Simon Hawke - The Dracula Caper

"I see you grasp the concept," Larson said, smiling. "And if it would help your situation, Icould sort of mislead other reporters and then I'd have all the proper details when the whole thing was wrapped up. I'd have the best story then, you see."

Wilkes grinned. "I shouldn't think that would make you very popular with your fellow members of the press."

"I'm not out to win any popularity contests, Brian. We're all competitors, after all. Except for myself and Tom Davis of The Daily Telegraph. We've made sort of an arrangement to get the lion's share for ourselves, a silent partnership, as it were. I'm going to speak to Grayson about it. What sort of chap is he. by the way?"

"Chief Inspector Grayson? Blade straight and steel true that one. I wouldn't try putting anything over on him if I were you. I'd present it to him straight up, like you've just done with me. If you deal straight with him, he'll deal straight with you, but Lord Help you if you cross him. He's like a ratting terrier. Once he's got his teeth into you, he never lets go until you're done."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Larson.

"You do that, mate," said Wilkes. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the smoke."

"Don't mention it," said Larson. He smiled. It was a good beginning. Now to see if he could win Inspector William Grayson's trust.

"They did what?'' said Steiger.

They clocked out." said Linda Craven. "Right there in the teashop. One minute they were sitting at the table, drinking tea and then the next, they simply disappeared. There were several couples in the shop, but nobody noticed than clock out except me. I came in after them, as if I was waiting to meet someone and I was pretending to read a magazine, but I was watching them out of the corner of my eye. I saw the man Wells was with look around quickly, to see if anyone was watching, and then suddenly they were gone. I'm sorry, sir, the man didn't match Drakov's description and it just never occurred to me that he might have a warp disc."

"Christ," said Steiger. "What did this man look like? Describe him, carefully."

Craven bit her lower lip. "A small man, about live foot five or six, thin, grey hair and beard, very animated. Maybe late forties to mid-fifties, hard to tell his age exactly. His face was thin. sharp-featured. sort of delicate-"

"Moreau!" said Steiger.

Her eyes grew wide. "The head of S.O.G.'s Project Infiltrator?" she said.

"That's the one," said Steiger. "The description matches." "Oh, God," she said. "I should have put it together, but I just didn't think — "

"Never mind," said Steiger. "Nothing we can do about it now. Get back to Wells' house. If he shows up again, contact me immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"And Craven'? One more thing If you spot Moreau again even if it's in broad daylight with a dozen witnesses around waste him. Understand?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

Wells stood motionless in the small apartment above the apothecary shop, his face pale, his breath caught in his throat. A moment ago, he had been sitting in a teashop in Fleet Street and now, suddenly inexplicably, he was… somewhere else. He blinked several times, looking around. Moreau stood before him, watching him anxiously.

"Where are we?" Wells said.

"In my rented room in Limehouse," said Moreau.

Wells shook his head "Limehouse? No, that isn't possible." "Look for yourself." said Moreau, moving to the window and opening the drapes.

Wells looked out the window. He could see soot-begrimed buildings, factories and warehouses and the river just beyond them. "Limehouse," he said softly. "This cannot be. I must be dreaming."

"I assure you, Mr. Wells." Moreau said, "You are not dreaming. If further proof is required, I can supply it."

"No, no, wait," said Wells. "I must take this in. This is incredible. I have to think."

"May I offer you a drink?" Moreau said.

“Yes, I think I'd better have a drink," said Wells. "A strong one, if you please."

Moreau poured him a whiskey and added just a dash of soda from the gasogene on the sideboard. Wells tossed it down.

"How is this possible?" said Wells. "How did we get here?"

"This bracelet you were so curious about." Moreau said, pulling up his sleeve and showing it to him, "It is called a warp disc. Simply put, it is a sort of time machine.”

"A time machine!" said Wells.

"It is capable of broadcasting a sort of field," said Moreau, "by tapping into-well, it would be far too complicated to explain to a man of your time. However, as you can sec, it does work."

"I think I had better sit down," said Wells. He slowly eased himself into an armchair and let out a long breath. "Dear God," he said. "Are you telling me that we have actually traveled through time?"

"Only in a manner of speaking." said Moreau. "No more than a moment or two have passed since we left the teashop. However, I could just as easily have programmed-that is, instructed the disc to take us back several centuries if I had wished to. Or ahead. The method of travel is called temporal transition. A sort of teleportation, if you will. We can go from one place to another within the same time period, or from one time period to another with equal ease."

Wells shook his head. "And all this is accomplished by a device so small that it can be contained within that bracelet? Amazing! It is beyond belief!"

"And yet you have experienced it, Mr. Wells," Moreau said.

"How can you not believe it?"

"Indeed," said Wells, "unless you have somehow mesmerized me and brought me here without my knowing it…"

"Would a more conclusive demonstration satisfy you?" said Moreau.

"I… I do not know," said Wells. "That is, I-" Suddenly. Moreau was gone.

He had simply vanished, right before his eyes. Wells blinked, then shook his head, then slowly took a deep breath and let it out.

"Steady on, Bertie," he told himself. "You're not going mad. You're only dreaming. This cannot possibly be happening. There is a rational explanation for all this, there has to be-"

Moreau suddenly reappeared before him and Wells jumped about a foot. Moreau was sweating heavily and his shirt clung to him, as if he had been in intense heat for some time. He was holding his coat in his hands. Something was wrapped inside it. And it was moving.

"I have brought you something." said Moreau. "A present.”

He placed his coat in Wells' lap. There was something wriggling around inside it. Wells sat perfectly still, afraid to move.

"What is it?" he said. "Not a snake? Moreau, you wouldn't-'

"Open it and see."

Wells slowly untied the coat sleeves and unwrapped what was inside the coat. He stared, bug-eyed, at the small, ungainly, reptilian-looking creature cradled inside Moreau's coat on his lap. it was a baby dinosaur.

"You have studied the biological sciences. Mr. Wells," said Moreau. "Perhaps you will recognize the creature as a baby sauropod. A Camarasaurus of the Upper Jurassic, to be exact. Have no fear, it cannot harm you. It is an herbivore. Its teeth and claws cannot injure you. I regret to say that you will not be able to watch it grow to its full size of 19.8 meters in length, with a weight that could reach as high as twenty-five tons. It will not live very long in this climate. It is far too cold for its constitution.''

Wells stared with disbelief at the shivering little great lizard in his lap. He touched it hesitantly. It looked somehow pathetic. "Take it back." he said. "Please."

"As you wish," Moreau said. He picked up the coat, wrapped it around the little dinosaur, and disappeared again, to reappear a moment later, even wetter with perspiration than before. "Convinced?" he said.

Wells leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I think I would like another whiskey, please," he said.