
Lash flipped pages, until finally, with a triumphant cry, he located a certain story from The Washington Post.
Physicist Kelly Washington of the George Washington University recently tendered her resignation in the form of a letter to the school’s president. Washington is known as a pioneer in the study of radio waves, seeking frequencies at the extreme end of the spectrum that can be used to communicate over extremely long distances. She had recently published a paper on the subject and the rare earth elements required to create such waves. Before her abrupt resignation, Dr. Washington had planned a lecture series for this summer. Her teaching assistant will take over her classes for the remainder of the semester. Meanwhile, the University will seek a full-time replacement.
The New Adventures of Lynn Lash Page 15