I am assuming that Theodore the Monk who brought over the scrolls was
really the original Mr. Parker who killed his first family on the Island of
Carthis, in disguise.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Centre was in trouble, the ones who did the simulations, had died. The two men that Parker put in charge of the Project, Carver, and Wally were unlike in looks but not personality. Carver was a fair Anglo Saxon type with blue eyes while Wally was rather skeletal with a bony structured face and who would be natural in a Dracula movie. Both men were extremely intelligent but that intelligence did not protect them from a lack of conscience. As such, they were perfect for the Centre.
Carver, the supervisor stared at the corpse, wondering why some one so young and so fit could not survive. Mr. Parker was angry and the one thing that Carver feared was the Parker wrath.
Right now Lamech wanted to blame someone. His eyes blazed as he demanded, "What has gone wrong? We 'recruited' the best taking them from their parents, modifying the birth certificates to record their 'deaths', raised them in the Centre, but yet they all have died."
"It was not as if they died from neglect, it's just the experiments are too hard for them," said Wally, the trainer.
Carver pulled back the sheet on the young man his face a blue color. "Subject twenty two. Frozen to death. You did raise him in a cold atmosphere and gradually lowered the temperature, didn't you, Wally?"
"And he did not object."
"You kept him isolated like the rest from outside contact?"
"A diet of gruel fortified enough protein for nourishment, special lamps to simulate sunlight and we also used the printing press to produce our own books and magazines with our own information as well as the radio, broadcast from here of course," said the thin man with the cadaverous look. "But there's hope,"
"What do you mean hope?" asked Parker, "The Centre depends on these, what shall I call them, Pretenders? Subjects trained to be at home in any situation. And now you say there's hope? You better explain yourself Mr. Vandal."
The thin man called another man to the door who brought in several photographs. "I took this at the locations you specified. Seems there's a group, vagrants, couples mostly. It appears the women have rather unusual infants, I don't mean, freaks, sir. See for yourself. I had Nigel take some pictures."
"Moving pictures," said Nigel who showed him a reel. "I borrowed a camera from my brother. He's helping make a film of Communists infiltrating the United States. Took these."
Mr. Parker and the other two men left the corpse and walked to a room where Nigel set up the projector and prepared the film.
"They shouldn't be sitting up at that stage. Can you stop at the parents' faces?" asked the head of the Centre.
The projector stopped, the reel ceased to move. For a moment, it appeared that the film would break.
"Take a photograph of that particular scene and have it enlarged."
"Yes Mr. Parker."
In his office, the former British Navy officer examined the black and white prints. Who knows what type of parents produced those infants? Mr. Parker thought back to the Hercules Project. Forsythe was very secretive in revealing the names of the volunteers. Perhaps the master plan against the Nazis had already begun. There were twenty-four couples on the two ships, the Cassandra and the Grand Illusion and even if they only produced one child each, that would be twenty-four babies.
Realizing that he had to get these super couples and make them do simulations for the Centre before they had a second batch of children, Lamech prepared his plan. He knew exactly what to do when he got them when they produced their second children in the Centre. He counted the potential finances in his head, tens of thousands, millions, perhaps billions in shipping out these Pretenders. The Centre needed more branches and more Pretenders.
Lamech came from an island owned by a Templer Knights branch the monk who supposedly founded the Centre came from, but the monks were still militant. They had so far prevented the Centre from establishing a base on Carthis, the birthplace of its originator, Mr. Parker, the cryptkeeper who came to America with the Vespusian scrolls, in the disguise as a monk Theodore and founded the Vespusians. . . . Lamech had never read the scrolls although he knew that monks and other righteous men of God could do so with no ill effects. However, this did not apply to ordinary men. He had heard of some driven into madness or violence. Of course, that is nonsense, he thought as he turned on the intercom, I am not an ordinary man!
. "Jimmy, Billy come to my office, right away. I have a particular enjoyable occupation for you."
A few minutes two men, one rather short with a brush cut, the other, a little taller but more of lean build appeared at the door. "What is it, Mr. Parker?" asked the short one.
He took them aside, whispering his instructions to both men who left.
A few hours later, they returned. "Sir," said the short one, opening a doctor's bag, "I got one sample."
"And I got this one." He was dressed in old overalls, and had a smell of whiskey on his breath, but this was alcohol dunked on his clothes for he removed a large metal box, and opened it, as did the shorter man. A cold gas ascended. Mr. Parker had a quick look and ordered it closed. "Get them down to the lab and tell the doctor to examine the contents."
The Centre scientists worked well into the night and the next day, trying to isolate the factor in the blood samples different from the normal A, B, C, O, and the various combinations as well as the Rh positive and negative factors. They had all the Centre staff roll up their sleeves and give samples of blood for comparison. Even Mr. Parker volunteered.
At last, the chief scientist summoned Mr. Parker. "There's an unknown component in both samples, sir."
Mr. Parker bent down, picked up the laboratory cat who just bristled and ran out.
"He's rather shy," said one of the lab assistants. "But cheaper than buying traps."
"And a good mouser. I hope you understand that these rats are valuable. What's wrong with the samples? Have you contaminated them?"
"I have no idea, but it shows signs of acceleration, almost as if it's charged with electricity. I'm going to inject part of it into that rat there." He pointed to a cage. "And see what happens."
They set out the standard tests, made a maze, and put a piece of cheese at the other end. "Now according to what is usual, the rat will make several attempts before finding his way. We have set the doors to change at intervals. It'll take him at least an hour to get past the third door."
"Go ahead," said Mr. Parker.
But the rat surprised them. It narrowed in on the cheese, taking only five minutes to get to its destination and then it did something else. The Centre cat had just sneaked inside, meowed, and then left..
They returned to the maze, and saw something amazing. The rat was mimicking the exact motions of the cat.
"I want you to go back to where you were, Billy," said Mr. Parker," and you too Jimmy. I want a closer shot of those parents, not just a once over that you did before. I don't want to see just a mother's arms holding the infant, I want to see her face and not only that, that of her husband. Do you understand?"
"Yes Mr. Parker." They had to obey, for if they did not, Mr. Parker would have their families killed. He was that capable.
Fear often propels people, even those as devoid of morality as Billy and Jimmy. Armed with their cameras and films, they set about taking secret photographs around garbage dumps, in the orchards where the migrants picked fruit, at the back of restaurants, and around garbage cans where the impoverished hunted for food. They sneaked around the free clinic where children got x-rays, vaccinations, and parents got samples of milk. They entered the Mission Church where volunteers fed the hungry.
When they returned with the photographs and handed them to Mr. Parker, he compared them to those he saw on his last voyage, even to that tall man with the dark brown hair and that Irish friend of his. Yes, these were the passengers from the Hercules Project. It was now time to act. He sent for his henchmen, the Sweepers and showed them the photographs.
"I want these," he said, "I don't care how long it takes, but I want every one of these vermin in the Centre. And Nigel, get the cells prepared. We're going to have some 'guests'. "
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Centre was in trouble, the ones who did the simulations, had died. The two men that Parker put in charge of the Project, Carver, and Wally were unlike in looks but not personality. Carver was a fair Anglo Saxon type with blue eyes while Wally was rather skeletal with a bony structured face and who would be natural in a Dracula movie. Both men were extremely intelligent but that intelligence did not protect them from a lack of conscience. As such, they were perfect for the Centre.
Carver, the supervisor stared at the corpse, wondering why some one so young and so fit could not survive. Mr. Parker was angry and the one thing that Carver feared was the Parker wrath.
Right now Lamech wanted to blame someone. His eyes blazed as he demanded, "What has gone wrong? We 'recruited' the best taking them from their parents, modifying the birth certificates to record their 'deaths', raised them in the Centre, but yet they all have died."
"It was not as if they died from neglect, it's just the experiments are too hard for them," said Wally, the trainer.
Carver pulled back the sheet on the young man his face a blue color. "Subject twenty two. Frozen to death. You did raise him in a cold atmosphere and gradually lowered the temperature, didn't you, Wally?"
"And he did not object."
"You kept him isolated like the rest from outside contact?"
"A diet of gruel fortified enough protein for nourishment, special lamps to simulate sunlight and we also used the printing press to produce our own books and magazines with our own information as well as the radio, broadcast from here of course," said the thin man with the cadaverous look. "But there's hope,"
"What do you mean hope?" asked Parker, "The Centre depends on these, what shall I call them, Pretenders? Subjects trained to be at home in any situation. And now you say there's hope? You better explain yourself Mr. Vandal."
The thin man called another man to the door who brought in several photographs. "I took this at the locations you specified. Seems there's a group, vagrants, couples mostly. It appears the women have rather unusual infants, I don't mean, freaks, sir. See for yourself. I had Nigel take some pictures."
"Moving pictures," said Nigel who showed him a reel. "I borrowed a camera from my brother. He's helping make a film of Communists infiltrating the United States. Took these."
Mr. Parker and the other two men left the corpse and walked to a room where Nigel set up the projector and prepared the film.
"They shouldn't be sitting up at that stage. Can you stop at the parents' faces?" asked the head of the Centre.
The projector stopped, the reel ceased to move. For a moment, it appeared that the film would break.
"Take a photograph of that particular scene and have it enlarged."
"Yes Mr. Parker."
In his office, the former British Navy officer examined the black and white prints. Who knows what type of parents produced those infants? Mr. Parker thought back to the Hercules Project. Forsythe was very secretive in revealing the names of the volunteers. Perhaps the master plan against the Nazis had already begun. There were twenty-four couples on the two ships, the Cassandra and the Grand Illusion and even if they only produced one child each, that would be twenty-four babies.
Realizing that he had to get these super couples and make them do simulations for the Centre before they had a second batch of children, Lamech prepared his plan. He knew exactly what to do when he got them when they produced their second children in the Centre. He counted the potential finances in his head, tens of thousands, millions, perhaps billions in shipping out these Pretenders. The Centre needed more branches and more Pretenders.
Lamech came from an island owned by a Templer Knights branch the monk who supposedly founded the Centre came from, but the monks were still militant. They had so far prevented the Centre from establishing a base on Carthis, the birthplace of its originator, Mr. Parker, the cryptkeeper who came to America with the Vespusian scrolls, in the disguise as a monk Theodore and founded the Vespusians. . . . Lamech had never read the scrolls although he knew that monks and other righteous men of God could do so with no ill effects. However, this did not apply to ordinary men. He had heard of some driven into madness or violence. Of course, that is nonsense, he thought as he turned on the intercom, I am not an ordinary man!
. "Jimmy, Billy come to my office, right away. I have a particular enjoyable occupation for you."
A few minutes two men, one rather short with a brush cut, the other, a little taller but more of lean build appeared at the door. "What is it, Mr. Parker?" asked the short one.
He took them aside, whispering his instructions to both men who left.
A few hours later, they returned. "Sir," said the short one, opening a doctor's bag, "I got one sample."
"And I got this one." He was dressed in old overalls, and had a smell of whiskey on his breath, but this was alcohol dunked on his clothes for he removed a large metal box, and opened it, as did the shorter man. A cold gas ascended. Mr. Parker had a quick look and ordered it closed. "Get them down to the lab and tell the doctor to examine the contents."
The Centre scientists worked well into the night and the next day, trying to isolate the factor in the blood samples different from the normal A, B, C, O, and the various combinations as well as the Rh positive and negative factors. They had all the Centre staff roll up their sleeves and give samples of blood for comparison. Even Mr. Parker volunteered.
At last, the chief scientist summoned Mr. Parker. "There's an unknown component in both samples, sir."
Mr. Parker bent down, picked up the laboratory cat who just bristled and ran out.
"He's rather shy," said one of the lab assistants. "But cheaper than buying traps."
"And a good mouser. I hope you understand that these rats are valuable. What's wrong with the samples? Have you contaminated them?"
"I have no idea, but it shows signs of acceleration, almost as if it's charged with electricity. I'm going to inject part of it into that rat there." He pointed to a cage. "And see what happens."
They set out the standard tests, made a maze, and put a piece of cheese at the other end. "Now according to what is usual, the rat will make several attempts before finding his way. We have set the doors to change at intervals. It'll take him at least an hour to get past the third door."
"Go ahead," said Mr. Parker.
But the rat surprised them. It narrowed in on the cheese, taking only five minutes to get to its destination and then it did something else. The Centre cat had just sneaked inside, meowed, and then left..
They returned to the maze, and saw something amazing. The rat was mimicking the exact motions of the cat.
"I want you to go back to where you were, Billy," said Mr. Parker," and you too Jimmy. I want a closer shot of those parents, not just a once over that you did before. I don't want to see just a mother's arms holding the infant, I want to see her face and not only that, that of her husband. Do you understand?"
"Yes Mr. Parker." They had to obey, for if they did not, Mr. Parker would have their families killed. He was that capable.
Fear often propels people, even those as devoid of morality as Billy and Jimmy. Armed with their cameras and films, they set about taking secret photographs around garbage dumps, in the orchards where the migrants picked fruit, at the back of restaurants, and around garbage cans where the impoverished hunted for food. They sneaked around the free clinic where children got x-rays, vaccinations, and parents got samples of milk. They entered the Mission Church where volunteers fed the hungry.
When they returned with the photographs and handed them to Mr. Parker, he compared them to those he saw on his last voyage, even to that tall man with the dark brown hair and that Irish friend of his. Yes, these were the passengers from the Hercules Project. It was now time to act. He sent for his henchmen, the Sweepers and showed them the photographs.
"I want these," he said, "I don't care how long it takes, but I want every one of these vermin in the Centre. And Nigel, get the cells prepared. We're going to have some 'guests'. "