A Rambling Wreck: Book 2 of The Hidden Truth

by Hans G. Schantz

  “If she ignores our warning, she will be dead soon enough,” Brother Francis intoned solemnly. “Tonight. They plan to poison her at the GammaCon reception.”

  Wow. These guys had hooks into the Civic Circle every bit as good as Amit’s. “Then, why don’t you approach her directly? Warn her. Why use me as an intermediary?”

  “We tried last night,” Brother Francis explained. She was not in her assigned room when we went to bring her here for…” he paused, “an involuntary interview.”

  Ah ha. Amit’s plan worked, though not against the opponents we’d anticipated. “Is that the euphemism for kidnapping people off the street these days?” I asked. “Involuntary interview?”

  “We are trying to save your professor’s life,” he insisted, firmly. “Now, she is being watched. If we approach her, they would know. You, however, can convey to her our offer – arrange for her to meet us outside, so we can deliver her to safety.”

  “I’m telling you right now, while she might be as inclined as me to believe in the possibility of a threat, that’s not enough to make her turn her back on her life and career and trust in you. What is the point of this Sanctuary if all it does is help the Circle keep secrets from the rest of us? Why should she want to go with you to work there?”

  I could hear Brother Francis weighing his words in silence. Finally he spoke. “After the Second World War, it became obvious that science had incredible military potential. The Manhattan Project, a government-funded research effort, developed weapons of unimaginable power. The Civic Circle had no trouble persuading our temporal leaders that the power of science had to be tamed. Their argument was economic – if we don’t fund science, no private business will, because the benefits of scientific discovery are general – they cannot be monopolized and monetized. Scientific discoveries will spread to the benefit of others who did not fund them, and thus there is no incentive for any individual or business to perform scientific research. Of course, they also argued that science could not possibly spread across borders, and if our country did not fund science we would fall behind those that did.

  “No one picked apart the contradiction, because the real reason for the government to fund science was to control it. The Civic Circle has… some kind of a roadmap of discovery. A path they want us to follow. They fear that if we stray from that path they may have difficulty controlling the consequences.

  “They have carefully engineered the sociology and mechanism of scientific research so as to slow down discovery. Even the most talented researchers now spend half their time or more writing proposals and beseeching agencies for funding instead of conducting productive scientific work. The funding agencies serve as the guides and gatekeepers, making sure that research progresses only in approved directions and squelching any signs of true innovation off the Civic Circle’s desired path. When a researcher goes too far off the path and brings to light what the Civic Circle wants kept in the dark, they arrange a promotion or an alternate position to distract them, or they recruit them into the world of classified research, so their discoveries can never see the light of day. In more extreme cases where a determined researcher cannot be distracted or deterred, they arrange a convenient accident or a death by apparently natural causes.

  “We can offer Professor Graf an opportunity to work on whatever research she desires. Our accommodations are necessarily modest, but she will never want or worry for how she will fund her work. She will have the opportunity to work on whatever problems she desires, to engage with like-minded scholars, learning from their discoveries and sharing with them her own results. Complete scientific freedom.”

  “It does sound like an attractive offer,” I acknowledged. “I’ll pass it along, but you still haven’t answered why the discoveries of your Sanctuary are kept secret.”

  “Our founder said ‘I shall not conceal a science that was before me revealed by the grace of God…. What worth is a concealed science; what worth is a hidden treasure?’ We have since learned, though, that some secrets are too dangerous to disclose to those without the prudence and judgement to apply them wisely.

  “We must keep our secrets from the Prince of this Earth,” Brother Francis insisted, “for He would twist the tools we have discovered and use them for evil purposes. Decades ago, servants of the Civic Circle found one of our sanctuaries. They stole from us the secrets of a device of unimaginable power and potential – a device that can sense when history is being born and where subtle events are changing its course. It literally senses a Nexus where free will is exercised in such a way as to have lasting and profound consequences. We call it a Nexus Detector.”

  The Albertians discovered the Nexus Detector? Or rediscovered it from MacGuffin’s descriptions?

  “The Civic Circle uses these devices to sense when and where history is changing,” Brother Francis continued, “so they can get on top of events, control the outcome, and shut down potential threats to their power before they are made real. They are in town now. Our own detector shows we are nearing a Nexus. I should warn you, however, that our decision to contact you hardly appeared to register at all. It is as if Professor Graf’s fate is already ordained for better or worse even without our intervention.”

  “Something will happen to her whether we act or not?”

  “We all have free will,” Brother Francis clarified, “and we will choose to exercise it – or not – according to our nature. If we chose to stand by and do nothing, events will take a different course than if we intervene. Your professora is an outstanding scholar and would be a great benefit to our work. We failed in our first attempt to save her. That’s why we have chosen to risk contacting you as an intermediary. Time is running out. We pin our hopes on you. I hope you will forgive us, now that you understand our motives.”

  I thought about that a moment. “I can forgive you,” I agreed. “I will convey your warning and your offer to Professor Graf. How will I contact you again when it is time?”

  “My associates will make the arrangements. Time is running out. We have spoken long enough.” Brother Francis cut short our conversation. “As I have already explained to you, knowledge is power. We have shared with you secrets that will cost you your life, if you reveal them to the wrong persons. God bless and keep you.”

  Chapter 12: The Final Showdown

  Bulldog pulled me roughly to my feet. “You gonna behave yourself?”

  “Unless you give me reason otherwise.” I could afford to be a smart ass, since clearly they wanted me on their side. Bulldog and Perky Girl guided me along some long tunnels. I tried counting steps and keeping track of turns. It did me no good though, because they directed me up some rickety stairs and they bundled me back into a van. I think Perky Girl was driving. Bulldog kept me company in the back.

  “Here’s a phone,” he said. I felt something sliding into my back pocket. “When your professor is ready, give us a call and we’ll provide further instruction. Push and hold the number 1 to dial us. We’ll let you off here,” Bulldog said. “They’ve got security all around the hotel. You’ll have to walk your way in past the cops.” He untied my hands.

  “Go!” said Perky Girl.

  The door slid open and Bulldog shoved me out, grabbing the hood at the same time. The sudden sunlight blinded me. By the time I looked back, I saw a dark van speeding off. I oriented myself, and walked to the hotel. I could see what Bulldog meant. A couple police cars were positioned around the front. There was a security checkpoint at the door. I looked at my watch. The reception was already under way, and I was supposed to have checked in with Amit long before now. He’d be worried sick. I must have been out for a while.

  I quickened my pace and approached the GammaCon registration desk. I picked up my badge and a GammaCon logo bag with the conference program. Swap the bags, get a beer, swap the bottles, save the girl. Easy, peasey, lemon squeazy.

  I saw Amit waiting for me in the lobby of the old train station, just outside the reception. He looked relieved. He’d s
taked out a spot in the crowded lobby and had a GammaCon bag beside him on the window sill. I set my bag down next to his. “What happened?” he asked softly. “No. No time. You’re late. She’s already in there.”

  “This place taken?” a couple of older men squeezed in next to us.

  “No, I need to be going anyway,” I said, picking up Amit’s bag and leaving my own.

  Amit looked at me. There was clearly something else he wanted to add, but he wasn’t comfortable with the strangers yakking right next to us. “Our friends are here,” he said.

  “OK,” I replied. Did he mean that ironically, as in our friends the agents of the Civic Circle? Or did he have some other friends in mind? I pondered it as I walked into the reception. He’d let me go ahead, so whichever it was, it didn’t change what I had to do.

  The reception was in a bar and lounge area just off the train station lobby. I walked past the man checking badges, noted Professor Graf, and took a roundabout path through her field of view. Our eyes met momentarily, and I saw a hint of a smile dance across her face. I walked up to the bartender. “Sam Adams,” I ordered.

  “You got ID?” the bartender asked with a thick accent. Russian? Oh, no. No ID, no bottle, no swap. I tried a bluff.

  “Left it in my room,” I explained. “Look, I’m with the conference, and they said all I’d need is my badge.” I helpfully held my badge under his nose for him to inspect.

  “Aren’t you young to be gamma-ray astrophysicist?” the Russian bartender asked.

  “Well, gamma ray astrophysics is a young science,” I replied confidently.

  “Sorry kid, no ID, no beer.” I was too frantic to appreciate the irony of poisoners being all scrupulous with underage drinking rules. Professor Graf was going to be dead at their hands if I didn’t figure something out. Fast. Like, now. Think! I froze under the pressure. Nope. No brilliant insights miraculously came to me.

  “OK.” I walked off slowly, my thoughts racing. Damn. Now what? I took a deep breath to calm myself. I had to have a bottle of beer. I surveyed the room. There was a tray in the corner where conference-goers stacked their glasses, plates, and bottles. This might be easier than I feared. I saw where someone had left a plate on one of the tables. I picked it up and walked over to the tray. I deposited the dirty plate on the tray, and picked up a bottle of Sam Adams that still had some dregs left, carefully holding it in a napkin so as not to leave fingerprints. I tried not to be too obvious about it. Then, I found a table with good visibility of the entrance and the bar. I was getting hungry, but I wasn’t about to leave my precious bottle unattended. They were being all scrupulous about looking out for under-age drinking. There was no way I should risk walking around with my bottle, if I didn’t have to. I hid the bottle in my lap between my thighs and pretended to examine the conference program while I checked in the bag. I found the rubber gloves on top, and I put them on. Then I fumbled about, inventorying the contents of the conference bag, making sure Amit had included the supplies we’d discussed. I set the cork where I wouldn’t lose it, opened the plastic bag Amit provided, and placed it carefully inside the conference bag in my lap. When I was ready, I grabbed the bottle of beer and held it under the table with my gloved left hand. I hid my gloved right hand under the conference program and continued pretending to study it intently.

  A couple minutes later, I saw Professor Graf get up from her talk with Professor Glyer and approach the bar. The first bartender removed the cap from a bottle of beer and turned his back. His partner said something to Professor Graf – a distraction while the first bartender poisoned the bottle? The first bartender handed her the bottle. I could see them watching her intently as she walked away. Professor Glyer was watching her intently, too. I averted my eyes so they wouldn’t see me watching them or her.

  I sensed her approach. “Hi, Peter!” She stood next to me and pointed at the program with her left hand. “Peter, did you see that interesting paper on the latest gamma ray burst detection results in the Finely Lecture Hall?” She held her bottle under the table with her right hand.

  “No, I was… detained.” Shielded by the tablecloth, I deftly swapped my bottle for hers under the table as she sat down.

  She raised my bottle and set it down on the table in front of her, frowning slightly. “The gamma ray pulse was 200 seconds long,” she said, adding softly, her lips hardly moving, “You’re late. You saw Amit?”

  “That’s a really remarkable gamma ray burst.” I added quietly, “Yes, I saw him.”

  “And the furthest detection yet. Imagine seeing an event that happened 13 billion years ago.” She pretended to take a sip of the from my bottle, even made a show of arcing her lovely neck and swallowing, then casually set the bottle on the table in front of her. She looked at me and frowned slightly as if to ask why I’d consumed virtually all the beer. I cringed about her drinking someone’s stale, second-hand beer, but it was healthier than the alternative. “I’m sorry I’m going to be missing tomorrow’s talks, but I have plans to go hiking.”

  I doubted anyone could hear us, but I wasn’t taking chances with lip reading. “Sounds like fun. I have a week off before I head to Huntsville to start my summer job.”

  “I want you to know, I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  “No problem,” I assured her. “See you around.”

  Professor Graf stood up and wandered off.

  She started walking around, nursing her beer, talking to her professional colleagues one last time, and telling them all about the hike she planned. I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, but her voice carried, bright with enthusiasm and full of light – a light the Circle was trying to extinguish. Not on my watch, I vowed silently. I tried to stay relaxed, the toxic bottle of beer feeling remarkably heavy in my left hand. I could see the bartenders and Professor Glyer keeping an eye on her.

  When I figured I’d waited long enough for the Circle’s attention to be off me, I reached my gloved hand under the table, retrieved the cork and sealed the bottle. Holding the conference bag between my knees, I cautiously slid the toxic beer in the plastic bag. Finally, I sealed the plastic bag, being careful that it would sit upright in the GammaCon bag – no sense taking chances with the cork.

  There was a fair bit of choreography to the rest of the plan. I had to empty the toxic bottle and deposit it in the women’s restroom. That would be Professor Graf’s cue to dispose of her phony bottle. I assumed the Civic Circle’s agents would be standing by to whisk the toxic bottle safely away, so mine – the real empty toxic bottle of beer – had to be in place first. I checked my watch. It was time. If all had gone well, there’d be a “closed for maintenance” sign on the ladies’ restroom door, placed there by Amit five minutes earlier. I carefully slid the bottle in my conference bag to hide it. I made my move for the restroom.

  “Hey!” the man at the entrance checking badges stopped me. “What’s that in the bag?” He took a closer look, apparently seeing the impression of the bottle through the cloth GammaCon bag. “Drinks stay in the reception area,” he said. I started to head back into the lounge area. “Wait a moment. How old are you?” I was busted.

  “I thought I got in with my conference admission?” I stalled for time, considering whether I should try to make a run for it. I could probably get to the women’s restroom, but I couldn’t risk the bad guys knowing something was going on. I also couldn’t risk the guy opening up the bottle and handling it either, if the radioactive poison were as toxic as Amit indicated.

  “Looks like we got ourselves an underage juvie trying to steal his self a drink,” came an intimidating drawl from behind me. I turned to look.

  Sheriff Gunn? What the…

  “I’ll handle this,” the sheriff said to the badge man. He walked me around the corner toward the restrooms.

  “That the toxic brew?” he said softly once we were out of earshot.

  “Yes.”

  He guided me to the restroom and gestured me to continue on
toward Amit, waiting just down the hall from the ladies’ restroom door, pretending to read the conference program. I joined him. Sheriff Gunn knocked and opened the door to the women’s restroom. “Security. Is anyone in here?” He ushered a couple of women out. “Sorry, ma’am, security check. Anyone else in there?” Finally, he motioned for us to join him. “It’s clear. Do your thing,” he ordered. “I’ll cover for you here.” I followed Amit in. He donned gloves of his own and laid an extra pair on the counter by the sink. Then, he opened a plastic garbage bag and left it on the counter.

  That morning, we’d realized we couldn’t just make the radioactive bottle of beer vanish. We had to make sure we left behind an empty radioactive bottle so the Circle’s agents would be convinced that Professor Graf had consumed the contents. Amit argued that if we flushed it down the toilet, anyone who detected the radioactive poison would conclude she’d excreted it in her urine. He hoped that being diluted in thousands of gallons of sewage would render the radioactive poison less harmful. Professor Graf and I both lacked his blithe confidence in the metabolic ease with which the radioactive poison might be excreted. They’d have chosen something that lingered long enough to kill her, not something that would pass right through her. Also, we were concerned a detailed investigation might be able to figure out the entire radioactive dose had gone down the toilet instead of into Professor Graf. We’d agreed on an alternate plan.

  He held an open glass jar inside a big plastic bag with one hand and the lid with the other. I placed my GammaCon bag inside Amit’s plastic bag. Then, I removed the plastic bag with the toxic brew. I uncorked it, and slowly poured the contents into Amit’s waiting bottle, trying carefully to avoid any splatters or turbulence. He sealed the jar, then took hold of the bottle with his free hand. I stripped off my rubber gloves and let them drop into Amit’s plastic bag. Then, I went over to the sink and washed my hands as thoroughly as I could. I dried my hands, and I donned the new set of rubber gloves Amit had left for me. I retrieved the radioactive bottle from Amit’s bag, grasping it in my left hand. Once I had it, Amit sealed the bag, and placed the first bag inside the second plastic bag on the counter. He removed his gloves, dropped them in, and sealed the second bag over the first. Finally, he put the double-bagged jar in his own GammaCon bag.