Episode One: Atoms for Peace: The discovery of a half-man/half-lizard corpse draws former OSS agent Gwen Montgomery from retirement to investigate a series of missing persons.
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Atoms
for Peace
(continued)
“Nate said you'd served with him, but I figured you for an Army secretary, not a spy.” Drowning his fried eggs in ketchup, Louis reached across the diner's Formica table, handing Nate the ketchup and Gwen the journal. “So they cleared out the files but left a diary?”
“My guess is, they were told to take his files, so they did.” Gwen spoke between bites of pancakes. In the background the jukebox started up with Doris Day singing “Secret Love.” “Nobody told them to search for anything else, so they didn't.”
“The journal implies he'd been working there six months. He loved it: No need to follow ‘niggling technicalities’ and safety procedures like the AEC labs, and he had a ready supply of guinea pigs for testing.”
“So, he was what, building a Frankenstein lizard or something?” Louis asked.
“All I can tell is that his project was radioactive, risky, and that the tests were disappointing.” The hand that had held the crystals kept itching, but Gwen was confident—reasonably—it was her imagination. “And that some researcher named 'Crick' is completely wrong about genes and Keller was going to prove it.”
“But why would the AEC cover his experiments up?” Louis said. “If he was out on his own, it ain't their fault.”
“Yeah, Lou, I'm sure he walked out of their lab with all that fancy equipment tucked under his arm.” Nate turned to Gwen. “We can take this to the captain. If he sees Thorn was selling him a bill of goods, he'll change his mind about the investigation.”
“If you wait until tomorrow, I may have more proof,” Gwen tucked the journal back in her purse. “I dropped off the crystals and the lizard with a scientist I know at NYU, and this afternoon, I'm visiting Keller's clinic.”
“Why?” Louis said blankly.
“Wise up, kid,” Nate said. “He opened the clinic the same time he started his research; where do you think his guinea pigs were coming from?”
“I'm sorry you had to wait, Miss Whittaker.” Nurse Smith, bony, brisk and Bronx accented sat down next to Gwen on the break room's Naugahyde couch and handing her a paper cup of coffee. “Three of my nurses signed up with the National Guard MASH units after the invasion—they got called up this morning.”
“This morning?” Gwen accepted a cigarette, lifting the veil on her small hat away from her mouth. “I haven't read the paper yet, did something happen?”
“Trailer park was destroyed out in California. The survivors were insane, screaming about being attacked by 'them!'” Smith exhaled smoke from the corner of her mouth. “Everyone's looking for flying saucers over California and getting ready for another invasion.”
“Damn.” They smoked in silence for a couple of minutes, then Gwen decided to forge ahead. “I was a neighbor of Randall—Dr. Keller's. We chatted now and again, and now the AEC's got his apartment locked up—I was wondering what all that was about. If anyone were trying to hide the truth—”
“Nobody would do that, hon! Dr. Keller was a wonderful humanitarian; the Martians burned down the nearest hospital. This neighborhood would never see a doctor regular if not for him.”
“And he was rich enough to build it himself? Living in our neighborhood, I thought—”
“Nah, some pals of his from the AEC helped out, something like that. Wanted to stay anonymous he said—can't figure out why, though, they're like saints!”
“What I was wondering—” Gwen lowered her voice to a suitably confidential level. “Sometimes he'd hint he had bigger dreams than just the clinic. Did he ever offer the patients any experimental surgery, anything like that?”
“Experimental? No, nothing.” It had been a mistake; Smith had adopted a poker face, but her body screamed suspicion. “Is someone spreading rumors about him? How could anyone do that?” Her voice started to rise, then she forced it down. “The spics have—the patients have nothing to complain about, nothing. Look, I really need to get back to work-”
“I'm so sorry to upset you.” Because if you know enough to call Nelson, he'll recognize my description—I'm out of practice, why didn't I adopt a Yankee accent when I spoke to you?
She was still kicking herself as she unlocked her car door—then heard someone skulking behind her. Gwen spun, saw a darker-skinned nurse standing there.
“You want to know about Keller? You a cop?”
“If he broke any laws, I know a few.” She saw the woman battle mentally over the next step. “If he was experimenting on the patients here, I want people to know.”
“It's not that simple lady.” Something seemed to drain out of her. “Let me tell you where you gotta go.”
“Rita says you're not a cop.” Standing at the end of the alley, the leather-jacketed Puerto Rican didn't try to hide his suspicion.
“And I didn't bring any with me.” From under her pea-green jacket, Gwen drew out the six-shooter she'd brought from her apartment. “If that gives you any ideas, get rid of them.”
“What kind'a accent's that? You sound like that Canova dame in the movies.”
“Close enough.” Being compared to a hayseed actress didn't suit Gwen at all, but business first. “Nurse Velasquez said you could show me the reason Keller died.”
“If you're on the level, you ain't gonna need that gun.”
“It has great sentimental value, I'll hang onto it.”
“Fine, but when you see what I got to show you, don't shoot just because you're scared.”
“I never do.”
She did not like being alone in a grimy alley with this hoodlum, but she'd given her word not to contact the police. And Philip at NYU hadn't been able to tell anything except that the crystals and the lizard were indeed radioactive. And I can't deny it's a little thrilling to be doing something for the first time since the war. “So, show me.” She gestured at the heavy door behind him.
“Not there.” He kicked away a rat, moved a pile of boxes and unlocked the door behind them. He turned on the light inside, revealing an empty room; when Gwen stayed put, he snapped his fingers and hissed. “In here quick, then lock it behind you.”
As soon as she did, he opened a second door. The room exploded with angry hissing as he entered, but Gwen followed him inside.
“My god.” Under the glow of a naked lightbulb she saw twenty cages, each holding a lizard. A man-sized, two-legged humanoid lizard, thrusting clawed hands through the bars toward them. “Spacemen?”
“Spacemen? That one's my Aunt Teresa!” Rigid with anger, the man grabbed Gwen by the shoulder and pointed at the third cage on the left. “The one two cages down? Mario Contrarez, the toughest hunk of muscles on my block.”
“Human.” She saw the absolute conviction in his face, and shuddered. “Keller did this?”
“Experimental vaccine.” He spat the words. “We didn't put it together until long after the first ones started changing, he'd had time to inject a whole bunch more. We should'a seen, but it was so crazy, so unbelievable, my grandpop kept talking about a curse or Santeria or—”
“Vaccine for what? What was he trying to do?”
“How the hell should I know? I ain't no egghead.” He swung her around, pressed her angrily against an empty cage. “My tia ripped my uncle's arm off before we were able to tie her up. Maria, 11 years old, killed her own baby brother—”
“Why didn't you report him instead of killing him?”
“My buddy Steve, his wife tried calling the police. Some guys showed up, took Steve away, he didn't come back. Tony Vega, he got shot down by someone when he busted out his momma's back room, yet you never heard a word about it, did you?” His voice broke. “They're family! We gotta take care of them!”
“I understand.” Everything still looked slightly unreal, but she regained enough presence of mind to slip her small spy camera out and begin clicking. “He couldn't cure them?”
“We tried making him.” He released her, staring away into memory. “Velasquez got us a syringe full of his filthy shit, I threatened to stick it into him. Son of a bitch started babbling how his work was going down in history, people would be able to grow back legs, arms, he just had to get the formula right. When he saw I wasn't buying, he started screaming how he couldn't cure them without studying them. I stuck him with the needle, told him he didn't have any choice now.
“Only he changed too fast, started to fight—we had to knife him, then get rid of the body.” He swallowed, fighting back tears. “If he did have a cure…Rita keeps looking, but maybe I destroyed their one chance—”
“Or maybe they'd be wherever your friend Steve wound up. There was no good solution. Not to something like this.”
“Maybe, but if I could do it over…” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Let's get out, I can't—I can't keep seeing them like this.”
“It's not too late, perhaps,” Gwen said as he locked the door behind them. “I know some well-connected people, if we get publicity—”
“For what? So they can join some sort of freak show?”
“I don't know, but at least if we get something—”
They stepped out into the alley. Light flared up around them, with men dimly visible beyond it.
“You bitch!” He had her up against the wall in an instant. She felt him snatch away the gun, lift her, then slam her against the bricks again, then she heard footsteps behind him and something black arced through the light to descend on his skull.
“Thorn, arrange transportation for those things,” Gwen heard Nelson say as she fell to the asphalt. He stepped closer, becoming visible. “They are in there, right, Miss Montgomery?”
“You know about them?” Gwen couldn't see where her gun had fallen; standing, she laid on her accent again as she straightened her skirt. “He—he said they were people, we need to call the police and—”
“This isn’t a job for the cops,” One of Nelson's men dragged the unconscious Puerto Rican to one side so that men could wheel dollies through the doorway. “And don't think you fooled us even for a second with that dizzy-dame act.”
“Fine.” Gwen was quite sure she had, but obviously not long enough. “What the hell is going on, Mr. Nelson?”
“That's really none of your business.”
“What happened to those people should be everyone's business.” They must have followed me here, I should have been more careful! “You do realize Detective Strawn knows exactly where I am?”
“So? We're not planning to do anything to you.” Nelson turned and yelled inside the room. “Don't forget to tranquilize them before you get close…surely you don’t suspect the AEC knew about this? What evidence do you have?”
“Keller's journal. It's with the police now.”
Nelson frowned. From inside the building came hissing shrieks that made Gwen flinch. “Don't be alarmed. They'll be taken care of…we need that journal. It may contain classified information.”
“And you want to hide that Doctor Keller was turning men into monsters.”
He stepped closer. Gwen wondered if the iron fist was about to slip out of the velvet glove. “Before you do anything, my boss Miss Gannett would like to have a word with you and your cop friends.”
“You work for the public-relations department?” Gwen couldn't help a laugh. “Well, why not?”
It wouldn't make any difference to her intentions, but she might learn something she could use.
Under other circumstances, Gwen would have admired Jessica Gannett's Dior outfit, and the organic-design furniture around her large office. But not today. “Using human beings as guinea pigs without even warning them? We fought a war against the monsters who did that.”
“Dr. Keller's behavior was unacceptable,” Behind her large desk and her perfect pancake makeup, Jessica Gannett wore a look of concern. Gwen didn't buy it. “We had no idea that he had begun testing his mutagenic—”
“Or that he stashed radioactive substances in his apartment?” Strawn said, sitting awkwardly in one of Gannett's stylized chairs.
“The risks of radiation are overstated by hysterics and pacifists,” Gannett said. “It's my job to provide a sane, counterbalancing voice, giving the public the truth.”
“So what's the truth about the other lizard-people?” Gwen said. “A few of them were taken away earlier—by the AEC, I presume?”
“We only collected them for humanitarian purposes. We have Keller's notes, it's quite possible we'll be able to reverse and then perfect his treatment. Do you know what a regeneration formula would mean for our veterans?”
“I know what it meant to Keller's victims.”
“We certainly don't sanction his methods. They were fully legal, his files held releases signed by his patients, but his conduct was…flawed. If nothing else, there's limited scientific value in testing on so few patients, and all of them Puerto Rican. A more mixed sample—”
“And you don't think the public needs to know?” Gwen said. “The very idea of some scientific renegade doing this—”
“What would it serve? If they can be returned to normal, wonderful; if not—well, there's nothing to be gained by hurting the future of nuclear science for one man’s error, is there? Some mistakes are better left buried; how would you feel if someone happened to mention to your parents how much of your work for the OSS you accomplished on your back?”
“If I get to see their faces when you tell them, I'm all for it.” That threw Gannett for a second; Gwen saw Louis looked shocked. “So, if I or the NYPD disagree about the merits of keeping silent—”
“Even if Captain O'Keefe hadn’t given me the journal, by itself it's nothing but a crazy man's babbling. Dr. Keller’s body has been collected and cremated, his equipment has been removed. And nuclear research is classified; you would find yourself in serious trouble if you shot your mouths off. Especially with no evidence.” Gannett picked up an ivory cigarette holder from the jade ashtray on her desk and inhaled deeply. “In the future, I strongly advise you leave these matters to those more qualified to deal with them—now, unless there’s anything else?”
They emerged onto the morning street, plodding past commuters and stenographers bustling into their offices. Louis didn't even notice the pert blonde giving him a glance. “So that's it? When we found that journal I thought maybe—”
“I have photos of Keller's victims,” Gwen said. Louis's eyes brightened. “If the press got hold of them, perhaps anonymously—”
“It’s still classified.” Nate gave a basso growl as he pulled out a cigar. “Gannett'll be tough as nails about that. I've made some calls, PR's only a fraction of what she does.”
“I can afford excellent lawyers, remember—but without witnesses to make sense of the photographs, I don't know that there's a point.” Behind her veil, she scowled. “I can't stand doing nothing. Someone at the AEC provided Keller's equipment, helped him set up the clinic, and even if Gannett wasn't involved, she's willing to protect whoever was. I don't care how noble Keller’s intentions were, people are never means to an end, only ends.” The guys looked at her blankly. “Kant.”
“I know we can't,” Louis said. “You got guts, Gwen, but I guess everybody's right—you can't fight city hall.”
“Can't we?” Gwen glanced down at her camera, trying not to believe it had come to such an unsatisfying finish.
“Mr. Quarry?” Gwen knocked on the half-open door even as she strode through it. “I'm—”
“You the Southern broad?” Brad Quarry of the New York Times looked up from the phone in his hand, gave a wolf whistle when he saw Gwen. “Ed, lemme call you back.“ He hung up the phone, eyes fixed on Gwen, and missed the cradle. “So, Miss Montgomery, you said you had a story?”
“I imagine it must be very frustrating for you,” Gwen said. “First, the LA Times breaks the news that that trailer park wasn't destroyed by spacemen, but by mutated ants, then the Chicago Tribune gets an exclusive interview with James Jeffries about how the AEC has known for years that radiation is far more dangerous than it admitted.”
“The Trib story's not as big as you think.” Quarry lit a cigarette, offered her one; seeing it was menthol, she declined. “Sure, it got big headlines, but Gannett's already saying the guy is just a loudmouth who's sore because he didn't get promoted. It's his word against the government's.”
“What if there was evidence? Not only witnesses, but…” She placed a roll of negatives on the table, along with the few prints she'd had a friend develop in his darkroom. “…pictures?”
“That would be ...” Quarry swallowed. “What you got?”
“Radioactive mutants. Here in New York.” He said nothing. “You'll find they're not faked. And I know people who'll be happy to talk if they think it'll do any good.”
“Damn right, this will do some good!” Clutching the roll, Quarry headed for the door. “Maybe an afternoon edition, I'll be right back, sweetheart.”
What was that Pastor Daniels used to say? The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small? With a satisfied smile, Gwen lit her own cigarette. “Miss Gannett, prepare to be ground under.”