Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you notice any unusual behavior at that time. In 1903?”

He laughed. “Not really, Mr. Holmes. He got upset about his school’s soccer team, but that was about it.”

“The soccer team?”

“He was a serious fan. And, come to think of it, the Wright Brothers too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was with him when we heard about that first flight. We were at a party at City University in December. I remember because the place was filled with Christmas decorations. And that’s when the news came about heavier-than-air vehicles.”

“So what happened?”

“He got pretty excited.”

“Excited how?”

Gordon frowned. “He looked worried. I remember wondering why. At one point I assured him that we would not do anything crazy with aircraft. That they’d never be like trains. So if he was worried about having to travel in one, he could forget it. I think I intended it partly as a joke, but as best I can remember, he didn’t think it was funny.”

“Did you ask him why he reacted that way?”

“If I did, he brushed me off. I never got an explanation.”

Amy Daniels was sweeping off her front porch when we arrived. She put the broom down and removed an apron. “Mr. Holmes,” she said after he’d introduced himself. “It’s so good to meet you.” She smiled at me. “I assume this is Dr. Watson?”

“No, Mrs. Daniels, this is my good friend Henry Mencken. He’s an author.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Well, hello, Mr. Mencken. Please come in.” She opened the door and would have stood aside for us, but of course there was no way Holmes would allow that. He took the door, Amy went into the house, and we followed.

“I don’t know that I can be of much help,” she said. The furniture, which was limited to a settee, a pair of armchairs, and a desk, looked a bit worn, as did the carpet. A wedding picture portrayed Amy and the groom outside a church. Beside it, a clock ticked solemnly. It was approaching 4:30. The desk occupied a corner of the room, its surface largely given over to a machine that vaguely resembled a typewriter. A magazine rack was cluttered with penny dreadfuls.

Holmes smiled as if he knew she was understating her value. “We won’t take much of your time, Mrs. Daniels. All I need is for you to tell us why Steve Addington didn’t reveal what he’d discovered. Where his relativity research had taken him.”

“I have no idea, Mr. Holmes. He never really told me anything.”

“Losing him must have been very painful.”

“It was.” She sat quietly for a moment. “It came out of nowhere. Nobody knew he had a health problem.” Her voice shook.

“I understand your husband is an accountant?”

“Why, yes, he is. How did you know?”

Holmes indicated the machine on the desktop. “I’m not sure there’d be any other reason for a tabulator here.”

“Very good, sir. He’ll be home in an hour.”

“Did he ever meet Steve?”

“Just to say hello. They never really communicated with each other. I’d have been in the way of that, I suppose.”

“Of course,” said Holmes. “Now, just to be clear, you say he never explained to you what his research had uncovered?”

“No. He did not.” She pushed her brown hair back and shrugged.

“Did he mention at all the fact that he’d made a major discovery?”

“There were a few times he told me about making progress on something, but he never really took it beyond that.”

“There’s a photograph of you and him, raising glasses of wine at his place. Celebrating. I’m sure you remember it.”

“Yes. I remember it.”

“What were you celebrating?”

“It was his birthday.”

“You were both out on his porch. It was obviously a summer day.”

“That’s correct.”

“Can you tell me when his birthday was?”

She had to think. “April something. I forget exactly when.”

“You’re sure it was in April?”

She inhaled. “Mr. Holmes, why don’t we let it go?”

“Because there is a story that may gain credence. That could destroy Steve’s reputation.”

“What story is that? He was a good man. A decent man. He never would have—.”

“He may have uncovered a power source that could have threatened the profits of the oil companies. They may have bought him out. Paid him to bury what he had.”

“Ridiculous. He would never do a thing like that.”

“Once it gets out, that kind of rumor will not be stopped. There’s even talk they might have had him murdered. Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

She froze. Looked toward me. I smiled, as if we already knew the truth, whatever it might be. “The oil companies never knew about it.”

“About what, precisely?”

“He made me promise not to say anything.”

“Why?”

“Because he thought his discovery was too dangerous.”

“In what way?”

“It had military implications.”

She folded her arms and Holmes sat waiting. “Mrs. Daniels,” he said finally, “can you be more explicit?”

“He said that it could be used to develop a single bomb that would have the capability to destroy London. And I know how that sounds. I didn’t believe it either. I still don’t. But he did.”

“I see,” said Holmes.

“Please,” she said. “Keep this to yourself. I’ll deny it if it gets out.”

“We won’t reveal any of this unless it becomes necessary.”

“He would not want you to say anything, Mr. Holmes, even if his reputation was at stake.”

“It’s not likely to matter because the research was completed by Albert Einstein. Mrs. Daniels, thank you for your assistance.” Holmes looked my way. “Well, Henry, I think we’re done here.”

“Mr. Holmes,” she asked. “What do you plan to do?”

“A single bomb capable of destroying London? I think perhaps whatever would later bring on the stroke was already making Addison delusional. It hardly seems like something we need worry about.”

I went on to Germany, did some sight-seeing, and visited relatives. When I got back to Baltimore, a letter was waiting for me. It was from Holmes. He said he’d passed the information on to his brother Mycroft, who has a position high in the British government. “Mycroft checked with Einstein,” he wrote. “We’ve been advised there’s no reason for concern.”

Andy Pharon didn’t know why he spent an hour every morning on FaceBook. Scandal! Outrage! Funny pussycats! More outrage! He might have been reading a tabloid, except that FaceBook was more respectable. Which mattered since he was in Larry’s.

Martha came over. “Everything okay, Andy?”

“Excellent.” He gave her his standard thumbs-up.

He was relieved moments later when his email dinged. Sarah Mills, Chief Development Officer at BioFutures Labs, wanted more ideas. Meeting at ten. Be there!

He finished his sweet roll and sipped his coffee. More ideas. He had nothing, but he couldn’t say that, could he?

That was when the old guy with the roller bag squeezed between tables and stopped beside his chair. He was too well dressed to be a drifter but Andy still shook his head as he turned away for another sip of coffee.