Three days? That would be since — Wednesday?
Yes. Shortly before noon, Wednesday last.
So we can assume he was dead Wednesday morning.
That is what I assume. And since he is dead, I am morally certain he was murdered by my co-conspirators, and therefore in a very real sense by . . . myself as well.
Mr. Lindstrom, you may have gone along with some hard-case hoods, perhaps more than you should have, but that doesn’t make you a murderer. I wouldn’t reach that far for —
I would.He snapped the words out, then went into one of those still, quietly staring sessions of his — brief this time, only a few seconds — after which he straightened up, spoke in a brighter tone. Yes, I would, I’m afraid, Mr. Scott. Or — is it Shell?
That’s right.
You may as well call me Gunnar, Shell. For we are now co-conspirators, are we not?
Uh . . .
In one sense, at least. Perhaps more than one. Together we conspire to confound and make impotent the professional thieves and hoodlums. More, you have most solemnly agreed not to repeat without my permission what I have told — and will tell — you, not to involve or incriminate me. Thus you conspire with me to conceal my participation in monstrous —
Hold it. Please. I wish you could meet Phil Samson. Together, you and the captain could get me at least twenty years —
I do not wish to meet any captains. Not just yet. But back to the matter of Norman Amber. And his death. If it can be shown that he was murdered with deliberation and forethought, a crime of epic dimension has been committed. I shall not, I am certain, be able to convince you of the enormity of that crime.
Well, it’s pretty bad, sure. Murder is almost always an enormity of one kind or another, Gunnar —
You do not even begin to understand. Perhaps only another scientist — more specifically, another professional scientific investigator and inventor, such as myself — can fully understand what the death of Norman Amber means. You had never heard of him, had you?
First time was . . . day before yesterday? Yeah. It seems longer.
Even so, your own life has been affected in at least a dozen areas, though perhaps only in small ways, because Norman Amber lived as long as he did. Your television set, stereophonic-sound components, moving pictures you have seen in theaters, films and cameras you may have used — all of these and much besides are more efficient, more valuable, because of contributions made by Norman Amber. And his most recent contribution — which I think of as the Amber Effect — is the greatest of all his inventions.
The Amber Effect? What’s that? One of the gizmos the boys brought to you Wednesday?
Gizmos. Ha! Yes, one of those. But I will explain this to you in a moment. What I am trying to say to you now, Shell, is that Norman is . . .
Lindstrom winced slightly, as he had when I’d mentioned the dead-wagon,then continued. Norman was not necessarily the most brilliant man I have met in my lifetime, but he was unquestionably the most brilliant inventor I have ever known, a man not only of magnificent intellect, brilliant unorthodoxy, admirable courage, but of magical faith.
Magical?
He was a scientist with a mystic’s faith, then. Consider, he was almost unique among scientists in that he did not deny the possible existence of a law — rule, principle, natural habit — simply because he was himself unaware of its existence, for he knew that his denial for the law’s possibility would inevitably make it for him nonexistent, incapable of existence. Are you beginning to comprehend now?
Lindstrom examined my expression with apparent concern. How can I make this simple enough so you may grasp my meaning?
Maybe there isn’t any way.
Don’t say that! Let me approach this from a different quarter. In science there are many questions which are never asked because they are obviously unanswerable. Therefore, nonmystical scientists do not ask them. Norman, however, often asked these questions to which there are not and cannot be any sensible answers.
Hold it —
And sometimes, answered them. Do you understand?
No.
I feared as much. I will try one more time. The virtue of Norman Amber was his realization that a thing is impossible because we believe it to be impossible. So long as this remains our belief, the thing is indeed impossible. Even if our belief changes, the thing may remain impossible. But it is only through this reversal of belief that the impossible thing may become possible. And perhaps, in a larger sense, that is the real Amber Effect.
Suits me,I said.
An expression best characterized as bleakovercame his features. He frowned, concentrating, then his face smoothed and he brightened considerably.
I have it. I need not further attempt to explain anything to you. Instead of trying to tell you, I will show you.
That might help. I guess. Show me what?
The Amber Effect.
Swell,I said. So what is it?
Slowly Gunnar Lindstrom smiled. Slowly but widely, joyously — perhaps fiendishly. He just kept on smiling, almost athletically; and, even then, I had a hunch I would remember that smile for a long time.
This Amber Effect,I said soothingly. What the hell is it?
Still smiling, he replied, You will see. . . .
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GUNNAR left me alone in his office for fifteen or twenty minutes, mysteriously avoiding any comment about where he was going or what he intended doing when he got to wherever it was.
At least, it struck me as pretty mysterious, particularly when he came back in through the door washinghis hands, rubbing them together and smirking.
If you’re trying to act like a mad scientist, Gunnar,I said, that’s an extremely convincing performance.
Come,he said. Come along.
Where? And, listen, if you say
To the central laboratory. We were there yesterday, Shell.
I stood up.
He was already going out the door, gazing — and very peculiarly did this strike me — at a large round watch in his hand.
The big room? With all the junk in it?
Yes, the large central room. We have some new — junk in it.Smile, smile, smile. Maybe he really had gone a bit off the deep end, right here before my eyes.
He was moving along the corridor at a brisk pace. I caught up with him as he glanced again at the watch. It was a stopwatch, I noted. Tick-tick-tick, long needlelike hand sweeping past the seconds.
When does the bomb go off?I asked him, only half serious.
I realize I have placed severe restrictions upon you, Shell,he said, apropos of absolutely nothing germane to what was now happening, it seemed to me. And I realize this places you in a difficult position. However, I have endeavored to make you understand why this is necessary, at least until there is immense improvement in my situation. I hope — in fact, I expect — that you will be the agency to bring about that immense improvement.
We reached the intersecting corridor, turned right, simply scooting along. The double doors of the central lab were ahead of us, about fifty feet away. I believe you possess a certain blundering determination, a kind of savage intensity of purpose, that might —
Will you quit it? If you’re going to start that blundering-thundering stuff again —
— solve for me this horrible problem that I have long felt was well-nigh insoluble. I have hope — hope! — at last. I simply never assumed my succor might come from an individual so obviously enslaved by animal appetites, a man of such fearsome mien and lumpy muscularity.
Gunnar —
Who else, however, who else but such a one could extricate me from the predicament in which I find myself, a predicament fashioned by criminals and hoodlums? Yes, I have hope — and, Shell, if you do succeed in delivering me from this predicament, I intend to pay you one hundred thousand dollars.
You’ve got a big mouth, you know. Maybe your brains are full of, ah, uh, brains. . . . I don’t think I he
ard that last bit.
It is not
What the hell are you doing?
He had stopped in the corridor, a few yards from the entrance to the lab, and was placing his stopwatch on the floor, near one wall.
He straightened up — not replying — and walked to the double doors, placed one hand on a knob. I followed him there, gnashing my teeth slightly, and he said, smiling, needless to say, Will you retrieve my watch, and bring it into the laboratory, Shell?
You just put the dumb thing there. Have you really gone off the deep —
Perhaps I am testing you, Shell, testing your reflexes —
Wouldn’t it be easier to pound my knee with a little rubber banger?
— or, more importantly, your conduct under peculiar stress, under conditions totally foreign to anything in your previous experience. After all, a hundred thousand dollars is —
A hundred thousand dollars, yeah.
The watch, please?
Sure. I’ll go get it for a thousand bucks.
But I stomped back up the hallway.
By the time I picked up the stopwatch and turned, Gunnar had opened the doors, stepped past them, and closed them behind him. Probably locked me out, I thought. And plans to accuse me of stealing his watch. It surprised me a little when the door opened easily.
I stepped into the big room, recognizing several items of equipment I’d seen yesterday, including the spiraling pattern of big glass tubes filled with pretty colors. But I didn’t see Lindstrom anywhere. Didn’t see anybody.
I took three or four steps into the room, glancing around, and heard Gunnar calling from my left, Over here, Shell.
There he was, about ten feet away, stepping toward me. And smiling, smiling. I’d like for you to pretend we have just met, Shell,he said. Never mind why, just yet. Please do as I say, all right?He continued to walk toward me, raising his right arm, hand extended.
His voice sounded a bit odd, perhaps because of the acoustics in the high-ceilinged room. Or maybe it was just illusion, the effect a ventriloquist gets with his dummy. I didn’t like that thought, when it was increasingly apparent that Lindstrom was pulling some kind of strings here, and maybe my leg.
But, what the hell, I thought. What can I lose? Which, when you think about it, was not a wholly rational attitude.
I stepped toward him, sticking my right arm out, and feeling a little bit silly. The stopwatch, I noticed, was still in my right hand, so I transferred it to my left and said, Well, I got your dumb watch. Didn’t explode, as I expected it to. So you owe me a G.I put on a false smile, and said with totally unconvincing exuberance, Well, how do you do, Mr. Lindstrom? I’ve heard a lot about —
And right then I almost had a heart attack.
I mean it. My ticker is probably strong enough and healthy enough to pump ten invalids out of hospital beds, but for an eternity — a two- or three-second eternity — I thought it might not only stop, but split.
Because as Gunnar and I met, I slowed, then came to a stop and grabbed his hand and nothing was there — nothing was there — and he kept walking slowly, smiling, walking straight at me and on through me.
And then I was falling.
Nothing pushed me or pulled me, there was no blast of air or pulse of light or shock of electricity — plenty of shock, though. It was much like stumbling in the dark on the last step at the bottom of the stairs when you were sure there was one step more; or, more accurately, like reaching with your foot for the top step that isn’t there.
I was reaching for his hand, and my hand went right through it, and then I saw with perfect clarity his solid and substantial body moving closer to me, and while my hand clutched and squeezed tight in an involuntary convulsion of muscles, I was automatically trying to draw away, avoid the gentle but unanticipated collision, and as he walked through me — the stupid goddamned Cheshire cat smile six inches from my face — I was twisting, off balance, and falling.
And, I’ll admit it, gripped with a cold quick kind of terror. Real terror, not for long, for a shrieking second or maybe only half that, but real while it lasted, and terror while it lasted. It was the terror of sudden disorientation, of the false become real, of the fearful unknown that kids imagine under tight-clutched covers in the dark, a flickering jagged glimpse of that tiny part of death people wonder about when depressed, or bone-weary and worn, or mad.
But then I hit the concrete floor and got a little mad myself, a different kind of mad.My left knee cracked against the concrete and the impact sent a stab of pain up my thigh, and then my elbow was pushing against the cement and I had myself sort of half balanced — or half-assed balanced, because I was still wobbling and my butt was thrust up into the air contributing to what had to be a supremely ridiculous posture, and I shoved with my left arm and elbow, starting to roll over, and at the same moment I did not fail to yell, You sonofabitch!
Then my butt hit the cement, I got my feet under me, and bounced up. I don’t know how the hell you did that,I roared, but it’s ten to one I’m going to knock your block — I paused, right arm raised, fist clenched. Even money? No . . .
I wasn’t the least bit panicky now — that uncharacteristic trifle of petrified gooeyness couldn’t have lasted more than half a second anyhow, maybe only a quarter — but I was sure as hell confused.
Gunnar — or he — it — whatever the dumb thing was that had just plowed through me real as the Rock of Gibraltar but silent and soft as a sigh — still walked ahead, receding from me, the helter-skelter mass of gray-streaked brown hair moving slightly in . . . it had to be . . . in the thin movement of air against it.
I squatted, turned all the way around quickly, flicking my eyes at and behind equipment, up, down. Nothing. I slapped my hand across my chest to grab my Colt Special, grabbed air, scratched my armpit instead, straightened up.
Gunnar — it — walked on to the wall. And disappeared.
I said aloud, You’re all under arrest. Now hear this: This place is surrounded. By a lot of other places. Everything you may say will be taken down and used against you. If I can find you.And other nonsense.
During which chatter I looked around, found a wavy but straight-enough rod of steel with a sharp point at one end; also another unidentifiable hunk of metal shaped approximately like a ten-pound sap and capable of being similarly employed.
Thus armed to the thumbs with a weapon in each hand I turned around, to see Gunnar Lindstrom stepping from behind a wooden platform, or large box, appearing distressed.
At least he — or that which several of my senses told me I was observing — was not smiling.
He said, I must apologize, I do apologize, Shell.
You stay the hell away from me,I yelled. Then, Stamp your foot,I said.
What?
I didn’t say anything.
Then he nodded slightly, stamped his foot on the cement — it made a nice smack — and clapped his hands a few times.
Splendid,he said. In fact, all of your reactions have been excellent, even those not closely reasoned —
That’s quite a bunch —
— and it was clever to make me stamp my corporeal foot, so you would know I am real.
I don’t care if you pull off your sergeant leg, I’m still not sure. So I believe I shall run this wiggly steel rod through you. If there is copious bleeding, I will have a clue —
Shell, I am sorry, I have apologized.He was giving me a very dubious look. My error arose from the fact that I had not before this moment observed anyone else’s reaction to what I must admit is a . . . profoundly moving experience.
It sure moved me. Well . . .I dropped my wiggly bar and overweight sap. Walked close to Gunnar. Lifted a hand. Poked him with it in the gut.
Oopf,he said.
Sorry,I said, pok
ing him again.
Oopf.
That’s reassuring, Gunnar,I told him. It’s really you, huh? How the hell did you do that? What did you do?
You have just witnessed,he said, or experienced, one small demonstration, one tiny demonstration, of the Amber Effect.
Fifteen minutes later we were still in the big central room. Gunnar had run his film— for that, in the final analysis, was all he’d really done before — twice more, and each time I was nearly as impressed and flabbergasted by the effect as when it had literally bowled me over.
Well,I said to him, I told you about those aquarium fishes, but this is a stupendously long way from a solid-looking Corydoras paleatus.
What is a solidellking Corydoras paleatus?
Some scientist you are. It’s a catfish. That’s the Latin, of course,I added a bit smugly.
Ah, you are familiar with Latin?
Sí. At least, I speak a little of it. Cómo está? Gunnar, I have now seen that mind-blowing demonstration three times, and have twice watched you perform the hey-presto, but I still haven’t the foggiest idea what happened.
He smiled. Look at me closely, Shell. What you see is not really me in the strictest sense —
Let’s not get off into Magicland again —
Wait, please. When we become visually aware of any material object, it is because light is being reflected from the object, bouncing from millions, billions of areas, points, let us say, and then entering the pupils — lenses — of our two eyes. A myriad of varied vibrations of light impinge upon the eyes, that light energy is transformed into chemical-electrical impulses which travel along nerve pathways to a pair of visual cortex centers in the back of the brain, and it is the effect of that vibration upon those brain cells that results in the binocular three-dimensional picture, or the condition we call
The Amber Effect (The Shell Scott Mysteries) Page 13
