Now I had to get to Knoxville to arrange the last part of the plan – a safe place for Professor Graf to hide. I could have phoned ahead, but Knoxville was only a couple of hours from Chattanooga – no sense risking a call when I couldn’t disclose any sensitive details or even my identity. This early in the morning, he would probably be at home. I needed to call in my favor from Dr. Krueger.
Dr. Krueger ran an automobile plant near Knoxville. He’d contracted a lot of the electrical work to my father and my father’s associates while the plant was under construction. They’d butted heads in the negotiation and the subsequent work. Their business relationship had flowered into a friendship. Dr. Krueger asked my father to design and build an underground refuge beneath his house, similar to the one Dad and Rob had built under Rob’s barn. With Rob refusing to help, Dr. Krueger’s refuge became the logical place for Professor Graf to hide.
When my parents were murdered, Dr. Krueger had promised he would be there for me, if I ever needed help – a job, a place to stay, even money for a down payment on a house or to start a business. It was a debt of honor he felt he owed my father, an obligation he could only discharge by helping me. I hoped his generosity extended to sheltering a fugitive scientist.
By seven in the morning, I pulled into his neighborhood. The once-barren subdivision was now largely complete. Only a few empty lots remained, and a couple of houses were under construction. The subdivision still had that “new” look – scrawny, freshly planted trees, and lines in lawns where the fresh grass had not yet grown out to disguise the strips where sod had been laid down in rolls. I parked in front of Dr. Krueger’s home, walked up, and rang the doorbell. Nothing. I waited a minute, and rang the doorbell again. Finally the door opened.
“Mein Gott!” Dr. Krueger exclaimed, standing there in his bathrobe. “Come in, come in.”
I followed him in.
“Wer ist das?” came a woman’s voice.
“Peter Burdell,” he announced me to Frau Krueger. “Would you please make some coffee for our young friend?” He turned and looked at me, a benevolent half smile on his face. “He appears to need it.” Dr. Krueger gestured me to the kitchen. “Tell me,” he gestured at my face, “what happened to you?”
“My parents were murdered,” I explained. “Last night, the murderers tried to do the same to one of my professors. I got him to safety and acquired this,” I gestured to my black eye, “in the process. Now they’re after another professor. I think I can save her, but I need a place for her to hide. I thought you might be able to accommodate her.”
He took a deep breath. “Your parents? Ja. Was crazy with that car accident and talk of cyber terror. Never made sense. You sure it was murder? It was the government agents who did this?”
“Not exactly government agents,” I explained. “They were working for some of the same people behind the Civic Circle. I uncovered some of their secrets, and they thought Mr. Burleson was responsible. They killed my parents just to make sure the secret was safe. Now they figured out one of my professors at Georgia Tech is part of a group working against them. I saved him, but the Civic Circle thinks the other professor is also in on it. They’re going to kill her.”
“The Civic Circle?” He looked skeptical. “I heard about this professor on the news last night – this Chinese spy at Georgia Tech. You are involved with him?”
“Yes,” I acknowledged, “but he’s no spy.”
Frau Krueger brought over some coffee, and offered us a plate with bread and cheese.
“Perhaps you’d best begin at the beginning,” Dr. Krueger suggested.
I described the clues I found in the Tolliver Library and how they led me to Heaviside’s theory of wave interaction. Dr. Krueger’s eyes lit up as I walked him through how energy slows to a stop when waves interfere, and how the waves exchange energy. “Macht sinn,” he said nodding. “Of course. I never looked at it that way before. Why did I not learn of this in school?”
I noted the death toll of scientists the Circle left in their wake – Maxwell, Hertz, and FitzGerald, all dead in their prime. “Three of the five Maxwellians,” Dr. Krueger nodded. “The pattern, it is obvious once you point it out like that. They just kill scientists? What about your parents?”
“They kill anyone who gets too close to their secrets. Probably even political figures.” I shared our speculation that they may have had something to do with ninety-day reign of Kaiser Friedrich III in 1888. His death by cancer of the larynx set the stage for Kaiser Wilhelm and the militarists to take power.
“That dummkopf Wilhelm,” Krueger muttered. “He led Deutschland to ruin and set the stage for Hitler.”
I explained what we’d discovered from the books we saved from the library – about Angus MacGuffin and how he was murdered to cover up additional secrets, about Ettore Majorana and his flight to South America, and about how the Circle had been influencing events in the United States for at least the last hundred years.
“You know for a fact it is Civic Circle men kill your parents?” Frau Krueger asked me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. Frau Krueger looked sternly at her husband.
“Scheisse,” he said with disgust. “My own boss, the CEO of my company – he is one of them.”
“I doubt all the members of the Civic Circle know everything that’s going on,” I cautioned. “My own uncle, Larry Tolliver, is involved with them, and I’m confident he knew nothing of the plan to kill my father. He’s not a good enough actor to hide it, if he were involved. There’s a small group within the Civic Circle that’s responsible for the murders and blackmail. The rest are just patsies who go along to get along, to feel important, and to trade favors.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” he said. “Tell me. What do you need of us?”
“I need a place to hide my professor,” I explained. “Maybe I can find another solution, another place for her to go, but she’ll need shelter for weeks at least, maybe even months or years.”
“Your Uncle Rob,” Dr. Krueger suggested, “he cannot help? He has many friends, many connections.”
“Perhaps, eventually. For now though, he has refused to help. He thinks it’s too dangerous, too early to make any move against the Circle. He wanted me to come home and hide until this all blows over.”
“Did he now?” Dr. Krueger asked, disapprovingly. He looked at Frau Krueger. She gave her husband a nod. “Your professor can stay with us as long as she is in danger.”
Just then, I heard footsteps behind me. “Papi, wer war an der …eek!” Eva shrieked when she saw me.
“Sorry to startle you,” I started, but she had already turned and left.
“Machts nicht,” Dr. Krueger said with a smile. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Can you join us for a proper breakfast?” Frau Krueger asked. “I’m sure Eva and the boys would love to see you.”
“No,” I declined as politely as I could. “I have to go save my professor. I’ll have time when she’s safe. I’ll be back late tonight.”
“I understand,” Dr. Krueger said. He and Frau Krueger rose and walked with me over to the door.
“I have to warn you,” I added. “What I’ve told you must remain a secret. If the Circle and their agents knew what you now know, the consequences for you and your family…”
“I know,” Dr. Krueger said, giving my hand a firm shake. “I understand. We will keep your secrets. For your sake and for ours.”
Frau Krueger stretched up and kissed me on the cheek. “You come back safe to us, ja?”
“I will.” I hoped that was a promise I’d be able to keep.
I hit the road. My mood improved the closer I got to Chattanooga. It wasn’t even lunchtime, yet. I had all afternoon to make sure the plan was all set and ready to go. Maybe I’d even have a chance to take a nap. I ran through the plan over and over again, looking for flaws: swap the drinks, ditch the poison, save the girl, fake the hike. We had a simple plan – not exactly foolproof, but close
to it. I was back with four or five hours to spare before the reception – plenty of time to make sure Amit had everything all set. I pulled into the parking garage beside the Chattanooga Choo Choo, feeling on top of the world.
Maybe Rob was correct about my lack of tactical experience. He always emphasized I should maintain situational awareness at all times. So help me, I did see the van coming. It did register as suspicious. I took off at a sprint as it drove up and the door opened. The masked guys who hopped out were too fast for me, though. The last thing I remember was a hood put over my face. When I came to, I was tied up in a chair, blinded by the hood. There was a bit of dampness and a smell of stale air. I was in a basement? I heard the distant rumble of urban traffic from above. I had a notion where I might be.
Chattanooga has always been a city with something to hide. As a river port, it had its share of smugglers. Before the Civil War, it was a major stop on the Underground Railroad. Fugitive slaves would come to Chattanooga to be smuggled north on riverboats and barges. Not many people realize that the Tennessee River dips south into Alabama, then back north, crossing Tennessee and Kentucky before joining the Ohio River near the southern tip of Illinois. From Chattanooga, a fugitive slave could float downstream to freedom in the North.
After the Civil War, floods devastated the city. The City Council proposed raising the level of the streets, but never officially funded the project. Undaunted, citizens took it upon themselves to raise the level of their streets. Ground floors became basements, and the old downtown acquired a hidden substratum – Underground Chattanooga, they called it. Old underground railway stations and smuggler’s lairs connected via a network of old tunnels. Moonshiners and the mob expanded the network further during prohibition to make secret warehouses for their product. I was probably somewhere in somebody’s old sub-basement deep in Underground Chattanooga.
I slowly flexed the bindings around my wrist to test them. Not slowly enough.
“He’s awake,” came a woman’s voice, far too perky for the circumstances.
I heard heavy footsteps approaching. I prepared myself to throw my bound body in the most advantageous direction. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I think I should soften the punk up some before we talk,” a gruff voice barked.
I couldn’t see either Perky Girl or her friend, Bulldog. As a rule, kidnappers and other evildoers prefer their victims not to be able to identify them later. The fact they weren’t allowing me to see them was probably a good sign they intended me to survive this encounter. I paid close attention to my other senses: a distant hum of traffic, the dampness, the mustiness, and… a hint of perfume?
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” said Perky Girl. “Besides, I saw that black eye you gave him! You must have been awfully rough with him. No wonder he punched you.”
“Nah. He got that shiner a while ago,” Bulldog pointed out. “Punk could stand a matched set though.”
“Really, haven’t you put him through enough already?” Perky Girl said with an excellent imitation of genuine empathy and affection, despite completely ignoring my question. I heard motion behind me – a door opening? A deep voice behind me said, “Investigare.”
I could hear Perky Girl and Bulldog move to face the newcomer. They replied, “Cognoscere,” in unison, almost like some kind of ritual or countersign?
The deep voice responded, “Defendere.”
Ah ha! Investigare, cognoscere, defendere. To investigate, to learn, to defend. The motto of the Ordo Alberti, the Dominicans with whom Ettore Majorana found refuge in Buenos Aires. Interesting.
“I regret the enthusiasm with which my colleagues arranged our meeting,” the newcomer said. You may call me Brother Francis.” Bulldog and Perky Girl seemed to withdraw behind me. “We would not have taken such liberties were it not for the urgency of the situation. Your professora, she is in danger. Unless you help us, she will be killed, probably tonight.”
Fortunately, Brother Francis interpreted my stunned silence as disbelief of the threat to Professor Graf, and not amazement that yet another team had joined this dangerous game. They’d kidnapped me, preventing me from saving Professor Graf… so they could warn me that I needed to save Professor Graf. I’d have found it amusing were it not for the fact they were making me late to my very clever plan to save the same professor they were trying to convince me was in danger.
“I know this is hard to understand,” he continued, “but there are dark forces at work in the world. They are pursuing Professor Chen and will likely soon find him. Now their eye has turned to Chattanooga and to Professor Graf. They will kill her this very evening, unless you help us help her.”
I decided my best course of action was to feign ignorance and play along. “I know she annoyed a lot of people by standing up for Professor Chen, but is that any reason to want to kill her?”
“Professor Chen’s research may have uncovered secrets they want to keep hidden,” Brother Francis explained. “The location of their places of power. The fact that those places have existed for centuries, operating at a level of technology our civilization has only reached recently. If those secrets were revealed, there would be obvious questions asked – questions that would lead to the discovery of their existence.”
Brother Francis’ explanation came disturbingly close to the truth I’d already uncovered. As far as Amit had been able to determine, though, the Circle didn’t actually know the details of Professor Chen’s research, only that he had communicated something of great importance to a known associate in the Brotherhood. They wanted Chen, because they’d figured out he was in the Brotherhood, and they were after Graf because, after her spirited defense of him, they figured she was his accomplice. It was getting tough keeping track of who knew what.
“Whose locations of power?” I asked, wondering how much more they knew. “Whose existence?”
“I will answer you, if you wish,” he replied, “but know this first: knowledge is power. Power may be used for good or for evil. If the forces and followers of evil learn that you possess certain knowledge, you, too, will be at risk, just like your professors, and we may not be able to save you from the consequences. There is danger from evil, and yet considerable opportunity for you to do good. If you want, we can end our conversation now. We will return you to the streets of Chattanooga, and your professor’s death will be on your conscience. Or, I will answer your question, and, for better or worse, you will know the truth.
This scene was familiar. “I’ll take the red pill,” I told him.
Apparently, Brother Francis had never seen The Matrix. Bulldog broke the awkward silence – “Kid means he wants you to tell him.”
“Very well,” Brother Francis continued. “Do you understand that there is weakness and waywardness enough in the hearts of men acting according to their own free will to account for much of the evil in the world?”
I nodded yes, before realizing he might not be able to see me under the hood. “Yes,” I verbalized.
“How much greater is the danger if these human foibles, follies, and weaknesses were directed, guided, channeled, by a vigilant and hostile intelligence. The Great Tempter. The Father of Lies. The Prince of Evil. That is the enemy – ours and yours.”
That sounded like… “You mean… Lucifer?”
“The bringer of light,” Brother Francis confirmed. “Although that’s more the job title he had before his fall from the heavens, than a proper name, or a description of his fundamental nature or essence.”
“A literal, supernatural angel of evil.” I hoped my skepticism wasn’t too obvious.
“Christ, in the Gospel, called him the Prince of this World,” Brother Francis explained. “He and his followers have many masks they wear in presenting their face to the world as they seek dominion over us. One mask is that of the Civic Circle.”
Suddenly this abstract theological discussion of evil had acquired some very practical implications. “The Civic Circle is out to get Profess
or Graf?”
“Indeed.” Brother Francis paused. “There is more. Your father’s friend, Mr. Burleson: he stumbled across some of the Civic Circle’s hidden truths. They killed him. Then, they killed your parents to keep the secrets Mr. Burleson found. They will kill your professor, too, unless you help us to save her.”
The distant rumble of a truck passing on the street above punctuated the silence. It was getting spooky exactly how many people were aware of my history. “I believe you,” I told him, “but what can I do?”
“We can offer sanctuary to your professor – a place where she can work with other scholars to uncover and understand the secrets the Civic Circle would prefer remain hidden.”
“Sanctuary? What sanctuary?”
“Somewhere safe,” Brother Francis answered vaguely. “It wouldn’t be a sanctuary if it weren’t secret.”
“A place of research working to unlock these secrets – surely if such a place existed, their work would be well known,” I pointed out. Perhaps it was that convent in Buenos Aires that sheltered Majorana? I had to be careful to keep such speculations to myself.
“Their work is kept in darkness against the day the Civic Circle is overthrown and all can be brought into the light.”
“But aren’t you merely doing the Civic Circle’s work for them?” I asked. “Helping the Civic Circle keep secret the ideas they want to suppress? Why wouldn’t you trumpet your discoveries to the world? Can’t you do so in a way that doesn’t give away the details of your location or identity?”
There was another long pause. Had I pushed too far, too fast? I kept deliberately silent and waited for Brother Francis to fill the void. Listening intently, I was confident I was somewhere below downtown Chattanooga.
“This is not the way I envisioned this conversation going,” Brother Francis acknowledged.
“I can extend your offer to Professor Graf,” I confirmed, “but she’s a smart woman – not easily persuaded. She’ll need more to go on than my second-hand say-so of your claims.”
A Rambling Wreck: Book 2 of The Hidden Truth Page 28
