Simon Hawke - The Dracula Caper

"But the witnesses saw a man," said Holcombe.

"The witnesses saw what appeared to be a man," said Conan Doyle. "In the heavy fog, how could they be certain? Remember, no one saw the killer's face. I keep thinking about the sole survivor of the struggle, Stanley Turner. A face covered with hair” he said. What does that mean, a heavy heard? He said a man appeared out of the mist and called to the killer, called to him-or it-several times while it growled, apparently eager to attack Turner and finish him off. The killer finally responded and then, in Turner's own words, 'shambled off after the mysterious stranger. One might describe the movements of a great ape in such terms."

"A trained ape?" said Holcombe. "Dressed in a man's clothing?"

"A great ape would have the necessary strength required," Conan Doyle said, "and the other elements would seem to fit as well, only the hair does not match that of any ape I am familiar with. Still, there are such rare creatures as the silver- backed gorilla, for example, which might have hair to match those samples that we have found. There are no such creatures in captivity in England that I know of, but great apes are very manlike and I have seen chimpanzees trained to an astonishing degree, so that they almost seem like people."

"But what motive would someone have to train such a creature to kill, apparently at random?" Holcombe said. "And how could someone keep such an animal concealed?"

"I don't know," said Conan Doyle, frustrated. "It is a maddening case. But the more I think about it, the more I consider the evidence, the more convinced I become of the fact that our killer is not human. The question is if he is not human, then what is he?"

"I'd sooner accept the theory that we are looking for an ape rather than a werewolf," Holcombe said wryly.

"So would I. Ian, so would I." said Conan Doyle. "One thing seems certain, though, and that is that we are dealing with some sort of a monstrosity. I will be curious to see what happens in the next few days, if there will be any more killings after tomorrow night.''

"Why after tomorrow night?" said Holcombe, puzzled. "Because tomorrow is the last night of the full moon," said Conan Doyle.

Neilson almost dropped a tray of instruments.

"A werewolf' said H. G. Wells. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Really, Moreau, this is too much. just how much do you think one man can absorb in just one short afternoon'?"

"Not only a werewolf," said Moreau, "hut I have reason to believe that

Drakov may have created a vampire as well. The template for the creature was outlined in the notes he showed me-"

"Wait, wait," said Wells, holding his bands up in protest. He glanced from Moreau to the old Chinaman, Lin Tao, then back to Moreau again. "Let me understand you. Are we seriously talking about werewolves and vampires, such as those described in folklore? Men who turn into wolves when the moon is full, capable of being killed only by a silver bullet? Corpses reanimated by the devil, existing by the means of drinking human blood? Beings you cannot see reflected in a mirror, who turn into bats and can be destroyed only by wooden stakes driven through their hearts?"

"No, no. of course not," said Moreau. "What you are talking about is fantasy, the supernatural. What I am talking about is science. Specifically, the science of genetic engineering and biomodification. Biological experimentation, if you will, that is my field. I had developed a new way of manipulating human DNA… no, that would mean nothing to you, of course. How can I put it? This werewolf we are discussing, in a way, it was I who created him. I was the one who taught Nikolai Drakov everything he knows, to my everlasting shame. I was the one who showed him how animal genetic material… well, how surgical procedures, for lack of a better way of explaining it to you, can create beings who are neither men nor beasts, but something in between, creatures in whom elements of both men and beasts are combined. I never dreamed that he would take it so far. It never occurred to me that he had been studying the field for years, that he was an insane genius who would be able to observe my techniques and duplicate them, even refine them, that he was using me…"

Moreau's voice trailed off. He balled his fists and took a deep breath, shaking his head in an agony of rage and frustration.

"I am only confusing you," he said. "I can see it in your face. How can I explain? How can I make you see?"

"Why not convince him as you convinced me, Phillipe?" Lin Tao said softly. "Why not show Mr. Wells how much one man can absorb in just one short afternoon?"

Moreau stared at Lin Tao. "I had considered it," he said, "but it frightens me. What if something should go wrong? I mean no offense, old friend, but you are not historically important. Wells is. He will write extensively about the future. He will leave his mark. I have already interfered too much in his destiny. I am afraid to take it any further."

Lin Tao looked thoughtful. "In the words of the poet Hakuyo, 'Over the peak are spreading clouds, at its source the river is cold. If you would see, climb the mountain top.' It time is, indeed, as you have explained it to me, like a river with no end and no beginning, then perhaps, Phillipe, you should he afraid not to take it any further."

Moreau licked his lips nenou. sly. "Creatures in whom elements of both men and beasts are combined,” he murmured softly to himself. "And then the remarkable coincidence of my name…" He shook his head. "But that was another world. another timeline. It's true, this one is almost a perfect mirror image-"

"Moreau, in Heaven's name, man, what are you mumbling about?" said Wells. "I understand none of this!"

"Perhaps not at this moment, Mr. Wells," Moreau said, "but you will very shortly understand it perfectly. As you have already observed, the type of warp disc that I wear can generate a temporal field large enough to transport more than one individual. You have experienced one very short temporal transition, from Fleet Street to Limehouse. How would you like to experience a far greater one, from the 19th century to the 27th?"

Wells stared at him. "Do you mean that you propose for us to travel over seven hundred years into the future?"

"Exactly," said Moreau. "I think that would convince you of what science can accomplish beyond any shadow of a doubt." Wells swallowed nervously, glancing from one man to the other. "I am still not entirely convinced that I amt not dreaming all of this," he said. "But if it is truly possible to see the future, to actually travel there

… How could any man possibly. resist such a fantastic opportunity? When would we leave?"

Moreau pulled back his sleeve. "Right now."

The waiting was driving Finn Delaney crazy. Andre had relieved him on the surveillance of Conan Doyle and he had relieved Steiger at the Hotel Metropole command post while Steiger took a break for some much needed sleep. Delaney had bathed and put on a silk robe. He sat drinking coffee, going over his notes on the mission, which were continually updated as new reports came in. They were making progress. but it was excruciatingly slow.

Ransome and Rirzo had been systematically eliminating names from their lists of recent leaseholds and depositors, trying to track down Drakov's alias in this time period. If he was using an alias and if he was even in this time period. Delaney could not believe he wasn't. It would not fit Drakov's pattern to release several hominoids in Victorian London and then clock out to another time period. He would remain close by, to watch and supervise his handiwork. Nikolai Drakov was a product of two times-the 27th century, where he had received his implant education, and the 19th, where he had received his values, twisted though they had become. Drakov was not the sort of man to remain behind the scenes for long. His ego would not allow it. He took responsibility.