by Simon Hawke
She wished she was not alone, that Delaney was with her or Steiger: There were too many people to keep track of and she had no idea what was happening. She was exhausted from the long run. She unbuttoned her dress and loosened her corset, cursing the ridiculous garment, wishing there was time to take it off entirely. Breathing hard from her very long run, her feet hurting from the high-button shoes, she quickly closed the distance between her and the shadowers, using the fog for concealment.
Who was the man everyone was following? Could he possibly be unaware that he was being followed by so many people and was it possible that they were all unaware of each other? In the thick London fog, it was more than possible. But the same fog that offered such good concealment also made it difficult to keep everyone in sight. Andre slipped around the corner of a building, into a narrow alleyway, and fell sprawling as her foot struck something soft and large.
She quickly got up to see what she had tripped over. It was the man in the brown tweed coat, lying face down on the cobblestones, his forehead bleeding. He wasalive. but unconscious. Andre quickly searched his pockets and came up with a badge. The man was a policeman, an inspector from Scotland Yard. He had been knocked out by someone. By the Chinese man'? Andre quickly looked around, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the fog-enshrouded streets. She had long since lost her hat, now she grabbed her dress and ripped it up the side, so she could have greater freedom of movement. She squinted hard, trying to penetrate the mist. She
could see nothing.
Standing motionless, she strained to hear the sound of footsteps. In the distance, she heard the clatter of horses' hooves upon the cobblestone. Closer, she heard a baby cry; a man and woman's voices raised at one another in the dark; a chorus of far-off, drunken singing . .
And then another sound, close, too close, right behind her—
Linda Craven knew she was being followed. She tried not to show it as she walked down the street, waiting for an opportunity to lose the policeman. He wasn't very good. She had spotted him within two blocks of leaving Scotland Yard. It made sense that Grayson would have had her followed. He hadn't believed her for a second. But unlike some of the men under his command, such as the one now tailing her, Grayson was very good indeed. He had put it all together very neatly, only he had no idea what it meant. When he realized she wasn't going to tell him anything, he had put a tail on her, obviously hoping that she would lead him to Steiger and the others. Well, thought Linda, he was in for a major disappointment.
She had to lose this cop and do it quickly, so she could get back to Steiger and the others and let them know what happened. She was sick over the death of Dick Larson. It had been entirely her fault. He had argued that it was too dangerous to go back to the suite at the Metropole, but she had insisted, shaming him into going along with her, and now he was dead. And Scott Neilson was probably dead, too. Larson had been right. She had allowed personal feelings to get in the way of duty. to get the better of her professional instincts, and it had cost Larson his life. "Professional instincts." she thought ruefully. What a joke. She wasn't a professional at all. She had no business being on this mission, which had turned into a complete disaster, a large part of which was her responsibility. She had cried back in Grayson's office and it hadn't been entirely an act. It was all falling apart and she felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.
At least there was one thing she could do right. She could lose the policeman Grayson had set upon her trail and get back to the command post, face Colonel Steiger and tell him what had happened. Own up to her responsibility. At least they got one of them. Perhaps it wasn't much, but it was something. If only the cost hadn't been so high.
She headed towards Charing Cross, at the junction of the Strand, Whitehall and Cockspur Street. It was the place where proclamations were once read, criminals were once pilloried in stocks and executions had been carried out. Now, in the late nineteenth century, it was one of the busiest intersections in London. A large cross
stood atop an ornate pedestal with eight statues of Queen Eleanor of Castile, wife to
Edward I, who had ordered the first crosses erected there in her memory at the close of the Thirteenth century. Linda quickened her pace, heading towards the Charing Cross Hotel.
She went into the hotel lobby, then quickly mingled with a group of people coming out, using their bodies to shield her from the policeman who was pursuing her. He ran into the hotel just as she was coining out. They passed within several feet of one another and he never saw her. Quickly, she hailed a hansom and jumped inside, directing the driver to take her to Mornington Place, near Regent's Park.
Having shaken the policeman, she leaned hack against the cushion of the scat and shut her eyes, feeling miserable. Her first assignment in Minus Time and she had made a complete mess of it. She had allowed Moreau to escape with Wells; she had been the only one of the entire team who had a shot at Drakov and she had flubbed it and now she had caused Dick Larson's death. She would not be surprised if she was court-martialed, assuming they ever made it back to their own time. It was a nightmare. Scott had told her about the pressure, about how he did not believe that anyone ever really learned to handle it, but she didn't see anyone collapsing under the weight of it, either, as she felt herself about to do. She simply didn't have anything left. She wondered whatever made her think she had what it took to be a temporal agent in the first place. She looked down at her hands and saw they were shaking.
She tortured herself with self-recriminations all the way to Regent's Park. She felt numb by the time the hansom reined up in front of H. G. Wells' house. She paid the driver and started towards the house, then saw the shattered window and the front door standing ajar.
"Oh, God," she whispered, "no. please . . ."
Without thinking of the danger, she ran straight up to the entrance and inside the house, where she was confronted by two uniformed policemen standing in the living room, talking to Amy Robbins and H. G. Wells.
"Wells!" she said, astonished.
"And who might you be, miss?" said one of the policemen.
"Linda!" Neilson said, coining in from the next room with Delaney, whose hand was bandaged.
"Do you know this young lady, sir?" said the policeman.
"Of course," said Neilson quickly. "She's my sister. It's all right, Linda. No need to be alarmed. We've just had a minor accident."
"It is all entirely my fault," said Wells. He turned to the policemen once again. "I can see that I have only managed to upset everyone, including my poor neighbors. I shall have a devil of a time explaining it to them. I must ask you to forgive me, Linda." he continued, looking at her apologetically. "I invite you all for dinner and instead, it turns into a veritable disaster."
"Now let me see if I have it all correctly, Mr. Wells." one of the policemen said. "You were showing this Colt pistol to Mr. Neilson here, believing that the weapon was unloaded; Mr. Neilson cocked the hammer, squeezed the trigger— thinking the revolver was empty—and it went off, startling you and causing you to knock into that lamp there, which fell and broke the window, is that correct? And Mr. Delaney cut his hand upon a piece of glass, is that it?"
"That is correct, Constable," said Wells.
"Well, if you ask me, it's very fortunate indeed that no one was seriously injured," the policeman said. "You should always examine a firearm first to ensure that it's unloaded, Mr. Wells. It might stand you in good stead to remember an old adage, 'there is no such thing as an unloaded gun.' One can never be too careful."
"Yes, I have certainly learned my lesson," Wells said, sounding sincerely contrite.
"Well, at least no one was injured. Things could have turned out much worse. From now on, Mr. Wells, you will be careful around firearms, I trust?"
"To be sure," said Wells. "This entire unfortunate episode has given me a frightful turn."
No sooner had they gone than Delaney had unwrapped his hand and the ghostly figures of three men appeared out of thin air. Linda w
as astonished to see that one of them was General Forrester. Another was Colonel Steiger and the third, she realized, could only be the mysterious Dr. Darkness, the man who was faster than light. Darkness had an arm around each man's shoulder and as he released them, Steiger and Forrester stepped away from him and became substantial.
Darkness remained standing where he was, unable to move from the spot on which he had materialized, trapped by the immutable laws of the universe which his altered atomic structure violated. The only way Darkness could move from one spot to another was by translating into tachyons. He was incapable of taking even a single step.
"I hate it when you do that." Steiger said, rubbing himself as if to make certain he was solid once again.
"General Forrester!" said Linda. "What . . . what are you doing here? I don't understand, what's happened?"
"We were hit," said Steiger. He quickly told her what had happened. "The neighbors summoned the police when they heard all the commotion."
"I am still amazed that they believed us." Wells said.
"Police are inherently suspicious," Steiger said. "You tell them something that sounds reasonable and they're liable to think you're lying. On the other hand, you tell them an outrageous lie that makes you out to be a fool at the same time and they'll figure you've got to be telling them the truth, because no one would make up something like that."
"You have a fascinatingly devious mind. Colonel," Wells said.
"It comes of being a paranoid," said Darkness wryly.
And you. sir!" Wells said. "Just when i believed that I could not be astonished any further. you come along, a man who can become invisible! How is it possible?"
"I am afraid the explanation would be beyond you, Mr. Wells." said
Darkness. "Besides, you know too much already."
"We can worry about that later." Steiger said. "Right now, we've got a much bigger problem on our hands. Drakov was able to snatch Ransome and Rizzo,
transform them into hominoids, then turn them against us. Andre is still out there somewhere, all alone." He turned and stared pointedly at Linda. "And you've been unaccounted for several hours. Where were you? And where's Larson?"
"Larson's dead." she said flatly.
"How? What the hell happened?"
"We went back to the Metropole, looking for Scott. Scott didn't know that we had left the Metropole and I was afraid he might walk into a trap. So instead of Scott, we walked right into it. One of Drakov's creatures killed him. It was all my fault."
"I'm not interested in whose fault it was," Steiger said sharply. "I want to know what happened."
"I was hit with a stun dart. I didn't see what happened after that, but Dick must
have shot him, only he survived long enough to throw Dick through the window
before he collapsed trying to get to me. When I came to, the police were there. Inspector Grayson had me taken down to the Yard. The police took charge of the bodies. I guess they must have taken them to the crime lab, because while Grayson was questioning me, Dr. Holcombe came in. He told him the hair samples Conan Doyle took from one of the werewolf's victims matched the man who had attacked us."
"What did you tell Grayson'!"
"I stuck to my cover story," she said. "I kept insisting I was a member of an academic research group from America, but he didn't buy any of it. He's thorough. He had checked everything out. He wired Boston and found out the foundation doesn't exist. He also checked with the American embassy and found out they didn't know anything about us, either. He established that our passports were forged or at least that mine was and he made the connection between our British cover identities and our American ones."
"What tipped him off?"
"He questioned the hotel staff and they identified Dick as one of the researchers, but he already knew him as a reporter. He followed it up and established that Tom and Scott were with the research group, as well, so now he knows the whole setup was a fake. He put me through a pretty good grilling, but I said I didn't know anything about it. I said I'd been hired through the mail and if my passport was a fake, I had nothing to do with it, because you had gotten it for me. He was already convinced the research group was a front for something, so I tried to convince him I was just part of that front, a victim who'd been conned."
"Did he buy it'?"
She shook her head. "He let me go. but he had me followed. I ditched the tail and reported in. I'm sorry, sir, I—"
"Never mind that," Steiger said. "You're certain you weren't followed?"
"Yes, sir. I made sure."
“'There's a chance Grayson might find out about what happened from those two policemen who were here and make the connection," said Forrester.
"I don't think that's likely," said Steiger. "It's a real long shot. –
"I agree." Delaney said. "He'd have no reason to see their report and they'd
have no reason to attach any significance to it."
"Neilson, how about the crime lab at Scotland Yard?" said Steiger. "It's closed now and there won't be anyone around, right?"
"I can give you the transition coordinates," said Neilson. "I computed them just in case . . .”
"Well done,” said Steiger. "All right, Neilson and Craven, you come with me. The rest of you stay here and touch base with Andre when she reports back in."
They quickly programmed the transition coordinates for the crime lab into their warp discs. Steiger gave Linda one of the two discs he had taken off Ransome and Rizzo, to replace the one Grayson had taken from her. Moments later, they were standing in the darkened laboratory at Scotland Yard.
"You're certain no one comes in here at night?" said Steiger.
"Yes, sir," said Neilson, speaking softly. "Dr. Holcombe always locks up when he leaves. He had me do all the cleaning up before we shut down for the night. He doesn't like to have people poking around his equipment when he's not here."
"Where would the bodies be kept if they were brought here?" said Steiger.
"They'd be stored in the next room, right through that door there," Neilson said.
Steiger handed him a disruptor pistol. "Go find them and get rid of them, right now."
"Yes, sir."
Steiger turned back to Linda. "Grayson has both warp discs, yours and Larson's?"
"Yes, but he tripped the failsafes and fused them." she said. "He also has the dart gun that was used on me."
"Where did you see them?"
"In his office, where he questioned me."
Neilson returned. "I found them." he said. "I destroyed both bodies."
"Good '• said Steiger. "Now—shhh!"
Nobody spoke or moved as someone walked past the lab in the corridor outside. They waited until the footsteps faded away.
"All right," said Steiger. "Neilson. I don't suppose you happened to compute the transition coordinates of Grayson's office when you went through his files before?"
"Yes, sir, I did," said Neilson. "I thought you might want me to break in there again, so I figured it would be a whole lot easier if I could just clock in there."
Steiger grinned. "I'm putting you in for a promotion," he said. "Let's hope Grayson's not burning the midnight oil in his office. See if you can find those two warp discs and the dart gun Drakov's creature used. Destroy them and get right back here."
"Yes, sir." He clocked out.
They waited tensely until Neilson returned.
"I took care of it," he said.
Steiger took a deep breath. "Okay, that leaves us with the question of what to do for our next move. Andre's still out there, tailing Conan Doyle. He may still be with Stoker, in which case she's got them both covered. I want to get back and see if she's touched base. If not. Darkness can home in on her symbiotracer and we can give her some back-up. Assuming her tracer's not gone out like mine has."
He sighed and shook his head. "Damn it! We still have no leads on Hesketh and we have no idea how many other people Drakov's creatures may have infected. Judging by
what he did to Ransome and Rizzo, we can assume he's not only able to create more of them, but to control them, as well, undoubtedly through implant programming. We're down on manpower and we still have no idea where Drakov's new base is in this time period. And there's still Moreau."
"Moreau may be our best chance," said Neilson. "If what Wells told me is true, Moreau can provide us with additional manpower through Lin Tao."
