by Jack Gerson
On the card was some kind of official stamp and below the stamp the words 'Department Seven'. In smaller letters were the words 'Ministry of Defence'.
'Experimental Unit,' Scott-Erskine continued, adding by way of explanation, 'Government euphemism. As a matter of fact some years ago I was asked to create Department Seven.'
His eyes wandered around the room, taking everything in. 'So you see, its very purpose and fabric, shall we say, is my own creation.'
The wandering eyes stopped abruptly, focused on the table holding bottles of liquor. Scott-Erskine rose and walking over, picked up one of the bottles.
'McCallum Glenlivet! My favourite malt. And quite difficult to obtain.' He looked over, with a slightly embarrassed air, at Crane. 'May I?'
'Help yourself.'
'Thank you,' he acknowledged the invitation and poured a liberal measure into a tumbler. 'You know, we found your articles on the occult most entertaining. Not completely accurate but most entertaining.'
Crane acknowledged the compliment with a nod. Scott-Erskine returned to his seat, nursing the tumbler of whisky.
'But of course your next series of articles should prove of far greater interest and import,' he beamed benevolently.
'How do you know? For that matter there may not now be another series.'
'Of course there will be another series.' Again a gesture with the hand. 'You must follow up the work the Russians and Americans are doing in their investigation of the paranormal. You've hardly touched the surface. ESP, psychokinesis, clairvoyancy and so on...'
He paused to sip his whisky. Crane waited, interested in spite of himself. His impatience with the incomer was rapidly dissolving.
'Actually we were first in the field,' Scott-Erskine went on. 'Some years ago, I was called from Oxford and asked to form Department Seven. You see, that is what Department Seven is. We experiment and investigate manifestations of such phenomena.'
Again he paused and looked evenly at Crane.
'We call it the study of the Omega factor. Omega, the last letter of the Greek alphabet. Omega is as far as we can go. Though of course we try to go further.'
Crane stared at him. 'Go on,' he said.
'We bring every known scientific method to bear. We want to try and understand, explain, perhaps even control phenomena.'
'And now you want to involve me because I've been writing about it?'
Scott-Erskine leant forward, his expression becoming almost avuncular. 'You should be involved because you also possess certain abilities. You're a rare creature, Mr Crane. A genuine natural psychic. A good "sensitive".'
Crane shifted awkwardly. He wasn't sure now if he wanted the visitor to go on.
'If I am,' Crane heard himself say, 'it's something I've developed only recently. And anyway how do you know about it?'
Scott-Erskine ignored the question. 'I don't think you've simply developed it recently. I think it has been with you a long time. Of course Dr Martindale told me you seemed to resist any suggestion of such ability. Oh, yes, Dr Martindale works for the Department also. In fact he heads our team in Edinburgh, of which Dr Anne Reynolds is a member.'
'Anne?'
'Biophysicists are invaluable in our work. But as I said we have known of your abilities for some time, Mr Crane. Even though they were latent for years.'
Anger rose within Crane. As if there had been an intrusion into some very personal aspect of his life.
'How the hell could you know?'
Scott-Erskine waited a few seconds before replying. He seemed to be sizing up Crane.
'There is a part of your childhood which your memory persistently rejects, is that not so?'
'How... how could you know about..?' The uncertainty again, seeping into him.
'Julia knew. Your family remembered all too well.
Although your parents died before you met your late wife
you had an aunt who told Julia all about it.'
Crane shook his head in denial. 'It's nonsense...'
"You still reject the small boy who caused objects to move without touching them; who caused a ceiling to crack; who even foretold the death of a psychiatrist brought in to help?'
'Julia told you..?'
Scott-Erskine smiled a smile of the utmost benevolence. 'She confided in Anne not long after you were married. You must understand we are always on the look-out for... talent of that nature. We waited, studying your life history. And as we needed at the time a computer expert... we use computers both for storing data and analysis... your wife carried out some work for us. She became interested enough to join us.'
Crane suddenly felt a sadness. He had always thought that between Julia and himself there were no secrets.
Scott-Erskine seemed to read his mind. 'Oh, Julia wanted to tell you but we advised against it. We needed time to study you, find out if the talent, the gift was still with you. Psychokinetic ability at the age of eleven, combined with predictions of events which subsequently occur; all this can vanish completely. Or simply remain dormant.'
'I don't believe any of this!' Crane burst out vehemently.
'It was natural, as you grew up, that you would reject such memories. They were, to a child, frightening,' Scott-Erskine continued, ignoring his outburst. 'Then you chose to write your series of articles. That was in itself of some possible significance. We considered you might, subconsciously, be trying to explore the cause of your childhood abilities.'
'No! No, it wasn't like that!'
'I did say subconsciously. We felt we had to see if your talent could be revived. Oh, Julia was very concerned but we convinced her it was for your own good. A true awareness of such ability is healthier than a suppressed fear. No man is whole until he understands himself.'
Crane wearily ran his hand across his brow. He felt he was trying to resist everything that was being put to him and the effort was exhausting. Scott-Erskine became at once aware of his weariness.
'May I pour you a drink, my dear fellow? It will do you good.'
Crane nodded assent and leant back against the chair. The cool leather against his hand felt soothing. The older man poured a liberal tumbler of whisky and handed it to him.
'To proceed; it was at this time that we decided to test you. The dreams you were having, if you remember...'
'Julia told you about the dreams?'
'You see, it was our test operation. Julia wasn't happy about it either but we were, I'm afraid, rather insistent. Your brother in Edinburgh... oh, Michael knew very little... but he agreed to some experiments in isolation techniques. Quite voluntarily. The white room, everything white. Alpha wave pulses monitored, varied and controlled by us. We knew you were close to Michael and we felt you would be receptive. Michael was able to communicate all that was happening to him to you asleep in London. Apart from the room there was one specific target image...'
'A castle with battlements? Distorted perspectives?' Crane muttered questioningly.
'A painting. One variation introduced,' Scott-Erskine explained. 'You see, all of it was a confirmation to us of how receptive you were.'
'You've really been playing games, haven't you?' Anger was again rising within Crane. 'What right have you..?'
Scott-Erskine cut in, and suddenly his voice was cold and steely. 'The right of government to utilise every asset it has for the protection of the nation!'
He paused, staring directly at Crane. You've become a national asset, Mr Crane.'
Crane could hardly control the scorn in his voice. 'And I always thought I was a free individual. You'll be giving me "Land of Hope and Glory" next!'
'Not quite,' said Scott-Erskine, a trace of a smile rippling over the cold surface of his face. 'All right, forget the patriotic rationale then. Think of the excitement of an exploration into vast unexplored territories. Think of the potential of the human mind, the mysteries of... of the undiscovered country. The Omega factor...'
'Adventure stories now?'
"Yes, damn it, adventure stories
!' Scott-Erskine could not keep the enthusiasm out of his voice. 'Oh, I had my doubts like you, years ago. And I was talked into forming the Department. But, now, we are able, in Department Seven, to provide every scientific method of exploring those territories. We are physicists, bio-physicists, chemists, psychologists, every kind of expert, every variety of technician.'
He was pacing the room now, a middle-aged man, slightly stooping, a tumbler of whisky in his hand; and the hand was trembling with the man's excitement at his own words.
'We need you in Edinburgh, Tom Crane!' he went on. 'With this ability of yours, we need you. That is why I've come here personally to persuade you to return there. This invitation is delivered most sincerely, I assure you.'
'You're offering me a job?'
'I am offering you a second job. You will of course still continue ostensibly as a journalist.'
Crane had become interested and side by side with the interest an idea was stirring in his mind.
'So the arrangement is reciprocal? Can I use the information I gather in my newspaper articles?' he asked coolly.
Scott-Erskine's right eyebrow rose. 'Subject to scrutiny,' he answered. 'Perhaps something would be permitted in general terms. But most of our work comes under the Official Secrets Act.'
Crane took a gulp of whisky. It seemed to burn his throat as he swallowed.
'So where's the advantage to me? What do you do if I tell you to go to hell?'
Scott-Erskine straightened up and the stoop disappeared. 'We could use other methods of persuasion. But I would rather appeal to your good sense and, perhaps, your curiosity. Good God, man, one of the things I'm offering you is a chance to discover yourself.'
'I may not want to discover any more of myself,' Crane insisted, but as he spoke he knew he wasn't telling the truth.
'I don't believe you, Mr Crane. Please consider. We are offering you a chance to join our unit in Edinburgh, to work with Dr Martindale and his colleagues. The work will be of enormous fascination. Events indicating unusual phenomena will be investigated...'
'Even those that have no practical value to the country?'
Scott-Erskine cleared his throat. 'Who can be sure of what will or will not be of ultimate value?'
Then the idea that had been growing in Crane's mind surfaced. 'Was Drexel one of the colleagues in Edinburgh? He certainly had ability...'
'Good Lord, no!' Scott-Erskine was genuinely surprised. 'Drexel is a kind of rogue elephant. Oh, he has talent, power, if you like, we know that. And admittedly his kind of power interests us. We know too little of it. But he is a dangerous man. Too dangerous to work with us. Self-interest is his idol. Mountainous self-interest.'
He paused, his eyes thoughtful.
'Mind you,' he went on. 'He recognised your ability before you yourself did. He saw you as a threat to himself. So... '
'So?' Crane echoed after a pause.
Scott-Erskine's eyes wandered. His brow furrowed. Then he looked back at Crane.
'He decided to remove that threat to himself.'
Crane leaned forward. 'You believe too he was responsible for my car crashing?'
Scott-Erskine nodded.
'How did he do it?' Crane's tone demanded an answer.
'That is what we want to find out too.'
'He was responsible for Julia's death?'
'We believe so. As you do. We want to find out more...'
'All I want is Drexel!' Crane said quietly.
Scott-Erskine smiled. 'So it would make sense for us to join forces?'
Crane stared at him for a long moment.
Then he stood up. Scott-Erskine held out his hand and Crane took it firmly. The man had a surprising grip for his age.
They shook hands.
Tom Crane was committed now. To what, he wasn't quite sure, apart from his determination to catch up with Drexel.
He didn't realise that from now onwards his life would change, take new paths, strange unrealised byways of existence.
Part Two
NINE
Three months.
Three long months, waking to remember Julia was dead. Waking to see the ceiling of the Edinburgh flat and wondering why he wasn't at home in London. Then remembering the London flat was shut up, ghost rooms haunted by dust sheets and sad whispers of memories of his life with Julia.
The days were filled, part of the time as before with writing, the rest at Department Seven's section of Edinburgh University. The section, consisting of laboratories, test rooms, equipment stores and offices, was, as far as the rest of the University was concerned, an experimental unit. During the first weeks Crane was put through extensive tests under the supervision of Roy Martindale.
The tests were conducted both during the day and at night. The night tests monitored Crane's brain patterns during various levels of sleep. The results, meaningless to him, recorded on rolls of graph paper, were pored over by Anne Reynolds, Martindale and others in the unit. Anne tried to explain that the graphs registering the alpha waves of the brain varied according to level of sleep and when he was dreaming the graphs showed considerable agitation.
Precognition tests with packs of cards, each card having one of five different symbols, were conducted by an earnest little man called McAndrew who talked volubly about training under Dr Rhine at Duke University in the USA. The results of these tests, McAndrew explained to Crane.
'You see, man, we're working on averages and percentages. If you get somebody who can guess a high percentage of the symbols then we're on to something interesting.'
'How did I do?'
'Nothing spectacular. A wee bit above the average most of the time.'
'So what does it mean?'
'A wee degree of perception, a touch of the precognitions, but not anything to get het up about.'
Anne came to see him one morning in the small room they had given him as an office.
'All a little baffling, eh?'
He nodded. 'Despite explanations, I really don't understand what it all means.'
'Collation of facts. All about you.'
'Should I be flattered?'
Anne smiled. 'By all means, if you feel like it.'
'I feel as if I've fallen into the hands of a pack of mad scientists,' Crane smiled back at her. 'Like some old Hollywood horror movie. Not that you look like George Zucco or Lionel Atwell. I can't say the same about Martindale.'
'Poor Roy,' she laughed. 'I always thought of him as a thinner version of Paul Heinried.'
It was the beginning of the discovery of a common interest in the cinema and particularly the Hollywood cinema of the thirties and forties. They reminisced for some time about films and then Anne remembered why she had originally come in to his office.
'During sleep, when you are dreaming, but fairly deeply, we find an increase of adrenaline in the blood stream.'
'So what does it mean?'
'Fear or terror can induce this. But you're not apparently having a nightmare. Otherwise we'd find other indications.'
Crane shrugged. 'I still ask what it means.'
'To be honest we don't know. Not what it means psychologically anyway. But it may be when you are actually receiving... when your perceptive abilities are functioning. It's only a guess though.'
'An awful lot of this is only guesswork, so it seems,' Crane said.
It was true, Martindale later admitted. In the early stages of the work, guesswork based on minute clues led them into cul-de-sacs and dead ends more often than not. But occasionally they produced results which seemed to take the particular investigation a step further.
'Into the unknown, usually,' Martindale admitted one afternoon over coffee in his office. 'The problem with, as Professor Scott-Erskine would put it, the Omega factor, the ultimate of the unknown, is that we are still a great distance from reaching it.'
'Is there an end? An Omega factor?' Crane asked.
'Of course we don't even know that,' Martindale admitted with an urbane smile.
A
number of sessions with Martindale followed. Crane realised he was undergoing a basic form of psychoanalysis. He wasn't happy about this but Martindale smoothly explained it was necessary. Even psychoanalysts were psychoanalysed. At the end of the final session he questioned Martindale about the results.
'How can I describe you to yourself, old man?' Martindale replied to his query. 'You are a fairly normal human being, whatever that may mean in an area where there are no norms.'
'Nice to know I'm normal.'
'Well you are, if one believed there was such a thing. I don't. But apart from some minor phobias... a fear of whiteness being one... and the fact that you are quite highly sexed...'
'Should I be pleased?' Crane grinned but got no smile in return from Martindale. 'I suppose it is pleasant to have one's vanities confirmed officially.'
'Apart from these minor details I find you in reasonable mental health,' Martindale went on. Crane decided he didn't like Martindale, or rather he confirmed the feelings of antipathy he had already experienced at their first meeting.
Martindale continued. 'We know you have telepathic abilities. Our tests with your brother and your experiences with Drexel prove that. We also know that you cannot call on these abilities at will. If you could do so, you would be a very exceptional human being. But you can't. When and how these abilities come to you we don't know. We suspect they appear during periods when you are under stress.'
'I'll remember to keep calm.'
'During our activities here and on outside investigations it may be that they will surface again. Should they do so we want you to note and remember everything that happens.'
It was the end of the interview and indeed the end of the psychoanalytical sessions.
At the door, Martindale said, 'You've heard from Michael.'
Crane nodded. Michael had written, a few days after Julia's death, a long letter full of sadness. He had learnt only the day after the funeral of the accident and had written at once. If Tom wanted him, he would of course come to London at once. But he was not in the best of health and a chance had arisen to go to Heidelberg to do some advanced research for his thesis. He would have to go for six months and of course if Torn did not want him to do so, he would cancel the whole trip.
