CHAPTER SIX
THE SCIENTIFIC ADVISOR
FROM THE DIARY OF CARL KOLCHAK
August 12, 5:01 P. M.
After our quick exit from the Camfield Bed & Breakfast, Geoff and I reached a quick agreement. Much as we both generally disliked the idea of working with a partner, it was clear that this story would be easier to investigate if we divided our resources. Geoff had the benefit of contacts with the local police... something this Chicago boy simply didn't have so far from home. So we agreed that Geoff would try to find information of the missing car. Meanwhile, I devoted the rest of my day to hunting down any information I could about UNIT, and their unknown connection to this case.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at the library, sifting through periodicals and microfilm for any mention of UNIT whatever. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't very much on the official record. A vague mention here or there, but little to describe who they were or what they did. One thing that did stand out, even from my admittedly superficial research: whenever a story mentioned UNIT, an accounting of dead men and damaged property inevitably followed.
After a little over three hours ofeyestrain,I felt I was prepared for an interview. My target: the one civilian link with UNIT that I was aware of - Cambridge University Professor Elizabeth Shaw, former Scientific Advisor to UNIT and the very woman I had observed with Dr. Smith at the conference.
Elizabeth Shaw was extremely gracious and welcoming when she opened the door to Carl. She told him to call her Liz, and praised his article on the behavior of the press after Dr. Lloyd's suicide. She dropped in just enough detail to let him know she actually had read the article.
"Thank you for refuting the drug charges," she said. "I knew Arthur. The way some of the press, particularly the television press, talked about him... That wasn't Arthur. Thank you for restoring at least some of his dignity."
Her apartment was modest, but extremely well-kept. The living room was just small enough to be intimate, while at the same time it was spacious enough to be comfortable.
"I did notice you at the conference," Liz said.
Carl gave a self-deprecating smile. "Not too many people there in old seersucker suits and straw hats, were there?"
Liz smiled. "Well, at least you look the part. So many reportersare indistinguishable from lawyers or accountants. It's rather refreshing."
She ushered Carl over to a stuffed white chair and offered him tea, which he declined, and brandy, which he accepted.
"So you're with an American newspaper, then?" she asked, as she settled into the loveseat opposite him. Her voice was as cool and level as her gaze. Carl found himself fumbling with the buttons of his tape recorder as he settled back in the chair.
"Not a newspaper exactly," he said. "INS is a news service. We put stories on a wire, which are either picked up or not picked up by the newspapers that syndicate us."
"Oh!" her eyes brightened with recognition. "Like the Associated Press?"
"If you took away about 85 of their circulation."
"And you came to cover the conference at the Highwater Institute. Such a tragedy what happened to poor Arthur. Such a brilliant mind... I couldn't believe it. I guess you never can tell how a person will react when they've under a strain."
"Yes," Carl agreed. "Quite unexpected, I gather."
"Suicide is always unexpected, Mr. Kolchak."
"My years as a reporter tell me otherwise," Carl replied. "Nothing ever comes out of nowhere. There's always a story, Dr. Shaw... Liz. Though not always a story people want to have told."
Liz's eyes narrowed. Carl felt as if the room had grown just a hint colder.
"You aren't here to ask me about the conference, or even about Arthur." It was a statement, not a question. "Why are you here, Mr. Kolchak?"
Those cool eyes, regarding him. Measuring him--and, Carl suspected, finding him wanting. He took a large sip of his brandy before leaning forward, scrutinizing her closely.
"I have some questions about you, Dr. Shaw."
"Me?"
"Your time with UNIT."
There it was. Just the tiniest of reactions, a flicker of the eyes. If Carl hadn't been watching her face so closely, he probably would have missed it.
"Nobody's been overly eager to talk to me," Carl went on. "And there's not exactly a lot on the public record. But there was enough, just enough to lead me to you."
"Such as?" Voice and gaze had gone from cool to frosty.
"It's a matter of record that you were hired as UNIT's scientific advisor about 5 years ago. Hardly a surprising choice. Your record and reputation in all areas was above reproach. But you served for less than single year. Why is that?"
A softball question. Carl hoped it would relax her.
She smoothed her skirt, leaned back slightly. "I had no interest in government work. I never wanted the position in the first place. And shortly after I arrived, the position was filled by a more qualified party."
"Ah, yes. The inestimable Dr. John Smith. Who appeared on the scene almost immediately after you did, and was instantly given the position of Senior Scientific Advisor. In essence, you were demoted almost as soon as you were hired."
Liz's smile grew tight and thin. "Still trying to win your little tête-à-tête with the Doctor from yesterday morning, Mr. Kolchak? There was nothing unusual in UNIT giving him the senior position. He was simply more qualified."
"And so you stayed a while, to ease him into the position, before moving back into academia?"
Liz nodded. "If you will."
"In fact, you stayed for..." He checked his notebook again. "7 months after Dr. Smith's arrival. That is an impressive transition period."
Liz colored. "Dr. Smith is a remarkable man, Mr. Kolchak. You may find this hard to comprehend, but I enjoyed working with him. For a while, I enjoyed working with him more than I missed university life."
"Yes..." Carl mused, letting the syllable hang in the air. "He must be a truly remarkable man, to be even more qualified than you."
"My qualifications are solid, but hardly unique."
"Whereas Dr. Smith's qualifications are extremely unique?" Liz glared at him wordlessly. Carl met her cold gaze directly. "What are Dr. Smith's qualifications?"
"I'm sure those are a matter of public record," she said stiffly.
"Oh yes, there are plenty of degrees on record. An impressive list of degrees and credentials. All the t's dotted and i's crossed, as we say. Doubtless printed up by the best experts in the field." She opened her mouth to retort. Carl cut her off before she had a chance. "It's funny, Dr. Shaw. I only spent a couple of hours' background research on you before I came here. Yet I could rattle off a list of works published under your name going well back to the middle 1960's. I've seen your old school photos, I know at least some of the organizations you've belonged to. And with a few days' work, I could dig up your political affiliations, your taste in wine... give me a week, and I would even know the name of the first boy you kissed."
"Kevin Leary," she snapped back. "There, I just saved you a week. Do you have a point, Mr. Kolchak? Or should I ask you to leave now?"
"My point," Carl said, "is that Dr. John Smith has NO photos on record with any of his listed universities. He has NO apparent family. NO apparent childhood friends. And NO works published under his name--not even an article in the campus journal or a letter to the editor of the local newspaper--prior to his arrival at UNIT. You could say he's shy, and doesn't like to publish. But a year after his arrival at UNIT, he suddenly publishes a dozen articles in the most respected journals in the world of science!
"It is as though," he continued, "Dr. John Smith is a man with no past at all. He just appeared one day out of thin air, and was promptly granted the keys to the kingdom."
Liz stood up from her seat, clearly having heard enough.
"Mr. Kolchak, I don't know what it is you believe you know. But I think it is time for you to leave."
She walked briskly to the door, clearly expecting Carl to follow.
Carl just sat stubbornly in place, draining the last sip of brandy from his glass.
"Dr. Shaw," he said, "UNIT is more than an intelligence-gathering outfit, and far more than just an advisory committee to the United Nations. You know it, and I know it." He set down his glass, and picked up his hat from the table. "I can't yet prove it, but I believe that Dr. Lloyd was working with UNIT on something. Perhaps it was a gas or a chemical of some kind, I don't know. But something happened at the Highwater Medical and Scientific Research Center last Monday. Something that has cost the lives of three people, maybe more!"
Liz opened the door. "You are clearly delusional, Mr. Kolchak. Leave. Now."
Carl chuckled. He placed his rumpled, weather-beaten hat on his head, then picked up his tape recorder. "There are two types of people who will call you delusional, Dr. Shaw. Those who honestly believe that you're stark raving mad. And those who have something to hide." He walked casually over to her, flashing his brightest smile. "I've been a reporter long enough to know the difference."
He touched the brim of his hat and nodded, then walked out the door, whistling cheerily to himself. He had walked most of the distance to his rented car before he finally heard the door shut behind him.
Liz Shaw just stood at the closed door for a moment, leaning against it for strength. UNIT... the Doctor. That was a chapter of her life she had thought closed long ago.
She walked over to the chair in which the pushy American reporter had sat. Dead center of the chair, he had left a white card for her. She held up the card, studied it. It suited the man to a "T." There was no adornment--no symbols or logos. Just black ink works against white cardstock, spelling out the name "Carl Kolchak." A Chicago telephone number beneath the name. And beneath that, scrawled in dreadful handwriting in pencil, a London phone number. Presumably his hotel.
"Cocky bastard," she murmured, though she felt herself smiling lightly at the cheek of it.
But when she picked up the phone and dialed, Carl Kolchak was not the man she was calling.
"Lethbridge-Stewart," the Brigadier announced into the receiver as he answered the phone. "Why, Miss Shaw. What a pleasant surprise!"
The Doctor looked up from the boxes on his workbench. Two large crates, stuffed to the brim with the late Dr. Lloyd's journals, notes, sketches, photographs, and test results. They had been waiting in his lab when he and the Brigadier had returned to UNIT, and he had been poring over them ever since.
"The Doctor's here," the Brigadier continued, noting the Doctor's glance. "I'm quite sure he'd like to say hello." The Brigadier frowned. "Not a social call, then?" His frown deepened. "Kolchak, you say? Yes, unfortunately I have met him. What did he say?" The Brigadier listened intently, his expression grave. "No, it sounds like you handled yourself perfectly. Thank you for notifying me, Miss Shaw. I'll take it from here."
He hung up the phone.
"I wanted to talk to her!" the Doctor protested.
"You can call and play catch-up with Miss Shaw any time you like," the Brigadier said mildly. "We have a new problem. That American reporter, Kolchak. The one who tried to get back into the Institute after we sealed it off yesterday."
"Yes, yes," the Doctor said. "An irritating little man, but hardly a grave concern at the moment."
"That 'irritating little man' has had a busy afternoon. First, Mrs. Matheson at the Bed & Breakfast calls to ask about a Mr. Kolcinski - describing Kolchak to a 'T.' Now it seems now he's harassing Miss Shaw."
"Liz can handle a reporter," the Doctor said, already turning his attention back to the notes on his desk.
"This reporter might be a bit trickier," the Brigadier persisted. "Mrs. Matheson thought he was working with us, and told him about our interest in Alwyn Regan. So he knows almost as much as we do at this point. When we've located Regan and the crystal, we may have difficulty creating a cover story that will persuade him."
"I'm sorry, Brigadier, but I have little interest in your cover-ups."
"Then perhaps this will interest you. According to Miss Shaw, most of his questions were about you!"
The Doctor glanced sharply up from his notes.
The Brigadier drew himself up to his full height. "I think it would be a good idea for me to have a quiet little chat with our Mr. Kolchak."
"If you must." The Doctor looked back at his notes.
"Yes," the Brigadier said. "I think I must."
He picked up the telephone receiver again. and briskly arranged for Sergeant Benton to meet him at Kolchak's hotel.
"Back in an hour, Doctor," he said as he left the lab.
"Take your time, dear fellow," the Doctor muttered, not lifting his eyes from the journal in front of him. "Take your time."
The man sat cross-legged beneath a tree, concealed from sight as he studied the military base. The sky was growing darker, now. Soon it would be night. Soon, he would hear the music.
He watched as the mustached soldier emerged from the building he and the tall man had previously entered. He beckoned to two younger soldiers. One man marched to a green jeep, and pulled the vehicle up alongside the soldier with the mustache. The other man held the door to the jeep open as the mustached soldier climbed inside. The arm of the security gate rose to let the jeep through. A moment later, they were gone.
The warrior has left.
"The tall man did not leave with him."
That is good. We need him. And now he will be alone.
"There are other soldiers. They have guns."
Will they destroy on sight?
The man thought a moment, balancing the question against the weight of his own, barely-remembered experiences.
"No," he said at last. "Even if they recognize us, they will try to capture before resorting to force."
They will let us get close?
"Yes."
Then we will play our music for the destroyers, and we will watch them dance.
On a distant level, the man realized that he should have been disturbed by the grim satisfaction in the voice's statement. A lifetime ago, when he had truly been the man called Alwyn Regan, he would have been disturbed. But the music had placed him above such sensations.
He rose, pulling the wrapped crystal from his pocket. He stepped out of the trees, into the street. Began walking toward the security gate.
The two soldiers at the gate saw him already. They watched his advance with bemusement, showing no sign of recognition.
Following the voice's instructions, the man raised his arm in a wave. The soldiers waved back.
As he reached the gate, one of the men stepped forward. "You lost, mate?"
He nodded.
"Where you headed?"
"One moment. I will show you." He unwrapped the crystal and held it up, directly in front of the soldier's face.
For an instant, the two soldiers started to raise their guns, to react. Then the music enveloped them. It was a mere overture to what was to come, but it rose almost immediately into a brilliant crescendo.
The soldiers' guns fired. One shot. Two shots.
The man walked casually around the security gate. He stepped gingerly over the two soldiers' corpses. And then walked into the base itself, following the music to the tall man's building.
Free, the voice hissed triumphantly. We shall be free!