by John Blaine
Barby answered the phone, caught the urgency in Rick’s voice, and yelled for their father. Hartson Brant came hurriedly.
“What is it, Rick?”
“Guarded language,” Rick said urgently. “Dad, don’t you have a professional friend inNewark ? The teletype machine just went haywire for the third time and I need help.”
Hartson Brant muttered, “Good Lord! Yes, Rick. I have a mechanic friend who is ideally suited for the purpose. Constantine Chavez. Look him up in the professional part of the phone directory. I’ll phone him and say you’re bringing the machine.”
“Good, Dad. I’ll come home as soon as possible. Better phone the man who runs the machines and give him the information.”
“All right.Be careful.”
Rick disconnected and looked up the name under the listing of physicians. Back in the car, he cast a quick look at Dr. Marks. The scientist was sitting quietly, staring straight ahead. He wasn’t talking, and Rick was glad. He didn’t know how much of the gibberish he could take. It was weird and horrifying, particularly since Marks had been so crisp and terse-even though sometimes unpleasant-in his speech.
Dr. Chavez was watching for them through his window and hurried out to meet the car.
He was a tall, slender man with handsome features that showed his Spanish ancestry.
“You must be Rick,” he said, shaking hands. “You look very much like your father. He
phoned to say you were bringing a damaged machine, but I also gathered he was merely being cautious about something he didn’t care to discuss on the phone.”
“That’s right, Doctor,” Rick said. He introduced Tom Dodd and Scotty, failing to mention that Dodd was a government agent. Then he pointed to Dr. Marks in the back seat.
‘There’s your patient, sir.”
“Bring him into the house,” Dr. Chavez directed. “I assume from his appearance that the trouble is mental and not physical?”
“Exactly,” Dodd said.
Inside the house they found one room outfitted as a home office. “I have an office downtown,” the doctor explained, “but I also use this one a few afternoons a week. Now, who can tell me about this?” His eyes were on Marks, and as he talked, he reached for the scientist’s wrist.
Tom Dodd explained carefully, “He was suddenly stricken. We were with him. We don’t know what happened, except that he made sense one minute, but talked only garbled words the next.”
Chavez took anotoscope, an instrument used to examine eyes, ears, nose, and throat, and switched on the tiny light. He flicked it into Marks’ eyes and watched the behavior of the pupils. Then he listened with a stethoscope. A little rubber hammer came out next and was applied to the reflexes of the stricken scientist. The reflexes looked normal to Rick.
Dr. Marks suddenly looked up and began spouting gibberish. Rick winced.
Chavez listened gravely, apparently not at all disturbed. The flow of meaningless words ceased and Rick sighed with relief. He saw that Scotty had been equally affected.
“What is your specialty, Doctor?” Dodd asked.
“I’m a neurologist.”
That was good, Rick thought. A neurologist was exactly what Marks seemed to need.
“Do you make anything of this?” Dodd asked.
The doctor shook his head.“Nothing. I’ve never seen a case like it, I’ve never even heard of one. In fact, I know of only one analogue, and it’s an electronic one. Do you know how computers work?The big electronic brains?”
The three nodded.
“Then you will understand. I have worked with computers, and now and then one of them suddenly starts turning out gibberish for no apparent reason. A check of the circuits may show that everything is functionally normal. Yet, the gibberish continues. Often it clears up, with no more reason than it started. Sometimes this happens when the machine is cold, before it is properly warmed up. At other times, it happens when the machine is tired.”
“Tired?” Dodd looked his disbelief. “Machines don’t get tired. Not in those terms.”
Chavez smiled.“Perhaps not. Yet, to those who work with them, it does sometimes appear that the machine is tired. There is really no other expression for it.”
Rick knew something of this through his association with Dr. Parnell Winston of the Spindrift staff. Winston was an expert in the new science of cybernetics, which is defined as the science of communications and control mechanisms in both living beings and machines.
“Parnell Winston would know,” Rick said.
“He most certainly would,” Chavez agreed. “Are you aware that he and I have worked together? My interest was in the biological portion of the project. His was in the electronic. Of course we worked as a team with other specialists.”
“Under whose auspices?”Dodd asked quickly.
“Let us be candid,” Chavez invited. “Obviously, this is not an ordinary case. The guarded language Hartson Brant used was indication enough of that. Rick Brant I identify because of his resemblance to my friend, and I think I identify Don Scott, of whom I have heard a great deal from Hartson. But who are you, Mr. Dodd?”
For answer, Tom Dodd took out his identification folder and handed it to the physician.
Chavez studied it. “I know your organization, Mr. Dodd. But what is of greater importance for the moment, your organization knows me. I suspect it was for that reason Hartson Brant selected me for you to consult.” He gestured to the phone. “You will want to call your office. My records are inNew York .”
Dodd’s face expressed his relief. “I was a little nervous,” he admitted. “It was a choice between possibly risking further damage to Marksor taking a chance on someone based only on a recommendation from Dr. Brant. I’m glad you’re in the clear.”
He went to the phone and calledNew York . In a moment he said, “Dodd here. Check on Dr. Constantine Chavez.” He held the phone for perhaps half a minute,then said, “Roger.
That does it.”
He held out his hand to the neurologist. “Glad to know you, Doctor. Can you take over?”
“Not only can I take over, you would have trouble getting rid of me. This man is obviously hurt in a way that is strange to me, and I assure you, my experience with damaged minds is considerable. He may be somewhat under the influence of a drug- I will check more thoroughly-but that is not the cause. If I may make a quick and highly tentative guess, this mind is suffering from some kind of trauma induced from an outside source.”
“You mean it’s not a disease?” Rick asked quickly.
“Precisely.I know of no disease that would behave like this. I can’t even imagine a disease with these symptoms.”
“How can you be sure?” Scotty pressed.
“Obviously I can’t at this stage of investigation. But you must recognize that a physician develops a rather definite feeling for injury after years of experience. My own experience tells me that mental damage of this scope is almost always accompanied by other symptoms when it is the product of a disease. No, I cannot credit the idea of a pathogenic organism too seriously. It is as though some outside agent pierced the cranium and cut off the control centers of the brain.”
“A dagger of the mind,” Scotty murmured.
Chavez looked up sharply. “Yes!An ideal phrase for it.”
Rick recognized the quotation from his school-work. Macbeth, Act II. Another of Shakespeare’s phrases from the same work leaped into his mind. “Macbeth hath
murdered sleep.” Not Macbeth, but Marks. Rick knew he wouldn’t sleep well that night,nor for many nights to come.
Dagger of the mind! Well, it fitted. Watching the blank face of what had been, only hours before, a brilliant scientist, Rick could feel its deadly point himself.
CHAPTER X
Search for Strangers
The good weather turned bad, and dark clouds hung low over theNew Jersey coast. It was appropriate weather for the state of mind at Spindrift. With Marks a victim of the mysterious “dagger of the mind,” only
Dr. Morrison remained of the original team.
The question, of course, was “Who next?”
At Hartson Brant’s urgent request, Steve Ames visited the island and a meeting of all staff was called in the big library.
Rick and Scotty sat on a library table, while the scientists occupied the few library chairs. Steve Ames sat on Hartson Brant’s desk and acted as chairman for the informal session.
By mutual agreement, the girls had been excluded. Jan was nearly in a state of shock over what had happened to Marks. Not only was she fond of the crusty scientist, but she was fearful that the mysterious ailment would strike her father next. And Barby was rapidly catching the same fear. After all, new team members probably were not immune, and Hartson Brant, Julius Weiss, and Parnell Winston were deeply involved in the project.
Steve called the meeting to order. “Hartson, you suggested that I come, which I was glad to do. Suppose you start by telling us what you had in mind.”
“Very well, Steve.” The scientist’s glance embraced his colleagues and the boys.
“We have a problem that must be solved before we can continue with calm and
objective minds on the project that faces us. The problem is simply, what is the ailment that has stricken three of us, and what is its cause?”
Hartson Brant tamped tobacco into his pipe thoughtfully. “Let us see what we know.
First of all, two team members were stricken inWashington , within a short time of each other. They were examined by competent specialists who arrived at no conclusion. They admitted they were unable to diagnose the ailment. The possibility of an unknown
disease was considered briefly, but not seriously. The possibility of a chemical agent-a drug, if you like-also was considered. This possibility has not been entirely rejected.
However, a detailed laboratory investigation disclosed no trace of chemicals in the patients, apart from chemicals that were expected, of course.”
“Could there be chemicals that left no trace?” Scotty asked.
Hartson Brant shook his head. “No one can claim total knowledge of body chemistry, obviously. Just the same, the elements to be found in the body, and the proportions in which they occur, are well known. I said the possibility has not been entirely eliminated, but it seems unlikely that chemical interference caused the disruption.”
“What does that leave?” Steve inquired.
The scientist shrugged. “I can’t even guess.Physical interference, perhaps. There is also a possibility, which is very difficult to explore, that the ailment was caused within the minds of the scientists by some catalytic agent, or by some psychic trauma that we can’t even imagine.”
Rick and Scotty exchanged glances. They had seen the ailment at work, and even its effects were almost beyond description. Its cause was hard to imagine.
“But, to continue.Steve recognized the possibility that the ailment was caused by some outside source. Call it an enemy source, if you prefer. He acted to get the remaining team members beyond reach of the enemy by smuggling them to Spindrift. He
succeeded with Dr. Miller-excuse me, Dr. Morrison. He did not succeed with Dr. Marks.
What does this suggest?”
“That hiding Dr. Morrison was an effective preventative,” Steve Ames concluded.
“If he is hidden.”Rick said the words before he even thought.
“What do you mean, Rick? No one outside the family or the project knows of his presence!” Julius Weiss exclaimed.
Steve held up his hand. “Hold it a minute. We’ll get to that point in its proper turn.”
Hartson Brant picked up the threads again. “We will assume for the moment that Steve’s statement is correct, and that hiding Dr. Morrison was a preventative. I know Steve doesn’t accept this fully, but we must use assumptions since we have no facts of consequence. If the assumption is correct, then we have to accept the fact that enemy agents are interested in the project. And we must also accept that they have some means
of creating a mental block by remote control.”
Rick stole a glance at Parnell Winston. The cyberneticist was sitting quietly, his bushy eyebrows knitted thoughtfully. Winston hadn’t said a word.
Hartson Brant paced the floor as he went on. “We now have one slight bit of additional information that supports the theory of enemy interference. You are all aware of what happened to Dr. Marks this morning. He is in the hands of Constantine Chavez, who is in touch with the physicians in charge of the other team members. Dr. Chavez is of the opinion that Dr. Marks’ mental injury was caused by physical means, although he cannot say how. He also states, although there seems to be no connection with the mental injury, that Marks was drugged.”
Parnell Winston spoke for the first time. “Steve, if Chavez says Marks was drugged, we can accept it. How could it have happened?”
Steve spread his hands in a gesture that seemed to Rick to indicate embarrassment. “I have gone over every step of the journey with Tom Dodd. The answer is yes. Thanks to Marks’ bullheadedness, and a clerical error, there was an opportunity for an enemy to get at him on the train.”
The scientists waited, obviously wanting to know more. Steve elaborated. “Markswas covered by one of our men at every moment, even while he was working at the Bureau of Standards, and while he was at his apartment. The agents ate and drank the same things. Nothing has happened to them. However, when the reservations were made for the train trip, Marks specified that he wanted a bedroom. He got one, and Tom Dodd got the one next door.”
“Why did Marks want to travel by train overnight, anyway?” Scotty demanded. “That’s getting fromWashington toNewark the hard way.”
“I told you he was stubborn,” Steve reminded. “Tom tried to talk him out of it but failed. After all, the project team members aren’t prisoners. We can’t use force, and we can’t order them to do anything. Marks wanted to go overnight by train because he always traveled that way, he said. He insisted.”
Dr. Morrison said sadly, “I assure you that he is not an easy man to get along with sometimes. But we must remember that he is-or was-an extremely competent scientist.
Competence like his can be forgiven many eccentricities.”
“Thanks to his eccentricities, we’ve also lost his competence,” Julius Weiss pointed out.“Go on, Steve.”
“Right.Well, Tom specified bedrooms A and B, and by the time he got the reservations and found that he had actually received bedrooms B and C, it was too late to change because the train was sold out.”
“I can’t see what difference that made,” Back objected.
“You will. People often buy connecting bedrooms on a train, and that’s what Tom had done. He planned to keep the connecting door open and remain awake all night with an eye on Marks. However, whileA and B connect, B and C do not. Do I make myself clear?”
“I think so,” Rick agreed. “The connecting bedrooms come in pairs, A-B, C-D, and so on.”
“That’s it. Well, Tom ran a fast check on the person who had received bedroom D, and found it was aBaltimore businessman who often traveled on the same train, going overnight toNew York . So Tom didn’t worry about it. Instead, he kept his bedroom door open so he could watch the corridor. He says he didn’t sleep at all, and I believe him.
He’s one of my best agents. The occupant of Bedroom D came on the train atBaltimore and went right to bed. The night passed quietly, until it was time to get Marks up. Tom had great trouble waking him up, and he was groggy until this strange effect hit him.
Rick and Scotty know. They were there.”
The boys shuddered, remembering Marks’ condition.
“But where did the opportunity to drug him come in?” Weiss asked.
“We’ve done some fast checking on every possible angle,” Steve said quietly, “and we’ve found a couple of interesting things. First of all, the man who reserved Bedroom D is in aBaltimore hospital. He was struck by a hit-and-run car as he walked from his office to the railroad statio
n. Obviously, he was struck deliberately. He’s in critical condition.”
“Then the man on the train . . .” Rick gasped.
“Yes. Who was the man on the train? We don’t know. We’ve had ourBoston office go over the room, and they’ve turned up no fingerprints except those of the porter who cleaned up after the train leftNew York . The room was wiped clean. But ourBoston men also found an interesting spot on the rug. They had a sample analyzed, and so far as we can determine, it’s a kind of water-soluble salt paste often used by doctors when they take electrocardiograms.”
The group leaned forward, interested. Rick knew the kind of stuff Steve meant, because he had once watched Zircon getting an electrocardiogram. The big scientist had fainted from sheer overwork, and possible heart complications were suspected. The technician squeezed the paste from a tube and applied it to wrists, ankles, and chest, under the metal terminals of the machine. Its purpose was to allow a better electrical contact.
Julius Weiss demanded excitedly, “Steve, do you imply that this unknown person took an electrocardiogram of Marks’ heart responses?”
The JANIG agent shrugged. “I imply nothing. I’m merely reporting.”
AgainPamell Winston spoke. “Perhaps I can shed some light on this. It’s true that such an electro-paste is used to make better connections for electrocardiograms. But perhaps of greater importance for this discussion, it is also used in making
electroencephalograms.”
Rick and Scotty spoke in unison. “What?”
Winston turned to them. “It’s a long word, but not a difficult one. Electro for electrical. Encephalois simply a Greek form meaning ‘the brain.’ Gram, also from the Greek, means something drawn or written. A record, if you like. So an
electroencephalogram is simply an electrical recording of the brain.”
“That may be significant,” Hartson Brant said thoughtfully. “But, assuming an enemy could get an EEG-which is the handy way of saying electroencephalogram, Back and Scotty-what would he do with it?”
Parnell Winston rose. “Hartson, I think you can conduct the rest of this without me. I have an extraordinary notion whirling around in my head that I’d like to discuss with Chavez. I’ll pick up the car at the pier and drive over, if you don’t mind.” And by the way, Steve, can JANIG get some information for me?”