CHAPTER ONE
PART ONE: The Beginning. Rogers, Jarvis, and McCloud
Rogers
"I remember Jarvis, of course, although it must be a good ten years ago now since his disappearance.
"He was my post-graduate supervisor in my final year, and although I never knew him on a personal level, I remain a great admirer of the man and his work. I refuse to believe the rumours that were circulating at the time and would like to see him exonerated of any criminal activities, but I am afraid I cannot offer you any help with your book."
The spy lodged in Roger's mind stirred himself and began to listen. His surveillance had been long and unproductive, but this just might be a breakthrough . . .
"The investigating officer swore us to secrecy, and that oath still stands, but in truth, I know little about the affair. The government very effectively hushed it up, and surprisingly, few details ever found their way into the press. Jarvis had no family to pursue his disappearance, and shortly afterwards, a 'D notice' was issued by the government 'advising' the press not to publish any details, and the media quietly dropped the story. Furthermore, I am a serving member of the university, and I decline to comment on a matter that could attract adverse publicity. However, as a private citizen and fellow scientist, I wish you every success with your project. Jarvis was a great man."
With that, I hung up.
This was all very odd.
I was only one of the graduate students under Jarvis at the time, and many of my contemporaries were far more distinguished and knew him a lot better than me. Why contact me, of all people, to help write his biography?
Professor Jarvis was a great loss to the academic community. He was a world-renowned astrophysicist, an astronomer, and a founding member of the S.E.T.I. Institute. He was also a prolific author of books on popular science and various articles investigating the possibility of extraterrestrial intelligence. I am now a lecturer at the same university where I studied under Jarvis, being content to stay in familiar surroundings after I gained my doctorate. I live in rooms at the university, and the few people here who give me any thought would probably describe me as a confirmed bachelor and a dull fellow, but I care little for their opinions.
You are a dull fellow, Rogers, this has been a tedious assignment, even your research is boring and elementary, but this is potentially interesting. I will await developments.
One crisp November morning, a week after the strange phone call, I decided to walk into town to pick up a book I had ordered. I had reached the High Street when a burly man in a flat leather cap suddenly stepped out of the shadows and blocked my way.
"Mr. Rogers?"
"Yes?"
"My name is McCloud and a colleague asked me to contact you concerning a matter of great importance."
This couldn't be right.
"Are you sure you have the right man?"
"Quite sure, sir."
I must admit I found the 'sir' reassuring.
Mr. McCloud was large and rather intimidating.
"Well, what's it all about?"
"We can't talk on the road, sir; would you care to step inside this public house? The lounge bar will be quiet at this time of day."
I hadn't realised where we were standing, but I knew the inn to be respectable enough, so I went inside. He was right; the place was empty except for one man sitting in the far corner, and to my great surprise, Mr. McCloud indicated that we should sit at the same table.
"Good morning," I said to the man, who smiled back.
"What shall we have to drink?" McCloud asked.
"How about a nice drop of rum to keep out the cold?"
"Bit early for me, I'm afraid," I said apologetically.
"Go on, Rogers, live dangerously for once," our table companion said.
I flinched, taken aback by his forthright manner and undue familiarity with my name, but I felt obliged to accept his offer.
"Well, if you think. . ."
He did not allow me to finish…
"Three dark rums, Jock, and you better make them doubles; we have a lot to discuss."
McCloud went to the bar, and I surreptitiously took a closer look at my companion. He was a man of late middle age, wearing a dark blue waterproof jacket and a thick sweater. He wore a close-fitting brimless cap that stretched over his forehead, and all I could see of his face were the few patches of weather-beaten skin since he had long, bushy sideburns and a brown beard flecked with grey.
My first thought was that he resembled a nineteenth-century sailor, but more realistically, he could have been a man of any trade who habitually worked out of doors. His pale blue eyes were a little rheumy with age, but his gaze was steady, and he possessed considerable presence, a man used to command.
I suddenly became aware that I had been staring and spoke hastily.
"I'm sorry, but we don't seem to have been introduced, Mr. …?"
"Johnson," he said, "just call me Johnson."
Contact!
McCloud came back with the drinks, and we toasted each other's health. I was unaccustomed to drinking hard liquor, and I felt my face instantly flush up.
"I would be grateful if we could get down to the reason for this unexpected meeting. It is half-day closing, and I must pick my book up by one."
Johnson was unimpressed.
After you have read this file, Mr. Rogers, I believe that you will forget all about your book. He handed me a red folder.
"I take it you knew Doctor Verne?"
"Of course, but he is retired now."
"Take your time, Rogers. We have all day, but it is quite short and shouldn't take you long to read."
It was the transcript of John Verne's account of what happened on that fateful day ten years ago when Professor Jarvis and the mysterious globe seemingly vanished into thin air. I have edited the document for convenience, but it retains all the salient points, and I reproduce it below.
'My name is John Verne, deputy to Professor David Jarvis. Professor Davis enlisted my help in decoding the data broadcast from a silver globe of unknown origin, retrieved from the North Sea by deep-sea divers repairing a faulty drill from an oil rig. That was what Professor Jarvis told me at the time, and I had no reason to doubt his word.
'The globe, which was about the size of a basketball, was inside a much larger hollow sphere. Initial tests had established that when activated, it transmitted a repeating visual programme. Professor Jarvis was the obvious choice to evaluate the data. We watched the transmission together. I have vague memories of a series of unfocused visual images that were difficult to decipher but appeared to be of creatures in an underwater alien landscape. To our astonishment, there was a soundtrack in English, but I can remember nothing of the content. I have since undergone various unwelcome procedures, including hypnotic regression, but with no success. The whole episode may have been a dream.
'My next recollection was waking up slumped at my desk with the room in darkness. Barely able to stand, I ineffectively covered my eyes and mouth with a handkerchief and splashed my way through scattered pools of chlorine that covered the entire floor. After switching on the light, I opened the windows to supply ventilation and took deep breaths of fresh night air to clear my head. I then turned and looked around the room.
'It was empty. Jarvis and the globe had vanished. Shortly after, I retired from academic life and returned home to Scotland as a working partner on my father's farm. This is my final word on the matter, and I will make no more statements.'
The signature was 'John Verne.'
I attempted to quiz Johnson for more details, but neither he nor McCloud would answer my questions.
"There will be time later for discussion," Johnson said, "but for now, we must focus on establishing the facts of the matter, and it is time for Mr. McCloud to have his say.
"Yes," said McCloud, "and I will be brief.
"I am a commercial deep-sea diver by trade and work offshore on an oil rig in the North Sea. It's a hard job and requires a steady nerve, but it pays well, and I'm not complaining. Ten years ago, on a routine maintenance dive in the North Sea, I netted something that I first took to be a mine leftover from the war. Inside that sphere was a silvered globe, the same globe that famously disappeared with Professor Jarvis. After an endless series of interviews with various government officials, they eventually left me alone, and I resumed my job with the same rig. Nothing exceptional happened during the years that followed until a month ago when I netted another strange fish. It was another silver sphere and the same as the original."
"Really?" I said, taking a large swig of rum. Given what happened to the first one, I assume the authorities have it under close guard?"
"Nobody knows about it," said McCloud, "save for me and Johnson and now you."
"What! You must inform the government. This could be a matter of national importance."
"That would be a bit difficult," said McCloud, "you see, Mr. Rogers, we have no idea where it is. I left it secured to a stanchion below the rig on the surface, and when I returned the next morning, it was gone."
I finished my rum in one go and stood up.
"My round, I think, same again?"
The book could wait.
"Good night, sir. Don't work too hard."
The cleaners knew that I often worked late, and I shouted goodnight down the stairwell and waited to hear the slam of the door as they left. I gave them a couple of minutes to get clear and walked down the corridor of the science department to the large double-fronted windows at the end that looked out onto the common.
The fact is we need your help, Rogers.
It had sounded more like an order than a request, and whether it was the drink or not, it was with a novel sense of elation that I agreed to do what they asked.
It was dark and wet outside, and I flashed the pre-arranged signal with my torch. From the gloom came an answering response. Ten minutes later, Johnson was inspecting our very well-equipped laboratories with great interest. McCloud had positioned himself as a lookout, but there seemed little chance of anybody disturbing us.
Johnson looked confused.
"How do we get to Jarvis's old room? Are you sure that this is the right building?"
"Yes, but they only added this floor four years ago, and his old room is on the floor below. Professor Davies has it now. "
They followed me down the stairs, and I opened the door with my passkey. Johnson pushed past me and went straight through an internal door leading to the back room. He quickly returned, his face suffused with anger.
"There was an open fireplace in the far wall. What happened to it?"
"Probably boarded up," I said, "there are plans to remove all of the fireplaces and brick them over. They must not have reached here yet. "
Johnson went over to the wall and ran his hands over the edges of the chipboard.
"Jock, come in here, would you? Got the tools?"
Jock McCloud opened his jacket to reveal various tools hanging from pouches in the inner lining, and they quickly got to work removing the panel.
"Hey," I protested, "we agreed to no damage."
They ignored me and quickly exposed the old fireplace. Johnson removed the grate and, pushing aside a loose brick beneath, he reached in and, with a grunt of triumph, pulled out an object wrapped in sacking.
"Okay, we have what we came for let's get out of here. "
I gestured feebly at the wall; "how will I explain that?"
Johnson laughed.
"I am sure that you will think of something, Rogers."
I worriedly inspected the damage.
An irritated Johnson said, "For once in your life, man up, Rogers.
"You were the same as a student. Backing off at the first sign of risk and always taking the safe option in your experimental work. No wonder it took so long for me to remember you."
It was more a relief than anything.
"Professor Jarvis?"
I had guessed it was him from his familiarity with the room, and even though I had not known him well, his mannerisms and the way he pronounced certain words were familiar. But as usual, I lacked the courage to confront him.
"Professor Jarvis, it is an honour to meet you again, sir. I never doubted your innocence for a moment."
Jarvis seemed taken aback at my declaration of loyalty, but I meant every word.
"Well, thank you, Rogers," he said, "I apologise for my rudeness. I am most grateful for your help in recovering the globe."
"Sorry to interrupt," said McCloud, "but we seemed to have attracted some attention with the noise we made when opening up the fireplace, and I can see a couple of men with torches coming up the path."
"Is there another way out of here, Rogers?"
"Yes, there is a door at the bottom of the back staircase. I have the key on my ring."
We raced down the stairs, and after a bit of fumbling, I managed to unlock the door and stepped back to let them through.
"Do you want to come with us and finish the job?" said McCloud.
I hesitated.
"You want to Rogers, I think," said McCloud. "In my business, you get to know how to judge a man, and for all your lack of self-esteem, you will come up to scratch with a bit of support."
Jarvis looked me in the face.
"Well, Rogers, are you going to dispute Jock's assessment, or will you accept our offer?"
There was the sound of the men knocking on the front door.
"Last chance."
"I accept."
I left the university the next day without any explanation and a cursory letter of resignation. All my keys and a sum of money for the repair of the damage to the wall I placed on a table in my room, and I walked out of the main gates without a backward glance.
That was the first day of my new life, and I have no regrets about leaving my research, which I now saw to be little more than a subterfuge to mask my inadequacy, a comfort blanket that protected me from facing the uncertainties of an authentic life. The source of my newfound courage is a mystery, but I am profoundly grateful.