by A. D. Winch
The door closed quietly behind him, and Ursula took her pyjamas from the bag. She lay down on the bed and sank into the deep mattress. It was warm under the thick duvet, and she felt safe here. It wasn’t long before she had fallen asleep. Her grandparents dominated her thoughts.
The Benjamins were sat in the lilac room that they now regarded as theirs. They had been here so often that they had stopped noticing the large paintings of desert scenes that covered the walls. If they had been more observant, they would have noticed that one had moved slightly and was no longer hanging straight. Behind it was a camera and overnight its battery had been replaced again.
The large sofa they were sat on had become like a second home. It had even started to mould itself to the shape of their behinds. As usual there were biscuits, tea and coffee on the table and Mémé poured them a drink each while they waited for Florence and Olivier.
Unbeknown to the Benjamins, First Lieutenants Florence Caron and Olivier Martel were outside the soundproof door, deep in discussion.
“We’re getting nowhere,” said Olivier angrily. “Day fifty-three and we have absolutely nothing!”
“That’s not true,” defended Florence. “We have Black Queen’s entire history recorded on disc. Over three hundred hours.”
“And have we found anything of interest? No. Nothing extraordinary at all!” he waved his hands in the air exasperated.
“I disagree. Remember we are trying to build an accurate profile and map milestones in her development against the achievements of a human child. We have found out that Black Queen is more advanced than a human child. Crawling, walking, talking, fine motor skills, writing, mathematic skills, strength are all far in advance.”
“But there is nothing extraordinary. No big ability that just jumps out at you and makes you think ‘Wow! That’s amazing!’”
“Maybe there isn’t one big thing. Maybe it’s these little elements that when brought altogether are extraordinary.”
“I don’t think they are telling us everything.”
Florence shook her head.
“These are two old people who think that they are the grandparents of a being that is not fully human. They adore it and love talking about it. As I have already said, we have over three hundred hours of footage, and they are remarkably candid. What do you think they are not telling us? They tell us everything they can remember. They answer every question, and they have not once mixed up their stories.”
Olivier rocked on his heels as he pondered Florence’s last question. After nearly a minute he replied, “I don’t know. I just don’t think they are as dumb as they seem. Come on! Let’s get this out of the way.”
He opened the door and entered with a false smile.
“Good morning,” greeted Granddad Benjamin happily.
He stood up and shook Olivier’s hand before kissing Florence on the cheek. Both Florence and Olivier were finding it increasingly difficult to look upon the Benjamins as prisoners and were starting to believe their brief that the Benjamins were just guests.
“Tea with lemon? Olivier?” asked Mémé.
“Thank you, Madame Benjamin, you’re very kind,” Olivier replied as he switched on his tablet computer.
“And fruit tea with honey for you, Florence?” Mémé asked.
“Yes, please,” Florence replied and sat down.
Mémé poured the tea and thought about what she was, and was not, going to tell them today. They had reached the part in Ursula’s story when they all had journeyed to Champex and had met Eric and Andrea for the first time.
There were many things she could tell about their holiday in Switzerland, but she had already made a mental list of events that she was not going to tell them. It included the competition around the lake, the long sleep after it, their greying hair, and the chess games they played. Most importantly of all, she was not going to tell about Eric knowing something bad had happened to his parents before the news broadcaster had announced.
Olivier Martel scrolled through his notes on the tablet.
“Now, where were we?” he began. “Oh yes, you were going to tell us about meeting Eric Meyer for the first time.”
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Chapter 16 – Passport Control
Alexander Johansen handed his fake documents to the severe-looking Russian woman at passport control. On the other side, Sasha waved at him from beside the departure gates’ sign and then returned to her mobile phone.
“Just coming, Sasha,” he shouted to her, waving his hand and smiling falsely.
The passport control officer grunted at him.
His heart was beating rapidly, but he was managing to stay calm. It had not been his idea to fly out of Moscow back to Prague, but he knew it was necessary. In order to repair Andrea, he needed to be in a place he could access both the equipment he needed and the resources. Moscow was not that place, and he was worried that he would attract unwanted attention. In Prague, he could use the Meyer Residence. He knew that he would find everything he needed in the cellar.
When he had first told Sasha that he was planning to leave Russia, she seemed hurt and genuinely upset. Her need for a sibling appeared to be even greater than his. The next time he brought it up she became moody, angry and was reluctant to help him. As a result of this, he had tried to purchase a train ticket out of Moscow and back to central Europe by himself. The staff had not been helpful, and he had failed miserably.
That evening, he had sat alone in another faceless hotel room wondering whether he was right to leave his only living family member. After much internal debate, he had decided to tell Sasha about Andrea and his reasons for leaving Russia. He didn’t want her to think he had just used her to get him to Lepley, and that he was now dumping her to go back to his ‘normal’ life.
The phone call to Sasha had been difficult. Only when he said that he wanted to share a secret with her, did she agree to see him. He hoped that this show of trust would placate her and bring her closer again.
In his hotel room, Sasha sat on the bed, staring down on Alexander as he unzipped his bag on the floor. She looked more than a little revolted while he unwrapped Andrea’s body. When he explained that she was a ‘humanoid’ and showed her the designs that he had found at Lepley, her response surprised him.
“I know about the robot,” she said matter-of-factly. “Ingrid told me about her,” she corrected herself, “about it, when she visited me. It was not a secret between us.”
Despite, repeated questioning, Sasha would not divulge any more about her knowledge of ‘the robot.’
“This is why I have to leave,” Alexander explained. “I need to repair her. In Prague, I know I can get the resources I need without difficulty.”
“I will come with you. I will help you, but you will pay for everything.”
“I would love you to come with me,” Alexander spluttered, “but what about your life here?”
“I can come back to it,” she replied decisively.
Sasha had insisted that the best way to travel to Prague would be to fly. She explained to Alexander that he would not have any trouble leaving the country if he took her with him. She assured him that her former colleagues would ensure that they had safe passage.
Alexander took some convincing. He had two major fears. The first was that he would be recognised and stopped at some point. The second was Andrea. Transporting a ‘humanoid’ body across land borders from Poland to Belarus to Russia had not been difficult, but airports had much more vigorous customs officials and x-ray machines.
It was Sasha who solved the problem. She registered Andrea as having been killed from an accidental gunshot wound to the head. Once again they used her former colleagues. Andrea’s lifeless body was placed in a coffin, and the relevant paperwork was completed by Sasha. Before they went to the airport, she had insisted they both purchase new black clothes in line with the funereal occasion. Alexander purchased a black suit from a second-hand shop. Sasha’s elegant black dress came
from a designer boutique. Alexander paid.
As Alexander smiled at the passport officer, he had to admit that Sasha’s plan had worked smoothly so far. No one had questioned the coffin and as far as Alexander knew, the casket was already on the aircraft. He just needed to get past the lady in front of him, but then he would board an aeroplane and leave the relative safety of Russia. Behind the smile, he was still worried.
The passport officer grunted at him again and said something in Russian that Alexander did not understand. She said it again but louder. He had no idea what she was saying to him.
“I don’t understand, sorry,” he said meekly.
This time the woman pointed violently at his head and spoke impatiently.
Alexander removed his black cap and stood in front of her feeling like a naughty school boy. The woman grunted again, stamped his passport and sent him away. Alexander breathed deeply and joined Sasha.
Moscow Domodedovo Airport was crowded, and they moved in silence towards the gate for Prague. Sasha was walking tall, with the confidence of someone who knew that everything was going to plan. Alexander had similar thoughts on his mind, but he was not as relaxed.
So far, it had been easy to get tickets, check-in and get through passport control but Alexander could not shift the lingering doubt that flying on a scheduled flight was a bad idea. He tried to reassure himself that he had done this on numerous other occasions, using other aliases, without any problems. However, that was before he had broken into a Polish military base. He knew that he would feel less on edge when he arrived in Prague. Once there, he knew where he was heading and would be able to vanish within a few hours of landing.
The aeroplane took off right on time. Sasha squeezed his hand and smiled.
“I told you it will be okay, brother,” she said.
Alexander could not share her optimism yet, and his shoulders were tense. Halfway through the flight, he ordered a beer and then another. After finishing the second one, he was feeling calmer but deep down he knew it was just the alcohol. He wondered if drinking booze had been a mistake. He was now less alert and knew that he should have stuck to orange juice instead.
He looked to his left at Sasha. She was sat beside him watching a Russian film on her notebook computer with headphones on. Occasionally she laughed at a joke that no one else on the plane heard or saw, but none of the other passengers cared. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and she did not notice Alexander looking at her.
It is time to chill, he thought and reclined his seat; lay back and closed his eyes. He was thankful that he had made an effort to find Sasha. Culturally, they were very different but she had been a continual help to him.
Maybe she is right, he thought to himself. Maybe this is the best way to leave Moscow. Nothing has gone wrong; everything has been smooth. It’s fine.
He lay there listening to the noise of the other passengers and the plane’s engines. Even though he was not going to sleep, he started to feel more relaxed.
“Mr. Almas,” said a stewardess.
Alexander opened his eyes instantly and looked at the pretty lady who had called his name.
“Yes,” he replied.
“I have a message for you.”
Alexander’s heart skipped a beat, and he tried to hide his feeling of alarm. His worst fears had been realised. They had found him and now he was trapped inside a metal cylinder, ten thousand metres above the ground with nowhere to escape to. He was considering what he was going to do next when the stewardess put a small piece of paper on the fold-out table.
For a short while, he just looked at the folded message before deciding he had better read it. Written upon the paper, in barely legible script, was a phone number and one word -‘Hudson.’
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***
Chapter 17 - Changing Sides
A month had passed since Professor Schwarzkopf had discovered what had happened to Ingrid. During this time, he had kept his promise to himself and had not let on to anybody what he had found out. It had not been easy. Anger welled up inside him, telling him to act. To keep this contained had required a great amount of will power but he knew that if he reacted thoughtlessly, only he would suffer. He continued to be antagonistic towards Jean Kurtz, anything different would have raised suspicions, but he was also very helpful and hard-working. This had not gone unnoticed, and the other scientists had grudgingly become more admiring of his work, even if they continued to keep their distance.
During this time, Professor Schwarzkopf had been gradually filling up a flash drive with OSS data files. Every day he saved something else that he would be able to use as ammunition against them and against Agent Angel in particular. He did it in small batches, so as not to arise any unwanted attention, and so far his strategy appeared to be successful.
When he was not working on the pod, he spent his time secretly planning an escape. If he could not get away from Roswell, he would not be able to have his revenge. He walked the base, continually mulling over different options in his head, trying to find a solution. It had taken a considerable amount of time, but he thought that he had discovered a way to get himself and Eric Meyer off the base and away from the OSS forever. The final piece of the plan came to him the day they had finished phase one of the pod research.
The team of scientists had successfully emptied one of the pods of all its internal components. Each piece had been studied in detail; photographed, catalogued and placed neatly in a grid on the floor next to the pod. Amongst the hundreds of pieces was the red cushion which moulded to its wearer.
The pod was now an empty shell but had lost none of its strength nor its shape. Most remarkable of all was that it could be opened and closed as usual without any visible machinery. Professor Schwarzkopf was still the only one able to do this, and as he gazed at the silver surface, he realised that he found his ‘power’ both eerie and compelling. When he looked at the pod and willed it to open or close, it would do so. It was no different from when he looked at his fingers and willed them to bend or straighten. The pod was joined to his mind and was, therefore, an extension of his own body. He hoped that the cushion would be too. All he needed now was the right moment to put this plan into action. It came sooner than he had imagined
The next morning, Jean Kurtz called a meeting. All the scientists sat expectantly on chairs between the pod and its contents on the floor.
“Tomorrow, we will begin the next phase and rebuild the pod,” she stated.
There was an excitement amongst the scientists; a feeling that they were about to achieve something that had never been attempted on the Earth.
“Remember that we will continue to work in smaller teams according to my rota. Make sure you log everything you do, and what needs to be done next, so each team can begin quickly where the last left off. Use the knowledge and understanding you have already gained. Any questions?”
Professor Schwarzkopf put his hand in the air, but Jean Kurtz ignored it.
“I have an observation to make,” said Professor Schwarzkopf.
“I asked for questions. We have not come to comments or observations yet in the meeting agenda,” Jean Kurtz said, irritably. “Are there any questions?”
Nobody spoke.
“Does anyone have any comments or observations?”
Professor Schwarzkopf put his hand in the air again, but she ignored him again.
“I think we have overlooked something,” Professor Schwarzkopf said anyway.
“We have done everything we need to do. There is nothing we have overlooked.”
“There is one thing we have overlooked – the pilot. What about the boy?”
“What about it?”
Professor Schwarzkopf coughed and pointed at the pod.
“You have told me that the boy came to Earth in one of these but we have not spoken to him.”
“It was a baby. The pod must have been on a pre-programmed course. What could we possibly gain by talking to it?”
“What could we lose by not talking to it?”
Jean Kurtz shrugged her shoulders.
“Scientists need to experiment. Experimenting is trying to make a discovery, test the hypothesis, or demonstrate a known fact Like you, I am doubtful that we would discover anything useful from the boy but what if we did? Surely, it is worth trying? I am happy to do it myself if no one else is interested.”
Nobody else looked interested.
“In that case, I will go now.”
Jean Kurtz waved him away, but before he had reached the changing room door she shouted, “I will ensure that Agent Angel is informed.”
“I expect no less,” Professor Schwarzkopf replied, without stopping, and walked through the doorway.
Eric was locked in his room in the infirmary. His head constantly ached; he had pain in his lower back, felt nauseous and had ringing in his ears. He only had one guard as there was no way he would be able to outrun anybody in his current condition. The doctors and surgeons had opened him up every few days to examine his insides and then sewn him back together again. Their actions would have been classified as a dissection or an autopsy if Eric had been dead.
The guard unlocked the door, and Professor Schwarzkopf entered the room. In one hand, he held a pen and in the other an A4 notepad. Eric was laying on the bed attached to drips and a heart monitor. He had just returned from the operating theatre. His eyes were closed, and he looked deathly pale. Professor Schwarzkopf feared for the boy. Once he had recovered from this last ‘dissection,’ he would be returned to the cell deep in the bowels of the base. Luckily, this suited Professor Schwarzkopf’s plan rather than hinder it.
The guard closed and locked the door. Professor Schwarzkopf looked behind him as the guard moved by the window. He was watching impassively with a hand on his hip just above his gun. He was joined by Jean Kurtz, who stood beside him with her arms crossed, and her eyes staring at Professor Schwarzkopf like a hawk. Before he turned to face Eric, he glanced at the camera above the door.
