Conspircaies rj-3

by F. Paul Wilson

  "SESOUP folk, in other words."

  "Yes. They're what we call 'sensitives.' For better or worse, their nervous systems are more attuned to the Otherness. Their minds have to make sense of the external will impinging on them and so they think they're hearing voices, or come up with these wild-sounding theories."

  "Like gray aliens, reptoids, Majestic-12, the New World Order—"

  "You're thinking small: from Christianity and its Book of Revelations to the Hebrew Kaballah, to the Bhagavad Gita, they all come from the same place."

  "So in other words, there's no shadow government trying to control our minds."

  Canfield shook his head. "You're missing my point. I believe there is a shadow government with our worst interests at heart, but it's not controlled by aliens or the UN or Satan, it's run by people under the influence—note I said 'influence,' not 'direction'—of the Otherness. Aliens, devils and the NWO are simply some of the masks worn by that single, nameless chaotic entity…the many faces of a single truth."

  "Melanie's Grand Unification…" Jack said.

  "Exactly. But this conference is a unification of sorts too. The members of SESOUP are particularly sensitive to the Otherness, that's why membership is so selective. And now they're all gathered here, packed into a single structure, each one of them a lens of sorts, perceiving the Otherness, and focusing it, distilling it. Surely you've noticed the charged atmosphere in the hotel?"

  "Sort of. But focusing it for what purpose?"

  "Only time will tell. We must believe now, but soon we shall have proof."

  "Proof?" Jack said. "Real hard proof? That'd be refreshing."

  "Your scars are a form of proof, wouldn't you say?"

  Jack was glad to get back to the subject of his scars. He remembered something Canfield had said.

  "You mentioned that you and Melanie 'sensed' the creatures. You 'sensed' they were in New York but you didn't know where they came from."

  "Of course we did. They came from the Otherness."

  "I mean, what country."

  "Country? What is a country but an artificial boundary agreed on by ephemeral governments."

  "And I'll bet you don't know what they were called, either."

  "What's in a name? Just a label attached by some primitive people. All that matters is that the creatures were fashioned ages ago by the Otherness, and they carry the Otherness in them."

  Odd. He seemed to know the big picture, but not the details.

  "Carried," Jack said. "Past tense. They became fried fish food at the bottom of New York Harbor."

  Canfield nodded. "Yes. I remember waking from a nightmare about their death agonies. When I read about the ship that had burned in the harbor, I guessed that was what had happened." He shook his head. "Such a shame."

  "Shame, hell. Probably the best thing I ever did."

  Canfield stared at him. Jack couldn't read his expression through all that hair. When he spoke his voice was just above a whisper.

  "You? You're the one who killed the Otherness creatures?"

  Something in Canfield's wide eyes made Jack uneasy.

  "Yeah, well, somebody had to do it. They happened to pick on the wrong little girl for their next meal."

  "Then it's no wonder you're here. You are involved…more deeply than you can possibly imagine."

  "Involved in what?"

  "In Melanie's Grand Unification Theory. The Otherness creatures are part of it, I'm sure, and therefore so are you."

  "Whoopee," Jack said. "And does her theory involve weird contraptions as well?"

  "You mean machines? I don't think so. Why?"

  "Well, I've got a couple of crates of parts sitting in my room. I don't know why they're there—I don't even know how they got there—but I've got a funny feeling their appearance is somehow connected to Melanie's disappearance."

  "I can't imagine how. You mean, you don't know who sent them or where they're from?"

  "Tulsa, I think. North Tulsa."

  Canfield grinned. "Ever been to Tulsa?"

  "No."

  "I have. It's not big enough to have a 'north.'"

  "Maybe it was something else then. All I know is the plans for assembling this gizmo are printed inside the lid, and I saw 'N. Tulsa' scribbled along an edge."

  "N. Tulsa…" Canfield said softly. "N. Tul—" Suddenly he straightened in his wheelchair. "Dear God! It couldn't have been 'Tesla,' could it?"

  Jack tried to picture the lid. "Could have been. It was kind of scrawled and I didn't pay that much attention because—"

  Canfield was wheeling toward the door. "Let's go!"

  "Where?"

  "Your room. I want to see this myself."

  Jack wasn't crazy about a guest in his room, but if Canfield knew something about those crates…

  "Where's Tesla?" Jack said as they took the elevator down one stop.

  "Not where—who. I can't believe you've never heard of him."

  "Believe it. Who is Tesla?"

  "A long story, not worth telling if I'm wrong."

  Jack followed him to his own room. A disturbing thought struck him as he was unlocking the door.

  "How come you know where my room is?"

  Canfield smiled. "After I sensed those scars on you, I made it my business to find out. And I'm sure I'm not alone. Probably half the people here know where you're staying."

  "Why the hell should they care?"

  "Because you're an unknown quantity. Some may suspect you're with the CIA, some may think you were sent by MJ-12, or maybe even an agent of the devil."

  "Swell."

  "You're surrounded by people who believe that nothing is as it seems. What did you expect?"

  "You've got a point there."

  That does it, he thought. This was like his worst nightmare. First thing in the morning, I'm out of here.

  Jack had left the lights on, and allowed Canfield to precede him into the room. The crates lay open on the floor dead ahead, and Canfield rolled directly to them. He picked up one of the lids, scanned its inner surface.

  "The other one," Jack said.

  Canfield checked that one and slapped his hand against it when he found what he was looking for.

  "Yes!" he cried, his voice an octave higher than usual. "It's him! Nikola Tesla!"

  Jack read over his shoulder. Now that he really looked, he could see that the scrawl was "N. Tesla."

  "Okay. So who is Nikola Tesla?"

  "One of the great geniuses and inventors of the last three or four generations. Right up there with Edison and Marconi."

  "I've heard of Edison and Marconi," Jack said. "Never heard of Tesla."

  "Ever had an MRI?"

  Jack leaned back against the writing table. "You mean that X-ray thing? No."

  "First off, it's not an X ray. It's magnetic resonance imaging—M-R-I, get it? And the units of magnetism it uses are called 'Teslas'—one Tesla equals ten thousand Gauss—named after Nikola Tesla."

  Jack was trying hard to be impressed. "Oh. Okay. But why is this genius inventor sending me stuff?"

  "He's not. He died in 1943."

  "I'm not happy to hear that a dead man is sending me boxes," Jack said.

  Canfield rolled his eyes. "Somebody sent you these crates, but I don't believe for a moment it was Nikola Tesla. He was unquestionably a genius, but he didn't invent a way to come back from death. He was in his late twenties in the 1880s when he arrived here from Yugoslavia, and barely into his thirties when he perfected the polyphase alternating current power system. He sold the patents to Westinghouse for a million bucks—real money in those days, but still a bargain for Westinghouse. Today, every house, every appliance in the country uses AC power."

  Now Jack was impressed. "So this was a real guy, then—not one of these make-believe SESOUP bogeymen?"

  "Very real. But as he got older his ideas became more and more bizarre. He started talking about free energy, cosmic ray motors, earthquake generators, and death rays. Lots of fictional ma
d scientists were inspired by Tesla."

  Something about death rays and mad scientists clicked in Jack's brain.

  "The Invisible Ray," he said.

  "Pardon?"

  "An old Universal horror flick. Haven't seen it in ages, but I remember Boris Karloff playing a mad scientist with a death ray."

  "Was he made up with bushy hair and a thick mustache?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. And he had an Eastern European name—Janos, or something."

  "There you go: That was Nikola Tesla all the way. He lived in the Waldorf and had an experimental lab out on Long Island at the turn of the century where he was trying to perfect broadcast power."

  "Broadcast power?" Jack said.

  "Yes. You've heard of it?"

  Jack only nodded. Heard of it? He'd seen it in action.

  "Anyway," Canfield continued, "Tesla starting building this tower way out on Long Island in a little town called Wardenclyffe…"

  Canfield's voice trailed off as his face went pale.

  "Wardenclyffe, Long Island?" Jack said. "Never heard of it."

  "That's because it doesn't exist anymore," Canfield said slowly. "It was absorbed by another town. It's now part of Shoreham."

  Jack felt a cold tingle rush down his spine. "Shoreham? That's where Lew and Melanie live."

  "Exactly." Canfield slapped a palm against his forehead. "Why didn't I see this before? All these years I've never understood why Melanie left Monroe to live in Shoreham, but now it's clear. She's been living near Tesla's old property. She must have thought some of his wilder theories and never-executed plans had to do with the Otherness."

  Jack remembered what Lew had told him that first day out in their house in Shoreham.

  "Lew said she was buying and selling real estate, saying it had something to do with her 'research.'"

  "I knew it!"

  "He said she'd buy a place, hire some guys to dig up the yard, then resell it."

  Canfield was leaning forward. "Did he say where she'd buy these places?"

  "Yeah. Always in the same development…along some road…" Damn. He couldn't remember the name.

  "Randall Road?'

  "You got it."

  "Yes!" Canfield pumped his fist in the air. "Tesla's property ran along Randall Road in Wardenclyffe! That's where he built his famous tower. The old brick building that housed his electrical lab is still standing. No question about it. Melanie was definitely searching for old Tesla documents."

  "You think she found something?"

  "Most definitely." He nodded and pointed to the crates. "And I think it's sitting right in front of us."

  "You think Melanie sent this stuff?"

  "I do."

  "But why to me? Why not to you?"

  Only Repairman Jack can find me. Only he will understand.

  Was that why?

  "I wish I knew," Canfield said. He sounded hurt. "I certainly wouldn't have left it sitting around for days. I can tell you that."

  "Really. What would you have done?"

  "Assembled it, of course."

  "Maybe she thought you might have…" He glanced at Canfield's blanket-wrapped lower body. "You know…trouble putting it together."

  "Maybe," he said. He seemed cheered by the thought. "And she was probably right. But now there's two of us, so let's get to it."

  "Whoa. We don't know what this thing is, or what it does. We don't know how it got here and we don't even know for sure it's from Melanie."

  "It's from Melanie," he said. "I'm sure of it."

  Jack wasn't sure of anything about these crates. Assembling the pieces might seem like the next logical step, but something inside him wasn't too keen on taking it.

  "I only have one wrench and a couple of screwdrivers. We'll need—"

  "Never fear," Canfield said, reaching around the back of his wheelchair. He removed a tool kit from the pouch back there. "I never travel without this. Let's get to work."

  Still Jack hesitated. He could buy that this contraption was linked to Melanie, but he was far from convinced she'd sent it. Figuring there was safety in numbers, he decided to get some other people involved.

  He pulled Kenway's pager number from his wallet and started dialing.

  "What are you doing?" Canfield said.

  "Calling in some help."

  "We don't need help."

  "Look at all those pieces. Sure we do."

  "Who are you calling?"

  "Miles Kenway."

  "No!" He seemed genuinely upset. "Not him!"

  "Why not? What's that old expression? Many hands lighten the load."

  "He won't understand."

  "Then we'll explain it to him."

  When Kenway's beeper service picked up, Jack left a simple message: "Call Jack. Urgent." He was sure Kenway knew his room number. Everyone else seemed to.

  "You shouldn't have done that," Canfield said, almost sulking. "Kenway doesn't belong here."

  What's his problem? Jack wondered.

  "He doesn't, but you do? How'd you reach that conclusion? The crates wound up in my room, remember?"

  "He isn't part of this. We are."

  "If what you've said is true, we're all part of this—whatever 'this' might be."

  The phone rang. It was Kenway.

  "Get up to my room," Jack told him. "I've got something to show you."

  "Be right up," Kenway said. "And brother, have I got something to show you."

  "Bring Zaleski," Jack told him. "And if you've got any tools, bring them along too."

  "Will do."

  Canfield groaned as Jack hung up the phone. "Not Zaleski too!"

  "The more the merrier, I figure," Jack said as he dialed Lew's room number.

  "Who now?" Canfield said. "Olive Farina?"

  "Olive?" Jack said, watching Canfield closely. "She's been found?"

  "No. Where have you been? She still hasn't shown up. A missing person report has been filed. Everybody's still looking for her."

  Jack sensed that Canfield didn't know any more about Olive than he was saying.

  No answer at Lew's room.

  "I was going to ask Lew Ehler too," Jack said, hanging up. "But I guess he's gone back to Shoreham."

  "Just as well." Canfield grunted with annoyance. "Zaleski and Kenway will be more than enough to handle. Whatever you do, don't mention the Otherness or that this device may be a link to it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because proof of the existence of the Otherness will expose Zaleski's UFO's and aliens and Kenway's New World Order for the shams they are. Who knows how they'll react. They might not be able to handle it." He pounded his fist on the armrest of his wheelchair. "I wish you hadn't called them!"

  "Relax," Jack told him. "We'll order pizza and beer. We'll make this a party. Like a mini barn raising. You'll see. It'll be fun."

  9

  Kenway and Zaleski arrived less than fifteen minutes later. They both knew Canfield who finally seemed to have resigned himself to sharing the stage with the two newcomers.

  "Take a gander at this." Kenway said, holding out a folded sheet of fax paper.

  Jack opened the flimsy sheet and stared at the photo of a portly young man, blond, with a fuzzy attempt at a beard.

  "Our mutual friend, I presume?"

  "Exactly!" Kenway's grin was shark-like, his gray crewcut more bristly than ever as he took back the fax. "Oh, brother, is the shit ever gonna hit the fan when I pass this around tomorrow. I knew there was something phony about our fearless leader!"

  Zaleski tried to get a look. "Who? Roma? What've you got there?"

  "You'll find out tomorrow," Kenway said.

  Jack's thoughts drifted as they argued. If Roma was a bogus identity, who was the guy running the show? Why had he created SESOUP and organized this meeting? Was he connected to Melanie's disappearance? To these boxes? And if so, why had they wound up with Jack, when he hadn't even known he was coming until the night before?

  Jack's head was spinning
.

  "Whatever," Zaleski finally said to Kenway, then grinned at Jack as he displayed an elaborate ratchet set. "You want tools, man? We got tools. What the fuck for?"

  Jack explained what he could. Neither of them needed any introduction to Nikola Tesla, it seemed. Zaleski and Kenway were awed by the prospect of assembling a contraption designed by him.

  They divided the workload. Jack and Zaleski would assemble the base while Kenway and Canfield tackled the dome. The contents of each crate were dumped onto one of the two double beds, and they had just begun to work when Canfield lifted his hand.

  "Shhh! What's that?"

  Jack listened. Something scratching at his door. He went to the peephole but saw nothing. Yet the sound persisted. He pulled open the door—

  And Roma's monkey scampered in.

  "Get that fucking oversized rodent outta here!" Zaleski shouted, tossing a pillow at the monkey.

  It screeched and dodged the pillow, scampered a single circuit of the room, then fled. Jack slammed the door after it.

  "Don't let that damn thing in again!" Zaleski cried, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Little fucker gives me the creeps."

  "For once we agree on something," Kenway said. "It shouldn't be allowed to run free."

  Jack was remembering what Olive had told him about that monkey, how she'd overheard it talking to Roma…or whoever he was.

  "Let's get back to business," Canfield said.

  "Tesla got royally screwed by J. P. Morgan, you know," Kenway said after a few minutes. "Morgan promised to fund his broadcast power project back at the turn of the century. He let Tesla get the Wardenclyffe tower three-quarters built—"

  "That would be out on Long Island?" Jack said, glancing at Canfield.

  "Yes, of course," Kenway said. "Morgan let him get to a certain point, then suddenly pulled the financial rug out from under him."

  "Why do that?" Jack said. "Broadcast power would be worth zillions."

  "Because Morgan was one of the bankrollers of the One World conspiracy, and he and his fellows came to realize that a cheap energy source like Tesla's broadcast power would rev all the world's economies into high gear. They figured that once the secret was out, they'd lose control of those economies. Tesla had a mysterious breakdown somewhere around 1908 and was never quite the same after."