The atmosphere in the SCIP lab was a harsh contrast to the one from which the Dreamlanders had just returned. The room was in violent disarray. A bloody body lay on the floor near the robot's base station, and another by the Drack. There hadn't been time to fully prepare Professor Cassell for the dreadful sight, and he stared in shock from the top of the ramp, as he waited for the robot to emerge through the overheated door.
They moved down amid the displaced chairs scattered around the bloody, paper-strewn floor as blue arcs began to burn into the SCIP door's fluctuating mirror. Cassiopia was the first to check the time-elapsed clock: four hours, fifty minutes. She yelled to the robot for an emergency power down, but smoke was already clouding the blinding flashes within the door's frame. Loud popping and grinding noises punctuated the hot transformer's self-destruction.
The fumes became toxic. The vulnerable humans were forced to retreat to the exit corridor, leaving the robot to continue the shutdown task. When power was finally cut off, the inert, chalky white door rose proudly from its base, charred and cracked and steaming. It no longer looked like a surrealistic portal to another dimension. It looked like an experiment gone bad. The Professor watched from the corridor and shook his head in sad approval.
They climbed the stairs to the house, where Markman called the police. Markman put down the old-fashioned receiver and was confronted by a very sober Dr. Cassell, who took him by the arm and led him to the small study where Cassiopia was waiting. They took seats close to one another, and the Professor spoke with a tension-filled urgency in his voice. "Mr. Markman, there are some very serious matters we must discuss before the police arrive, I think."
Markman returned a cautious gaze, sensing that he was about to be asked to do something less than legal.
The Professor continued, "The question is my young friend, can you imagine drug dealers, or terrorists, or some of the less ethical world governments, having access to your dreams? Or to the dreams of a President? Or those who run the Pentagon?"
"I can imagine quite a bit since I became involved with the Cassell family, Professor."
"I put it to you, Mr. Markman, that disclosure of the SCIP technology to anyone outside this room would be a tragic mistake. Don't you agree?"
"Professor, innocent citizens were murdered in cold blood. Two of the killers are downstairs in your hidden lab. The third was swallowed by your mysterious invention. How will you keep any of this a secret?"
"I understand that, and perhaps swallowed is a good choice of words, since it implies, 'never to return.'"
Markman paused and eyed the Professor with distrust. "The man who fell in can never return? You know that for certain?"
"It is a long way to the other side of the universe and back, Mr. Markman!"
"You want us to lie about what happened, Professor?"
"Change the truth would be a better way of putting it, I think."
"I don't follow you."
"Mr. Markman, the only two criminals on earth who are responsible for the crimes you mentioned have been apprehended. They are downstairs in my laboratory as you have said."
"There were three."
"No, there are two."
"What about the motive, Professor? The little silver box. How will you explain that it was given away on the other side of an electronic mirror in a place you call Dreamland?"
"No silver box exists. I'm not certain one ever did."
"And the SCIP doorway? How will you explain it?"
"An advanced weapon detection system for airport and government security. A failed experiment that may be perfected someday. I've been working on it in secret to protect the patent."
Markman exhaled in exasperation. He looked at Cassiopia. She nodded her approval. "You are that afraid your invention would be misused, Professor?"
"The governments of our world consistently demonstrate a need to experiment with something before they believe it to be harmful. Did you know that when the first atom bomb was tested, they weren't absolutely certain that it wouldn't start a chain reaction that would destroy the Earth's atmosphere? Have you ever read Orwell, Mr. Markman?"
"So Dreamland should be for your exclusive use because you are above temptation, is that it, Professor?"
Professor Cassell paused thoughtfully. He shook his head and smiled. "I'll never rebuild the door, never. If I did, I would do many things very differently. But no, I'll never rebuild it."
Markman became quiet. The Professor sat back and bit down on his unlit pipe. The sounds of police cars pulling up in front of the house interrupted the moment and made them all look away.
The besieged group spent most of the night at police headquarters. Cassiopia and her father were detained in the same waiting room. Periodically one of them would be escorted away to give an individual account of what had happened, and occasionally both were taken. Markman was kept in a separate interrogation room while police management representatives looked on through the one-way glass and periodically asked for clarifications. Lab teams went through every inch of the Cassell home, missing nothing, except for the multitude of hidden, encrypted files contained in the Drack and Tel--a concealment prearranged and easily initiated before their arrival, by Professor Cassell.
Shortly after dawn, they were brought together in the office of the Chief of Police, who had satisfied himself that he was dealing with honest people--people lucky to be alive. But though their story had been thoroughly tested for agreement, he did not appear convinced.
"Sorry to keep you folks here so long. It's been a long night for all of us. Professor, I guess you and your daughter can go, the lab people and coroner are finished at your place. It's been cleaned up some, but there's still quite a mess. You may want to stay at a hotel." The Chief paused for a reply but got none.
"We're going to accept your story of what happened, of course. It's hard to believe so much bloodshed could have happened over an antique box that you say never existed. Maybe it does exist, and we just haven't found it yet. I think that's much more likely. Anyway, you two are free to go, and Professor, if you must lock yourself away in hidden laboratories, would you at least advise your daughter or someone else so that we don’t end up getting called in on a bogus missing person report. We have better things to do as I'm sure you're now well aware."
The Professor nodded with appropriate embarrassment. "My sincere promise, Chief Wandell. I shall not become unnecessarily lost again. I truly regret the inconvenience."
"Well, good luck with your x-ray panel or whatever it is, Professor. I imagine the airline security people would love to have one. We certainly could use it in the courtroom screening process, though I doubt budget would ever allow it."
"Sonascreen, Chief Wandell, much safer than x-ray. Yes, I look forward to getting back to my work. I fear it will take some time to recover, however."
The Chief rose from his seat and shook hands with the Professor. Cassiopia eyed Markman with tired passion.
"Anything at all we can do for the police department, please let us know. We'd be glad to support your office anytime, sir," added the Professor. He nodded to Markman as Cassiopia smiled and shook the Chief's hand. They left through the open office door, looking greatly relieved.
"Close it please, Mr. Markman, if you would," he grumbled as he returned to his seat.
Markman leaned over without getting up and shoved the worn wooden door gently shut.
The Chief pivoted around and gazed out his office window at the rising sun, his back to Markman. "Been doin' this work a long time. Sure have got to know people. Comes with the territory." The overweight man turned back to face Markman. "They pulled the black Mercedes out of the river a little while ago. The body of the antiques woman's brother was in the trunk. You said we'd find the body. You never said anything about the car."
"I didn't know."
"The plate
s were missing, ...boy, that was stupid. Diplomatic immunity, my ass. You know, the way I see it, three suspects sure would fit this whole damn thing a lot better. That car was registered to the embassy but was assigned to some guy named Zebib. We haven’t been able to track him down. He’s probably involved and left the country already, but I don’t see how he had time to do that. Those guys you took down don’t fit being smart enough to be actin’ on their own. But, if you say there was only two, I guess I'll have to go with that. They sure as hell didn't find what they were lookin' for, or they wouldn't have come after you.”
"You got friends here in the department, Markman. They say you got integrity. But you know what? I don’t trust you all that much. You took down two professional killers and you haven’t got a scratch on you? How’s that happen? Oh yeah, I heard the famous story of the vest Parrish keeps, but for all I know, you were just duckin’ and runnin’ and got in the way that day. And, sending two goons out like they did just don’t make me feel right. There’s usually a smart guy along for the ride. That’s what bothers me. I’d be really pissed if any of these guys got away on my watch. So I guess there's just one more thing I need to hear from you to close out this God forsaken mess in my own mind."
"Name it."
The Chief leaned forward at his desk and looked Markman squarely in the eye. "I need to know straight out. Did we really get them all, and did they all pay?"
Markman nodded reassuringly. "Sir, you got them all, and they all paid."
Wandell put his hands behind his head, leaned back in the creaky desk chair and breathed a long sigh. "You shouldn’t go anywhere until this investigation is closed out, Markman. I do not want to see you back in this office for so much as a parking ticket, ever! If I was you, I'd take a vacation and stay out of trouble. You got somethin' goin' with the Professor's daughter, or somethin’?"
"Who knows, maybe I do."
"Well, get your butt out of here, and take my advice, you really ought to find out."
Chapter 32