by A. D. Winch
A white light from inside his head blinded him, and he was in a dream. Sights, sounds, smells and thoughts that he did not understand rapidly filled his head. There was nothing that he had ever experienced before, and it was impossible to make comparisons to things he knew. He continued to push forward through a series of images that he could not comprehend until he found a memory that he could relate to.
The sky was blue, the sun was shining and he was shooting high across the ground at speeds that were unbelievable. The craft he found himself in was joined to this mind so that every thought became a movement. He could see all around himself and in every direction as if he was inside a cinema with a spherical screen.
A movement below the craft caught his eye, and he looked down onto a small town. Old cars that looked like toys drove slowly around the blocks but within a second he had passed over them. He was now over a desert, and the earth was baked hard and barren. The land was made up of rocks, sand and little else. Pathetic looking bushes, barely green in colour, were scattered around. Their roots desperately searched for water under the sun-cracked earth. Ragged mountains rose up around him as he shot past. Rivers, if they had not dried up, trickled rather than flowed. Below him, the sun suddenly reflected off something that was moving at the same unbelievable speed. He knew he had to get away from it but then…
Agent Angel punched Eric hard in the face. Eric’s head jolted back and snapped forward. It hung over his knees, and his whole body drooped lifelessly in the wheelchair.
Fear was an emotion that Agent Angel rarely experienced, but as he looked at the scene in front of his eyes, he felt worried. He could not remember the last time he had felt this. He grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it urgently away and out of the room.
“Take it back to the cell,” he commanded the soldiers, but his voice wavered.
The soldiers did not move. Neither of them had seen Agent Angel flustered and stood beside the wheelchair with mouths agog.
“That’s an order!” bellowed Agent Angel, regaining control.
By the time Eric regained consciousness back in his cell, the two soldiers had already been charged with insubordination, were off the base and no longer part of the OSS.
Professor Schwarzkopf wished that he was no longer part of the OSS also. However, he gained strength from the knowledge that this moment was fast approaching. The final parts of his plan had been prepared, and it was almost time to attempt an escape from the base. While rebuilding the pod, he had taken breaks at his computer. During these ‘rest periods,’ he had successfully filled his flash drive with so many more files that he had irrevocable proof of the OSS and its activities since it had been officially ‘replaced’ by the CIA.
The flash drive rested in his pocket and every few minutes he had to check that it was still there. In the end, he attached it to a string and hung it around his neck but under his shirt. The feel of the flash drive against his skin reassured him, and he hoped that he would not lose it when the escape began.
Professor Schwarzkopf was not a religious man, but he prayed that the boy could move freely and stealthily. From what he had heard, he knew the boy had recovered from his operations and was back in the cellblock in the lowest part of the base. The last problem was getting into the boy’s cell, but he hoped to solve that once Jean Kurtz arrived for her scheduled rota slot. Until then, Professor Schwarzkopf continued to work on rebuilding the pod with Doctor Khan.
For the first time since he had arrived, Professor Schwarzkopf was wearing the regulation uniform that Kurtz insisted they all wear. He was wearing gloves, shoe covers, a mask and a white-body sock that covered his clothing.
He picked up the red cushion that was lying amongst the other parts of the pod. All the scientists had theorised that it had been designed and built to hold the infants as they hurtled towards Earth. He would have liked to have taken it apart but agreed that only when they had rebuilt the pod successfully would they investigate its parts.
How the team would know they had successfully rebuilt the pod, was a question that no one seemed able to answer. The best response that he had been given was that all the pieces fitted back in the pod like the completion of a jigsaw. In his mind, this was not the way to measure success. He never told the others, but he felt that if he could lift the pod off its supports again with his thoughts alone, then they would have succeeded. However, this was never going to happen. If his plan succeeded then he would be long gone with Eric Meyer long before the other scientists had reached this point.
The red cushion rested snugly in his hands. Its material moulded itself so accurately across his forearms that he could hardly feel it. He did not even need to hold the cushion as he took it up to the pod for Doctor Khan to reinsert into place.
She looked at the red cushion and then tried to prise it from Professor Schwarzkopf’s arms. It would not budge, and she soon realised that it was impossible.
“Can you help please?” she asked.
Professor Schwarzkopf willed the cushion to release him, and it slid down his arms like jelly. Doctor Khan caught it and quickly put it in place before it could change shape again.
Over the next few hours, Professor Schwarzkopf continued to pass parts of the pod to Doctor Khan and kept a log of their work. For once, he was looking forward to Kurtz’s arrival.
When she finally arrived for her scheduled shift, he went straight up to her.
“I think we need to see the boy again,” he said.
“Why’s that?” asked Kurtz, looking through the log of work, and refusing to even glance at Professor Schwarzkopf.
“I have been thinking about the red cushion. What if the material responds to his touch in a different way to ours?”
“But it says in the log here that you and Doctor Khan have already reinserted this item.”
“I know it does. I wrote it. And we all know that it will only take a few minutes to remove it again.”
Kurtz shook her head, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Professor Schwarzkopf snatched the log from her hand, forcing her to look at him. Normally, he would not have done such a thing, but he wanted to challenge Kurtz’s authority. If she felt threatened, he was sure that she would unwittingly fall into place with his plan.
“You didn’t think talking to the boy and keeping him alive was necessary until I showed you the error of your ways. Maybe I should go and see Agent Angel and explain to him where you got that idea from.”
Her lips pursed, and he knew that he had hit a nerve that he could continue to press.
“Maybe I should then explain that you have yet to use the boy, despite your instance that he should be looked after better.”
Her eyes glared at him.
“I could then explain that this is due to your blinkered viewpoint and inept attempts at being a scientist.”
Even though, Professor Schwarzkopf had never liked Jean Kurtz, he had never been so blatantly rude to her face. As he watched her shoulders tighten, he wondered if he had gone too far and decided to change what he was going to say next. He had achieved his aim and riled her! There was no need to go any further.
“Or maybe you can use your role as team leader to get me clearance to see the boy and allow me to take the red cushion with me,” he paused and stared at her, trying not to cough.
Kurtz continued to glare, and her hands had formed fists. The old man lived a charmed life and enviously had a very powerful friend on the base.
“Obviously, it is your decision but, if you cannot make it, I am happy to go and see Agent Angel personally.”
“I’ll get you clearance,” hissed Kurtz, on hearing Angel’s name. She snatched the log book back and stomped off towards the pod. “But I’ll be getting clearance for both of us. There is no way I am letting you near White King alone!”
That is exactly what I had hoped for, thought Professor Schwarzkopf.
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***
Chapter 19 – A Painful Shoul
der
It took four days, but Jean Kurtz was as good as her word.
Professor Schwarzkopf and Doctor Khan were in the lab working on the pod. She was inside it, trying to install the next piece in the puzzle while he was trying to get Big Band music to play on the computer.
Kurtz moved silently across the floor, but Professor Schwarzkopf saw her approach in the glass on his screen. He refused to turn around and instead removed three items from his desk drawer that he placed in a pocket inside his body sock.
The music began. A Glen Miller song filled the lab, and he stepped away from his computer.
“You surprise me, Professor,” she said, blocking his path. She pointed between the identical uniforms they were wearing. “I thought you said that the body sock made you sweat, the plastic shoe covers made your feet smell, and the cap gave you dandruff. Yet, here you are wearing them all for the fifth day in a row. As I said, you surprise me.”
Professor Schwarzkopf pulled down the mask covering his nose and mouth before replying, “I am sure that quite soon in the future you will appreciate just how uncomfortable I have been for the past five days.”
“Don’t be like that,” Kurtz said with a smirk. “I have a present for you.”
She waved the clearance pass just out of Professor Schwarzkopf’s reach and continued to smile. He refused to make a grab for it, much to Kurtz’s annoyance. In the end, she felt a little foolish and just gave it to him.
He put it straight in his pocket and went to the pod.
“Doctor Khan, please can you pass me the red cushion.”
“Please wait a minute or two.”
Professor Schwarzkopf waited patiently until the cushion was passed to him. The instant he had it in his arms, he walked off towards the lab’s changing room.
Jean Kurtz walked behind him and asked incredulously, “You’re going now?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“But…”
Professor Schwarzkopf stopped and faced Kurtz.
“Why is this so difficult to understand? You have given me a clearance pass to see the boy about this,” he held the red cushion in front of her nose. “Therefore, I am going to use it, and I am going now as I may discover information of great use to us before we proceed much further.” He choose his next words very carefully, “I do not intend to be long. Stay here and assist Doctor Khan. I will return in approximately one hour.”
Professor Schwarzkopf did not wait for a reply. He knew that telling Kurtz what to do would result in the opposite happening, at least he hoped.
He walked out of the lab, straight through the changing rooms and across the busy hangar. When he reached the elevator, he stopped and waited for it to arrive. He patted his chest and checked his pockets; everything was still in place. A few personnel glanced his way as they worked, but no one gave him a second glance.
“Where is Kurtz?” he silently mouthed to himself.
There was no need to worry, however as Kurtz had decided to follow him.
She shouted above the noise in the hangar, “You don’t tell me what to do! I am the lead scientist in this team. Don’t you forget it! I’m coming with you.”
“But you haven’t changed out of your uniform,” Professor Schwarzkopf said sarcastically, hoping she would feel that he did not want her with him. He knew the rule was that protective clothing should not be worn out of the lab, but he had a reason for ignoring this, and it wasn’t just to annoy Kurtz.
“On this occasion, due to your flouncing of the rules, I have no option but to continue to wear mine. You may not want me with you, but you give me no choice but to accompany you.”
The elevator arrived, and both scientists entered. The doors closed, and they descended without speaking. There was noticeable rattle, and Professor Schwarzkopf started to whistle ‘In the mood’ to distract from the noise. It was the tune that had been playing when he had walked out of the lab, and he tapped his foot to the rhythm.
The descent was slow and, when they reached the third floor below ground level he was still whistling. The tune echoed down the empty corridor. There were many floors underground, but he did not know how many. Some of them he had visited, others he knew about from overheard conversations and others were restricted. This floor was usually off-limits.
A camera in the ceiling tracked them as they walked out of the lift. In a small room close by, a soldier was watching the footage. Underneath the images of the two figures in protective clothing were written ‘Professor Schwarzkopf’ and ‘Jean Kurtz.' Professor Schwarzkopf walked much slower than normal. He wanted to give the impression of a doddery old man, and it was not difficult. Jean Kurtz was already annoyed, but his slow speed frustrated her even more. They walked around a bend in the corridor and then immediately stopped.
A semi-automatic weapon pointed at them, and a humourless soldier stood in their way. There was a set of prison bars behind him that spanned the width of the corridor and beside them was a window.
Professor Schwarzkopf looked through the glass. A soldier was staring at a bank of eight screens. On one screen, he could see himself. Others showed the corridor that had been bisected by the prison bars. The remaining four showed a night-vision view of four cells. Three of them were empty, but there was a person inside one. There was no audio, only visuals.
The barrel of the gun poked into Professor Schwarzkopf’s ribs.
“This ain’t no movie house, pops. Either you got a pass or you gotta leave.”
Professor Schwarzkopf ignored him on purpose.
“I am Jean Kurtz, lead scien…”
“I know who you are lady,” interrupted the soldier. “And I know your position, and I know who pops is, but I got my orders from Agent Angel. And my orders say that down here I’m the boss until you show me a pass.”
Professor Schwarzkopf was still whistling. ‘In the Mood,' hardly seemed fitting but he continued regardless.
“Hey, I need a pass now, or I send you back to the surface with a present from my friend here,” he nodded towards his weapon.
“He’s got a pass,” stuttered Kurtz and grabbed Schwarzkopf’s shoulder. “Show him the pass!”
“I’m very sorry. I was distracted,” said Professor Schwarzkopf. “That is the problem with old age. First the body goes and then the mind follows. What did you want?”
“The pass, pops!”
Professor Schwarzkopf handed over the pass and the soldier studied it carefully.
“You’re all good to go. So how can I help Professor Schwarzkopf?” The gun lowered, and the barrel pointed at the floor.
“We would like to see the boy. The one you call White King. I think he may be able to help us with this.”
Professor Schwarzkopf held up the red cushion.
“Ya having a joke with me, right? You want White King’s help with a cushion?”
The soldier did not look amused and raised his gun again.
“This is not an ordinary cushion. This has a unique memory foam that is truly remarkable. Watch!”
Professor Schwarzkopf took the red cushion and, much to Kurtz’s surprise, patted it onto her head. The cushion moulded itself around Kurtz’s neck, over her ears and covered her hair. It was exactly the shape he had hoped for and willed for.
“Interesting,” said the soldier. “So how do ya get it off?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet. This is why we want to see White King.”
Professor Schwarzkopf smiled. The soldier looked at Kurtz and tried not to laugh. Kurtz did not share the joke, and her face was rapidly turning as red as the cushion.
“Let me explain how this will work,” began the soldier. “You will follow me through the gate. When we get to its cell, I will go in first and secure it to the bed. Once it is ready, I will leave, turn the cell light on and you will enter. The door has to remain closed. I will wait outside. We will also monitor on the screens, but you won’t have any trouble. I tamed it. When
you are ready to leave stand in front of the door and wait. Larry will let you out,” and he pointed to the soldier in front of the screens.
“I don’t want to see it,” Professor Schwarzkopf stated.
“See what?”
“White King.”
“Could you cover it with a sheet for me?”
“No problem,” the soldier answered. “Larry open the gate!”
It was scarily quiet outside Eric’s cell. The soldier had entered and was securing Eric to the bed. While they waited, Professor Schwarzkopf continued to whistle ‘In the Mood.' The tune was stuck in his head and echoed off the cold grey walls. Beside him, Kurtz was silently fuming. She had tried to pull the red cushion off her head, but it was stuck. Professor Schwarzkopf knew how to remove it, but he wasn’t going to do so until the moment was right.
The door opened automatically; the soldier walked out and beckoned them in.
“Don’t worry, it’s safe. We’ll be watching anyway, and if anything happens, I’ll be straight in with ya.”
“Aren’t you coming in with us, for protection?” stuttered Kurtz.
“No ma’am. I am not here to protect. I’m here to stop anyone escaping. My orders are to stay outside. If anything happened, I can then shoot all of ya as ya leave the cell.”
“That’s good to know,” said Professor Schwarzkopf and bent down to loosen his plastic shoe covers. His heart was beating fast, but he continued to act normally.
Professor Schwarzkopf put his mask back over his mouth and nose, and entered the cell. Kurtz did the same and followed hesitantly.
Even through the mask, the cell smelt musty with a faint hint of urine. The walls were rough brick, and the floor was unevenly tiled. An old bed frame was in the middle of the room and upon it was a body draped in a dirty sheet.
There was a dull clang and the door shut behind them. A laboured breathing came from under the sheet, and Professor Schwarzkopf inferred that Eric had been ‘tamed’ before they had entered.