Stephen Jones - The Mammoth Book of Terror

Horror was damp on Metzger’s face. The air was stifling, charged with hideous revelation. “You said he was a pioneer. . . .”

“Yes,” Lipton rumbled impatiently. “A pioneer in the development of the disease process.”

“Oh my god,” whispered Geoff. “ Oh my god !”

“I know this is a great deal to comprehend,” Dr Thackeray offered sympathetically. “But use your intelligence. To have significant power, a physician must have an essential role – and what is more compelling than the power of life and death? If there were no diseases, there would be no need for physicians. Therefore at certain times throughout history it has been necessary to develop and introduce to the general population new forms of disease.”

“But accidental deaths – traffic accidents . . .” Geoff countered, striving to follow his resolve to argue the situation by their own insane reasoning.

Dr Lipton laughed shortly. “If you only knew half our efforts toward keeping cars and highways unsafe! Or the medications we release for the public to abuse. Or the chemical additives we’ve developed . . .”

“ Who? Who are you ?” His nerve was going to shatter in another instant. This dispassionate, insane . . .

“There are a number of us,” Dr Thackeray announced. “A small, highly select order of medicine’s elite. An ancient order, I might point out. After all, the art of medicine is as old as human suffering, is it not?

“And of course, our order has grown in power with the passage of time. Today, our society is custodian of an astonishing body of medical and scientific knowledge; our research facilities are the best in the world. We have a certain hierarchy – democratically established, of course – to oversee our operations, direct the use of our wealth, to make those decisions vital to maintaining the order’s power and security.

“And naturally you can see why we’ve been so interested in you, Dr Metzger.”

Under their relentless stare, Geoff struggled desperately to maintain exterior calm, while underneath his mind grappled with ideas too nightmarish for conception. “What do you want from me?” he grated, dreading the answer.

“Come now, young man,” Dr Thackeray spoke reassuringly. “This isn’t a high tribunal. We wish to bestow a great honor upon you – an honor reserved for only those most worthy. We want you to join in our order.”

“This is insane, of course,” Geoff murmured without conviction. “You want me to become part of a society of inhuman despots? God! This is the most debased treachery to mankind that any mind could ever conceive!”

“It will take a certain period for your thinking to adjust to this new awareness,” Dr Lipton interceded with some rancour. “It might change matters if you knew your father was one of us.”

“I can’t believe that!” But from the dim recesses of his memory came the phantom image of a ring he once saw his father wear – a black onyx ring, set with a peculiar signet.

“True, nonetheless,” Dr Thackeray said. “I knew him well. His untimely death was a great setback to us.”

“So ‘untimely death’ can even strike your council of petty gods!”

“There are occasional power struggles within our Dr Lipton began. He was silenced by a glare from Dr Thackeray.

“Naturally we protect ourselves from our own, ah, methods,” Dr Thackeray proceeded. “As a member of our order, you will have access to medical techniques beyond the dream of those outside. Only rarely does something untoward occur.”

“Why did you pick me?”

“That should be obvious. It was essential to stop your present line of research, certainly. But that could have been a simple matter. No, we’ve had our attention on you for a great while. As I say, your father was high in our order. Your family connections are invaluable. Your own contributions to medicine would have singled you out, even had your background been quite plebeian. You’re a brilliant man, Dr Metzger. It would be difficult to postulate a candidate better qualified for membership in our order.”

“I suppose I’m immensely flattered.”

“You should be,” the surgeon growled.

“And you shall be,” Dr Thackeray assured him. “You will naturally want a certain length of time to consider. This is quite understandably a devastating blow to your past conceptions and ideals. We are pleased to offer you time to consider, to reevaluate your position in light of this new awareness. You’re an intelligent man, Dr Metzger. I feel certain your decision will be the rational one – once you’ve had time to reconsider your former prejudices and misconceptions.”

“Suppose I decide to tell the world of your unspeakable conspiracy?”

“Who would ever believe you?”

“It’s not that unusual for an overwrought researcher to suffer a nervous collapse,” Dr Lipton told him. “In such cases, immediate institutional treatment is available. We become very sympathetic, and work very hard to help our stricken fellow – but I’m afraid our cure ratio is somewhat grim.”

Geoff remembered, and fear tightened a chill coil around his heart. “I have to think,” he muttered, his thoughts searching frantically for some release to this nightmare. “God, I have to think!”

“Of course.” Dr Thackeray’s smile was one of paternal sympathy. “We’ll wait for your decision.”

Not very many minutes after Geoff Metzger had dazedly fled Dr Thackeray’s office, a section of the book-lined wall pivoted open. The two noted physicians looked expectantly to the heavy-set man who waited within the hidden niche.

“Well, Dr Royce?”

The eminent psychiatrist grimly studied the monitoring devices focused on the room’s vacant chair.

“No,” he pronounced.

V

By habit Geoff stumbled back to his lab. A wounded beast returns to his lair, he thought morbidly.

None of his lab workers had appeared. No doubt they had been instructed to take a day off. His phone worked – at least there was a dial tone. But then they couldn’t disconnect every phone in the Center. Besides, who could he tell? Gwen? She might believe him. More likely she’d call a psychiatrist at the first discreet moment. And even without believing him, her knowledge would endanger her life as well.

It was monstrous. Surrounded by a sterile labyrinth of tile and cinderblock and stainless steel, shelves of gleaming lab equipment, banks of humming research apparatus – watchful in the dead white glare of the fluorescents . . . God, he’d never realized how sinister a research lab could be. Suddenly he felt like some ancient sorcerer, surrounded by the abhorrent paraphernalia of his evil delvings – a sorcerer who had suddenly succeeded with his conjurations, who now held the bleak knowledge of what demonic powers had claimed his soul.

To become a partner in this inhuman conspiracy was unthinkable. Perhaps its arrogant, ruthless rationality would appeal to certain of his colleagues. But never to him. He could never endure the knowledge of so monstrous a betrayal. He would not become traitor to mankind.

The alternative? Death, almost certainly. Countless others had died for suspecting, for so much as entertaining ideas which might lead to exposing this secret order. He knew. They would show him no mercy. What chance did one man have against a hidden society that had held remorseless power for centuries?

There was a slim chance. His only chance. He might pretend to aquiesce. He could agree to join them in their dread order. Of course, they would suspect; he would be carefully watched. But in time they would accept him. For such enormous stakes he could afford to bide his time, wait patiently for years perhaps. During that period he could plan, build up unassailable evidence, learn their names – lay preparations for the day when he might expose their dark treason to the unsuspecting world . . .