Chapter 1
Hampton
Hill, South West of London.
Knelt
before the hole he had freshly dug into his garden, retired quartermaster
Gregory Dooley was carefully taking out of its pot the new gardenia plant he
had just bought. Since he had received
his discharge from the Navy, gardening had become his most cherished
hobby. Nobody in the neighbourhood had
a more beautiful house than his. The
facade was covered with red climbing roses; the garden at the back was
intimate, multi-coloured, with fountains, and drinking spots for birds. Dooley loved birds, and his flowers were
selected so they would attract as many of them as possible.
Dooley
put the rootball of the plant into the hole and covered it with soil which he
then watered carefully. Doing so, he
looked at his watch. The Admiral would
not be back for an hour or so, he mused.
Enough time to continue his work in the garden. Then he would have time to wash and prepare
some sandwiches and refreshments for the two of them.
Dooley
knew the Admiral’s whereabouts today.
It was the day he never missed, visiting someone still very important to
him. That was something he had been
doing for years. It was a kind of
tradition. Once a year, every
year. And always at the same time of
year.
Another
tradition, started four years ago, was for the Admiral to come here, to stay at
his old quartermaster’s house for a few days.
He had left the city, four years before, to take a new job, he’d told
Dooley. He would say nothing more about
it, but Dooley had figured out that the new job had to be important enough for
him to leave everything behind and go away…
But he needed a place to stay when he did come back to London, even if
only for a short time, and Dooley was more than pleased to invite him into his
home.
How
could he refuse an old comrade in arms, especially when he was his Navy
captain? They would talk of the old
times together, although Dooley had the distinct feeling the Admiral, far
younger than he, was only reminiscing to please him.
Dooley
heard footsteps approaching him and raised his head; he saw a black haired man,
in his late thirties, walking down the path toward him. Dooley frowned. Except for occasional old friends and neighbours, he didn’t
receive many visitors.
“Hello,”
he said to the man. “Can I help you?”
The
man looked around; strange looking fellow,
Dooley thought. He was so pale, and his
eyes seemed so cold… Maybe he was sick,
or something.
“Nice
garden,” the man said in a flat, almost funereal voice. “We don’t see much of
it from the front.”
“That’s
because I wanted it that way,” Dooley replied. “It’s much more private.”
“So
I see.” The man stared back at
Dooley. This fella needs a shave, thought the old quartermaster,
instinctively on his guard. God, those eyes… so cold.
“Can
I ask you why you’re here, sir?” Dooley asked, frowning.
“I’m
here to see your friend.”
“My
friend?”
The
man nodded. “The Admiral. I know he
usually stays here when he comes to London.”
“And
how do you know that?”
“He
told me himself.”
Dooley
relaxed a little. “You know him, then?”
“Of
course. We worked together. We’ve been friends for years.” He stared intently at Dooley. “Not as long
as you have been friends, however… You
were under his command on the Drake,
he told me.”
Dooley then relaxed completely. If the Admiral had told him that, then he
was surely on the level. He took his
trowel to dig another hole.
“Yes,
I was,” he said. “What’s the matter
with your voice, young man? Had an
accident?”
“Of
a sort.” The black-haired man took
another long look around and eyed a shovel resting against a low brick wall
nearby.
“So,”
Dooley continued, “how did you meet the Admiral?”
“I
saved his life, years ago.”
“Is
that so?” Dooley looked up at him and smiled, before returning his attention to
his gardening. The man moved to the
shovel and quietly took it, before coming closer to the unsuspecting
quartermaster, who was getting another plant out of its pot.
“I
know I shouldn’t ask you this,” Dooley continued, “with the Admiral being so
secretive about himself and all… but
I’m curious, you see? What was it you
worked with him on?”
“World
security,” was the calm answer.
“Really?
I should have guessed! All that rubbish
about him retiring years ago from active duty from the Navy… It was all a front, I knew it. What’s your name, son? I don’t think I caught it.”
“It’s
Black. Captain Black.”
Dooley
didn’t see the man raising the shovel high above him before bringing it down
brutally over the old quartermaster’s head.
The single blow was strong enough to break the old man’s neck
instantly. Dooley fell face first into
the dirt, blood dripping from an open wound on the back of his head. He expired without even knowing what had
happened to him.
Captain
Black stood coldly over the dead body.
He watched in silence as two halos of green light, coming out of
nowhere, trailed across the body. An
instant later, footsteps attracted Black’s attention and he raised his eyes to
meet an exact copy of quartermaster Gregory Dooley, dressed in the same attire,
coming towards him. The eyes of this
new Dooley seemed as icy as those of Captain Black, who handed him the shovel.
“Get
rid of the corpse,” he told him. “Then
get yourself ready. You know what you
must do.”
“Yes,”
came the quiet, even response. “I know what the Mysterons want from me…”
* * *
“Here
I am, Elizabeth. Like every year, as I
promised. I hope it didn’t seem too
long for you.”
The
tall, white-haired gentleman standing before the tombstone tilted his head
slightly to the side, looking down at the lettering engraved on the surface of
the stone. Even though he was casually
dressed in city clothing, anybody passing by would have guessed that the man
had something military in him, just by looking at the way he stood, rigidly and
proudly. Clasped before him, in both
hands, he held three beautiful white roses.
“It’s
been quite a year again, as you probably well know,” the man continued in his
distinguished English voice. “So many
things happened. I didn’t have much
time for myself.” He sighed, smiling faintly. “If you were still here, you’d
probably say I’m not a young man any more and that I should not over-exert
myself. You would probably be right, of
course. But you know me: I have to try
and keep up with my staff. Although
with some of that gang, I must admit, it’s not an easy task.”
He
stopped talking for a moment, disturbed by a rustling sound behind him. Looking back, he saw the rector of the
church nearby, who had just come out to sweep his doorstep. Somewhat reassured, the man turned his
attention back to his meditation.
“Not
a day has gone by when I don’t think of you,” he continued. “It’s been seventeen years and… well, I
suppose, it has been such a long time without you.” Words caught in his throat and the man actually felt a tear at
the corner of his eye. He swept it off
with an annoyed gesture and cleared his throat. “I don’t know what my staff
would think, seeing me like this,” he added with a faint smile. “During one of
our too few informal meetings, Scarlet actually said that he thought nothing
could touch me. He would probably be
surprised if he was here now.” He bowed
his head and crouched in front of the tombstone. “The thing I want to say, my darling, is that I miss you… miss
you so terribly. That’s probably why
I’m so engrossed in my job. It’s the
only purpose I have left, since you’ve gone.”
He
looked down at the roses, still in his hand.
With a tender, almost ceremonious gesture, he put them on the grave. He
cultivated these flowers all year long, in loving memory of the woman he had so
cared about, so long ago. Every year,
at the same time, he cut the prettiest of his roses to come here, to this
little graveyard in London, where he put them on the woman’s grave.
“Don’t
worry,” he added, “I’m not ready to come and join you yet. I’m still the fighter I used to be, when we
worked together at the U.S.S.” He
scratched his ear, musing. “I supposed that’s why that World Committee chose me
to run Spectrum, three years ago. Quite
a challenge they offered me. The kind
of challenge you would have loved, too.”
He smiled. “I often wonder how you’d fit in Spectrum… Remarkably, I
suppose. And I’m certain everybody
would have loved you on Cloudbase.”
The
man then gently stroked the words engraved in the stone, drawing the contours
with the tips of his fingers. There was
sadness in his features, and also everlasting tenderness as he stood up, his
eyes still riveted on the name.
“Elizabeth Somners, 2019 – 2053. Beloved wife of Charles Gray. Remember my love forever.”
The
man kept silent for a few seconds before sighing and standing up. He looked down at his watch. “I must go,
now. You see, I’ve got a date with a
very charming young lady… Don’t be
jealous, though,” he added with a broad smile. “We’re only going to a show
together. She was kind enough to accept
my invitation. She’s one of the Angel
pilots I’ve told you about in some of my journal entries. You’d like her, Elizabeth. I think you would love all of the
Angels. They’ve all got the same spirit
as you… like our daughter would have inherited from you if she had been
born.” He stopped a second, before
adding quickly, “Of course, she would also have inherited some of my traits… That would have been a volatile combination,
don’t you think?”
He
smiled then, and touched the tombstone one last time. “So I’ll say goodbye, my darling. Until next year. You know
I wouldn’t miss that for a kingdom. And
I’m quite certain you worry about me up there.
Don’t do that too much.”
Quietly,
as if he didn’t want to disturb the sleeping, the man who was Charles Gray and
who was known to some as Colonel White, commander-in-chief of Spectrum for
three years now, stepped out of the graveyard, with a determined stride. He went to the elderly minister, who had
stopped sweeping the doorstep of his church and was looking toward him,
waiting.
“Another
year, Admiral?” he asked Colonel White, as he approached.
“Yes,
Reverend Lester. Another year,” the
other man responded. He produced a
couple of banknotes which he put into the priest’s hand. “Here.
For your charities.”
“You’re
really too generous, Charles,” Reverend Benjamin Lester said with a smile.
“With all the money you’ve been giving me all these years, I could start a fund
in your name.”
“No
need for that, Reverend. I prefer to
stay anonymous.”
“Yes. I know.”
The priest narrowed his eyes. “How long have we known each other,
Admiral?”
“I
stopped counting. What I know is that I
would never had believed you’d turn out to be a priest, when you were first
class seaman on the Drake, all those
years ago. And please stop calling me
Admiral!”
“Only
if you stop calling me Reverend,” the other man replied, grinning. “You’re staying with Dooley, as usual? How about a game of bridge with Carrington,
for old times’ sakes?”
“I’d
like to. But I’ve got a date tonight.”
“Oh!”
Reverend Lester grinned broadly. “Now that’s interesting. A lady, I bet?”
“Yes,
a lady. But don’t get too excited,
Benjamin. While very charming, she’s
just a girl. I’m old enough to be her
father. And then some.”
“Who
said age has anything to do with romance?”
White
started laughing. “It’s not romance, it’s a working relationship. It just so happened we both had leave at the
same time. Beside, I don’t think she’d
be interested in an old man like me.”
“You’re
still young enough… Find somebody who would be interested.”
“You
make one devil of a vicar!” White replied, amused. “Seriously, Benjamin… I don’t have the time.”
“Ah!” Reverend Lester thought that over for a
moment “Well, that’s another problem entirely.
Your job.” He shook his head.
“You know, I don’t know what it is you’re doing, exactly… The few times you actually permit yourself
to talk about it, you’re always vague… on purpose, I know.”
“Can’t
help it, Reverend. That’s a very
restricted subject.”
“I
don’t doubt it. And I don’t doubt it’s
very important. But you can’t go on
like that, living your life alone…” The
vicar nodded toward the grave White had just left. “Elizabeth wouldn’t have
wanted that.”
White
permitted a faint smile to cross his craggy face. He would hardly call himself alone, living on an airborne base
with some 700 people onboard. But he
couldn’t very well tell that to Benjamin Lester. Firstly for reasons of world security, and secondly because the
humour of it would have been lost on the man of the cloth. As for seeing women… Since his wife’s death, Charles Gray did try
to get out of his shell, from time to time.
The last time he actually let his eyes rove, it was when a certain
Amanda Wainwright had received permission to come see her daughter Karen –
Symphony Angel, one of the pilots of Cloudbase’s interceptor jets – just after
she had been injured during a mission. But it was already a couple of years ago
and at the time, Colonel White hadn’t deemed it decent to even consider a
relationship with the woman. She was
newly widowed, just a few weeks before, was still missing her husband terribly
and had nearly lost her only daughter.
White knew the feeling all too well.
It had been seventeen years now, and he was still missing his beloved
wife.
“I’m
sorry, Reverend,” White said quietly.
“But after Elizabeth, any other relationship I might have with a woman
would seem rather… tedious.”
“I see
what you mean,” the reverend replied, nodding his head. “She was quite a
woman…” He smiled slightly. “However,
that must not stop you being attentive toward this young lady you’re seeing
tonight…”
“Benjamin…”
“All
right, all right! I won’t say another
word about it!”
“That
reminds me, though,” White added, looking at his watch, “I’ll be late if I
don’t get moving…”
“Then
go, Admiral. You should not keep a lady
waiting.” Lester smiled again. “I seem
to recall that’s her privilege.”
White
grinned back; he clasped the hand the reverend offered him. “’Til next year,
then, Benjamin.”
“’Til
next year, Charles.”
“Take
good care of her, will you?” White added, gesturing toward the grave. Reverend
Benjamin Lester nodded his understanding and watched as Colonel White went down
the garden path in front of the church, toward his rented car parked on the
roadside. The vicar sighed as his old
Navy commander took his place behind the wheel.
“Take
care of yourself, Charles Gray… And may God guide your steps throughout your
life.”
* * *
Colonel
White entered the house of quartermaster Gregory Dooley almost a fifteen
minutes after he had left the graveyard where his wife was buried. He looked down at his watch for the sixth
time. About six o’clock, he noted. He would just have the time to take a quick
shower, get dressed and find something in a store to give to his date over
dinner. A gentleman never showed
himself to a lady without a present of some sort, he thought, and even less so
when the said lady worked under his command.
Not that he was afraid that Rhapsody would gossip about him to the
others… He didn’t believe she was that
kind of girl. Too much of a lady for
that, he mused, even if she hadn’t had the title to go with it… which she
actually did. He was just eager to
please her, to show her a side of him that was different from that tough,
hard-shell image he projected on Cloudbase.
“Greg?”
he called, closing the door behind him. “Are you in there, or still in that
garden of yours?”
He
moved to the back door but stopped in his tracks, when he heard a voice coming
from the fireplace. “Over here,
Charles.”
White
walked over to the fireplace and saw Dooley seated in his armchair, poking
thoughtfully at the fire. Upon the
table in front on him were a crystal carafe of cognac and two small glasses.
“Isn’t
it a little early in the day to start that thing?” White asked, pointing to the
fire.
Dooley
shrugged. “Felt a bit chilly out there, earlier,” he replied.
“You’re
getting old, Greg.”
“I’m
a lot older than you, Charles. And
anyway, none of us gets any younger.”
Dooley looked up at Colonel White. “How’s Reverend Lester?”
“He
seems fine. He mentioned a bridge game,
between us three and Carrington as well.”
“Tonight?”
Dooley asked, almost worriedly.
“Of
course not. I can’t tonight.”
“Oh
yes… your date. At what time should you meet the lady?”
“In
about an hour… I’ll be late if I don’t
hurry. Er… Would you mind if I cut some
flowers from your garden?”
“For
your lady friend?”
“She’s
not my lady friend. She’s… Well, yes, we’re friends. Kind of.”
“Of
course I don’t mind, Charles.”
“Thank
you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get
ready.”
He
strode toward the staircase leading to the upper floor when Dooley called him
back. “What about tradition, Admiral?”
White
stopped at the foot of the stair, looking back at his friend curiously. Dooley shook his head and nodded toward the
carafe of cognac on the table. “Will you not join me in a glass before leaving? We always take one before turning in…”
White
hesitated a second. “I really don’t have the time, Greg. Beside, I don’t intend coming in late. Maybe then.”
“Right,”
Dooley scoffed. “You’re going to dinner, then the theatre, Charles. By the time you’ll be back, I’ll be long
asleep. Come on… one glass before you go. That won’t take long.”
“Well,
if you insist, Greg.”
White
came back to the table. Before Dooley’s
watchful eyes, he himself poured some cognac into the glasses and handed one to
his old quartermaster. “What should we
drink to?” the Spectrum commander asked.
Dooley
thought for a moment. “How about ‘to
lost comrades-in-arms’?”
White
nodded slowly. Too many of those had
actually died over the last year, while
he had been stationed on Cloudbase. For
the majority, he wasn’t even able to get to the funerals, as he would have
wanted to. All he could do was send
letters of condolence and flowers to the surviving family members.
“We’re
a little fewer every year, aren’t we, Greg?” he asked Dooley.
“That’s
a fact, Charles,” the quartermaster replied, raising his glass.
“Yes…
you were right about that earlier: we’re not getting any younger.” White raised
his glass too. “To lost friends, then.”
“To
lost friends,” Dooley repeated quietly.
He watched as White drained the contents of his glass in one gulp. He himself didn’t touch his.
White
put his empty glass back down on the table. He kept silent a moment, not
noticing the still full glass in Dooley’s hand. “Greg, as much as I want to stay and reminisce about the past and
our late friends…”
“You
must go, I know. Go, I won’t hold it
against you.”
“Thank
you. Now, if you’ll forgive me…”
White
turned and hurried back toward the stair.
Slowly, Greg Dooley rose from his armchair and put his glass back on the
table, his eyes following the Colonel’s progress, waiting.
The
Spectrum commander had started climbing the stairs and was putting his foot on
the third step when the dizziness suddenly hit him. He grabbed the handrail with both hands and stopped, staggering.
“Something
wrong, Charles?” Dooley asked quietly.
Colonel
White stepped back down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step. He just had time to reach the wall in order
to stop himself from falling. “I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Feel hot, all of a sudden… giddy…” Leaning against the wall, he looked toward
Dooley, who was staring calmly at him.
White saw him through a haze, which seemed to thicken by the
second. He shook himself, rubbed his
tired eyes, and looked again at Dooley.
It
was then that he saw the glass, still full of cognac, standing next to the one
he had emptied a few moments ago.
“You…
didn’t drink your glass, Greg,” White noticed, with disbelief in his voice.
“Very
perspicacious, Admiral,” Dooley retorted quietly.
“My
God,” White murmured, bewildered. “You… poisoned me?”
“Drugged
you, actually. With very powerful
stuff. Mixed with the cognac, it should
have had a nearly immediate effect on any normal man. You’re a strong one, Colonel White.”
“What… did you call me?” In an effort to stand up, White pushed himself off the wall. He staggered, catching hold of the handrail
again, his eyes desperately trying to keep focus on Dooley. Being called by his colour codename had
brought a disturbing, horrifying thought to his mind, as he knew that his
friend didn’t know anything about his connection with Spectrum. “You’re not Greg Dooley,” he rasped.
“I
am… and I am not, Earthman.”
“Dear
Lord, no…” White stepped back from Dooley, who was approaching him. He stumbled against a chair behind him and
fell heavily to the floor. His sight
was very blurred now, and his breathing was becoming very laborious. He was feeling uncomfortably hot all over.
He
managed to loosen his tie, so he could breathe more easily. It didn’t help him much.
He
saw Dooley standing over him, looking down at him calmly and without any
expression. “You’re a Mysteron…” White
realized. He could not get back to his
feet, nor could he move. He felt as if
he had no strength left in him. Dooley
crouched next to him.
White
heard quiet footsteps approaching.
First, a shadow appeared in his line of view; then he saw a tall,
black-haired, man, dressed in black clothing.
His very pale, stone-cold face peered down blankly at the drugged
Spectrum commander who recognized him instantly and went cold inside.
“Captain
Black,” he croaked.
Despair then overwhelmed him, at about the same
time as he mercifully lost consciousness.
TO BE CONTINUED…