Chapter 3
Monday, January 20th
5:07 P.M.
Marty raced over to Doc's lab. The scientist was standing in the middle of the wreckage, eyes fixed on the spot where his tentacles had been. Marty took one look around the ransacked lab and groaned. "Shit. This is all my fault. If I hadn't convinced you to leave--"
"No, Marty, don't blame yourself," Doc said, cutting him off with a shake of the head. "This is all my fault. I should have taken better security measures. Even if I had been here, they might have still come, and I would have ended up injured or dead in the bargain." Doc sighed deeply, looking around the garage. "Why would anyone steal them, though? They weren't even completed! And why just them? Why not any of my other inventions?"
"I dunno, Doc. Did they leave anything behind? Any clues at all?"
"No. Nothing I could see, anyway. And they took everything relating to the tentacles. Invention, drawings, notes -- everything. Gone."
"Did you call the police yet?"
Doc snorted. "What good would that do? They're inclined to believe anyone else over me. These are the same people who put me in jail when I caught someone trespassing on my property. They probably wouldn't even send someone out."
"Doc, you just got robbed!" Marty protested. "You gotta call the police! Don't you want the tentacles back!"
There was a moment of silence. Then Doc nodded. "You're right. I shouldn't be so cynical." He grabbed the phone and dialed. "Hello, Hill Valley Police Station? This is Dr. Brown. I've just been robbed. . . ."
Marty noticed Einstein sniffing around in the mess of smashed glass and scattered notes. "Careful boy," Marty warned, weaving his way over. "You find anything?"
Einstein barked and kept sniffing. Marty patted the dog's head and looked up at the shattered window. Suddenly, he spotted what looked like a small scrap of cloth caught on one of the jagged edges of glass. It was dark green in color, and looked to have a rough texture. Not much of a clue, but it's something, Marty thought. He reached out to pull it off the glass, but thought better of it. He certainly didn't want to be accused of tampering with a crime scene.
Doc came over. "They're sending a patrol car over. They suggested we get outside so we won't destroy any evidence." He shook his head at the mess. "You never think it'll happen to you. . . ."
"I know." Marty pointed out the scrap of cloth. "Hey, Doc, do you recognize that at all? Seen the color anywhere or something?"
Doc looked at it hard. "No, can't say I have. I'll leave it for the police to figure out."
"Okay." Marty ran his fingers through his hair. "Who else do you think would want them? I mean, you wouldn't really know what they were."
"Precisely. The only people whom I've told about the tentacles are you and Jennifer. Have you told anyone else?"
"Well, I did mention it over dinner one night. . . ."
"Then we have to take into account that your father's probably told everyone in Hill Valley."
Marty couldn't help but grin at that as they moved into the garage. "Nah. I swore them all to secrecy. I promise."
"Thank you." Doc paced the length of the garage. "They weren't even completed yet! Why would anyone bother to steal an invention that wasn't completed!" He suddenly stopped short, pale. "Unless -- they plan to rip it apart and sell it for scrap. . . . Great Scott, my arms, my beautiful arms. . . ."
"Hey, chill Doc," Marty said soothingly. "Hill Valley's got a great police force. They'll get 'em back"
"Yes, but in what condition? I doubt they'd have any real respect for my project."
"Come on, Doc. . . ."
Doc sighed and sat down on the couch. "I know. But it's highly unlikely they'll get them back. I'm probably going to have to start over from scratch. At least this time I know where all my comics are."
"Jesus, that sucks." Marty sat down next to him, frowning. "Man, I wish there was something I--"
Marty's eyes widened as a thought hit him. A smile slowly worked its way over his face. "Hey, wait a minute! We've got the DeLorean! We can just go back in time and see if we can stop the robbery!"
Doc considered that for a moment. "Great Scott. I didn't even think about that. I was so upset it never crossed my mind. It's definitely a possibility." He began to smile too. "At any rate, I'd see who the burglars were."
"All right. So let's hover on out of here," Marty said, jumping up and heading for the garage.
"Wait a moment, Marty! I don't want to rush into this. A lack of planning is what got you into that mess in 1955, never mind how it turned out. Time travel would help us ascertain the thieves' identities, but it's no guarantee that we'd be able to stop them. And, much as it pains me to say it, even with the additional information, the police may not be able to find my invention."
"So what's your plan?"
"Get as much as I can remember down in a fresh set of back-up notes, then map out how we'll handle going back in time. We'll leave tomorrow -- I should have everything straightened out by then."
Marty nodded. "Okay. You're the doc, Doc. I -- I just still feel guilty."
Doc patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Marty, it wasn't your fault. Nobody can see the future."
"You can," Marty smirked.
"You know what I meant. I don't want you beating yourself up over this, okay?"
"Okay. Is there anything I can do to help you out now, though?"
"If you're willing to help me find a fresh notebook and a pen, yes, there is."
Monday, January 20th
10:47 P.M.
I really should be getting to bed. . . . Ah, hell, I'll just finish up this article. Not like I'm not used to staying up late.
Marty switched sides on his bed as he skimmed through the latest edition of "Got Your Music Monthly." Above his head, the clock radio played "Brand New Lover" by Dead or Alive softly. Everyone else was already in bed for the night, forcing Marty to be quiet. Not that he cared. He wasn't feeling rambunctious or anything.
He finished the article, then sighed and tossed the magazine aside. Truth be told, his mind wasn't on music at all. It was back at Doc's lab, pondering the mystery of the missing tentacles. I don't care what Doc says, I still think it's my fault. If I hadn't convinced him to leave, he'd be finishing them up right now I bet. Oh well, hopefully tomorrow we can stop the theft before it even occurs. Marty smirked to himself. Yup, that's time travel for ya. Completely messing up your memories, free of charge.
He yawned loudly and blinked. Guess I'd better get some sleep. I've got school tomorrow, then helping Doc get the tentacles back. Damn, I really hope this time trip idea of ours works. I know how much work Doc's poured into those arms. It would suck for him to have to start all over. He crossed his fingers. Come on, fate, work with us for a change.
He considered changing into his pajamas, then decided the hell with it and yanked the comforter over his clothes. He turned off his radio and the light, then rolled onto his side. He was just getting comfortable when --
THUD.
Puzzled, Marty rolled over to face his window. He didn't see anyone, but he had definitely heard something. Something landing in the yard. And -- whispers? Uh-oh. Are the same guys who trashed Doc's place casing our house now?
He lay in bed for a few long moments, debating with himself on what to do. Then, very slowly, he got up and cautiously approached the window. He had to see if anyone was out there. And, if there was, he needed to lock his window before anything bad happened.
The irony of that thought quickly became clear as his window was suddenly thrust open. Two masked faces appeared in the frame. Masked in the same green material Marty had seen on Doc's broken window. And they did not look friendly in the least.
Marty's first instinct was to try and backpedal. The men quickly climbed into the room and grabbed him before he could get out. Before he could make a sound, one of them had pressed a thick cloth to his face. Instantly Marty's nose recognized the sickly-sweet stench of chloroform. He tried his damndest to struggle, but the men were holding him too firmly. The world grew gradually hazy. . . .
Then Marty McFly knew no more.
Tuesday, January 21st, 1986
Hill Valley
8:47 A.M.
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
Like most people, Doc's head automatically turned toward his fire alarm as he heard the noise. He quickly realized the folly of that -- he wasn't doing anything that could cause a fire. For not the first time, he muttered to himself about how foolish he had been to buy a phone that buzzed rather than rang. You only bought it because it was on sale, one little voice said. You should have spent the extra money for a proper phone and not have to think about the alarm.
Ahh, but I was on a budget, another voice reminded him. Buying this phone allowed me to purchase important parts for the DeLorean. Which would you rather have, a time machine or a phone that rings?
Taking into consideration the mess Marty got into in 1955, a phone that rings, Doc answered himself at the same time he answered the phone. "Hello, E. Brown Enterprises, Dr. Emmett Brown speaking."
"Doc? It's me, Lorraine."
"Oh, hello Lorraine," Doc said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. Although he was friendly with Marty's family, it was rare for them to call him. "How are you?"
"Worried," Lorraine replied. "Is Marty over there?"
Doc shook his head, puzzled. "No, he isn't. Shouldn't he be in school by now?"
"I don't know where he is. We woke up this morning, and he wasn't in his room. We thought he might have snuck out with his friends, but nobody I've called so far has seen him."
Doc's stomach twisted uncomfortably. He didn't like the sound of this at all. "Well, he can't have vanished off the face of the earth. Have you called all of his friends yet?"
"Not yet -- the Pinheads, Jennifer, and you," Lorraine admitted. "But I am going to call the rest. I just hope nothing's happened to him. Could you maybe go out and look for him? Please?"
"Of course, Lorraine, I'd be happy to. I'll call you if I find anything."
"Thank you so much. I'll do the same. Goodbye."
"Bye. And good luck." Doc hung up, frowning. "Well Einy, it appears Marty has gone missing. Up for looking for him?"
Einstein barked and wagged his tail. "Good boy. Damn, I hope he's all right. He's not the type to not check in after a night out." Doc went to retrieve Einstein's leash.
A knock at the door caught his attention. Doc frowned at the door for a moment, then changed course and opened it. "Marty? Is that you?" he asked.
"Heh. No, Doktour, I'm afraid we are not."
Doc's heart abruptly dropped into his stomach. In his doorway were two large men, obviously of Middle-Eastern origin. They were dressed fairly sharply, in black slacks and dark green shirts. But what Doc really noticed was that they were both holding a large, semi-automatic handgun. "Great Scott. . . . Abdur. . . ."
The man on the right laughed. "So you remember me! I trust then you also remember what an excellent marksman I am."
"I -- I don't have -- I don't have the plutonium anymore. The -- the government took it."
The other man held up a silencing hand. "We do not require the plutonium anymore, Dr. Brown. What we require is you."
"Me?"
They nodded. "So you will come with us now. And don't try any funny business. We shoot in the head, not in the chest."
Doc wisely refrained from saying that it didn't really matter as he wasn't wearing a bullet-proof vest. He heard Einy growling at the Libyans behind him. "No, Einstein," he said firmly, turning his head toward the dog. "No. Sit."
Einstein cocked his head at his master, but sat. Abdur gave Einstein a hard look, hefting his gun. Doc gave him a pleading look. "Please, don't. I'll do anything you wish, just don't hurt my dog."
Abdur grinned. "But of course. We don't care about your mutt. We have much bigger fish to fry, so to speak." He grabbed Doc's arm tightly with his free hand. "Now come with us."
Doc allowed himself to be pulled over to their car. The second man produced a length of green cloth and blindfolded him. They shoved him into the back seat, then got into the front. As one started the engine, Doc heard the other turn to face him. "Move and you're dead," Abdur's voice said coldly.
Doc nodded, sweating. Something inside him had always expected this to happen. The Libyan United Front was a small group, but its members were absolutely merciless. They weren't the type to let a fake bomb slide. They're probably taking me to some remote place to be executed, he thought with a slight shiver. Because the first team mucked it up. He straightened in his seat. At least I can go with a clear conscience. If I had to do it all over again, I'd do the exact same things. He considered that for a moment. Well, I'd go into the future and make absolutely certain everyone was caught, but that's it.
They drove for a long, long time, taking an extremely twisty path around town. Doc sat as still as possible, not wanting to give the terrorists any excuse to shoot him. The car was silent for most of the time, although occasionally Abdur and his friend would babble to each other in Arabic. The unfamiliar language just made Doc feel more uneasy. Damn it, I wish we'd just get to where we're going. . . .
Finally, the car stopped. Abdur and his friend yanked Doc out of the back seat and jammed their guns into the small of his back. "Start walking. And no sudden moves."
Doc nodded slowly and started forward. The terrorists stayed close to him, guiding him with jabs. Doc wasn't too surprised to hear the crunch of twigs and leaves under his feet. Yup, the woods. Perfect place to kill someone. I wish they would just get it over with. This constant waiting is worse than getting shot.
Suddenly, Abdur grabbed his arm. "Stop!"
Startled, Doc stopped. He felt the Libyans pull him a few feet to the right. Then they shoved him forward. He stumbled and fell -- onto a hard wooden floor. He lay there for a moment, stunned. What the hell? Where are we?
A kick in the ribs sent him scrambling back to his feet. Abdur and the other man each grasped an arm firmly and pulled him through what felt like a doorway. There seemed to be more activity in this room -- at any rate, Doc could hear people breathing. This must be their headquarters. . . . But why in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton would they bring me here
One of the people approached them. "I see you found the American scum," a female voice hissed. "Any trouble taking him?"
"None at all," the other man said. "For once, the Doktour showed some common sense."
"Wonderful job, Abdur, Amr," came the familiar tones of Dr. Al-Baquar, leader of the Libyan United Front. "Come, let Dr. Brown see our new lair. He can't wear a blindfold forever."
The cloth was pulled off Doc's eyes. Doc blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was in what appeared to be the main room of a log cabin. All the windows were securely boarded up, and the only light was provided by bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Doc could see the exposed wiring quite clearly. Dr. Al-Baquar sat on a wooden chair at the front of the room, the woman on one side, an American man on the other. One nearby corner had been rather hastily converted into a closet -- Doc thought he could hear strange grunting noises coming from it -- while in the other lurked a strange pyramidal structure, covered by a sheet. Doc took it all in a growing sense of confusion. "Why -- why am I here?" he blurted.
Dr. Al-Baquar laughed. "Well, Dr. Brown, we believe we have something of yours. Show him, Amina."
Amina nodded, sneering at Doc. She went over to the pyramidal thing and yanked off the sheet. Doc's jaw dropped. It was his harness and tentacles, set into a specially-made socket. Next to it, in neat piles, were the incomplete arms, his tools, and his notes. "My tentacles!" He moved forward a step. "You stole them?"
The American snorted. "And I thought you were smart."
Doc gave him a look. "Great Scott. But why? I mean, even if is retaliation from the bomb--" there was an undercurrent of disgruntled muttering "-- w-wouldn't you want the finished product?"
"Oh, we will have the finished product. You're just going to finish it here. So it will be ready in time for our little project."
"Excuse me?"
Dr. Al-Baquar grinned at him. Doc got the distinct impression he was looking at a shark. "You promised to build us a bomb, Dr. Brown. We're merely holding you to that promise."
The bottom dropped out of Doc's stomach. "But -- the plutonium--"
Dr. Al-Baquar waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, we know. We watch the news too. Luckily for you, we are no longer interested in the plutonium. No, Dr. Brown, we are focusing on more ordinary weapons for now. Chemical bombs, to be precise." He leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "And this is where you come in. You see, we need a brilliant mind to help us design a kind of -- super-bomb, if you will. A chemical with incredible explosive powers. I'm sure you can pull off something like that." There were sniggers from the other members. "I've already worked out some formulas that I think could work. I just need an outside mind to verify them. And your wonderful arms will allow you to experiment with the final product with very little risk. It's the perfect situation."
"Hardly perfect," Doc said, calling on all the bravado he had. He didn't want these assholes to know they had scared him out of his wits. "Mostly because you can't guarantee my cooperation. I'd rather die than work for you again."
To his surprise, Dr. Al-Baquar laughed. "We know, Dr. Brown. We know. But tell us--" he made a gesture, and the American went to the closet and opened the door. "Would you rather he die?"
Doc gasped. "Marty!"
The teen looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He was tied very tightly to an old wooden chair, which appeared to have been nailed to the floor. The grunting sounds Doc had heard before came from his mouth, which was blocked with a gag. The American stood beside him, fingering his gun. "Well, Dr. Brown?" Dr. Al-Baquar said behind him.
Doc stared. Oh God. . . . What can I do? I can't let them kill Marty! He's like my son! But how can I even consider working for them? If I succeed with their project, they could kill hundreds of people. A hundred strangers' lives to his. . . .Doc put his head in his hands. What can I do?
"We're waiting," Amina's sharp voice cut in.
Doc looked back up at Marty. He was sitting stock-still, eyes pleading. Doc, don't. I'm not worth it. Get out of here and don't look back.
But you are worth it, Doc thought miserably. You're my best friend. You saved my life. How can I not save yours?
Then, suddenly, Doc saw a glimmer of hope in this impossible situation. Once the tentacles were completed, they would be incredibly powerful. Maybe -- if he played his cards just right --
He turned back to Dr. Al-Baquar. "I'll do it," he said softly.
Al-Baquar smirked. "I knew you would." Marty started struggling again, shouting muffled protests against the gag. The American promptly shut the door on him. "You can start immediately."
"I want to see him occasionally," Doc said suddenly, surprising himself with his boldness. "Make sure he's still alive."
"Don't get uppity," Amina snapped. "You are in no position to make demands."
Dr. Al-Baquar turned and slapped her. "You're getting a little uppity yourself," he said harshly. "I make the decisions around here." Amina nodded, the slap having turned her meek. He turned back to Doc. "I wouldn't want the Doktour to think we weren't holding up our end of the bargain. You will be allowed short, supervised visits every now and then." He snapped his fingers. "William! Show Dr. Brown to his room."
The American roughly grabbed Doc's arm. "Come on. Less time you're here, the better." He pulled Doc into another room, almost exactly like the first, but smaller. A rough wooden table was shoved against the far wall, a cot into the corner. Something that just barely qualified as a toilet was set up beside them. "I'll bring your stuff in. Don't even think of trying to run." He left, leaving Doc to sit on the cot. Doc looked around, feeling sick to his stomach. Please God, don't have let me have made the wrong decision.