Eric put Nataly’s book down on his desk. “Lunch was great,” he said, and then a small lie, “Nataly says hi.”
Leon’s smile was more of a smirk. “It’s about your home phone line being busy this morning. I’ve done some research on it, and have a confession to make.”
“You called me,” said Eric.
“No, I didn’t, and neither did anyone else. It wasn’t an incoming call. Someone was in your house, and placed a call from there. I even have the number called. I was about to check it out, but maybe you’d like to do it.”
“And just how do you know all of this?” asked Eric, and his heartbeat quickened.
“Oh, that’s the confession part, dear boy. Nothing personal, but your home phone is tapped, and so is mine. The recorder is in the tunnel between our houses. Orders, need to know, you’re new on the project, and all that. I called the Phoenix office while you were at lunch. They downloaded the recorder, located the call, and gave me the number. Here it is.”
Leon handed Eric a piece of paper. “We really are a mistrusting lot, aren’t we? In fairness, I think you should check this out.”
Eric looked at the paper. “This is a local number.”
“Yes it is. Maybe someone ordered a pizza for you.”
“Funny,” said Eric.
Leon went back to his desk. Eric sat down, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then punched in the number on his desk phone. Leon watched him closely. Eric listened a few seconds, then looked up at the ceiling, and said in a high, falsetto voice, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir. I have the wrong number.” He hung up, sat back, and smiled.
Leon looked astonished. “What?”
“A man answered,” said Eric, “asked who was calling, please. A familiar voice, Leon, especially since he was supposed to be out of town today.”
“Damn it, Eric, who was it?”
“It was John Coulter, our friend and benefactor.”
Leon steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Well, well,” he said.
Eric returned home at six with a bucket of deli chicken from the market. Nothing seemed disturbed, and there were no strange odors in the rooms. His computer was in hibernation, as he’d left it. The telephone answering service was cleared. He checked closets and drawers. Nothing seemed displaced, no marks on doors or windows. The tunnel door in the basement was still locked from his side. If someone had searched his house it had been done by a professional, or not at all. Eric spent two hours searching under tables, in lamps, air vents, any place conceivable in which to hide a surveillance device. He found nothing, including the tap on his own phone, which was disturbing.
He called Leon, found him at home. “Everything’s clean as near as I can see, but I need an electronic scan for bugs. Do you have the equipment?”
Leon didn’t have it, said he’d have it in a day. “Sleep tight,” he said, and hung up.
It was midnight before Eric got to bed. He’d eaten too much chicken, and his stomach was protesting the overload. He chewed up a handful of antacid tablets and read from Nataly’s book for over an hour. He wanted to read more, but the van would arrive at six in the morning to take him to the base.
That night his sleep was mangled with dreams about switches and control panels, little gray men with bulbous eyes, and snakes crawling over his legs as he lay paralyzed on soft ground that sucked at him. When he awoke at five, the room smelled musty, and it took him minutes to sleepily untangle himself from the bed sheets.
“Oh, this is going to be a terrific day,” he said, and staggered to the bathroom.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MISTER BROWN
The ever-present Sergeant Nutt opened the door for Eric, and Davis scowled at him from behind his desk. “Don’t bother sitting down. I’ve just been informed we’re meeting down the hall. There’s too much light in this room.”
“What?” said Eric, as Davis stood up.
“Our Mister Brown, as he calls himself, wants the room to be darkened for your meeting. I guess he doesn’t want you to see him clearly, which seems silly to me because I’ve seen him in full light and so have several others. Or maybe he’s just jerking my chain again. Let’s go.”
Davis pushed past Eric at the doorway, and Sergeant Nutt quickly closed the door behind them. Davis led them down the long hallway to a door marked ‘Conference’ and rapped on it softly.
There was a muffled reply from inside, and Davis opened the door. They stepped inside and Nutt shut the door, plunging them into near darkness. Overhead light panels had been turned down to dim, and there were no other lights on the long conference table that filled half the room. A man was seated at the far end of the table, a silhouette in the gloom.
“Where would you like us to sit?” asked Davis.
The man’s voice was soft, with a heavy, Slavic accent. “No reason for you or sergeant to remain, Colonel. My business is with Doctor Price. Thank you for bringing him to me.”
Eric was surprised when Davis didn’t argue for at least leaving Nutt to take notes. “Very well, if you feel there’s nothing I can contribute, but I’d like to see Doctor Price right after your meeting is concluded. Sergeant Nutt will remain outside in the hall to accompany him back to my office.”
“It will only be few minutes,” said the man known as Mister Brown.
Davis and Nutt left, and the door closed. Eric was suddenly aware of the soft sound of air flowing from a vent in the ceiling, and a high-pitched tone at the edge of his audible perception.
“Please sit,” said the man, and a black-gloved hand pointed to a chair near the end of the table. Eric sat down two places away from his host, his eyes adjusting rapidly to the low light.
“You may call me Mister Brown,” said the man, “but is not my true name.”
“I understand,” said Eric. “I’m grateful for this meeting, Mister Brown. I have several questions I hope you can answer for me.”
“I’m sure you do. One moment, please,” said Brown. He leaned forward, and Eric could see a small nose, sharp, a well-sculptured, handsome face wearing what looked like sunglasses in the low light. Brown placed an object shaped like half an ellipsoid on the table in front of him, and pressed something on it with a long finger. Eric felt a kind of pressure in his head, and immediately the sounds of air flowing from the vent, the high tone from something else, both were gone.
“We are private, now,” said Brown. “Our conversation is not to be shared with anyone, including our dear Colonel. Do you accept this?”
“If you feel it’s necessary.”
“I do. There are so many players in this little game of ours. It has become complicated. You must wonder why I want meet with you.”
“Yes.”
“You’re new to base personnel, but have demonstrated interesting insights.”
“If you mean what I think, insights are usually generated by trial-and-error experimentation. It doesn’t take genius to do that.”
Brown smiled in the gloom. His lips were thin. “Ah, you uncover my reference quickly. I’ve done my research, Doctor Price. I know who and what you are, and why you’re here. Our good Colonel only knows a partial truth.”
“Maybe you can explain what you mean by that. I’m a scientist, an analyst, and I’ve been sent here to troubleshoot a project that appears to be deliberately stalled by the people who originated it. I believe that includes you, Mister Brown.”
“To say the project is stalled, Doctor Price, is inaccurate, as is your description of yourself. The project has been sabotaged, and you’re here to stop it. We want to work with you.”