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I refrained from telling Ryker I’d seen the missing man described in the file. It made sense to keep my mouth shut about perhaps knowing where to locate Knight until I could prove I could find him again. If I discovered his whereabouts soon, I’d appear brilliant. If I said I could find him but failed, I’d look incompetent.
Ryker led the way back into the hallway. The notion of a missing scientist reminded me of the book and Thermos I’d left upstairs, and I excused myself to retrieve them, Knight’s file tucked under my arm for further perusal later.
When I returned to the main office, Ryker was holding court there. Miss Climpson, looking far more alert and energized than I would have expected for someone throttled and bashed over the head, sat in her usual spot. I wondered about the switch under her desk and its function. I also wondered if my boss had conveniently taken me into his office for other reasons besides a confidential chat.
Mr. J was coming out of his office when I entered the room.
“As near as I can ascertain, sir, nothing is missing.” The look he cast Ryker seemed to imply more than just his bare statement, given the marked waggling of his eyebrows toward his private office.
“Good. That’s what Russo said as well, but it never hurts to have additional confirmation.”
I made my way to my desk and put my book and Thermos along with the Browning in the bottom drawer. I laid the file beside the typewriter and took my seat.
Ryker glanced around the room, taking in the presence of everyone there with a gaze that contained an air of satisfaction. Once again, he reminded me of a pirate, this time standing on the deck with arms akimbo, about to address his crew.
The crew of three.
“I’ve decided we’re underutilizing Bishop’s skills here.”
Miss Climpson winced, presumably because she disagreed with his decision, though it could have been at the dropping of “Miss” as Ryker addressed me. Hard to tell with Climmy.
I said nothing.
Ryker continued, “I’ve promoted Bishop to field agent. I believe she has what it takes.”
“Sir.” It was a single word of protest on Mr. J’s part. I knew Ryker could put his foot down and his employees would give in, but for this to work, it needed more than “because I said so” from the boss.
I cleared my throat. I found it impossible to refer to the uncanny change I’d seen Billy undergo or insinuate any of them could do the same, and so I danced delicately around the subject. “I realize there’s more to this agency than meets the eye. Please believe me when I say I’m not interested in anyone’s personal life. I’m here to do a job. One I think I could do quite well.”
Mr. J and Miss Climpson traded worried glances.
Ryker observed the exchange and decided to put me on the spot. “What would you change around here, Bishop?”
Oh, Lord.
“Well, for one thing, if you’re known to have items of value, you must do more about security here than what’s currently in place. You can’t always rely on Miss Climpson or myself to stop a determined intruder. And, if I may be so bold to point out, that blow to the back of her head could have killed Miss Climpson.”
“Really, sir!” Mr. J puffed up with indignation. “We agreed that maintaining a low profile in the neighborhood was paramount to our success and safety. With all due respect, what Miss Bishop is suggesting—”
“Is correct. Hiding in plain sight might have worked before, but now the cat is out of the bag. Our anonymity is no longer protecting us. There are people who know who we are and what we’re trying to do. See to it, Reggie. I want guards here at all times.”
Reggie? After the initial shock, I realize it suited Mr. J. I wondered if there was a Mrs. J, and if she was normal like me or something...different. Because, as plain as the nose on my face, I stood on one side of normal and my coworkers stood on the other, even if I could influence the weird technology Redclaw retrieved. What that ‘other’ entailed, I didn’t want to think too much about right now. At last, I was being offered the chance of work that excited me in a way I hadn’t felt since my mother decided it was time for me to become a lady. Was I going to quibble about little details as to whether or not my colleagues were entirely human?
“Sir.” Miss Climpson spoke for the first time. She cut her eyes toward me and then fixed them on the boss. “I know you believe Miss Bishop has the qualifications to be a field agent.” She hesitated and glanced in my direction again. “Certainly her performance today would support that. But the stakes are high for all of us.”
I stood up. “Miss Climpson. You have little reason to trust me. I realize there are secrets within this firm you feel are too great for me to know. But I also understand what it’s like to belong to a set group within society and become an outcast. I know what it’s like to become a social pariah, to lose both my standing and security. Whatever secrets you’re hiding, I won’t betray your trust.”
Miss Climpson turned a wan smile toward me. “I’m sure you believe that, my dear. But belief is not proof of action when push comes to shove. Not to mention, we have far more to lose than you.”
Ryker cleared his throat. “I trust Bishop.” The authority in Ryker’s voice made Miss Climpson’s shoulders sag. “I’ve assigned her the task of locating Peter Knight.”
Mr. J’s face fell, and his mouth opened. “But sir—”
Ryker made an abrupt chopping gesture with his hand. “We’ve been over this before. We need someone with Knight’s skills to analyze and assess the artifacts coming in each day.”
Mr. J made as if to speak, but a single, sharp glance from Ryker was enough to quell him. “I know who you’re going to suggest, and that’s impossible. That particular individual has set himself up in opposition to Redclaw’s mission.”
Miss Climpson’s face crumpled like tissue paper. For a moment, I thought she might cry. Ryker’s thunderous expression arrested me, however. His brows, normally an elegant line over his eyes, beetled together in a ferocious scowl. He looked as though he might spontaneously combust. Whoever Mr. J thought would be a better choice than Peter Knight was someone they all knew. Someone who disagreed with Redclaw’s mission. Maybe even someone who’d betrayed them.
Ryker wiped all traces of fury from his face as he turned to me. “That’s settled then. Bishop, come with me. I’d like to test a theory.”
Based on the look his staff members shot each other, it was far from settled, at least as far as they were concerned. Ryker ignored their consternation and strode toward Mr. J’s office, expecting me to follow in his wake.
I did.
Inside the inner sanctum, Ryker didn’t hesitate, but made for the bookcase on the far wall.
I’d been in that office dozens of times and had shelved books without thinking. Ryker pulled a series of books forward from their slots and replaced them so fast I couldn’t track the sequence. When he completed the last move, the bookcase swung open, revealing a large room on the other side. The light within was brilliant, like that of a hospital or laboratory.
He paused at the threshold. “There’s a subterranean complex in here. For now, it’s where we’re storing artifacts of immense and inexplicable energy. You were right. Something about the advent of atomic weaponry woke a power that’s been lying dormant on this world for centuries, perhaps even millennia. In the wrong hands, these artifacts could be lethal. I’m trying to get them off the streets, but also determine what they do. That’s where I hope Dr. Knight’s genius will prove invaluable.”
As tempting as it was to ask about the person who could have done Knight’s job but refused, I suspected Ryker wouldn’t give me any more information than I already knew. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears as I gathered my courage enough to ask the damning question I could no longer put off. “This newly awakened power. It isn’t just limited to artifacts, is it?”
Ryker nodded. “That’s right. Redclaw also exists to help people deal with the changes that have come over them against their will. What you saw with Billy. Some of us can transform into animals and other creatures.”
What other creatures were there besides animals? Not knowing how to respond, I simply nodded.
“We call ourselves shifters.” One of Ryker’s eyebrows rose in an eloquent arch. “Are you all right there, Bishop? You seem to be breathing hard.”
I forced my respiration rate to slow. “Quite fine, sir. I’m just, er, absorbing the information.”
Ryker laughed. “You don’t have to ‘sir’ me. I have a good nose for people, Bishop. I knew I could count on you.”
When someone says something like that, your goose is cooked. You either fulfill their trust or betray it.
Small wonder Mr. J and Miss Climpson worried about me being included in on the secret.
Also, I couldn’t imagine not calling Ryker ‘sir.’
Ryker entered the well-lit room. I followed.
The room appeared to be some sort of cramped workspace. Shelves bearing an assortment of glass containers containing odd specimens lined the walls, much like an old biology lab or natural history museum. As if that weren’t strange enough, there were also several cardboard cutouts from the movies stacked against one wall. John Wayne scowled at me alongside a grinning Gene Kelly, while James Mason was almost unrecognizable in his Captain Nemo costume.
A bench in one corner seemed devoted to electrical equipment, with a series of cathode tubes connected by extensive wiring positioned next to a small device no bigger than a face powder compact. The table in the middle of the space could have come from Santa’s workshop. On it, tools and bits of mechanical devices lay in scattered disarray. My fingers itched to put it in order—a sewing kit would do nicely for containing the small pieces and prevent inadvertent loss. At the far end, a huge metal door with a series of bolts barred the other exit from the room.
At first, I thought the chaos represented construction. Only then did I recognize an artifact Russo had brought in a few weeks ago: a small triangular shaped object with a raised centerpiece. It now lay half-open like a clamshell. Not so much construction then as investigation.
Beside the clamshell object lay a slender silver-barreled device that looked like a ray gun from a Buck Rogers serial. I began breathing a little faster again. How much of what we called science fiction was actually science fact?
A slight movement out of the corner of my eye made me swing my glance around to spy my old friend, the mechanical spider, clicking around inside a glass box.
“What do these things do?”
Did I imagine Ryker made a small sound of frustration? “Good question. Some we can readily identify.” He indicated the ray gun. “Others, not so much.” He shot a dark glance at the spider before turning his gaze back to me. “The technology is often beyond our own understanding, particularly when it comes to the energy sources. That’s why I want Knight to come on board. Some of our investigations suggest the power might be atomic-based.”
I moved a step back from the table. “Are they safe?”
He shrugged. “In terms of radiation? According to our information, yes. Most of the artifacts are well-shielded, though damage can result in leakage. But the devices themselves can be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
I noted a thick folder of newspaper clippings sitting at the end of the table. Miss Climpson’s interest in the weird and bizarre items of news made sense now.
“Sir, how did Redclaw get started?” Though I swept a hand toward the room, I meant more than just the collection of artifacts of inexplicable design.
“Imagine, if you will, the fear and confusion when people with a history of radiation exposure began changing. Most were terrified. They had no idea if the ability to shift meant they were dying or if they would turn into animal form and be unable to change back. Not to mention, what their friends and family might do to them out of lack of understanding.” A sad smile flickered over Ryker’s features. “You won’t have heard of it, as there isn’t yet an American translation, but last year, the Japanese made a movie about a monster called Godzilla. It’s a deep sea creature transformed by hydrogen bomb testing, which then wreaks havoc on Tokyo. While it’s just a movie, it hits far too close to home for many of us. Many people in the shifter community fear this is how the rest of the world will view us—as monsters that need to be destroyed.”
I nodded, while suppressing a little shiver of unease. Shifters, as they described themselves, seemed to operate under a different set of rules. A mostly human being, such as myself, might be in over her head.
“Soldiers came home from the war afraid to tell their wives about their strange new abilities. As more atomic testing took place, new shifters emerged. In addition, the dumping of radioactive waste in local communities triggered latent shifter genes, even as many without those genes succumbed to the terrible effects of the callous handling of such dangerous materials. At the same time, mysterious devices were also being discovered, sometimes with disastrous consequences.” Ryker walked the length of the room, gazing at the various objects in passing, pausing to touch one here and there before speaking again.
“There have always been a few shifters among us. Some you’ve heard stories about, I’m sure. Dragons, werewolves, and the like. Always in small numbers, the stuff of mythology and legends. Stories to scare small children.” His gaze lost focus and turned inward, almost as if he was listening to something only he could hear, before he took a sharp breath and continued with brisk determination. “Anyway, for ages the older shifters had their own Council. Now we were seeing different species of shifters—lions, tigers, and bears, if you like. Were these mysterious artifacts connected in some way? Timing would suggest so. As the numbers of new types of shifters rose, the Council created Redclaw, with its mission being to collect and contain the artifacts from the general population and assist in the unique matters pertaining to the shifter community. Not everyone has agreed with this decision, but it is the will of the Council.”
He picked up a metal disc etched with strange symbols and flipped it through his fingers several times before laying it down once more. “No, I’m not telling you everything, Bishop. I can see the question in your eyes although you’re doing your damnedest to hide it. I’m telling you what I think you need to know. We’re not the only ones seeking artifacts and trying to figure out what they do. There are other people out there who believe they have equal right to this technology. They may well be right, but there are also criminal networks and corrupt governments who crave the power such devices can wield. I believe as the Council does, that we need to keep such technology out of the hands of people who would misuse it.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but squashed the urge. It wasn’t my place to lecture my boss about absolute power and its ability to corrupt those who hold it. Ryker might be an honorable man, but could the same be said about every Redclaw employee? Or for that matter, anyone who succeeded him in the future?
“Not everything we’ve discovered is dangerous, however. Some tech has proven useful. Even decorative.” Ryker opened a drawer and took out a small box that could have passed for a jewelry case and lifted the lid. Inside, several enameled pieces lay on blue velvet packing. He selected a red and black ladybug and smiled as he held it out to me. “I want you to wear this.”
I took the ladybug. It looked like an ordinary piece of costume jewelry. “What does it do?” I pinned it to my collar.
“Just as we’re not the only ones looking for this technology, there are others out there looking for Knight.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “I know you can take care of yourself. But every agent gets one of these, in some form or another. The pin is a kind of emergency signal. If you press on it, we’ll get notified you’re in trouble and you need assistance. We can zero in on the frequency and determine your location.”
“How many of these artifacts do you have?” The steel door at the other end of the room looked sturdy enough. I wondered where it led.
“Many. Find me Peter Knight and I’ll give you both the Grand Tour.”
“Aren’t you taking a risk letting me in on your—I mean, Redclaw’s—secrets? It’s plain to see the others aren’t happy about your decision, nor of the decision to bring Knight on board.”
I fancied Ryker’s nod was a touch rueful. “I took the biggest chance when I didn’t turn you away on the spot the day you showed up by mistake for an interview. Even then, however, you showed indications the artifacts might respond to you.”
I thought back to my first visit to Redclaw, and my so-called interview with Mr. J. At first, I recalled nothing out of the ordinary, but then I remembered the way the Slinky had poured into my hand, and the fleeting impression that the Silly Putty had moved in my presence.
As supernatural abilities went, manipulating a child’s plaything was disappointing, to say the least. Ryker, however, had more to say. “Once I decided to hire you, there was always a risk that someone as intelligent as you would figure out that Redclaw and its employees were...different.”
To put it mildly.
“You showed a distinct level of resourcefulness and coolness under pressure the day the artifact got loose in the office.” He pointed at the mechanical spider in its small glass prison. “And again today, when Miss Climpson was attacked. And you signed a non-disclosure agreement. Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you?”
“No.” My face reddened at the unaccustomed compliment for my actions. “But I see their point. Mr. Jessop and Miss Climpson, that is. They—all of you—have a lot to lose if you trust the wrong person. And you seem determined to add another...outsider...to the ranks.”
“We must assess Dr. Knight’s character prior to asking him to come on board, it’s true. But I’ve often found people who’ve lost everything are more inclined to hold their own counsel. Isn’t that so, Bishop?”
His words weighed on me in a manner that made me wonder if he’d done a background check on me at some point.
“Perhaps.” I frowned as a slight whistling sound reached my ears. “Do you hear that?”
Ryker frowned too, looking about. “Hear what?”
“A high-pitched whistle.” I walked around the worktable, trying to pinpoint the origin. As I came abreast of the silver gun, the sound intensified. “May I?” I asked, indicating the weapon.
A look of faint apprehension skimmed Ryker’s features before he smoothed it away. “Of course. Though as a rule, I’d caution you to be careful with any artifact you run across. The vast majority of the technology we’ve recovered only responds to those with the shifter genes. That’s not a universal characteristic, however, and the potential to hurt yourself or others is great if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He waved his hand toward the weapon.
I picked it up. The small gun fit into the palm of my hand as though made for it, looking more like a toy than anything that might inflict damage. Recalling some of the artifacts I’d handled before, I recognized its innate warmth. It reminded me of the Magic 8 Ball. “It almost begs me to fire it.” I laughed as I admired the gun.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have much range.” Ryker pointed out the cardboard cutout of John Wayne dressed as a cowboy from one of his many Westerns. I wasn’t sure which one. I noticed tiny pinholes in the cutout, and lines marked on the floor in chalk that marked distance. Now the existence of the movie cutouts made sense. “You must be close to your target to have any effect.”
According to the marks, I was nowhere near close enough to hit John Wayne. Ryker watched with an irritating air of amused benevolence, resting his hands at his waist. With a sly grin in his direction, I refocused on the target and pulled the trigger.
An intense red beam of light shot out of the barrel and pierced John Wayne through the eye. Ryker’s gasp covered my own surprised intake of air. Pretending a nonchalance I didn’t feel, I said, “Maybe you just need someone who knows how to shoot.”
Ryker’s thoughtful study startled me when I turned to face him. “It’s more than the ability to aim a weapon. You were at least fifteen feet from the target, farther than anyone else. It’s as I thought. You must have the shifter gene, too.”
I’m pretty sure I’d know if I could turn into a werewolf or not. Though maybe that’s what every other shifter said before it happened to them. Without warning, an image of my mother leaped to mind, staring down her patrician nose with horror and dismay at her daughter, the shifter.
No. Impossible.
Ryker’s eyes narrowed as he tapped his lips with a finger while continuing to speak, almost as though to himself. “Not the full gene, no. But possibly a partial recessive. The genes must be widespread throughout the human population, but not everyone’s was strong enough to be activated—unless it requires a higher dose of radiation....”
I waggled the gun, inviting him to take it.
He shook his head, a slow grin breaking out on his face. “Try it again.”
I stared at the little gun nestled in my palm. Using the tip of one finger, I traced some almost imperceptible carvings along its grip. A row of tiny lights appeared, the topmost glowing red. “There seems to be some settings here.” I showed Ryker what I meant.
Both his eyebrows lifted. “That’s a first. See if you can change them.”
I pressed one of the other buttons, and the red light went out. A blue light showed up next in line.
A speculative gleam glowed in Ryker’s eyes. “I wonder—?”
Without warning, he lifted the lid on the container enclosing the spider. With astonishing speed, it scaled the side of the glass and skittered out along the table. “Shoot it, Bishop.”
I didn’t hesitate. I aimed at the spider, now hurtling toward me. Instead of the tightly focused red beam of before, wavering rings of blue pulsed out of the gun’s barrel. It took longer than I liked for them to reach the spider, but when it did, the mechanical device shuddered and collapsed, going limp.
Ryker swooped in and picked up the spider with a delighted grin, giving it a little shake that made its legs flop loosely. “Outstanding. I wonder if it was an EM pulse or a stun mechanism of some other means. And will it work safely on living creatures? We must test it. See, this is why we need someone like Knight here.”
With great care, he placed the spider back in its container and secured the lid. After checking the clock on the wall, he took out a small notebook, removed the band that held it closed, and jotted down some notes.
I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted the gun. I needed it. I slipped it into my pocket.
“Our expert in genetics won’t be in until next week, but when Dr. Botha gets here, I’d like you to come back here for testing. I suspect you’ll be in great demand down here in the labs.” Ryker replaced the band on the outside of the notebook and left it on the table. He must have caught the guilty apprehension in my eyes and misinterpreted it for anxiety, for he added. “It won’t hurt. Provide a blood sample, handle some artifacts, that sort of thing. We need to establish baselines for what it takes to use the technology. Anything we learn is useful.”
He smiled as he tapped on the glass container holding the spider. Without looking at me, he said, “I imagine it will relieve the other staff members to know you have more of a stake in maintaining Redclaw’s confidentiality agreement than previously thought.”
Indeed. Maybe not as much of a reason as someone who could turn into a wolf, but a reason just the same.
I waited for him to say something about the gun, to offer to put it away, but he didn’t. Noting that the mechanical spider was twitching, he checked the time again and made another entry in his notebook. Pleased satisfaction radiated from him as he indicated I should precede him back into Mr. J’s office. All at once, I was out of time to confess I still had the ray gun on me. Disconcerted at my casual—and unreasonable—theft, I changed the subject.
“You still need more than reliance on a secret bookcase to protect all this.” The irony of my making such a statement while having pocketed a prime piece of tech hadn’t escaped me. What I couldn’t understand was why I’d done it in the first place.
“Agreed. Though I suspect, for the most part, the guards will find the work boring.”
“Stage random, unannounced drills to keep them on their toes. But surely there must be something you’ve discovered so far that would help in maintaining security.”
Ryker’s expression grew far-away again, as though he were checking some mental inventory. “You may be right. I like the way you think, Bishop.”
As we crossed through Mr. J’s room back to the main office, Ryker said, “The full services of Redclaw are available to help in your search for Dr. Knight. Don’t hesitate to ask for assistance.”
“Yes, sir.” My answer was automatic, but I planned to find Knight on my own. The others might not trust me with their secrets or to do the work of a field agent, but I’d prove them wrong. It seemed only reasonable to keep the ray gun with me until I did.
We went back to the main area. Ryker left me to my file folder, and the office returned to its normal routine. I was grateful to be alone with Knight’s file. I didn’t want to think too much about the things I’d seen minutes ago, or the fact I might have shifter genes, or the gun purring in my pocket like an adopted kitten. I’d think about those things later, in the quiet of my apartment, over a box of chocolates. And maybe even a bottle of wine.
Aside from the occasional glass of wine, I’d more or less given up alcohol after my father’s death, so that was saying something, indeed. Finding out my father had made an illegal fortune during Prohibition had practically turned me into a member of the Temperance Society. The events of the day, however, had been enough to tempt even the strictest teetotaler.
I opened the folder and settled myself into reading. I confess, I found Peter Knight’s story compelling. It was nice to have a name to go along with the face, even as I told myself I would have to abandon my previous fantasies. In addition to the small black-and-white photo attached to the front of the record, other images caught my eye. One stood out, a color print of Knight and a beautiful woman, a stunning redhead. They stared into each other’s eyes with such an expression of laughter and love on their faces it seemed impossible there was room for anyone else in their lives.
Had I ever known anything that intense? No. I didn’t think a marriage should be based on anything less, either.
The enclosed file was brief, but powerful in its brevity. Knight had come to the United States during the Second World War to work with Oppenheimer’s team at Los Alamos as part of the Manhattan Project. After the war, when Oppenheimer became chairman of the United States Atomic Energy Commission, Knight had landed at Cornell, and from there had become a leading voice warning about the dangers of nuclear arms proliferation.
If only he knew....
In 1952, he married an American by the name of Margo Collins and became a U.S. citizen.
The next entry made me catch my breath. On May 3, 1953, a hit-and-run driver struck and killed Margo Knight. An attached report included a subsequent public drunk and disorderly charge against Knight, and several statements by colleagues as to the same. Obviously, Knight had not handled the death of his wife well. Given the clear attachment between them in the photograph, it wasn’t surprising. Although tenured by that point, the House Committee on Un-American Activities declared Knight a Communist due to his association with Oppenheimer. As a result, Knight lost his position at Cornell and wound up blacklisted by other universities.
Then he moved out of his apartment and disappeared. Dropped out of sight. No forwarding address. No known whereabouts.
Except I had seen him last month outside the Blue Moon.
I closed the file and stood. Miss Climpson looked up as I approached her desk, a slight frown puckering her brow.
“How does this field agent thing work? If I need to be out of the office, is that a problem?”
Miss Climpson rocked back in her chair as if my question was the utter limit. Disbelief that Ryker had promoted me in such a manner dripped from every word she spoke. “Ryker assigned you a case. That’s your sole priority now. If tracking down Dr. Knight takes you out of the office, so be it.” She pulled her drawer open with unnecessary force and sorted through some papers to lay a stack of forms on the desk in front of me. “You need to track your expenses. You have a daily allotment of two dollars toward meals and transportation. Anything above that comes out of your own pocket and must be approved for reimbursement.”
I picked up the paperwork.
“Your time is your own, but understand you’re still at work, Miss Bishop. No running off to the matinee because it suits you.”
“Unless, of course, my case takes me there.” I met Miss Climpson’s stare without blinking.
She narrowed her eyes, not liking my attempt at humor. “That would seem highly unlikely.”
I shrugged. “You never know.”
I returned to my desk and placed the paperwork in my drawer. I left the ray gun in my pocket. Collecting the tattered remains of my purse, along with my hat and coat, I was almost out the door when Miss Climpson raised her voice to stop me. “Where do you think you’re going, Miss Bishop?”
I turned around. By her annoyed expression, it seemed Miss Climpson already thought I was taking advantage of the new rules to play hooky. I noted the dark circles under her eyes and the marked droop to her lips and decided not to be mean. “I have a lead.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What? Already?”
I gave her a cheery little smile and waved as I headed out the door.