The Alumnus, Chapters 19-21

Chapter Nineteen

Like any good lawyer I checked off in my mind an array of threats I might make.  And like any good lawyer I knew that in this, as in most situations, threats of legal action were empty.  Logically I next thought of threatening to call the authorities, but my belief in the faithfulness to duty of our local constabulary, never at full mast, had been severely undermined by my visit with Big Donnie and his crew of so-called community leaders.  

I was already out of options.  The two women, evidently, had been waiting patiently for me to arrive at the only possible conclusion.  I did.  I took the final few steps to their table, and sat down.

“Do you know who I am?” Mrs. Vuitch asked.

I nodded my head.  I looked over at the other woman.  She smiled at me. I ignored it.

Old lady Vuitch nodded in the woman’s direction, “I think you know her, don’t you?” 

I didn’t answer.  The old crone continued, “Well, let’s leave that for the moment.”

We all sat quietly.  I was waiting for something to happen.  I didn’t know what.  I didn’t know what to say or what to do.  No good lawyer would ever admit such, even to himself.  I analyzed I could probably hold my own with old Mrs. Vuitch, but I was still emotionally roiled by the presence this other woman.  Wanda?  But not Wanda.  A new improved version of Wanda?  

A lot of things I had been hearing in this case and had been quick to discount had new life now and were ping ponging around inside my skull.  Unpatterned, uncategorized. As such the usual confidence that I, dapper Nick Easley, Attorney and Counselor at Law, erstwhile Special Prosecutor, was in control of events was, well, absent.  I didn’t like that feeling.  

Mrs. Vuitch took command. 

“Mr. Easley, I have been told you are asking questions about me.  And that some people have been openly discussing things not everyone is capable of understanding.  I thought it best we meet.  I will give you answers to some of your questions.   In fact, I will do my best to make you understand, but whatever we do, we shall reach an agreement.  And we will do it today.”

I heard the threat in what she said.  I also knew, at least as it pertained to this little “tete ‘a tete,” she was, for the moment, in charge. She owned all the teacups and all the crumpets.  I waited.  

She acted surprised I didn’t verbalize a response.  She shirked it off with an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders and prepared to continue.  My attention was focused on Mrs. Vuitch, but I could feel the eyes of the other woman studying me.  I suddenly turned to her.  I scooted my chair toward her scraping the legs of the chair loudly and harshly on the pavement.  Both women jumped a little. My tone was angry

“Just who the hell are you?”

She looked sad that I would ask the question.  Having gotten aggressive, I felt my old self.  The lawyer, the talented and gifted lawyer, me, was going to do some by god questioning.  Then she cut me off. 

“I’m Wanda, Nick, I would think you would know that.”

“Know what?  You look like somebody I know, but, Lady, you sure ain’t her.”

Mrs. Vuitch intervened.  “Mr. Easley.  Please.  Just wait a few moments.  Let me try to explain.  You need to know a few things.  You and others at your direction are poking around in places you don’t belong, and someone is going to get hurt.”

I went right back at her.  “Now, you listen to me.  You’re not my teacher anymore.  That’s the second threat I’ve heard from you and I’m getting a little tired of it.  I’m a lawyer and I’m not intimidated.  And I’m a duly sworn special prosecutor in a double murder case and I’m going to want some answers here, so I suggest you get started.”

“Yes, yes.  I agree.”  Her tone was less dominant.  My outburst had had its desired effect.  At least the old male ego told me it did.  She went on. “I do think you should know the truth.  At least about a few things.  You know, the truth.” 

I nodded my head as if I understood her. I had no idea what she meant by what she just said.

“Look Mr. Easley I know this is difficult, but you must have wondered why these deaths, the disappearances, happened the way they did.  Well, there’s a reason.  A sound scientific reason that explains it all.  There always is, you know.” 

 I feared she was going to digress into something philosophical.  A foray into yet another area I had long ago concluded was a useless field of endeavor.  I was impatient.  I had no desire to feint an interest that was not there.  I watched her closely.  She looked tired.  Her eyes were puffy like she hadn’t slept well in a while.  I hoped I was a contributing cause.  There were deep lines spreading out from the corners of her mouth that defaulted into a tight purse when she wasn’t speaking.  

“All the mysteries,” she was saying, “all the magic, the religions we believe in, well, those beliefs have to come from somewhere.  I won’t deny the sincerity of the faiths.  Or those who live by them.  People dedicate their whole lives to beliefs.  But most beliefs are false.  They are myths.  The underlying legends are invariably frauds.  Stories.  But there’s occasionally a truth at their factual base.  A small kernel of truth to be sure, but it is there alright.  One must uncover it.  One must look past the stories to find the nugget of truth.”

She paused for a moment.  Took a sip of her coffee.  She slowly shook her head from side to side as if marveling at some new discovery she just made, something no one else had thought of.  I thought to myself, she was an arrogant old witch.  Just like she had been in high school.

“You see,” she said, “Once you know why, once you get down to the scientific facts, well, you see, you can see Ghosts are real.”

I had had enough.

“I have no idea what the hell you are talking about!  Here is a truth I am dealing with,” I said.  “I have dead bodies.  People murdered.  They died at the hands of other human beings.  Not ghosts.  And,” I looked over at New Wanda, “I have people missing.  Friends missing.  Someone who is very special to me is missing.”

New Wanda blushed prettily and again smiled at me.  She reached across and placed her hand on top of mine.  “Thank you, Nick.  I feel the same.”

I pulled my hand back.  “Huh?  The same as what?”  I glared at her.  “I’m talking about Wanda Staring, my police detective. She’s gone and I want her back.”  My voice cracked a little.  I was shocked at how emotional, how passionate I felt about the absence of my prodigious paramour. 

“Yes, I know, Nick,” the strange woman seated next to me said, “And I want to be there for you too.”  I noticed the old crone was nodding too.  More sagely than I preferred.  It irritated me.

I shook my head to clear it of cobwebs.  And told myself to calm down.

“You better start again.” I said to Mrs. Vuitch.   “Go slow and don’t jump around.  I’m not really buying this, but I am willing to listen.  I’m willing to listen to anything if it may provide a means to rescue Wanda.”  And I looked over at the creature next to me and said firmly, “the real Wanda!”

They both looked down as if what I was asking was hopeless.

“And I want to know what the connection is with this missing German, Russian, this Commie, Nazi, whatever, the Feds had forgotten and now suddenly have an abiding interest in.  Who it turns out, isn’t in Germany, isn’t in Russia, but has been hiding away right here in my little town of all places.  “Of all the joints in all the world.,” I added.  I thought I sounded ironic.  “Nazis, Russians, maybe even the KGB for God sakes!”, I continued my rant, “This better be good.”

Mrs. Vuitch said, “Maybe that’s a good place to start.  Put it in context, you know.”  She paused to collect her thoughts and prepared to begin again.  

I took the moment to study New Wanda.  She was the same as my Wanda in so many ways, but slimmer, her skin better, her eyes more empathetic.  She had to be six inches shorter, a hundred pounds lighter.  Her smile was endearing.  It was compelling.  And she smelled good.  My Wanda never smelled fresh.  In fact, in some of our more intimate moments it was clear she could have been more diligent in the feminine hygiene department. 

New Wanda, on the other hand, smelled like a fresh shower.  She was well outfitted.  She could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine.  “Casual elegance” was the phrase in all the ads.  Wanda’s clothes, on the other hand invariably had a mustard stain or two, a torn place here, an unraveling there, most likely because her bulk had been winning the battle against the threads in the lining of her pants.  Nothing, not one outfit, which I had ever seen my dear Wanda wear, matched.  It was obvious: when she bought a coat, she bought a coat. When she bought some pants, she bought some pants.   But there was no winter, fall, summer spring rules for her shades.  And her shoes had been uniformly functional.  Wide, black, and scuffed. 

New Wanda on the other hand was shaded and teased and her clothes perfectly matched.  And it was Wanda.  My mind told me it wasn’t, but it was.  I could feel her presence.

“The theory is obscure, but it’s not like it was unknown.  We have references, brief, rare, but they’re in our scientific literature.  Those references almost always cite German studies, many that predated the Third Reich by a few years.  During that period of extreme upheaval in Europe, coinciding with the rise of Hitler and the Nazi party.”

Mrs. Vuitch was getting on a roll.  The pattern of her speech, brought back memories of her classroom lectures, some of which, we swore, she gave while in a trance.

“Politics aside, it was also a time of tumult in the scientific community.  Boundaries were being pushed.  Whether it was the theory of relativity or nuclear fission.  Once the war started, the military in Germany and elsewhere adapted many of these discoveries for their purposes and had plans for more, including the atom bomb.  But before their plans were complete, the war was over.  We won.  America won.  Russia won too.  And after the war agents of our military seized the plans, and, you know, many of the scientists. Many of the plans we kept secreted away for decades.  Sure, everyone knows we had been smart and seized control of their plans for  our own advanced weapon systems.  But some we never fully understood.  We kept them hidden away, until we had time to develop them ourselves. Or understand them.”

“But we weren’t the only ones.  Russia won too.  And they harvested some of the same kind of people, same kind of information America did.” 

“And, you see, there were concepts and theories so advanced and so speculative, most of the American, and I dare say, Russian overseers had no idea what to do with them.  A few of our best scientists figured them out finally.  When other sciences caught up.  But by then we weren’t the only ones.  Stalin and his people were in the game early.  And were even out front in some fields.  And they were making a few moves of their own.”

I listened to Mrs. Vuitch’s lecture. At least I halfway listened.  I was distracted.  My mind was grappling with her appearance and New Wanda’s looks, while I wondered where my Wanda, Big Wanda, was.  I was getting more impatient by the moment.  Not an unusual reaction for me to have when someone was talking about subjects I had little ability to understand nor an incentive to even try.  And it seemed to me Mrs. Vuitch was roaming far afield.

While my mind was wandering, I heard her describing something involving a DNA genome, a term I had heard before in one of my cases, and a gene-splicing technique called Crisper, a term I had never heard before.

Mrs. Vuitch was now preparing to launch into an explanation of something called The Coble Parallel Shift Paradox.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear about something with that kind of name.  Nor did I hold any hope that I would understand it even if I, contrary to a lifetime of experience, demonstrated the patience to sit and take it all in.  

And from the cockamamie Third Reich?  Oh Please!  My lawyerly skepticism was pulsing like five pounds of hydrogen in a one-pound balloon.  Wow, my own scientific metaphor.  Maybe I should be taking notes, I thought.  No.  This was nuts.  This woman had to be crazy as a loon.

In Mrs. Vuitch’s favor, she recognized me for what I was.  A lawyer.  I was not one who mastered scientific theories for the truth they may reveal.  Success in my chosen profession dictated that I make up theories to fit whatever version of facts were presented to me.  And which I needed to fit into the stories usually insisted on by my clients.   As a lawyer my theories were specially constructed so I could achieve a result that more times than not had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the truth.  Or justice for that matter.  Not exactly the scientific method.

“See, historically,” Mrs. Vuitch was, thankfully, moving away from science to people, “There is the ultimate dictator.  Stalin, Hitler.  And their henchmen.  All powerful.  Political geniuses.  History’s most infamous murderers.  Efficient. Assembly line murder.  Industrial age slaughter.  Masters.  And more.  Leaders who appreciated science. Actually, appreciated it.  But they were men in a hurry, impatient of letting science develop in its own sweet time.  They wanted their wars and their powers, and they wanted science in service of both.  Especially in service to the war machine.  The age old need to conquer, to dominate.  And they wanted it all immediately.”  

In her tone, there was an appreciation for a couple of history’s most infamous killers she had just mentioned.  Her admiration didn’t seem grudging either.  I wondered if she fantasized she could be one of them.

“Sure,” I said.  “Old Mr. Fry used to rant on about that.  Never stopped with the lessons. Sixth period civics class.  Old Man Fry, a B-17 pilot during the war.  As he reminded us over and over.  He used to talk about the rockets, the planes the new weapon systems, the plans for the Bomb and how close Hitler and his cronies was to having those weapons when we won the war.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Vuitch continued as if she didn’t noticed I had said something, not unlike high school. “And we know their, you know, these, ah, leaders, their one unique quality, the one that really set them apart, and almost led to them conquering the world?   Ruthlessness.  They would have used every one of those weapons to win.”

“Well, I have to agree with you there.”  Despite my skepticism, I was trying to join in this conversation.  “And as old Mr. Fry said, we had our own ruthlessness in that war.  We attacked everywhere, the cities, the countryside, population centers, not just the factories, and the military bases.  And he always said that without the carpet bombing, and dropping the atom bomb on the Japanese, the unrestrained killing of civilian populations, men, women, children, the war would have dragged out long enough for the Reich or maybe even the Japanese to get those weapons developed and at their disposal.  We couldn’t win like that now, Mr. Fry said.  We wouldn’t fight a war in that way.  And, because we wouldn’t, he said we would lose. We would hesitate before killing their kids.  So, we would doom own kids to be killed or enslaved.  Or worse.”

“Okay.” Mrs. Vuitch, waved me off and continued in her schoolmarm way.  “Now consider what else you knew about this group of German and Russian Leaders. Before the ascension to power, before they almost conquered the world.”

I must have looked mystified.  

She smiled indulgently.

“They were like my kids.”  Now I was really confused.  

“The one’s I had in class back then.  Not you.  No, I’m talking about the one’s in my math and physics clubs.  And you know what else? Your crowd, none of you, especially you, probably even realized an important point about my kids.  What these kids of mine really wanted.  My kids didn’t want to be with me. No. They wanted to be with you.  To be one of you.  The popular ones, the ones going places.  The one’s in control.  But my kids were different than you.  They were smart, but they were out of sync.  Not quite there.”

“Well, I understand they went on to have pretty successful careers.  All before this stuff started happening.  This killing.  And the replacing.”  I looked pointedly at New Wanda.

Mrs. Vuitch and New Wanda shook their heads at the same time  

“See, Nick, the one’s you are talking about were, and weren’t, my kids.  The ones who later succeeded.  They had been changed.  But before they changed, they were the geeks, the dweebs, the nerds of world.  And if you cared to look into it, you would find, and, Nick, the historians know this, but few others realize it, Hitler, Mengele and the rest of his lieutenants, and beyond him, Stalin, the others, when they were young, they were more like my kids than the world slayers they became.  Nick, if they had been in your high school, you would have called them names, pushed them around, or worse, ignored them.”

I laughed a little at that and shook my head.  

“And something else. If it could happen with my kids, how about others?  Someone out there right now, here in this country, who was put in sync.  To, maybe later, use the new skills, the talents, the advantages to go after power here, like Hitler did, like Stalin did.  They would by popular, you know, at first, at least with some people, and then later, the ruthlessness.”  Her voice trailed off.

I know I looked confused.  It was New Wanda who finished the lesson.

“Nick, I am Wanda.  You knew me when I was out of sync, out of phase.  That’s no longer true.  I’m the same person, but better.  The way I was supposed to be.”

“Well,” I replied, “I liked the other Wanda just fine.  And I want to know what happened to her.  Where is she? Besides what’s that to do with this Hitler and Stalin crap?”

Mrs. Vuitch intervened.  “See Nick, Hitler, Stalin, and the others, Mengele, the ones we know, the ones who were so effective, so dangerous.”

“Mengele?” I wondered at her first reference to the infamous Doctor death of Auschwitz.  She went on.   

“They were that way only after being put in sync.  Only after they went through the Shift.  The Shift got them to what they were intended to be.”

“Monsters?”

She didn’t hesitate in her answer.  

“Yes.  I suppose you could say that.  Yes, from your perspective at least, monsters.  But you know and I know there are always monsters out there.  Or here. Right now.  Or coming.”

I was still puzzled and very skeptical and needed a drink and probably looked it.  

“That’s why you need to understand this, Nick.  Understand and appreciate.  The reality of it.  The facts under the stories.  When sync’d, our DNA, our sequence changes, we can have pureness.  The beautiful, the artful,” she looked at New Wanda, “but also the purity of evil intent, ruthless ambition, unbridled greed.  That can be pure too.  Monsters? Maybe.  Depends.”

“Monsters.”  I repeated the word.

She nodded and finished her lecture.  

“And some of the monsters you, and we thought were vanquished are going to return.”

Chapter Twenty

The fatigue was back.  With force.  

I extricated myself from those two crazy women by just standing up and walking away.   I simply got up and walked across the street, up the stairs, past Marta’s outstretched hand full of message slips and into my office where I closed the door, pulled the shades and stretched out on the couch.  As soon as I closed my eyes I was dreaming. Deep dreams, nonsensical but all related to my conscious world.  As if my subconscious was trying to work something out but needed to approach it indirectly.  

When I awoke, Marta was standing over me.  She had been shaking me. Not hard. There was even a look of concern in her eyes.  Unusual.

“I wouldn’t have woke you up, but these guys are getting pushy, real pushy.”

“Who.”

“F.B.I.”

“They, the F.B.I.,are here?”

“No.  I told them you were sick.  But they aren’t going to be put off much longer Nick.  Better call them.”

“Okay.”  I sat up. My head hurt.  I was slightly disoriented as to time and place, but my mind was functioning again.  

I remembered Maurice had asked me to keep the Feds busy while he did the real work of trying to locate Wanda.  But then on the other hand, I thought, provided it had not been a dream, I had been having coffee with Wanda just an hour earlier.  With the new Wanda at least.  It might mean that Maurice’s efforts would come to naught.  The result of some paradox?  Did the presence of new Wanda mean old Wanda was imprisoned in a limbo world someplace?  My head started hurting even more. Too much thinking; not enough alcohol.  

I looked up at Marta.  She was shaking her head at me, slowly and piteously.  

“You’ve gotten yourself into a mess here.  And you, Mr. Big Hero of just a month ago.  Now the Mayor wants to find you so he can fire you.  Your main detective is missing. The FBI is knocking down the door and, look at you, you got the shakes.”

I didn’t need her to tell me that.  I knew that much myself.  I needed a drink.  I was sure it would once again soothe the rough edges of life’s reversals.  Just one drink and I could maneuver a bit.  Get the old lawyerly swagger back.  I avoided looking toward my desk.  It would be a dead give-away to Marta that I had a new bottle secreted there in the bottom right drawer for emergencies.  But it did make me want her to go away so I could have a little nip of the restorative poison.

“What did you say about the Mayor?”

“He wants you to come see him.  Wouldn’t say why he wanted to see you the first two or three times he called.  The last time, I yelled at him.  Made it clear I didn’t have time for his bullshit; that unless he stated his business, I wasn’t going to give you any message.  The little twerp then eked out that the Sheriff and that Mr. Babcock had lost confidence in the direction of the investigation, as they put it, and were considering a replacement but to be fair he at least wanted to afford you the opportunity to explain before they took precipitous action, blah, blah, blah.”

“Okay. When did he call last?”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Well.  A little birdie told me they were unhappy.”

“A little birdie called Tammy J?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I have my sources just like you, Counselor.  Besides I liked big Wanda better than that little cocksucker.”

I looked up at her.

“Yeah,” she said, “and I know just how apropos that description of her is.  Everyone knows about her so-called talents.”  At that I smiled and she, despite herself, smiled back.

The mood lightened considerably.

“So, Nick.  How do you want to handle all this?  You going to see these people.”

“Yes.  Eventually.  Put off His Honor, the Mayor.  As long as possible.  Until they can terminate me, I’m still on the payroll.   It’s in my retainer contract.  Has to be express notice in writing to get rid of me.  Might as well keep the funds flowing as long as possible.  In the meantime, let’s set a meet with the F.B.I.  Today.  Get that over with at least.  I kinda’ promised Maurice, I would handle that part anyway.  Offer to do it at their headquarters.  I’m interested to see who they will bring into the meeting if it’s at their place and they don’t have to go out in public.”

“Will do.  But Nick, you know you have other clients.  They pay too.  Most of them anyway.”

“Point taken.  Let’s get through today and then in the morning we will close the doors and lock the phones and bring all their files up to date so we know what we need to be doing.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

And she was off into the outer office, happily swinging her hips.  Watching her behind as she left my office made me feel like my old self.  Almost.

I looked down at my desk.  She had left the pile of messages by my phone.  The little bitch had distracted me.  I had wanted her to keep them at her desk. If she still had them there, I wouldn’t feel responsible for them.  She knew that if they were on my desk, they were my problem not hers.  “Bitch,” I whispered to myself.

I thumbed through them.  I came across one that was unexpected.  It was from “Wahine Koa.”  It was a pet name.  Hawaiian. One I had given Wanda.  It fit her. Fit my image of her in large flowing colorful Mumu.   Big Wahine Koa, Big Woman Warrior.  I had never used that particular term of endearment in regard to anyone else. 

It said, “Call me.  At this number.  If there is no answer, I will still know you called, and I will get back to you. Somehow.”

I picked up the phone and dialed.  I listened as the phone buzzed on the other end.  I counted to twenty before hanging up. I tossed it and the rest of the messages in the middle of my desk.

I locked my door.  I returned to the couch.  I rested my head on the makeshift pillow and I was out. 

Chapter Twenty-One

I felt the proverbial new man.  

Having slipped by Marta and driven home for a welcome shower, shave and the usual ablutions, for the first time in months I felt well enough to plan out what I would wear.  No standard lawyer’s pinstripes and light blue shirt today.

A dark brown suit would contrast nicely with the F.B.I boys’ inevitable navy-blue suits and white shirts.  Light burnt orange loafers matched by an orange and brown swirled tie were a nice complement to my duds.  And lastly gold, bright gold, cufflinks, pinky ring and watch, Rolex of course though used, taken in lieu of a fee from a hapless drug dealer who despite my best efforts was in tucked away in prison where he belonged.  

I almost felt like I did back in the days when I had been flush with cash.  Before the divorce.  Before drinking too much every day.  I wanted to feel that way again.  I wanted to be a peacock in a room of pond ducks.  Ducks were cute but they weren’t possessed of the confident beauty of a peacock.  Today I would be a peacock.

After I made my way over to the Federal building and checked in, I affected my peacock swagger as I marched behind the broad butt of a government secretary leading down multiple hallways, all the way to the back of the building and to the F.B.I’s conference room.  That’s what they called it anyway.  

When I entered, I was surprised and a bit disappointed.  I had carefully selected my raiment and dressed up to impress up to eight special agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  My date, however, turned out to be one older, balding, paunchy government type, in suspenders, his half glasses resting on the end of his nose as he sat at the end of a long conference table and studied my attire.  My interlocutor was in shirtsleeves, rolled halfway up his forearms.  A jacket was nowhere to be seen.  I stood facing him as if waiting for others to enter the room.  I ostentatiously checked my watch as if I must have had the hour wrong and arrived unforgivably early.  

“Sit down, Mr. Easley, we have a lot to talk about.”

I wasn’t about to give in on the first negotiation point.  Maybe we would deal with the shape of the tables next.   A memory from that long-ago war in Southeast Asia and the hard ball negotiations that ended the conflict and sealed America’s defeat.  I had settled a lot of cases in my practice, and I never forgot the lessons.  In negotiations everything is debatable. Everything is winnable.  And everything is losable.  

“Thanks, I prefer to stand.  I have another appointment shortly so it would be helpful if you stated your business so we can get this done and I can move on.”

A smile creased the corners of his mouth.

“Okay then.  Mr. Easley.  Let me start again.  I meant no offense.  Sir, would you like to have a seat.  There are many things of interests to us both I wish to discuss with you.  Your unique perspective, your insight born of experience, will be invaluable to the government’s investigation of the matter.”

A little sardonic but delivered with a smile.  Enough of a give-in for me to reciprocate.  I grinned at my victory and took a seat across from the government man.

“Investigation?”  I inquired.

“Yes.  I’m afraid our investigation of some very sensitive matters has crossed the path of your prosecution, your special prosecution, of the Alumni Murders.  But first let me introduce myself.   My name is Melrose Flannigan.  I am the SAC, the Special Agent in Charge of a unit that goes by the name of Crisper operations.”

I wondered what a “Crisper operation” entailed.  Sounded fake.  A name the government would give to activities to misdirect the curious and keep people from suspecting what a unit was really doing.  But what I was really interested in was the name he had used to reference my case.  

“Alumni Murders!”  I turned the phrase over in my head.  I liked it.  Why hadn’t I thought of that?  It gave my case a little pizzazz.  It also imbued me with some ownership.  Where I had been once indifferent, I felt that now I was part of something historic.  Important.  The “Alumni Murders” indeed.  I was sure Tammy J. would be impressed.  Maybe Wanda too.  But then, on the other hand, maybe not.

“Why would the F.B.I. be so interested in a local matter like this?  This is not the first time a double murder has occurred in the Eastern district.  You guys are usually off in D.C. testifying before Congress or out chasing bank robbers, terrorists or something.  There is no federal jurisdiction over a routine murder case.  Why the interest?”

“This is why.” And he shoved a file across the desk.  Before touching it, I studied the bright yellow cover that was bordered in red.  Across the top of the folder was a single legend in large bold font, also in red, “TOP SECRET”.  

I opened the folder and a single photograph was clipped to the first page.  I pulled the photograph off the clip and sat studying it.

“You recognize that man?”

I nodded. 

“I believe that is your second victim.  Am I right?”

Again, I nodded.  But I followed up with a question of my own.

“Yeah, that’s him, but why the brown uniform?  Strange garb.  How old is this picture anyway?”

“The file will answer most of your questions.  I’m going to give you time to review its contents.  Nothing from that file can be taken from the premises.  I understand you might want to take a few notes and that is allowed although I review them before you leave.  I must insist that you follow our rules precisely in all other matters.  Is that understood?”

“Okay.”

“And you agree?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

My questioner grew momentarily reflective.  

“You know, we thought we had this taken care of.  We had sealed everything up and the patches were holding.  Took us five years after the war to stop the out flow, but we did it and it held.  Held until this high school teacher and a group of misfits decided to dabble in some forgotten physics. And some new chemistry.  Now we know it didn’t hold and now we have doubts about how much has gotten away.”

I knew he was just talking and not necessarily at me.  But I also felt I now knew something of what he was talking about.  Still, I let it pass.

He came out of his reverie.  “Well, it’s open now.   The wall has been breached.  I don’t know if we can seal it back up.  Anyway, it’s all right there in the file.  My secretary will take you to an office where you can review the file. After you finish, I ask that you come back here.  We do have a lot to talk about.”

He pressed a button on the side his desk and the door swung opened, and the big-butted secretary waddled in to retrieve me.   Which reminded me. 

“I will, but I need a question answered before I waste a bunch of time on this.  There is a detective missing.  My detective.  Wanda Staring.  Is this related to that?”

“It is.  And we know where she probably is.  You will too, once you understand and accept what is in that file.”

Other chapters of the Alumnus, a novel I am publishing in serial format can be found on my web site at philcline.com