Chapter Six: The Epicenter of the Salvation of Man

“I must

Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple

Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise,

And they expect it from me.”

-Prospero, The Tempest

            “I’m sorry for the theatrics,” said Charles as he marched them back up the passage. It didn’t occur to either of them to try to escape; the revelation of Charles’s power seemed to have temporarily sapped any will of resistance from their souls, and they proceeded quietly in front of him. “I couldn’t resist playing with you a little after you shot me. Honestly, though, we could have avoided all of this if you had just come with me in the first place.”

            They went through the winding passage and the huge, empty room in silence. It was only when they were approaching Prosser’s study again that Helen asked “What are you?”

            “Such stuff as dreams are made on,” he answered with a grin. “The dreams of every soldier and every man.” He laughed. “To put it in laymen’s terms, I can’t die. Or at least, as far as we know. My body can keep working and heal itself even in the face of catastrophic damage. This also means I can’t get sick, be poisoned, drown, or suffocate. For all intents and purposes, I’m invulnerable. But Dr. Prosser can provide a much better explanation than I…And what did you do to his study?!”

            They had just come through the mirror and Charles stared around in disbelief at the trashed office and shattered window.

            “My God! When Dr. Prosser sees this…what were you thinking?”

            Charles glared at them furiously.

            “Come on,” he growled. “We’ll deal with this later.”

            He opened the study door and they obediently followed him down the hall into the library. Dr. Prosser stood by the fire place, his hands clasped behind his back, staring meditatively at the painting over the mantle. A thin, sour-faced man was leaning against the wall, and sitting in one of the armchairs reading a book was…

            “Ralph!”

            “Oh, dear, they got you then?” he said, looking up. “I thought they might. What do you know? It turns out they were expecting you to make a run for it. Mr. Hendricks! Whatever happened to you?”

            Hendricks jerked his aching head at Charles, who said “They were a little reluctant to accept your invitation, doctor.”

            “Invitation?!” Helen exclaimed.

            “Where’s Hogan?” Hendricks demanded. “And the crew?”

            “Oh, don’t worry about them,” said Charles. “We’re keeping them quite safe.”

            Prosser looked over at them for the first time, his face quite expressionless.

            “Mr. Wainwright, please alert Dr. Kipling that we have a patient for him,” he said. The sour-faced man nodded and left.

            “Wainwright?” Hendricks asked. The name seemed oddly familiar to him.

            “Yes. A colleague of yours, I believe,” said Charles dryly.

            Before Hendricks could work out what this meant (the pain in his head and chest was making it very hard to think) he was interrupted by Prosser inviting them to sit. Helen and Hendricks glanced at each other and sat down on the couch. Ralph carefully marked his spot and put the book away while Charles walked over to Prosser and muttered something in his ear. Prosser nodded and Charles went and stood behind Helen and Hendricks.

            “The time has come,” said Prosser. “To be honest with you. First of all, I apologize for any rough handling you have experienced. Charles can get a little carried away at times.”

            Charles acknowledged this with a shrug and a nod. Prosser took a moment to collect his thoughts.

            “The story I told you, Helen, of how I came to this island, was true, as far as it went. I really was forced out of Empire State University, and I really did go to work for Centron Farms…”

            “Empire State University!” Hendricks exclaimed suddenly, which set his head throbbing violently. “That’s where I heard your name before,” he continued more softly, massaging his head. “You’re the one who blew up the observatory.”

            “That was an unavoidable accident,” Prosser said sharply. “And yes, I recognized your name, Mr. Hendricks. It was your father who forced me to resign.”

            “Because you blew up the observatory,” Hendricks pointed out.

            Prosser glared at him.

            “As I say, it was an unfortunate and unavoidable accident,” he said. “And the damages were comparatively slight.”

            “But what were you doing in the observatory if you’re a doctor?” Helen asked.

            “Because I am not a medical doctor,” he said. “Despite what you’ve been led to believe. I am a physicist by training. That lie was necessary to bring you to this island.”

            Helen looked angrily at Prosser.     

            “And what did you want with me?” she asked.    

            “That will become clear shortly,” he replied. “Ah, here is Dr. Kipling.”

            Wainwright had just appeared in the doorway, followed by a small, dumpy man with a vacant expression. He was balding, unshaven, and muttering non-stop under his breath.

            “Doctor, your patient,” said Prosser, gesturing at Hendricks.

            Kipling stared at Prosser for a few seconds, as though shocked to find that he was in the room. He then waddled over to Hendricks, who felt faintly terrified to have this man as his doctor.

            “Er, is he the only doctor on the island?” Hendricks asked.

            Kipling stared at him with a hurt expression.

            “I…I am a good d-doctor,” he muttered. “A v-very good doctor…I am-am very good…”

            Still muttering about how good a doctor he was, Kipling opened his bag and pulled on a set of rubber gloves. They weren’t medical gloves; they were the kind that you might see being used to handle highly toxic material.

            “S-shirt,” Kipling muttered, gesturing vaguely at Hendricks. “Shirt up. Up shirt. Shirt needs to be up.”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Hendricks, wincing as he pulled his shirt up. Helen gasped as he revealed a set of huge, black bruises where Charles had beat him.

            Kipling pulled out a large tube, like an over-sized toothpaste, and an old rag. He squeezed a small amount of bright red goo onto the rag and rubbed it out, careful not to touch any, even with his gloves.

            “I should warn you,” said Charles. “This might sting a bit.”

            “N-now, now, now h-hold still…very still…” Kipling said. And pressed the rag to Hendricks’s torso.

            It was pain beyond anything Hendricks had ever experienced. He felt as though Kipling had pressed a red-hot poker to an open wound. He pushed Kipling off of himself and clutched at his ribs, but that only caused his hands to burn as well. He screamed and writhed in blinding agony…

            Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Hendricks opened his eyes to find that he had fallen onto the floor and Ralph and Helen were bent over him. He sat up, gasping for breath and sore all over.

            “What the hell did you do to him?!” Helen shrieked.

            “We healed him,” said Prosser. “Go ahead, Mr. Hendricks; take a look.”

            Hendricks looked under his shirt and saw, to his amazement, that the bruises had vanished. He felt his ribs; they were slightly sore, but not painful.

            “What…what is that stuff?”

            “Informally, we call it Goop,” said Prosser, with an expression that told this wasn’t his choice. “In short, it is a synthesized version of the same process we used on Charles, combined with a powerful acid to allow it to seep into the skin. It can heal most injuries almost immediately, though we haven’t found any way to dull the pain.”

            While Hendricks was mulling this over, he unfortunately didn’t notice Kipling muttering right next to him.

            “Face…n-now must do face….”       

            “Wait, no!”

            Kipling pressed the rag to Hendricks’s face, and again he felt as though his skin was on fire. After about ten long seconds of blinding agony, Hendricks’s nose was back into shape and he scrambled to his feet to get away from Dr. Kipling.

            “There you are,” said Charles. “No harm done.”

            “No, a lot of harm was done!” Hendricks snapped, massaging his aching face.

            “Don’t be such a child,” said Charles.

            “A fascinating substance,” said Ralph, picking up the tube and examining it. “But what do you mean by ‘the same process used on Charles?’”

            “No, no, no touching!” said Kipling, pointing a shaking finger at Ralph. “Don’t touch! Please put-put it back and-and-and don’t touch…”

            “Oh, yes; awfully sorry,” said Ralph, putting the tube back into the bag. “But as to my question…” 

            “All in good time,” said Prosser. “But first, I think, we need to return to the starting point, which is why I had all of you brought here.

            Ralph shrugged. “Very well.” And he, Helen, and Hendricks resumed their seats.

            Prosser took his own seat in the arm chair in front of the fireplace and pressed his hands together as though praying.

            “First of all, Mr. Hendricks, let me say that, the fact that you, of all people, are here, is indeed a startling coincidence,” he spoke as though he had no personal interest in the subject, but was noting it as a piece of history. “But one I am quite glad of. Did your father ever speak of the incident?”

            “Some,” said Hendricks, “Not much. Just that you, you know, blew it up because…”

            He stopped, thinking that the reason his father had given probably wouldn’t endear him to Prosser.

            “It doesn’t matter much,” said Prosser, ignoring the obvious gap in his account. “I only wish to comment that I am pleased that you, at least, will be able to comprehend his shortsightedness.”

            “That means you’re gonna let me go afterwards to tell him about it, right?” Hendricks asked hopefully.

            “Perhaps,” said Prosser. “It depends.”

            “Depends on what?”

            “On her,” said Prosser, nodding at Helen, who looked startled.

            “Me?”

            “Yes. You see, I intend to offer you a permanent position here, Ms. Marshall, and much depends upon your acceptance.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            Prosser hesitated for a half-second.

            “Before I explain any further,” he said. “It might be best for you to have an idea of what this island really is.”

            “I thought you were going to explain that now,” said Ralph in a tone of amused impatience.

            Prosser spared him a contemptuous glance before resuming his meditative study of his own fingers.

            “This island,” he said at last. “Is the epicenter of the salvation of man.”

            A silence followed this remarkable statement, and Prosser continued.

            “Here we are developing the means that will allow us to end all human suffering; all war, all famine, all poverty, all disease.”

            He smiled suddenly and looked over at Helen.

            “What do you think of that?”

            “I…” said Helen, faintly alarmed at the sudden request for her opinion. “Well, that sounds a little too good to be true.”

            “It does, doesn’t it?” said Prosser. “I wouldn’t believe it myself, if I hadn’t been watching the idea flourish and grow over the past twelve years. It has been very slow and very difficult work, but now, at last, we are ready to begin in earnest. If all goes well, we should be able to begin the revolution of humanity by the end of the decade.”

            “I take it,” said Helen softly. “That you’re not really working on cures or anything like that?”

            “You have seen a cure in this very room,” said Prosser. “And, in a sense, we are working on a total cure; a cure for all of humanity. But for individual diseases, no, we are not. We deal with much grander things.”

            “But what kind of things?” said Ralph. “You seem remarkably reluctant to make that clear.”

            Prosser surveyed him with dislike, then smiled.

            “Perhaps I shall give you all a little tour before dinner,” he said. “So that you will have some idea…”

            “This island was originally a missile base,” Prosser said as he led the four of them – Hendricks, Helen, Ralph, and Charles – out of the villa and down the path to the facility. “Built in the1950s, when the Cuban Revolution began. I suspect they foresaw the day when Russia would send missiles to Cuba. In any case, after the Missile Crisis, President Whitmore shut down and abandoned the facility. Apparently, he thought it might be a political liability for his Latin American agenda. The island was then re-purchased by the original owner, and I purchased it from him. Or, rather, Ms. Orlich, whom I understand you met this afternoon, purchased it from him on my behalf.”

            “Why’d she do that?” Hendricks asked.

            “It wasn’t out of charity, I can assure you,” he said dryly. “In any case, I found the facility in desperate need of repair, and set about transforming it into a suitable laboratory for my research. The result is more or less what you see before you. Most of it, though, is underground. It even spreads out underneath the ocean in some of the deeper levels.”

            As they approached the gate to the facility he waved lazily at the guards, who saluted him.

            “Where’d you get the guards?” Hendricks asked.

            “They’re on loan,” said Prosser. “From El Jefe.”

            “El Jefe?” exclaimed Helen. “I wouldn’t think he’d be interested in…whatever you’re doing.”

            “He isn’t,” said Prosser. “But it is a mutually beneficial arrangement. He provides some of his resources, I provide him with technology to further his goals. He intends to conquer and control all the drug cartels in the Caribbean, which means he needs unmatched-power. I can provide him that. For instance, Charles here occasionally runs errands for him.”

            “And you’re not concerned about…about what he does?” Helen asked.

            Prosser gave her a very serious look.

            “Of course I am,” he said. “But drug lords will continue to exist as long as there is a despair and hopelessness in the world. I am working to eliminate these things and, consequently, the drug lords. In the meantime, though, isn’t it better that some of his resources are going to a good cause rather than simply being reinvested in spreading misery and violence?”

            Helen didn’t answer, and the party was silent as they passed into the lobby of the facility. It was a spacious, high-ceilinged room, marked on the floor by an insignia: a golden phoenix rising out a red fire.  There were about a half-a-dozen guards in the room, and as the ones by the gate had done they saluted Prosser as he came in. Prosser walked up to one of the doors and pressed his hand into a small screen next to it. The hand-scanner hummed for a second, then beeped as the door unlocked itself to admit them.

            “What we have been working on,” he said as he led them along a brightly lit concrete corridor. “Is a new phase in biological warfare. Rather than releasing plagues or gas, we are creating new kinds of warriors.” He paused at one of the doors that lined the corridor. “For example. Meet Anansi.”

            He threw open the door and led them into a small observation room. Computer screens lined the walls and a pair of metal desks stood crookedly on the floor. The far wall was comprised entirely of a pane of clear plastic, looking into what appeared to be an enormous, circular two-storey cage. Inside the cage was…

            Hendricks shut his eyes, shook his head very hard, and opened them again. No, it was still there.

            It was a spider the size of a small car, jet-black in color, with long, sharply jointed legs and thick tufts of hair sticking out sparsely on its fat, shiny body. There was an ugly, pale design on its back that looked vaguely like a question mark. It was sitting quite still in its web, which was about the size of a marquee and covered half the diameter of the cage, its ugly, multi-eyed head focused on the visitors.

            “You have got to be kidding…” Helen muttered.

            “Big one, that,” said Ralph cheerfully.  

            “Anansi,” said Prosser, “is, as you can see, a mutated spider. He combines the traits of several species, including the Black Widow, the Funnel-Web, and the common Wolf-Spider. His venom is, of course, lethal, and his web is roughly as strong as iron wire.”

            Prosser paused gazing into the cage at his creation, which gazed right back.

            “But the most remarkable thing about him,” he went on. “Is his intelligence. Of course, we have only been able to run very basics tests so far, but he demonstrates a cognitive capacity that we would never have expected of arthropod. His intelligence appears to be at least equal to a German Shepherd’s, if not more.”

            Hendricks found this hard to believe, in part because Anansi wasn’t doing anything particularly intelligent at the moment. He simply sat and looked at his visitors.

            “Okay,” said Helen. “How the heck did you make a giant, super-intelligent spider?”

            Prosser smiled.

            “Through a combination of carefully applied radiation and very special gene therapy,” he said. “The specifics I would rather keep to myself for now.”

            “So…this is what you’re working on?” Helen asked.

            “More or less,” said Prosser. “Of course, I have many different projects and many fields of research. The ‘Goop,’ of course, was another…”

            “I don’t think you’ve got all the kinks worked out of that one,” Hendricks muttered.

            Prosser ignored him.

            “But I don’t understand how…that helps anyone!” said Helen.

            “You will,” said Prosser, leading them out of the observation room (Anansi hadn’t moved the whole time) and back into the corridor. “But for right now, allow me to show you another of my projects.”

            As they rode the elevator down, Hendricks thought of something else.

            “What do you use for power?”

            “Hydro-electricity,” said Prosser. “We use the ocean. It’s a complicated system in which water is let in to one of the subsurface levels to flow past the turbines and then allowed to drain back into the sea. The actual output is a little lower than I would prefer, of course, but the sustainability makes up for it. When we need an extra boost of power, we simply ‘save up,’ so to speak.”

            “What do you mean, ‘save up’?”

            “We store it in powerful batteries, and then add them to the normal output,” he said. “It’s difficult, but it works.”

            The doors slid open, revealing a corridor much like the one above it.

            “Charming,” said Ralph. “Is all the facility this sumptuously decorated?”

            “I have much more important things on my mind,” Prosser said acidly as he led them down the corridor. “Than interior decoration.”

            “Still,” said Ralph. “I’d imagine you’d get a lot more done if the environment were more stimulating…”

            Hendricks glanced back at Ralph, who was walking behind him. What, in their present circumstances, could be less important than Prosser’s taste in interior design?

            “As you may have surmised,” Prosser went on, ignoring Ralph. “We have had some success crossing different species. But until recently our projects have been limited to crossing species of the same Family. This next specimen is our first successful attempt to cross animals of different Phyla.”

            He led the way to the very end of the hall where there was a heavy metal door, like a bulkhead. Charles stepped forward and opened it for them, and Prosser led the group into the next chamber.

            This one was set on a high catwalk and the clear plastic walls slanted outward, allowing a downward view into a large pool, much larger than an Olympic swimming pool. A huge black shape was swimming in the murky water, but it was so strange, so misshapen that at first Hendricks couldn’t tell what he was looking at.

            “Oh, my God,” Helen whispered, staring at it, her eyes wide with astonishment. “That’s….that’s a…croctopus?”

            “Octodile,” Prosser corrected. 

            Hendricks gasped. Now he saw it; the long, slender crocodile shape, with eight thick, black tentacles growing out of its sides. Its shape had been so hard to identify at first because the tentacles kept waving and rippling about in the water as it swam.

            “How big is that thing?” he asked, trying to visually measure it against the pool it was in.

            “About thirty feet from nose to tail,” said Prosser. “Weighing roughly two tons. The tentacles are each twenty feet. It doesn’t have suckers, like an octopus, but the tentacles are nevertheless extremely strong. It’s been learning to use them fairly well.”

            They watched the Octodile drift lazily through the water for a few minutes before Prosser led them back into the hall. They passed the elevator, turned a corner, and proceeded all the way down to the far end. There was only a single door in this entire hall. Prosser paused outside of it, and Hendricks almost thought he seemed excited, if that were possible.

            “Finally,” he said. “I wish to show you my latest creation. It combines size, speed, and offensive capabilities with built-in armor that can repel most hand-held firearms…”

            “In simple, laymen’s terms,” Charles put in. “It’s a very big snake.”

            Prosser gave Charles a slightly annoyed look and opened the door.

            This was another observation room, much like the others. As with the previous rooms, the far wall was almost completely taken up by a huge window of clear plastic, only this one was reinforced inside and out by a set of thick steel bars and wires.

            In the cage was, indeed, an enormous snake, at least sixty feet long, and a bright green in color. Its flat, triangular head and yellow eyes were fixed on the observation room, and as soon as the group entered the room it hissed violently.

            “This is Python,” said Prosser. “Python is, according to early tests, the most successful biological weapon I have produced. He is, in fact, the only one of the current crop that I am seriously considering keeping for the next phase. My first true warrior.”

            Python suddenly opened his mouth, revealing long, viper-like fangs. A smoking, dark-green liquid spattered the bars and plastic, causing Helen and Hendricks to duck instinctively. Charles laughed at their reaction.

            “That,” said Prosser. “Is a very powerful biological acid. Python is conditioned to use it as his primary offensive weapon. He is extremely accurate and has a recorded range of more than fifty feet. His scales, as I mentioned, are specially reinforced to withstand most rifle fire: it would take at least a fifty-caliber machine gun to pierce his hide. He’s not as intelligent as Anansi, but he has the capacity for fairly sophisticated tactical behavior, and his tracking skills are the best we’ve ever developed. In short, I would identify Python as our greatest success to date.”

            Python curled up like a viper and lunged forward. The instance he struck the bars of his cage, there was a flash like lightning and he jerked back, hissing angrily.

            “He tests those roughly every hour,” said Prosser. “As you can imagine, we have to exercise extreme precautions with him. We even had to install this special chamber to feed him safely.”

            At the far corner of the room was a huge, metal door that looked like it could withstand a missile blast.

            “It opens onto a kind of air-lock,” he explained. “The controls are designed so that only one end can be opened at a time. The far end, of course, opens onto his cage. The chamber itself is lined with an exposed electrical cable; when we first started using it Python refused to exit the chamber and kept trying to break down the inner door. Charles had to go in and lure him away from it for us to get the outer door closed again.”

            “He’s always trying to get out,” said Charles, meeting the snake’s eyes through the cage. “I guess he just really likes killing people.” 

            Hendricks looked at Charles, who caught his eye and gave him a grin that showed he knew exactly what Hendricks was thinking.

            “I’m a professional, Mr. Hendricks,” he said. “Python is a mindless animal. I have a purpose in what I do; he doesn’t. That makes all the difference in the world.” 

Next Week: 

Chapter Seven: Perfect Killing Machines 

Chapter Five: Brave New World

“I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That’s my dream. It’s my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor…and surviving.”

-Col. Kurtz, Apocalypse Now

            “You found something,” Helen repeated.  “After looking at the map for…” she checked her watch. “About five minutes?”

            “Yes!” said Ralph. “I thought it was quite obvious. Now look: here is Matoul…”

            He sat down and sketched the island – which looked vaguely like an upside-down triangle – in the sand. Helen and Hendricks crouched down next to him.

            “We are here,” he added a few stick figures to a spot near the point. “The docks are here…” he put a cross near the middle of the triangle’s base. “And the house is here…” he drew a circle across from the stick figures. “Now, I’m certain you can see the problem.”           

            “Yes, we have to go through the main facility to get to the docks,” Helen said. “We’ve established that!”

            “No, no; not for us,” said Ralph. “For the island. You see, Dr. Prosser intended this to be a secret, well-defensible stronghold. But, as you have noted, the only means of escaping the island, should something go wrong, are a considerable distance from his own home.”

            Hendricks began to have an inkling of what Ralph was getting at.

            “You mean you think there’s another escape route; one closer to the villa?”

            Ralph patted Hendricks on the shoulder, knocking him over.

            “Well done!” he exclaimed. “Were I a gambling man – which I am not – I would wager the entrance to be somewhere inside the villa; somewhere he would likely be or be close to in the event of a disaster.”

            He turned to Helen.

            “Where would you say he spends the most time when he is at home?”

            Helen considered.

            “His study,” she said. “It’s right at the back of the house…I’ve only been in there once, but that’s where I’d guess he put it.”

            “Splendid!” said Ralph. “Now all we have to do is search his study!”

            “Wait a second,” said Helen. “If he catches me in there, he’ll know, and then…”           

            “Oh, he won’t!” said Ralph. “I’ll keep an eye out for him and make sure he stays away.”

            “Won’t that be…kinda dangerous?” Hendricks asked.

            “No more than actually breaking into his study will be,” said Ralph casually. “Besides which, I need to stay here anyway to apprise the captain and the crew of the situation, don’t I?”

            “What, exactly, are you going to tell them?” Helen asked, a little nervously.

            “Oh, merely that circumstances have required your departure and that we would be well advised to flee as well,” he said.

            “But won’t they know you’ve helped us and then…” Hendricks trailed off.

            “Perhaps,” said Ralph, shrugging. “But, after all, I am a soldier (despite all appearances to the contrary), as is Mr. Hogan. It’s our job to protect people like you, isn’t it? Besides, I’m completely used to this sort of thing; I assure you, I will be in much less danger than you will be.”

            “Well, that’s good to know,” said Helen, with a shaky little laugh.

            Ten minutes later, Hendricks was back in his room at the villa. It had been decided that the three of them ought to go back separately so as to avoid looking too suspicious, and as he had been walking up the path, thinking about what they were going to do, he had decided that he ought to retrieve his service revolver just in case.

            It was buried deep at the bottom of the suitcase where he had packed it. He was relieved to find that the rain hadn’t ruined the bullets.

As he loaded it, Hendricks suddenly realized what he was doing and what it meant, and the full weight of his responsibility seemed to come crashing down upon his head.

His muscles tensed up as though he were receiving a massive electric shock, his breath came in gasps, and his hands began to shake so badly that the gun dropped onto the bed.

            Hendricks leaned over his knees and buried his face in his hands, trying to recover himself. He couldn’t go to pieces…not now.

            The thought occurred to him that it was absurd for Helen to ask for his help.

Why couldn’t she have gone to Ralph, who didn’t seem to feel fear at all? Or Hogan, who had stormed Hanoi? Or even Charles, who was so strong and fearless and who was supposed to be her friend? Of all the people on this island, why had she gone to him?

            It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help her; it was that he didn’t think he could help her. What could he, Lenny Hendricks, possibly do that any of those other men couldn’t? It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t fair.

            Get it together, he thought. Fair or not, you’re the one who’s doing it, at least for now. You just…have to do your best.

            These weren’t particularly inspiring thoughts, but he repeated them over and over again to himself as he breathed deeply and tried to regain control of himself. In the end it worked and he pulled himself together enough to force his trembling hands to strap on the gun and leave the room.

            Besides, he thought. It’s just a run to a boat; there’s probably nothing to worry about.

            “Finally!” Helen hissed as Hendricks came into the library. “Where’ve you been? I was getting worried.”

            “I was…in the bathroom,” Hendricks muttered.

            “Well, Ralph’s already checked; Prosser’s not in his study,” she said. “So….shall we do it?”

            “Right,” he nodded, taking a deep breath to try to steel himself. “Uh, lead the way.”

            They left the library and walked down the hall, trying to look as casual and unhurried as possible. The trick, as Ralph had warned them, was to look innocent for as long as they could, as though they were just strolling through the house without a care in the world. Hendricks, for his part, settled for not panicking.

            To their relief, however, they met no one until they reached the door to Prosser’s study. It was a large, handsome oak door with a bronze plaque:

            “Dr. Donald Prosser

            PRIVATE”

            Helen looked at Hendricks, took a deep breath, and seized the handle.

            It was then that they realized the flaw in their plan. The door was locked.

            “We should have thought of that,” Helen whispered. “I don’t suppose you know how to pick locks, do you?”

            Hendricks shook his head.

            “You?”

            Helen shook her head.

            “Great,” she sighed. “I’m going to be stuck on this island because of a locked door…”

            “Wait a second,” Hendricks said. “Does the study have any windows?”

            “Yes!” she exclaimed. “This way…”

            They hurried out of the house and Helen led him around the back. This put them on a narrow path between the house on one side and a steep, tree-lined slope down to a cliff on the other.

            “I think…it’s…yes!”

            Helen stopped next to a large bay window.

            “Are you sure this is it?”

            “Positive,” she said. “It’s the only window like this on the house.”

            Hendricks peered in. The window was connected to a spacious, paneled room with a large desk, a couple of couches, and a pair of bookshelves taking up the right and left walls. He tried the window panes: they wouldn’t budge.

            “These are locked too,” he said. “Now what?”

            Helen looked up and down the path, then suddenly grabbed up a large fallen tree-branch.

            “Oh, the heck with this!” she said.

            “Wait…!”

            She swung the branch as hard as she could into the window, shattering it.

            “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “Someone will have heard that!”

            “I know, but it’s my life on the line, remember?” she said, knocking out the remaining shards. “We’ll just have to work fast.”

            She hoisted herself into the office. Hendricks followed, doing his best to avoid the sharp pieces of glass strewn about.

            “Okay,” he said. “Now, if I were a secret escape door, where would I be?”

            Helen began examining the desk while Hendricks looked around the room. There wasn’t any obvious way out, except for the door and window. His first thought was may be the bookcases, so he began feeling over them, throwing the books out in the hopes of triggering some door.

            As he was doing this, Hendricks saw something he hadn’t noticed from the window: a full-length mirror right in the middle of the right-hand wall.

            “Helen,” he called.

            She looked up and he pointed at the mirror.

            “What do you bet?”

            “A lot,” she said, hurrying over. “There’s probably a button or something nearby…”

            She started feeling around the edges, but Hendricks, who was still convinced that someone heard them breaking in, decided they didn’t have time.

            “Stand back.”

            Helen retreated as Hendricks picked up a particularly heavy book, drew back, and threw it with all his might. The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, revealing a dimly lit landing over some narrow wooden steps.

            “Wow,” said Helen. “Breaking things really works.”

            “I guess so,” said Hendricks. He drew his revolver, took a deep breath, and started down the steps, Helen close behind him.

            The steps clearly weren’t used much. They were very old and felt partially rotted. They creaked and sagged under their feet and Hendricks expected every minute for one of them to give way completely.

            Hendricks counted twenty steps before they came to a low rock passage lit by bare bulbs attached to exposed wires on the right hand side. He and Helen hurried along the passage, all the while listening for sounds of pursuit. None came. This surprised Hendricks, as he was sure they had been heard and someone must have gotten the study door open by now. But then again, perhaps, by some miracle, they hadn’t been heard.

            The passage ended abruptly at a thick metal door. Hendricks tried it, and to his immense relief found it unlocked. He opened it and gasped.

            They were in a huge, open space, like an aircraft hangar, apparently made entirely of concrete. It was too dark to see the ceiling or any of the other walls, but just by the feeling of openness they could tell it was enormous. Helen and Hendricks shuddered a little; the huge empty room was rather eerie, almost like a city devoid of inhabitants. They felt an uncomfortable sense of exposure, as though someone or something was watching them from the shadows.

            “Where now?” Helen whispered.

            “Let’s…follow the wall, I guess,” he whispered back.

            She nodded and they started walking, keeping the concrete wall to their left as they went. There was just enough light to walk by, but after about a hundred paces they had lost sight of the door, which gave the experience an unpleasantly dream-like sensation, as though the room would go on infinitely: nothing but the same grey wall and dim shadows for miles and miles.

            It was a great relief to finally find the opposite wall, which loomed out of the darkness like an approaching ship. They turned and began following it in turn, but before long their relief had been swallowed up in the same nightmarish sense of blank infinity. Endless wall and endless dark, always the same.

            Then, after what felt like hours, they found the next door, a twin of the one they had come from. They both sighed with relief as Hendricks tried the handle.

            It was locked.

            “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Hendricks shouted. His voice sounded ten times as loud in that massive emptiness. “Why would this one be locked, but not the other one?” he whispered. The silence didn’t seem to like being disturbed.

            “I don’t know,” Helen whispered back. “Maybe it’s not the right door?”

            Hendricks looked around, but the thought of stepping out into that endless darkness seemed more than he could bear at the moment.

            “Here, let me see if I can get it open,” he said. “Stand back…”

            Hendricks had learned how to do this at the police academy, but had never actually tried it. He braced himself, and kicked the door as hard as he could. It sent an unpleasant shock-wave running through his leg, caused a disturbingly loud ‘bang!’ to reverberate through the silence, and had no effect whatsoever on the door.

            “Ow,” he muttered.

            “Wait a second,” Helen moved forward to examine the door more closely. A second later there was a click and she pulled the door open.

            “Deadbolt was on this side,” she said, clearly trying hard not to laugh. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

            Hendricks, feeling extremely stupid, followed her into another earthen passage, this one much wider and better lit than the last. After the terrible open room, it felt wonderfully bright and cozy. Shutting the door tightly behind them, they rushed along, rejoicing that they had escaped that awful room and, it seemed, any pursuit as well. Because certainly they would have heard anyone trying to follow them in that room.

            The passage slopped gently downward, twisting and turning like a rabbit hole. Hendricks felt sure that they were going the right way: they had to be close to sea-level by now. Soon they would find that secret harbor and then they would be free and safe and…

            They turned one final corner and froze. In front of them was another metal door. And in front of it stood a smiling Charles Simon.

            “Hello,” he said as though there was nothing at all strange about their running into each other here.

            “Charles, what are you doing here?” Helen asked.           

            “I rather think that’s what I should be asking you,” he said.

            Helen looked from Charles to Hendricks and then back again.

            “I’m sorry, Charles,” she said. “But I need to get off the island right away.”

            “What for?”

            Helen hesitated.

            “It’s…hard to explain,” she said. “Call it a personal emergency.”

            “That’s a new one,” said Charles. “Why didn’t just tell me about it and we could have taken you in the helicopter?”

            “Because…” Helen stopped. There wasn’t any answer to that except the truth. “Well, it’s hard to explain.”

            “You seem to have a very hard time explaining anything,” he said with amusement. He was twirling a heavy set of keys lazily around his finger.

            “So, you obviously found Prosser’s secret escape route,” he went on conversationally. “I told him that mirror was blindingly obvious, and that anyone could find that pressure plate. You clearly did.”

            “Er, no,” Hendricks admitted. “We…actually just broke the mirror.”

            Charles’s face fell.

            “Oh.” 

            “Look, will you please let us go?” Helen asked.

            “No, of course not,” he said.

            “I’ll be back in a few days,” she pleaded. “Please, it’s very important!”

            “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave,” said Charles.           

            “Why not?”

            “That also is a little hard to explain,” he said with a rather nasty smile. “Call it a professional precaution.”           

            Helen stared at him in surprise.

            “Charles, come on,” she said. “Can’t you just…”

            “I’m afraid not,” he answered. “As a matter of fact, I’m afraid you’re both going to have to come with me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Well, the fact that you’re so insistent to leave means that now we’ll have to resort to more dramatic methods to keep you here.”

            There was a long silence. Helen swallowed hard and turned very pale.

            “You’re…keeping me here?” she said in a small voice.

            Charles nodded.

            “Dr. Prosser will be able to explain it better than I,” he said. “Now let’s go…”

            He took a step forward and Helen and Hendricks stepped back. Feeling the first pangs of real panic, Hendricks raised his revolver and pointed it at Charles. His hands were shaking very badly.

            “Stop!” he commanded.

            Charles stopped; his face impassive.

            “Let us pass.”

            “No.”

            Hendricks took a deep breath and tried to make his voice more forceful.

            “Please let us pass!”

            Charles chuckled.

            “Well, since you said please,” he said. “By all means!”

            But he didn’t move and neither of them thought he meant it for a second.

            “Charles, I thought you were my friend!” Helen snapped.

            “Of course you did,” he said. “That’s what I intended.”

            Helen bit her lip and for a moment she looked more angry than scared.

            “Look, get out of the way,” said Hendricks, pulling the hammer back. “Or I will shoot you!”

            Charles raised his eyebrows as though he found the prospect mildly interesting.

            “You know,” he said, still twirling his keys. “I’ve been in the, ah, security business a long time – though you can call me a mercenary if you like; I promise I won’t be offended – anyway, I find that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who can shoot an unarmed man in cold blood and those who can’t.”

            His smile turned into a broad, toothy grin, almost a snarl.

            “Do you want to guess which category you fall under?”

            Charles moved faster than Hendricks’s eye could follow. With a flick of his wrist he sent the keys flying through the air as though they had been shot from a cannon. They struck Hendricks’s revolver with enough force to knock it to the side. It went off and the bullet sparked as it ricocheted.

            Helen screamed, but by the time Hendricks realized what had happened Charles was already upon him. With one smooth movement he knocked the gun out of Hendricks’s hand and hit him with a blow to the stomach that lifted him off his feet.

            Hendricks had never felt or imagined such a blow. He collapsed, gasping for breath. When he tried to push himself back up, Charles kicked him hard in the side, knocking him over again. Behind Charles, Helen made a dive for the gun, but Charles turned and stomped on her outstretched arm before she could reach it.

            Hendricks staggered to his feet and charged, but Charles hit him with a punch to his face without even bothering to look around at him, breaking his nose and knocking him to the ground once more with blood spurting all over his face.

            Charles kicked the revolver aside, then reached down and placed his huge hand around Helen’s throat.

            “Don’t worry,” he said as she choked, clutching helplessly at his hand. “I’m not going to kill you; you’re just going to be unconscious for a little while…”           

            Hendricks forced himself up again and charged Charles with a low tackle. This time, caught off guard, Charles stumbled and went down with a yell of fury. His hand left Helen’s throat and she gasped and coughed as she tried to regain her breath.

            Charles rose to his feet in a single motion, dragging Hendricks up as well. Holding him tightly by his throat, Charles delivered a quick series of brutal blows to his stomach and ribs before throwing him hard against the corridor wall.

            Hendricks’s world was a haze of pain. Blood flowed freely from his broken nose, and he felt sure that some of his ribs were broken as well. He sank to the ground at Charles’s feet…right next to his revolver.

            Charles, who was still completely unharmed, drew back his foot to kick Hendricks again – perhaps he had simply decided to kick him to death – but before he could, Helen sprang up behind him and latched her arms around his neck in a choke-hold. Charles, caught off guard, stumbled back a little. Then, grabbing her arm, he bent sharply forward and pitched her over his shoulder, slamming her to the ground.

            This was all the opening Hendricks needed. He snatched up his revolver, pointed, and fired twice.

            The bullets, miraculously enough, both struck Charles in the chest. His eyes went wide and he staggered backwards into the far wall, clutching his wounds. He looked down at his blood-stained hands, then up at Hendricks, still pointing his shaking gun at him.

            “Oh,” he said weakly. “You have got to be kidding…”

            He sank to the ground and moved no more.

            Hendricks stared at Charles’s body, as shocked as he had been at what he had done. In all his years of police work, Hendricks had never fired his weapon at another human being. It was a strange and very disturbing feeling. He had a sudden urge to throw the revolver from him like an unclean thing.

            “Hendricks,” Helen gasped, crawling up to him. “Come on, we have to go.”

            He nodded and, with her help, managed to stagger to his feet. They stumbled past Charles, through the doorway and down another set of steps, which ended at the entrance to a brightly lit, partially flooded cave. A single pier jutted out into the water and a small white motor boat was tied up, waiting for them.

            “You get it started,” Hendricks gasped, limping onto the pier. “I’ll untie us.”

            Helen nodded and vaulted over the side of the boat. Hendricks bent over the ropes, set his gun down, and began to undo them as fast as his shaking hands could work.

            Suddenly, Helen screamed.

            Hendricks looked up and screamed too.

            Charles was walking into the cave, smiling a broad, triumphant smile.

            It took several seconds for Hendricks to convince himself that he was really seeing what he was seeing. In that time, Charles walked across the cave and began to come up the pier.

            Hendricks snatched up his revolver again, thinking wildly that Charles must be wearing a vest or something. He aimed as quickly and carefully as he could at Charles’s head and fired.

            His first bullet missed. The second struck directly in the middle of his forehead. Charles’s head jerked back with the impact, but he didn’t go down. He just kept walking.

            Helen and Hendricks watched in horrified fascination as the gaping, bloody bullet-hole began to close and repair itself almost as soon as it had opened. Within maybe two or three seconds, there was no trace of the wound left at all.

            This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening…

            “Oh, brave new world,” said Charles, wiping the blood from his face and looking at it meditatively. “That has such people in’t.” 

Next Week:

Chapter Six: The Epicenter of the Salvation of Man

Chapter Four: Unsure and Untouchable

I had never, at that time, seen such a metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone was.

-David Copperfield

Hendricks awoke late the next morning, still sore, but feeling wonderfully rested. The sun was blazing brightly through the window and a warm sea breeze was wafting in. He stretched luxuriously, savoring the fact that he was alive. He then turned over and went right back to sleep.

            Waking up an hour or so later, his mind soon returned to Helen. He had, he thought, been rather silly last night. After all, he had just been through a near-death experience; probably any woman he happened to meet in such a state would look incredibly beautiful to him. Besides, even if she was attractive, it was ridiculous of him to be too hung up on her, seeing as how they just met.

Hendricks sighed and stretched again. Yes, he thought, as soon as they got off the island, he would forget about her. It wasn’t anything to worry too much about. Which raised the question of how they were going to get off the island, and whether he might be able to grab a meal in the meantime. With the sudden realization that he was ravenously hungry to motivate him, Hendricks got out of bed and started to dress himself. As he did so, he watched the sun gleaming off of the pure-blue waters of the Caribbean.

Really, he thought, smiling. It’s good to be alive.

An hour later, after scrounging up a solitary breakfast from a tight-lipped, sour-faced island employee, Hendricks decided to go for a walk down to the beach in the hopes of finding someone who might be able to give him more information about when they could expect to move on. Oh his way out of the kitchen he ran into Nick and Lucas, the two crewmen, coming in.

“Ah, Mr. Hendricks!” said Lucas. “It is a great pleasure to see you in one piece.”

“Thanks,” he answered. “You too. Uh, any idea when we’ll be moving on?”

Lucas shrugged.

“Ah, who knows?” he said. “You can try the captain, if you like. He’s on the porch.”

Hendricks thanked him and headed out to the porch, where he found Hogan swapping stories with Charles.

            “I know what you’re saying,” said Charles good-humoredly. “I was stationed in Africa for three years. And remember; I grew up in the north of England and went to school in upstate New York, so I consider about 27 degrees Celsius to be my upper limit. It was an absolute nightmare!”

            “I can’t imagine,” said Hogan. “See, I’m from Arizona, so I was used to the heat. It was the humidity that killed me. What part of Africa were you stationed in?”

            “East Africa,” said Charles. “Round about Tanzania, Kenya, and so forth. So, pretty much right on the equator.”

            “What were you doing there?” Hogan asked.           

            “Oh, peace keeping,” said Charles wearily. “There was some warlord or other whom we were supposed to keep in check or something.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve forgotten the details; in any case, three years and nothing happened outside of a riot or two. So it was hot, humid, buggy, and boring.”

            Hogan nodded sympathetically, then noticed Hendricks.

            “Hendricks!” he exclaimed. “Ralph told me you were here! You doing alright?”           

            “Yeah,” Hendricks shrugged. “Not too bad. Uh, how’s the boat?”

            “Complete loss,” said Hogan, shaking his head. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know when we’ll be moving on. Charles?”

            “Yes,” said Charles. “I’m afraid our own docks were rather badly damaged in the storm, and we’ve been having some mechanical problems with our helicopters as well. But I shouldn’t think it’d be more than a day at the most before we could send you on your way.”

            “Well, thanks,” said Hendricks.

            “Have a seat, Hendricks,” said Hogan, indicating an empty chair. “Join us!”

            “Er…” Hendricks really didn’t feel up to listening to these two soldiers exchanging stories of battle and endurance while he sat there trying to come up with something remotely similar that didn’t involve him throwing up.

            “No thanks,” he said. “I…feel like a walk.”           

            Hogan nodded.

            “Good idea,” he said. “We’ll see you later.”           

            “Good morning, Mr. Hendricks,” said Charles, smiling.

            As Hendricks left the porch, he heard them resume their conversation:

            “So,” Charles was saying. “During the Siege of Hanoi, did you ever actually meet Corporal Pyle?”

            “Well, as a matter of fact, I did…”

            Hendricks hurried along, not wanting to hear more. His reaction surprised him: normally he loved hearing stories of war and daring, but over the past couple of days every time that Hogan or Ralph had started telling stories of the war he had felt as though he were a disobedient child being told off by his parents.

It didn’t take much effort to see why either. They had both been honestly brave: real men. And what about him? He, Hendricks, had dissolved into a quivering mass the very first time he had faced real danger. That was the night he had really seen himself for the first time, and what he saw was something much less than he had imagined. The simple fact, he thought, was that Hogan, Ralph, Charles, and the rest were just a different type of man than he was…

“Hey!”

Hendricks turned around and felt as though something inside his stomach had just kicked him very hard. Helen was coming down the path behind him dressed in black pants and a sky-blue tee-shirt, her black hair tied back in a ponytail. Hendricks silently swore as all the comfortable, reasonable thoughts and decisions he had made about not being silly or getting hung up on her were painfully blasted aside.

Okay, he thought bitterly to himself. I was wrong: she really is that beautiful.

When we talk of ‘love at first sight,’ we usually conceive of it as something warm, gentle, and pleasant. Hendricks was discovering that love at first sight was more like emotional blitzkrieg; cutting through his defenses like a hot German knife through French butter.

 “Good morning,” he said, struggling to redirect his forces from the Maginot Line.

“…It’s one-thirty.”

Bad start, he thought.

“Really?” he said.

“Yeah, but that’s not really important, uh, look can I talk to you?”

            Hendricks looked at her in surprise. Now that he had gotten over the initial impact of seeing her, he noticed that she was definitely troubled about something. She kept twisting her hands together and glancing over her shoulder. With a nasty jolt, he realized she looked frightened.

            “Of course,” he said. “What’s going on?”

            She bit her lip and looked up and down the path.

            “Can we, uh, can we go down to the beach or something?”

            Hendricks nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. As they walked, he mulled over just how different she seemed now than she had last night. Last night she had seemed bright, confident, even cheerful. Now, the more he thought about it and the more he watched her, the more troubled and nervous she looked. She was walking with a slight hunch, as though she were trying to make herself as small as possible, and she kept looking around her at the trees, like she thought someone might be watching them. What, he wondered, could have possibly happened since last night to make her so nervous?

            “Okay,” she said when they had reached the beach and she had satisfied herself that they were alone. “Now, I know this is going to sound crazy, but please, please do me a favor and pretend that it doesn’t, okay?”

            “Uh, okay,” said Hendricks, who was more confused than ever.

            Helen took a deep breath…and said nothing. She looked around the beach, as though hoping to find something that would help her say what she was trying to say. Finding nothing, she took another deep breath and blurted out:

            “I have prophetic dreams.”

            Hendricks blinked.

            “Sorry?”

            “My dreams can show me the future.”

            She was right: that did sound crazy. True to his word, however, Hendricks swallowed his urge to say so.

            “Okay,” he said. “So, your dreams predict the future.”

            “Yes,” she said firmly. “And last night…I had a very bad dream. It, well…”

            Helen bit her lip and looked out to sea. Hendricks, already alarmed by her behavior, noticed with another uncomfortable lurch that she looked close to tears.

            “It’s okay,” he said clumsily. “Uh, take your time.”

            Helen took a few steadying breaths, then, in a rushed, slightly choked voice, said:

            “It showed me I’m going to die.”

            Hendricks’s mouth fell open and he felt a chill running up his spine. He looked at Helen and tried to imagine something bad happening to her. The thought made him shiver, and he was filled with a desire to help her.

            “Well,” he said slowly. “It was just a dream, so…”

            “No, it wasn’t just a dream!” she snapped. “I don’t have normal dreams!”

            “Sorry, sorry!” he said quickly. “Uh, what I mean is, are you sure that’s what it meant?”

            “Yes,” she said. “It was very clear; I got to see my own funeral. Apparently, there isn’t even enough left of me to bother with a casket!”

            Her voice broke and she began to take deep, heavy breaths.

            “Okay, I’m sorry. I just thought, maybe…” Hendricks didn’t know what to say. He felt like he ought to do something to comfort her, but wasn’t sure how she would react if he did.

            “Look,” she gasped, struggling to compose herself. “I know how this sounds, alright? But right now, I’m really, really scared and I need your help.”

            “Sure,” he said. “Of course…what can I do?”

            “Well,” she said once she had gotten more control over herself. “That…wasn’t the end of the dream…”

            And she told him about the White Dog and what it had said.

            “So, I need to get off this island,” she said. “And I need you to help me.”

            “Okay,” said Hendricks, struggling to process all the information she was giving hm. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be though.”

            “That’s what I thought,” she muttered. “Sorry,” she added quickly. “That was rude.”

            “And just to be clear,” said Hendricks, hoping he didn’t sound as though he thought she was crazy. “This…the fact that you need my help…is what the dog told you?”

            “Dog?” boomed a familiar voice, making them both jump. “I LOVE dogs!”

            “Oh, no,” Hendricks muttered as Ralph bounded up. “Uh, it’s not a real dog, it’s just a dream she had…”

            “Oh,” said Ralph, looking disappointed. “That’s a shame. What kind of dream was it?”

            “I told you, it wasn’t just a dream,” said Helen, glaring at Hendricks.

            “A dream that isn’t just a dream?” said Ralph. “This sounds fascinating; do tell!”

            Helen looked helplessly from Hendricks to Ralph (who was beaming encouragingly at her), sighed, and summarized her situation for Ralph.

            “I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Ralph. “I find it hard to imagine anyone wishing to do you harm. Well, we mustn’t delay; we must devise a plan for your removal immediately…”

            “Wait, you believe me?” she said in surprise.

            “Of course!” he said. “There’s nothing unbelievable about prophetic dreams!”

            “There isn’t?” Hendricks asked. “Sorry,” he added quickly, realizing he might have offended Helen again.

            “No, I’m with you,” she said. “I glad and all, but what?”

            Ralph looked at them as if he thought they were a bit dim.

            “Why, history is ripe with prophetic dreamers!” he exclaimed. “It’s not common, no, but it does happen. Just look at Joseph!”

            “Joseph who?” Hendricks asked.           

            “Joseph of the many colored cloak, of course!”

            It took Hendricks a few seconds to realize what he was talking about.

            “You mean from the Bible?”

            “Naturally! Surely you believe in the Bible?”

            “Er…” Normally Hendricks would say he did, but like most people he meant that he believed in the New Testament and was more agnostic about the Old. Ralph, as usual, took his uncertainty for agreement.

            “There you have it!” he said. “Now back to the matter at hand; how are we going to get Ms. Marshall here off this island?” 

            “Well,” said Helen gloomily. “Charles gave me an emergency briefing when I first started that showed two ways off the island. There’s the helipad on the roof of the main facility…”

            She pointed at the huge, square, somber building towering above the trees.

            “…And there are the docks on the north end of the island. Do you know what they both have in common?”

            “Uh…”

            “You have to go through the main facility to reach either of them,” she said. “Which means getting off the island without everyone knowing about it is pretty much impossible.”

            Hendricks nodded sympathetically. Ralph looked thoughtful.

            “Is there a map of the island anywhere?” he asked.

            “Of course,” she said. “There’s, um, one hanging in the library in the villa.”           

            “I think I might peruse that before we make any kind of decisions,” he said. “I will go and check it.”

            “Why don’t we all just go?” Hendricks asked.           

            “Well, I think it might be better not to conduct this planning session within Dr. Prosser’s own home,” said Ralph delicately. “Much better out in the open of nature, what? Besides, I only want to confirm something…you two wait here, and I shall return shortly.”

            And he skipped off as though he were a child on vacation.

            “He’s kind of an odd guy, isn’t he?” said Helen.

            “You have no idea,” Hendricks sighed.

            “I don’t know what he thinks the map will do; I’ve seen it a dozen times and it doesn’t show any, I don’t know, tunnels back to Key West or something.”

            Hendricks shrugged.

            “Who knows?” he said. “Look, if we can’t get you off secretly, maybe we could come up with a reason for them to let you go.”

            “Like what?”

            “Well, I don’t know…tell them your mother is gravely ill and you have to go and see her at once.”

            Helen laughed.

            “I think they’d know if my mother were gravely ill,” she said.

            “How come?”

            Helen looked at him in surprise.

            “Uh, because she’s the governor.”

            Hendricks’ jaw dropped.

            “Wait, your mother is…”

            “Edith Marshall, the Governor of Florida?” said Helen. “Yeah, that’s her.” She stared at him, “Did you not realize that?”

            “Uh, no.”

            “You know, I’ve had my picture in the paper about fifty times…”

            “Well, I’ve only lived in Florida for about six months…”

            “Still, the pointed references to law-school, the physical resemblance, the last name, none of those made you at all suspicious?”

            There was a pause.

            “It’s a pretty common last name,” said Hendricks with a shrug.

            Helen shook her head in disbelief.

            “You’re not a very good cop, are you?” she said.

            “Uh…”

            “You know what, I’m sorry; that was a mean thing to say, and here you’re helping me, and I’m…”

            She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

            “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m not really myself today.”

            “It’s fine,” he said. “Completely understandable, and no, I’m not a very good cop. That’s why I’m quitting.”

            Helen looked up in surprise.

            “You are?”

            “Yes,” he said. “It was a bad choice and I only took the job because…”

            He hesitated, but if she was going to depend on him he had to be honest with her.

            “…Because I’m a coward.”           

            Helen considered this with a dubious expression.

            “You became a cop because you’re a coward?” she repeated.

            “I became a cop in a town where the worst crime that ever happened was kids breaking picket fences on their way home from karate class,” he said bitterly. “And I only did it because it meant I didn’t have to go to Vietnam. So, yeah, I’m a coward.”

            Helen watched him with a sympathetic, but slightly annoyed expression.

            “Okay,” she said. “So, you’re a coward. Anything else I should know?”

            Hendricks considered.

            “I don’t think so,” he said. “You’re really the governor’s daughter?”

            She nodded.

“Unfortunately.”

            “Do they know?” he asked, gesturing towards the facility.

            “Oh, yeah,” she said. “At least, I think so. Charles is pretty good at his job; I’m sure he put the pieces together. Not that I’m trying to rub it in, or anything,” she added quickly.

            “No offense taken.”  

            They walked aimlessly in silence along the beach for a few minutes, Helen looking thoughtfully out to sea, Hendricks trying hard to avoid looking at her.

            “By the way,” she said. “Does the name ‘Kobras’ mean anything to you?”

            “The snake?”

            “No, not cobras, ‘Kobras:’ spelled with a ‘K’ and rhymes with ‘us.’”

            He shook his head. “Should I?”

            “Probably not,” she sighed. “It’s just something from a dream I can’t remember, but that I think it’s important. And that it’s related to whatever’s going on. You know, I can’t believe that Dr. Prosser is as bad as all that,” she added suddenly.

            “What?”

            “He’s been so nice to me,” she said. “And Charles…I just can’t believe they’d be plotting against me all this time.”

            “But isn’t that what your dream said?”

            “Not really,” she said. “He said that they ‘weren’t who they say they are’ and that I shouldn’t trust them. I don’t know, that could mean a lot of things.”

            She looked at him as though pleading for support. Hendricks, though, didn’t have any idea what to say that might help. He gave what he hoped was an encouraging shrug. Judging by her reaction, it wasn’t what she was looking for.

            “I don’t know,” he said. “You know them better than I do. If you say they wouldn’t want to hurt you, I believe you.”

            “But then why would the Dog tell me not to trust them?” she said.

            “Uh…Maybe because it knew they wouldn’t believe the magical-dream-dog story.”

            She glared at him.

            “I’m saying they wouldn’t,” he said hastily. “Not that I don’t.”

            “Do you?”

            Hendricks opened his mouth, but hesitated, weighing the relative merits of lying.

            “Never mind,” she said.

            “No, no, I was going to…”

            “It’s alright; I’m used to people not believing me,” she said. “As long as you’re willing to help, I don’t mind.”

            Her expression and tone of voice indicated that she did indeed mind, so Hendricks gave her a skeptical look.

            “Okay, so I mind,” she said. “I don’t like people thinking I’m crazy, especially if I’m supposed to trust my life to them.”

            “I don’t think you’re crazy!” he protested.

            “But you don’t believe me?”

            “Uh…”

            “So, what exactly do you think? I’m making it up?”

            “No!”

            “Well, if I’m not crazy, and I’m not making it up, what does that leave?”

            Hendricks considered.

            “Do you really want me to…”

            “Yes! I want to know what you think!”

            “Well,” he said. “It’s possible that you’re just…confused. You know, that you happened to have a few dreams which bore a resemblance to what actually happened in the future, and then the power of suggestion made it so that you kept having dreams like that. And since you expect the dream to come true, of course it always does.”

            He shrugged.

            “You know, that’s a possibility.”

            She shook her head.

            “No,” she sighed, casting another weary glance out to sea. “No, it’s really not.”

            “Have you ever considered it?”

            “Of course I have! It doesn’t work like that.”

            “But how can you know

            “Because they’re my dreams, remember!?” she snapped. “I just…know. If you had any idea what it was like, you wouldn’t be asking, but I can’t describe it all.” she gripped her hair in frustration. “Look, just keep your ‘I’m crazy or lying or deluding’ theories to yourself for the moment, alright?”

            “Hey, you asked!”

            Helen seemed to deflate a little.

            “You’re right, I did,” she sighed. “I’m sorry; I swear I’m usually not this rude.”

            She shook her head vigorously and kicked up a bunch of sand in frustration.

            “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m really not myself today, what with the, you know, marked for death thing. And…who’s that?”

            Hendricks followed her gaze. A small group of people were walking unhurriedly down the beach. Two tall, powerfully built, severely handsome men walked on either side of a slender, attractive woman in an elegant green sundress. She looked to be about forty or so, with curly blond hair and a somewhat severe expression on her well made-up face.

            The woman’s eyes lingered on Helen and Hendricks and a very unpleasant expression came across her face; as though she had just found a pile of dog droppings on her lawn. She started for them, walking at a sharp clip while the two men followed behind her.

            “Excuse me,” she said, coming into earshot. “But who, exactly, are you supposed to be?”

            “I work here,” said Helen shortly. “Who are you?”

            “You?” said the woman, ignoring Helen’s question. “Work here? I seriously doubt that.”

            “You can ask Dr. Prosser if you like,” Helen retorted.

            “Oh, believe me, dear, I will,” said the woman with a faint laugh. “And, what is it exactly that you do here?”

            Helen cast Hendricks a disbelieving look and answered “None of your business!”

            The woman looked as though Helen had slapped her.

            “It most certainly is, missy,” she said, her voice lowering dangerously. “You see, I’m funding this little science experiment, so what you are doing here is very much my business.”

            “You are funding…?”

            “Oh, yes,” she smiled. “And if you actually worked here, I suspect dear Donny would have told you that. So, let me ask again, what, exactly, do you do here?”

            “I…I do filing,” said Helen, clearly thrown off by this new information. “Bookkeeping, that sort of thing…”

            The woman gave a screeching laugh that made Hendricks’s hair stand on end.

            “Filing?!” she exclaimed. “Bookkeeping? Do you expect me to believe that? Donny doesn’t need any filing or bookkeeping done! He’s not running a business here, you know. What would he need filed, anyway?”

            “I don’t know!” Helen exclaimed. “That’s just what he hired me for!”

            “Well, I’ll have to have a little chat with him about that,” the woman said, eying Helen with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. “Are you sure that’s all he hired you for? I mean, I imagine even he gets lonely out here…”

            Hendricks just managed to grab Helen as she lunged forward, her first raised. The woman didn’t even flinch, but gave another shrieking laugh.

            “I seem to have hit a nerve! But don’t try that again, dear, or I might have to hurt you.”

            “I can take you, grandma!” Helen snarled, trying to break free from Hendricks’s grasp. He found she was a lot stronger than she looked.

            “No,” said the woman, still smiling broadly. “You can’t.” She turned her gaze to Hendricks.

            “And who are you? Don’t tell me you’re the janitor or something?”

            “No,” said Hendricks. Helen had stopped struggling but he held onto her just in case. “My boat got wrecked.”

            “Your boat just happened to wreck on our island?” she said. “That’s quite a…”           

            “Hello!” boomed Ralph, bounding up behind her. “Making new friends already, are we?”

            The woman jumped and whipped around as though she had been stung. Ralph beamed at her as though nothing could please him more than seeing her.

            “Friends?” she said haughtily. “Do you know who I am?”

            “Of course!” said Ralph. “You are Ulla Orlich, the richest woman in the world. Sometimes called ‘Ulla the Untouchable’ because of your charming personality. Do you know who I am?”

            There was maybe a full second where she was left speechless.

            “Yes,” she said, recovering herself. “You’re the annoying nobody who interrupted me.”

            “Two-out-of-three!” he said cheerfully. “’Nobody’ I most certainly am not, not by any definition! As a matter of fact, I seem to have rather more body than most!”

            He patted his large, rotund stomach and laughed. Ulla Orlich looked disgusted.

            “Who, exactly, did you say you are?”

            “Ralph Zanator,” he declared, rolling the first ‘R’ in his name for almost a full second. “Army Medical Corps.”

            “Indeed?” she said acidly, eying his girth. “The Army appears to be lowering its standards.”

            “No, it’s just that I’ve been in it for a very long time,” he said, grinning. “And they’ve gotten used to me. But what brings you to this lovely island, Ms. Orlich?”           

            “I am protecting my investment,” she said with a curl of her lips. “And it seems I have need to; I didn’t expect to find so many…strangers.”

            “Yes, I’m sure that’s uncommon distressing, what?” said Ralph.

            “Quite,” said Ulla, her voice dripping with contempt.

            “Still, new acquaintances are potential friends, eh?”

            Ulla blinked at him, looking as though he had just uttered a foul swear word.

            “My goodness,” she said. “I can’t remember when I felt more like vomiting. But what are you doing here, Ralph Zanator?”

            “At the moment, I am having a charming conversation,” he smiled. “What may happen in the hours to come, no man can say.”

            She stared at him.

            “You’re an idiot,” she said, sounding almost awed.

            “No,” said Ralph, grinning. “I’m not.”

            Ulla gave a snort of contempt. She swept her eyes over the three of them with an expression of mingled suspicion and distaste, and snorted again.

“I had better go talk to Donald about the kind of people he lets onto my island,” she said. “So, good day. I’d like to say it was lovely to meet you all but…well, it wasn’t.”

            And with a final, contemptuous look, she turned and strode off up the beach, her two bodyguards trailing along behind her. Helen muttered what might have been either of two insults under her breath.

            “So,” said Ralph, as soon as the Untouchable was out of earshot. “I had a look at the map and I think I’ve found something…"

Next Week:
Chapter Five: Brave New World