The Dracula Caper (TimeWars 8)

"Maybe you do." said Steiger, losing his temper. "After all, it's your mess we're trying to clean up!"

The color drained out of Forrester's face and Steiger instantly regretted his outburst.

"Damn it," he said. "I'm sorry, sir. That was way out of line." Forrester seemed to deflate. He sat down slowly. Steiger gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, wishing he could take back what he had said.

"Sir, I-"

Forrester held up his hand and Steiger clamped his mouth shut, his jaw muscles working.

"There's no need to apologize." said Forrester. "You're absolutely right.” He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "My son is my responsibility. I should have killed him when I had the chance. I couldn't bring myself to do it. There's no excuse.”

"Sir, I had no right to say that. I know what you must have been going through-"

"Do you, Creed?" Forrester said softly. "Do you really? How could you possibly know? People have died because of my mistake and all I've done is pass the buck. I can't remember the, last time I had a good night's sleep. It just keeps eating away at my guts, chewing me up. "

Steiger stood there silently, hating himself. There was nothing he could say. The Old Man was right, the pressure had been getting to him and he had lashed out, thoughtlessly, hitting Forrester below the belt. It was hard enough knowing you had a son who was insane and hated you without having to send people out to hunt him down and kill him.

"I've seen my son face-to-face just once in my entire life," said Forrester, "and that was over the blade of a knife. And even then, I don't believe he was a criminal. He was angry, hurt, confused, but he wasn't evil. He wasn't insane, at least not then. Whatever's happened to him, whatever he's become. it's my responsibility and I'm going to have to live with that."

He opened the top drawer of his desk, took out a warp disc and strapped it on.

"Sir," said Steiger, "what are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago," Forrester said. "Take responsibility. Clean up my own mess."

"Sir, with all due respect, you can't do that," Steiger said. “That would be abandoning your post in wartime. Under the regulations, the penalty for that is-"

"To use your own words, Steiger," Forester said. "screw regulations."

He summoned his administrative adjutant. Lieutenant Cary.

"I'm clocking out to the Minus Side," he told the startled young woman.”I’m not sure how long I'm going to be hack there, but I'm programming my disc for clockback coordinates rive minutes from now. Cover for me, If anything comes up,

I'm relying on your best judgment to issue orders in my name. Wait six minutes. If I'm not back by then or if a crossover alert comes down while I'm away, get on the horn to Director General Vargas and report me A.W.O.L. on the Minus Side."

Her eyes grew wide. "But, sir-"

"That's an order. Cary."

"Yes, sir," she said, swallowing hard, "I understand that, but if I report you A.W.O.L. to Director Vargas, do you realize what that means'?"

"It means I'll probably be dead," said Forrester, "so I guess it won't matter much to me one way or another." He strapped on his sidearm and glanced at Steiger. "Let's go.”

10

"I shall ask you one more time, madame," Grayson said, pacing back and forth across his office at Scotland Yard, "what is your real name and what is your purpose here in London?"

"I've already told you," Linda Craven said. She was sitting in a straight- backed wooden chair placed against the wall. A uniformed policeman stood beside her. "My name is Craven, Linda Craven, and I am an American citizen. I am part of a research group preparing a series of texts-•

"You're lying," Grayson said, stopping directly in front of her. He did not raise his voice.

"Inspector, I resent your accusation," she said stiffly. "Why am I being treated like this? I have been assaulted and the gentleman I was with was murdered in a horrible manner, yet you are questioning me as if I were the criminal! What possible reason' would I have for lying to you'?"

"That is precisely what I am attempting to discover, madame," Grayson said. "I have been in touch with the American consulate and they have no knowledge whatsoever of any research project such as you describe. I would think that if there really were such a project, the American embassy would be aware of it. Additionally, there is the matter of your passport. It is an extremely clever forgery. And let us not forget that singularly unacademic revolver of yours. Quite a large revolver, too, especially for a woman. Mr. Larson also had such a revolver. A Colt. 45 Peacemaker, as I believe it's called. Hardly the sort of item one might expect to find among the personal effects of an American research scholar or a British newspaperman. A British newspaperman who seems to have no past. I might add. It seems that prior to his being hired on at the Police Gazette. Mr. Larson appears not to have existed. I find that very curious. But it becomes still more so. "Members of the hotel staff report having seen the late Mr. Larson at the Metropole on numerous occasions, visiting that very suite where you were found unconscious, pinned beneath the body of your assailant. Now why would a British newspaper reporter investigating a series of brutal murders in Whitechapel be paying frequent visits to a group of young American scholars engaged in writing a textbook concerning the social history of England?"

As it happens, we were seeing each other socially," said Linda.

"Entirely possible,” said Grayson, "but. I think not very likely. I have here a list, kindly supplied by the hotel, of the names of individuals who were part of this supposed 'research group' of yours. The name Richard Larson does not appear on this list, but interestingly enough, the name Richard Locker does and several members of the hotel staff have positively identified the remains of the unfortunate Mr. Larson as those of Mr. Locker. Remembering that Mr. Larson had been working very closely with the late Mr. Thomas Davis of The Daily Telegraph, it occurred to me to show a photograph of the remains of Mr. Davis to the hotel staff and, lo and behold, we discover that Mr. Thomas Davis was apparently also Mr. Thomas Daniels, whose name appears right here on our list of members of this 'research group.' Further inquiries lead us to the realization that prior to being taken on by The Daily Telegraph. Mr. Davis also appears not to have existed. We begin to uncover a tissue of lies and misrepresentation, forged credentials, faked references, all pointing to sonic sort of ambitious and illegal undertaking.