Strange Eons (20 page)

“Then you believe the rest will happen too—the end of the world?”

“I didn’t say that. What I do say is we must consider the possibility of what we’re up against and prepare to deal with it, even if it means admitting that the legendary Old Ones may really exist.”

“But I can’t—”

“Why not? Think about it for a moment.” The tall man pocketed his pipe. “Throughout recorded history mankind has had many cosmologies, many gods. I’m not talking of savages now, but about our most advanced civilizations. The Greeks and Romans with their pantheons, the Egyptians bowing to their bestial-headed immortals, the devotees of a hundred Hindu deities—billions of true believers have worshipped outlandish entities. Let’s get down to modern monotheism now. What do Moslems actually base their beliefs on? Merely the word of a camel driver, who claimed Allah was the one true god and appointed him as the one true prophet. Much the same holds true for Gautama and Buddhism, Moses and Judaism, Jesus and Christianity. In most instances a nobody sets himself up as preacher, and either he or his followers incorporate the new religion in a book, which they say is the product of divine dictation. And it works. Men do believe, millions upon millions of them.

“But where’s the proof? These great religions were accepted almost entirely on faith.
We
have facts.”

Mike faced the tall man. “Then what’s the next move?”

“There are many moves. We’re not neglecting any of them. One team has already been assigned to crack the linguistic problem—the words, phrases, place-names, proper names in all of Lovecraft’s works. We’ve always assumed these were neologisms of his own invention—now we’re not so sure. We’re trying to relate them to possible parallel references in the standard
grimoires
and black magic rituals, spells and incantations in all known languages. Maybe there’s a common denominator and if so it would help if we could find it. The philologists on this project are using a computer backup because we need quick answers.”

He nodded at Mike. “Your people, of course, are conducting the physical investigation, with full cooperation from CIA, FBI and public law enforcement agencies. Working under wraps we’ve pooled our data with Interpol to set up raids on known and suspected terrorist groups here and abroad. By tonight we’ll have completed a full-scale sweep of Starry Wisdom members. I don’t think we can net any of the principals but it’s worth a try. What we’re hoping for is that interrogation may give us a lead on Nye.”

Mike shrugged. “You won’t keep a lid on the situation if you go that route.”

“We’ll do what we can, but right now we’re fighting the clock. Any public reaction to the raids is nothing, compared to the wholesale panic that could result if we don’t take such steps to prevent what may happen next. If R’lyeh was thrust forth from the sea by these earthquakes and something slumbering there awakened, it must be stopped.”

“How?”

“I’ve just cleared with Ermington at the Navy Department.” The tall man glanced at his watch. “In exactly thirty-eight hours, our reckoning, a nuclear sub will be dispatched from a Pacific base. Objective, south latitude 47° 9', west longitude 126° 43'. Operational orders—seek and destroy.”

Mike frowned. “Do they know what they’re going up against?”

“The commanding officer will be briefed, of course, but we can’t rely entirely on that. I’ve requested permission to assign an observer to the mission with special-consultant status.”

“Someone you can trust?”

“I hope so.” The tall man rose. “You’ll leave for Guam in the morning.”

The bedside alarm went off.

Kay stirred, then reached out and prodded Mike.

“Time to go, darling,” she murmured.

Darling.
A strange word, falling self-consciously from her lips. But as Mike turned and his arms tightened around her, the strangeness vanished.

What had happened last night now seemed both inevitable and very right. And what was happening presently seemed right too, except—

A sudden image rose unbidden; cattle moving up the ramp in a slaughterhouse, mounting one another blindly and compulsively even as they were driven to the death waiting within.

“No!” she whispered, pulling away.

“What’s the matter?” Mike stared at her, puzzled. “Don’t you love me?”

“You know I do.” Kay freed herself and sat up quickly, hands cupped to push back her tumbling hair. “There isn’t time.”

Of course I love him,
she told herself. Groping for a robe in the grayish light, rising, moving into the kitchen to put on coffee while he shaved and dressed, she repeated her affirmation. This was real, more than mere physical release, more than a one-night stand with some singles-bar stranger. But how did he feel about it; what did it mean to him?

She didn’t have an answer, and she found none in his face as they sat at the breakfast table.

“Why so quiet?” he said. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Everything. I wish none of this had happened, that you weren’t going—”

Mike’s hand reached out to hers. “If it hadn’t happened we’d never have met. And you know I have to go. But in a few days I’ll be coming back.”

“And then?”

He shrugged. “What do you want—a formal proposal?”

“Darling!”

This time the word came easily. And from then on, even at the last moment when she went with him to the door and he held her close, there was no longer any doubt.

But when he left the fear returned; returned and remained.

Not for herself—she was safe enough here and Mike’s replacement lent a reassuring presence. He was a soft-spoken Southerner named Orin Sanderson, and Mike had greeted him warmly when he appeared to take up his post.

“Orin’s a good man,” he told her. “Don’t let that Kentucky gentleman act fool you. He’s the kind of pussycat who turns into a tiger when you need one.”

Certainly he was polite enough, and mercifully unobtrusive. He’d been ordered to stay in the apartment on a round-the-clock basis while others stood guard outside on rotating shifts, but there was never any question about keeping his distance. Though he took his meals with her when they were sent in, he kept out of her way during the rest of the day. Most of the time he sat reading on the living room sofa where he spent the night. Since Kay discovered a well-filled bookshelf and a portable television set in the bedroom she had no need to join him. The knowledge of his presence was comforting enough.

Still, the fear stayed with her and could not be dispelled. It peered over her shoulder when she read, squatted beside her before the TV set. And it grinned at her directly every time she looked at a clock.

Ten
P.M.
What time would it be now in Guam? Had Mike arrived yet? Was he there now or had the sub already departed on its mission? How far was the run to the target area, and just exactly where was it located? The latitude and longitude mentioned by the tall man at the briefing meant nothing to her.

Here it was, thirty-six hours or more since Mike had left, and no word had reached her. But time passed somehow and Kay knew where it went to. The fear was feeding on it, gobbling up minute after minute, gorging and growing.

Words on the printed page no longer conveyed a meaning and images on the picture tube blurred. On the second evening she found herself rummaging through the contents of the bookshelf and tossing its contents aside with mounting impatience.

The sound of her activity brought Orin Sanderson to the bedroom door.

“Anything wrong, ma’am?”

“I was just looking for an atlas or an almanac. Something with maps in it.”

“Now don’t you go fretting over that.”

“Couldn’t we send out for one?”

Sanderson shook his head. “Sorry.” He consulted his watch. “Maybe it would help if I told you they’re almost at target area now. With any luck everything will be wrapped up in a few hours. If they stay on schedule they should be back at base again some time tomorrow morning.”

“Will they call and let us know?”

“We’ll get word when the time comes.” Sanderson nodded gently. “Now just you simmer down. I fixed a pot of coffee—”

Kay managed a smile. “No, thanks. I’ll be all right.”

“Why don’t you turn in? Best thing for you right now is a good night’s rest.”

So Kay went to bed, but not alone.

The fear crawled under the covers beside her, and in the dark she could feel it lying there cold and still, lying in wait to embrace her, to drag her down into dreams and the deep. The deep, far below the surface of the sullen sea, where in his stone house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits.

She fought the fear but the dreams came and she found herself there in the depths, floating amidst the titanic towers of tumbled temples, weed-encrusted and foul with the stench of age-old ichor. Through eon-old emptiness and the silence of uncounted centuries she sought for a vanished presence but nothing remained except the miasma of an ancient dread. Then ahead there loomed the gigantic fissure in the sea floor, and beyond it the immense jumble of jagged rock rising to pierce the surface far above.

Now she was rising too, moving upward past the crazed configuration toward the point where a portion of the stone citadel reared unbroken, soaring beyond ink-black waves into an ice-gray sky. And its outlines kept melting and changing shape so that she could not define its semblance or size or perceive anything of its portals save that they were open.

Closer she came, nearing the enormous entry, peering into the yawning darkness, her fear mounting at the thought of what she was soon to see. Nothing could surpass that fear, or so she thought, even as she stared.

But she was wrong. The greatest fear was yet to be; it came upon her now as she gazed beyond the parted portals, gazed deep into the house of Cthulhu rising above the water, gazed into the abode of evil and found it—

“Empty!”

The scream burst from her lips as she awakened; awakened to the sudden blaze of lights in the bedroom and the sight of Orin Sanderson moving toward her through the doorway.

“Ma’am?”

“I had a nightmare.” Kay raised herself on one elbow, pulling the covers up in a self-conscious gesture as she strove to still the trembling. “Don’t worry—I’m fine now.”

“Good. I was going to wake you anyway. The call just came through.”

“Call?”

Sanderson nodded. “It’s all over. Mission accomplished.”

“What happened?”

“No details. But Mike can tell you all about it when you see him.”

Kay wasn’t trembling now. She sat up quickly, unmindful of exposure. “How soon will that be?”

The security agent smiled. “My orders are to escort you back to Los Angeles. He’ll be coming in some time tomorrow. I gather the chief of operations will be on hand to meet him there and get a firsthand report as soon as he arrives.”

“Wouldn’t you think he’d come here directly instead?”

Sanderson smiled. “I’ve been in this line of work twelve years now, ma’am. So far all I’ve learned are two things.”

“What are they?”

“Don’t think. And don’t ask questions.”

Kay did her best to follow Sanderson’s example, but it wasn’t easy. There was so much she wanted to know, so much she wanted to understand. Had her last dream been precognitive or symbolic of reality? The empty crypt beneath the awesome opening—did that mean Cthulhu had been destroyed? Obviously so, if Mike was returning. She remembered Lovecraft’s story: how the ship had rammed the monstrous creature, ripping its slithering shape asunder, only to have its substance recombine. Still there were no nuclear weapons in Lovecraft’s day; now even alien life-forms couldn’t withstand atomic disintegration.

Don’t think about it, don’t ask questions. Besides, there isn’t time.

Kay packed hastily as Sanderson busied himself on the phone.

Whatever had happened didn’t affect security precautions, she noted. Sanderson’s car was tailed by a second vehicle manned by other agents; it followed them all the way to Dulles International. There it halted as Sanderson drove through an inconspicuous service gate at the far end, halting before an unmarked hangar staffed by men who wore uniforms without insignia. The Lear jet poised for departure waited, and it too was devoid of any identifying markings.

There was no direct communication with anyone in the ground crew; Sanderson merely nodded to them as he led Kay directly up the boarding ramp and into the plane.

The entryway closed behind them immediately and the ramp was wheeled away; already the craft was throbbing as though impatient for takeoff. Up front behind the cabin door the pilot, co-pilot and navigator were completing their final checkout, but the spacious passenger area was deserted.

From the looks of the elaborate setup—kitchen, portable bar, radio and television combination unit, conference table, even a bedroom compartment in the tail—Kay guessed the jet customarily carried top military brass or government officials, served by a full staff.

Confirmation came from Sanderson as they taxied down the runway. “Too bad we’re not carrying the usual service crew,” he said. “But the less people involved, the less risk.”

“Don’t apologize,” Kay told him. “I’m happy just to be going home.” She settled in a lounge chair as they took off and in moments the plane was smoothly airborne. “How soon will we get there?”

“Estimated flight time is approximately three hours.” Sanderson stifled a yawn and she glanced up at him.

“Tired?”

“Just a smidge.” He grinned. “That sofa in the apartment was a little on the lumpy side.”

“There’s a bedroom in back. Why don’t you get some rest?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be perfectly comfortable here.” She gestured toward the radio-television unit, then at the coffee table before her. “Look—they’ve even supplied newspapers.”

Sanderson blinked. “I’d be breaking orders.”

Kay shook her head. “Not breaking—just bending them a little. Go ahead. I promise to wake you in plenty of time before we land.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” Sanderson turned and moved toward the compartment, this time making no effort to conceal his yawn.