Clive Bedford: Mistress of torment

"Seven gone? In six months?"

"Yes. Want to change your mind?"

"No Sir."

"Good. Now, tell me, what do you know about UFO's?"

Chief Inspector Dodds smiled again, fleetingly as he saw the sudden tension in Gerry's face. He knew just what the young man was thinking!

"Unidentified Flying Objects" – witches on broomsticks? Or the delusions of weak-minded people? Or a mystery wrapped in an enigma that had not so far been opened up? Should Gerry show his chief that he had an open mind – and risk being considered eccentric at least, if not downright unstable? Or should he dismiss UFO's as nonsense, and risk being thought of as having a mind closed to new ideas? It was a difficult dilemma for an ambitious young police officer. Dodds resolved it for him.

"Level with me, Glasner," he said. "Be frank. I'm not trying to catch you out, lad… I'll tell you something – under the umbrella of the Official Secrets Act – the Prime Minister is in daily contact with the President of the United States over the hot line about this very question. And even though we may not think much of politicians, no one thinks they are that crazy!"

Gerry Glasner took a sudden resolve. If this new assignment proved to be worthwhile, it could lead him quickly out of the boring routine of police business, and into something that would give him the chance to use his intelligence to the full. If not, well, he already had in mind to resign anyway, so what had he to lose?

"I think there have been genuine sightings of UFO's, Sir," he said quietly. "A lot of the reports – maybe most of them – may be illusions, genuine or crazy, but there are some that seem, from the little I have read, to be beyond question… After all, a lot of policemen have reported sightings, on night patrol!" He smiled, disarmingly.

Chief Inspector Dodds sat silent for a moment his face hard, frosty, and Gerry wondered if he had said the right thing – then he thought, "So what the hell! I've said what I honestly believe. He can like it – or lump it!"

"You're right, of course," said Dodds, surprisingly. "There have been sightings, quite recent ones, that are absolutely genuine. And I don't mean just sightings in the sky. I mean, real, genuine sightings of craft – and of personnel – on the ground. Backed up by photographs that are unquestionable – and by eye-witness accounts that tally so well that there can be no question of collusion, or even of mass hysteria."

"I'll give you the data to read later on, but for now you may take it as certain that there are some kind of space-craft, peopled by living beings with human characteristics – or some of them at least – flying about in our atmosphere, and making landings from time to time. What's more; the creatures concerned have been interfering in human affairs for a very long time. For centuries in fact. And in the past year this interference has grown into a serious and dangerous menace."

"Was it… them… who killed Betty Bronson and the boy?" asked Gerry.

"We believe so. And the other agents too. We've used these young people because about a year ago, we became convinced that a lot of mysterious disappearances were due to abduction by these… creatures. As you know, there's always hundreds of people disappear into the blue every year. I guess most of them are husbands getting away from wives – and although the wives don't like it, it's not really our affair. So long as there's no suspicion of foul play, it's not illegal for a husband to disappear!"

"But last year the number of young people disappearing suddenly trebled, and that's serious. A lot of older, experienced officers began raking up the old stories from the 1920's about the white slave traffic, and the possibility that these youngsters were being sold into brothels and such, like in the Mid-East. But you know it's not easy these days for anyone to be taken against his will out of the country. It can be done, but not on such a large scale. I mean, we were dealing with something like an additional two thousand disappearances of people between about sixteen and thirty years."

"And then we got a lead, just one, that opened up an entirely new line of enquiry. We had to take the whole thing out of the hands of the regular force and give it to Special Branch – and it looks as though they've failed too, with all their agents dead. So now I am under orders from the home office to try a different angle."

"I'm going to use just two agents, more mature, experienced, working together. It's a slender chance, but we hope that one at least will survive to tell the tale!"

Gerry shivered, in spite of himself.

"Two agents?" he asked.

"Yes. You, now you've volunteered, and an American, a girl. She's just turned twenty-two years old, of an age to appeal to these… creatures. And old enough to have some sense and experience. She'll work with you."

"But why are the Americans involved? Isn't this a matter for NATO?"

"In a way, it's accidental. But for one thing, the Americans have the hardware and the technical capacity to help. Their satellites, for instance, have actually sighted dozens of these craft, although the damned things don't stay in one place long enough – and they move too fast – for us to be able to pinpoint them – yet. And it's better for us to work with the Americans. Oh, we have our differences, especially at newspaper level! But in a general way, we lead the-same kind of life, we have much the same kind of aspirations, we speak the same language – and that helps a lot. But more than that, these days when we confide anything to our NATO allies in Europe, it gets back to the Russkies inside a couple of days, and we're still not sure it is not them!"

"You think these may be Russian craft?"

"No. We don't think so. But they could be. And in the present state of the world, we've got to be damned sure it's not, before we blow the gaff! They are so tight-lipped that they wouldn't tell us about it even if they knew, even if it meant we could all get together to deal with the situation. In fact, we are sure they've had sightings, but they blame them on 'spy planes', usually American, and that adds to the gaiety of nations as you know! So, we're going it alone, with the Americans, and the Cabinet are convinced this is the best way. If and when we get incontrovertible proof, then we'll tell Russia and ask for their help. In the meantime, they'll have to go on assuming it's the Americans, or NATO, or even the Chinese!"

"When and how do we start?" asked Gerry.

"Right now. You go out of here to the Westland Hotel. Go up to Room 128. You'll find Sonia Evans waiting there. She'll tell you all you need to know. Before you leave, read this folder and note carefully what it says. Then give it back to my secretary – and get a signature for it to cover you in case it ever leaks out! And now, Glasner," snapped Chief Inspector Dodds, "stand up!"

Wondering at the sudden change of attitude, Glasner pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Your conduct during the past six months has been totally unworthy of a police officer of your standing. The charges of corruption against you cannot at present be confirmed. If they ever are, you will find yourself in court – and probably in jail. You are dismissed from the Service in disgrace, with pay up to 6 p.m. today. That is all! – Except for one thing!" Dodds suddenly smiled. "You'll find your account is credited at your bank with two-thousand pounds, and so long as you don't go mad and spend it too fast, that balance will be maintained all the time you are on detached duty." He held out his hand impulsively. "Good luck, lad," he said. And then, suddenly serious, "Keep safe… OK, on your way Glasner – and keep out of my sight if you know what's good for you!"

To say that Gerry was confused would be an understatement. He spent an hour in an anteroom reading the folder with growing unbelief. Then he returned it to the secretary who gave him a receipt for it, merely mentioning its official number. When he walked out through the general office and along the corridors, it was obvious that everyone who met him knew that he was in disgrace. He encountered glances that held pity, derision, disgust, contempt. He felt like a cheap crook as he passed through the swing-doors and into the street!