The Secret of Excalibur (3 page)

Leaving Gladys to her work, I sit there nursing my coffee and brandy. After a few more, I start to unwind and decide to scan for Dr. Burns. She's standing in the shower, washing her shoulder length, curly auburn hair.
So that's what she has hidden under her lab coat and conservative skirt.
She has a luscious body, all legs, smallish breasts, long back, and tight tummy. Really a doll naked. And six foot tall barefoot. As I'm six-two, her height doesn't bother me.

Actually, not much can bother me. An old friend warned me to stay humble, or I'll lose my human perspective, then I'll begin to think of myself as a God, with insanity not far behind. But it's tough. Being able to mentally absorb all the information from someone else's brain doesn't make me as smart as they are, I didn't have to work to learn it, but it does make me just as knowledgeable. I've spent so much time among the real brains in the past few years my mind is crammed full of knowledge, and actually, I know more because I have it all. I know almost everything. All that information is stored for instant retrieval. In fact, in the past two years, I've earned doctorates in several fields: quantum math, nuclear and regular physics, psychiatry, nuclear medicine, and earned a degree for my MD and passed the bar as an attorney. But none of that knowledge means much to me. It isn't me.

Even with my abilities, I'm not immortal, but I've slowed my rate of aging to where I can live more than a thousand years. I'm also pretty much invulnerable. When I perfected my molecular transference ability, I placed a force-field under my skin. It's one-thirty second of an inch below the surface, and has, so far, withstood everything that's been tested on me. And believe me; those guys at Cal Tech tested me a lot, with my permission. When they started getting excited over the fact they couldn't harm me, I left.

Then the CIA stepped into the picture. They had access to the data from Cal Tech.
Very narrow-minded those guys
. The FBI was better, although not much. Both alphabet companies wanted to lock me away and only let me out when they had a job for me. Failing that, they both tried killing me. Failing that, they tried convincing me how much my country needed me.
Don't they remember Viet Nam?
I heard the same bullshit before, but back then, I didn't have the powers I do now. I did agree to do one job for the CIA. I teleported into a KGB staff meeting and, in my 'Almost Mode', taped the proceedings for them. After that, they thought they owned me. So I left. And here I am in England.
So much for helping the course of Democracy.

I still don't understand why I came to England. It isn't just for the Institute. There's something else driving me, nagging at me, but I don't know what it is. One of the problems I have being me is not being able to see the forest for the trees. I have so much external stimuli trying to process through my mind, that there isn't any way I can retain it all. So, I've learned to ignore most of what my mind takes in. Unfortunately, filtering out what I thought was irrelevant information caused me to lose the reason I had for wanting to come to England. Maybe one day, it'll pop to the surface.

Weary of analyzing myself, I have another coffee/brandy. Needing a distraction, I focus on Ruth again, she's dressing: has panties on, and just fastened her bra.

I unsnap it.

With a thoughtful frown, she resnaps it.

With a mischievous grin, I unsnap it again.

Suddenly mad, cheeks flaming red, she snatches up a towel and covers herself. She knows it's me. “Damnit Arthur,” she admonishes, “can't I have my privacy?” She quickly looks around her bedroom.

Properly chastised, I withdraw, speaking to her telepathically. *Forgive me. I was feeling mischievous, and since you're the only one I can play with, well, I'm sorry. I was bored.* I push warmth and affection towards her.

She visibly relaxes and gives a soft smile. “I forgive you. You just take some getting used to.” When she smiles like that, she's a knockout. Hard to believe she's the same person. Of course, the warmth and affection I pushed on her helped a lot. But some of that warm feeling has to be coming from inside her somewhere. I hope.

*I'm in the kitchen, Ruth. I'll wait for you here,* I inform her.

“I'll be right down, if you'll let me get dressed. In private, I mean,” she says sternly, but the warmth is still there. Not much, but some.

While I wait, I collect ten glasses from Gladys and begin stacking them up on their rims. It's easy; using my molecular altering ability, I soften the edges and stick them together. Better than Super Glue. The glasses go up at an impossible angle. When I glance up, Gladys' eyes are round.

“Oh, sir, now that's one trick I would love to learn, the way I break things.” We're laughing as Ruth strolls through the swinging door carrying a small box. Immediately, her full lips thin and her eyes harden with suspicion.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” she demands.

Gladys gushes, “Oh, Miss Ruth, isn't it wonderful to have a magician around to perform his tricks?”

Ruth looking leery, replies, “Yes, Mr. Merlin is quite a talented person. Cognac please, Gladys.” While Gladys leaves to fetch her drink, Ruth sits at my table. “Are you ready to do some tests?”

“Sure,” I agree, “you're the Doc.”

“Okay, then take the glasses down, and let's get busy,” she orders. Dismantling them, I don't break one glass.

She opens the box from Tober's office. “These tests will probably bore you, Arthur, but it's a necessary part of the process. We need to establish the frequency and repetition pattern you demonstrate,” she explains as she removes items from the box, arranging them on our table.

“Yes, I know, cards, dice and shapes, random choices.”

She stares at me with her compelling eyes. “You've obviously done this before.”

“Yes, at Cal Tech, MIT, and a few other places,” I admit.

As she shuffles some cards with her pale, pink fingertips, she asks, “Do you remember any of your scores?”

Without trying to sound arrogant, I say, “Yes. I scored one-hundred percent on all tests, every time.” She's not the same woman who smiled so warmly at me a few minutes ago.

“Obviously, you think the tests will be boring, but to us, they're not. If you can bear with me, I do have to get the tests done. Just because you take your abilities for granted, try to remember the rest of us are ordinary, human beings,” Ruth coolly lectures me.

“But, Doc, I'm a human being, ordinarily,” I protest, innocently blinking my eyes at her.

She glances at me and scoffs, “Hardly that.”

After we go through some tests, I begin to play again. Ruth has dice under a small box. She shakes them, peeks, and asks me to tell her what numbers are on the topside of the dice. So I change them after she peeks. “Wait. I think you have the wrong numbers,” I tell her.

She peeks again, then realizes I've changed the dice. “I guess that's enough for today,” she says tersely. “You must be getting bored again.”

“Good. I'd like to practice a few of my 'tricks,' as you call them,” I say.

Ruth glances to where Gladys is peeling potatoes, but watching us at the same time. “I don't think that's a good idea,” she whispers, shaking her head.

With my mind, I tell her, *Don't worry. I told Gladys I'm a magician and might be practicing some of my routines, just in case I did something that startled her, or upset you.*

She stiffens and goes, “OOH,” as she hears my message. Many people can't handle the thought of someone else knocking around inside their heads, but Ruth takes it in stride.

I clear a space in front of me. “Ladies, let me show you one of my favorite tricks. I've performed it in bars all across the USA, and it's always been a big hit. Gladys, I need a bottle with a narrow neck.”

“Oh, I have some empty soda bottles,” Gladys offers. She shuffles to a cupboard, pulling out a bottle. “Will this do, sir?” She deposits the empty sixteen-ounce bottle on the table.

“Perfect. Now, I need two containers we can't see through. Bowls will work.” Gladys moves over to a cabinet, taking down two green, plastic bowls and placing them on my table. “Put one of the bowls by you at the other table.” These are actually two tricks, but for them, I'll run them together. It's simple matter transference to me, but to an ordinary person, magic. “Okay now, ladies, I need a coin that can't possibly fit inside the bottle.”

Ruth rummages through the front pocket of her jeans, pulling out a coin. “Will this work?”

“Yes, perfect. While I get more brandy, Gladys, place an item under one of the bowls, and Doc, make some marks on the coin so you can recognize it, but wait until I'm gone. Just yell 'ready' and I'll come back in.” I leave, going out the swinging door.

I'm not omnipotent, and don't always know what's going on unless I focus. So I'm surprised when I find Toni, obviously listening through the door. “Oh excuse me, sir.” Ducking her head, she scampers off like a frightened rabbit.

I grab the brandy bottle and wait. A few seconds later, I hear Ruth shout 'ready.'I saunter back in, then pour brandy into my coffee. Plopping onto my chair, I roll up my sleeves. “Ruth, please place the coin in my left palm, making sure I can't see the markings on the coin. I'll tent my hands over the bottle, like this, and say a few magic words, and 'voilà.'” As the coin plinks on the bottom of the bottle, I teleport Gladys' tomato from under her bowl, and replace it with a potato, then place the tomato under the other bowl. The trick takes about two seconds. “Okay, ladies, is that your coin in the bottle?”

Ruth holds the bottle up, peers intently into it, then shakes it. “Yes, that's our coin. Look, Gladys, here are the marks we made. I wrote RB 31 on one side and GK 52 on the other side. It's the same coin, but how?” she asks with a raised brow.

“Gladys, check your bowl, your potato is still there,” I tell her.

“Oh no, sir, I put a tomato under there,” she corrects. As she lifts the bowl and sees the potato, she takes a sharp breath and goes pale, one hand fluttering to her chest. With a “Ta Da,” I lift the other bowl to reveal her tomato. Ruth studies the bottle, then writes a paragraph, her pen flying across the page, stops and studies the coin, then writes some more.

“Oh, sir, that's purely magic,” says the starry-eyed housekeeper, as she claps in delight. “Even after seeing your trick, I can hardly believe it.”

“Gladys, if I told you how simple the trick is, you'd get angry with me,” I tell her with a trace of humility.

“Oh no, sir. Lordy, that was really magical.”

Scribbling away, Ruth asks me, “Arthur, what were you saying?”

“You mean my magic words? Uh, nothing really. I do that just for the effect, makes the act look better,” I confess.

“Yes, well, that's quite an act. I'm sure you'll be a big hit or whatever,” she acknowledges, rewarding me with a small, soft smile.

“Why thank you, Doctor.” There it is again, that little smile. And I'm not mentally pushing her this time.

Basking in her approval, I'm interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. I focus my mind on it. “Ruth, that's Commander Dobie, he wants to tell you about a package he's having hand-delivered,” I inform her. “It, well, it's a package of bugs. He wants you to distribute them around the house. And by bugs, I don't mean the type that crawl.” With a sigh, I know our playtime is over.
Damn, I'm just starting to make some progress with Ruth.

Rolling her eyes with an I-knew-this-would-happen look, Ruth only comments, “What?”

Toni opens the door. “Ma'am, telephone for you.”

Ruth looks at me like I'm a blackhead she's trying to squeeze. “Why don't you talk to him, Arthur?” I follow her out of the kitchen into the dining room towards the phone as she asks, “And how did you know he was on the phone?”

“A few minutes ago, a car pulled up by the gate,” I explain. “I scanned the car and found two of his men inside with a package of listening devices.” There was a fifty-fifty chance the person on the phone wasn't Dobie, but since the two men at the gate were waiting for a call to deliver the package, and the phone rang, I figured what the hell.

Ruth has an antique phone with an L-shaped receiver and the mouthpiece comes to the bottom of my chin. It feels awkward and clumsy in my big hands.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Yes, well, this must be our Mr. Merlin, then,” inquires a deep, pompous voice.

“No, it's not,” I say just as pompously.

“Uh, who do I have then?” the voice asks uncertainly.

“Oh, I'm Mr. Merlin. But sure as hell not your Mr. Merlin, Dobie. And you can tell your two goons to stick the bugs up their asses. If you bother us again, I'll pop over there and fry your toupee off.” I slam the receiver down; belatedly remembering the phone's an antique.
God, I hope I didn't break the damn thing.

Clamping her hands over her mouth, Ruth starts making strangling sounds. She bursts out with a sputtering laugh. “Oh my, Arthur, that was priceless. He'll be having a fit with Dr. Tober.”

The phone rings again, and I pick up the receiver. “Hello, Dr. Tober. I know you're with Dobie, and I meant what I said. My cooperation is not questionable, nor negotiable.” Looking at Ruth, I continue, “I'm having a very nice chat with the Doctor, and if you don't stop bothering us, she'll never get any control over me. Uh, that is what you expect from her, isn't it?” I ask sarcastically.

Click.

Well, my speaking to Dobie like that was agreeable to Ruth, but evidently not to her Dr. Tober. “You were pretty hard on him, Arthur,” she admonishes with condemning eyes, hands on hips.

“Not at all, Ruth,” I defend myself. “Dobie has the CIA and FBI reports on me, and one of the local CIA agents is in his office right now. They'll try to convince Dobie to handle me the way they tried to. And I want it clear from the start that I'm no one's puppet.” Turning on my heels, I stride briskly back into the kitchen.

“Well, Dr. Tober, any luck?” The speaker is tall and angular, Richards, CIA, assigned to the London area. From the stunned expression on Tober's face, Richards knows he has him. Facing the intimidating leader of MI6, he defends his case. “See, I told you, Commander. Our reports reflect the man is unstable and could be dangerous.”

“How do you explain Mr. Merlin being able to fly from your country without either a ticket or a passport? Then, when he arrived here, he wasn't stopped by either customs or the police, even after he stole a car from the airport? And that car, Mr. Richards … was yours,” Commander Dobie declares accusingly from behind his large, dark teak desk.

Richards tried to bull his way through this mess, and hoped no one would bring it up.
The theft of my car will be embarrassing enough at the office, once the reports are released, I certainly don't need any crap from these stupid Englishmen.
Going back over the events in his mind, he can't understand what happened. He was sent ahead by the Home Office, to apprehend Mr. Merlin. At the airport, he didn't see anyone who looked like the picture in the file. And the guy driving off in his car didn't look like the picture either. His report said Mr. Merlin was an unstable individual, and should be detained, lest he cause some embarrassment with the English Government.

There'd been more information in the file, but after so many years of reports, he learned how not to read them. Just get the name, photos, and catch the guy. No one told him any of what the bug-eyed Dr. Tober just told him; that this Mr. Merlin can disappear into thin air, start fires with his mind, and other wild stuff.
Maybe Dr. Tober should be the one locked up?

“Dr. Tober, the man who stole my car didn't look like the photo of Merlin,” Richards reiterates, wiping several beads of sweat from his forehead.

Tober drops a file on the desk in front of Dobie. “Sir, the fingerprint report from the Yard.”

“Yes, Richards, the prints Scotland Yard lifted off your stolen vehicle, which they found outside the front door of the Institute. This report confirms the prints are Merlin's all right. How do you account for that?” Commander Dobie demands, hands folded on top an open folder, glaring at the fidgeting agent.

Richards can't, nor can anyone else, explain how his car had been driven. Without the keys, the wheel won't unlock, at least without some force, and there'd been no evidence found any force had been used. He patted the outside of his pants pocket, feeling the reassuring bulge.
A key must've been used, but it's in my pocket.

Stammering, Richards says, “Sir, I'm sure we agree there's something very strange about this Merlin. But I really can't swallow these stories Dr. Tober has been telling us.”

Dobie isn't sure he can either. But Tober has been working for him for many years, and in the past, produced several good prospects. Dobie has two of them on his payroll now, mind control people, men who exert a mental force to make people do what he wants them to do.
That's an ability I'm always looking for.

Dobie doesn't agree with Tober about not being able to control a person with several psychic abilities, if they found one.
I've been controlling people for years, some of the most important people in the country, and I know all you have to do is find the right key
. So, he was pleased when Tober told him this Merlin seemed taken with Dr. Burns, and Tober sent Merlin home with her. Merlin's attraction to Dr. Burns may work out to be the key.
I just can't figure out why this Merlin would go off with a bloody lesbian.
He's never told Tober about Dr. Burns' sexual preferences. He doesn't share his reports with anyone, and besides, Tober protects her like one of his own.
No sense upsetting the man. He's strange enough already.

Unlike Richards, Dobie already read all his reports on Merlin from his private sources in America, and before the uncouth American was called Merlin. Dobie knows plenty. The fact he can't abide the incompetent American agent won't affect his thinking.
The bloody fool has his uses. That's the other thing I'm good at, using people.

“Richards, I assure you we will keep a close eye on this man. You can tell your office that for me. Thank you and good day.”

Richards knows when Dobie dismisses you, you leave. Bowing, he gratefully hurries out the door.

After he's gone, Dobie asks Tober, “Doctor, do you feel we found the person we've been searching for in this Merlin?” Tober's pacing the floor, wiping his eyes again. A constant habit of his that irritates Dobie.

“Well, Cecil, yes and no.” He nervously folds his handkerchief. “I mean, yes, he certainly appears to have all the abilities we've been looking for, but there's something very strange about the American. I mean, not only his amazing powers, but something else.” He stops pacing for a minute beside a wall-length, dark teak credenza, which sports a wet bar. “I'm convinced, after reading these reports from the CIA, and the Cal Tech experimenting, there's something about him I'm missing.” He resumes his pacing. “Why has he come to England? He can go anywhere in the world. Why here? In fact, he can setup or takeover his own country, he's that powerful.” Stopping in front of Dobie's desk, he says with exasperation, “You should've seen those guards, Cecil. They're still wandering around smiling, totally useless. He told them to go take a break, and by Jove, they're on a perpetual tea break now.”

“Doctor, that's your department,” Dobie says impatiently. “You find them, I'll figure out how to use them. Let's get Merlin under control first, then we can speculate.” Patting his hair, he says arrogantly, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important work to do. Good day, Dr. Tober.”

After Tober leaves, Cecil reads over the Cal Tech reports again.
This man, if the reports are accurate, is just what I want.
With Merlin under his control, no one will be able to stand-up to his department. And that, above all else, is his fondest wish.

Turning around in his chair, he thoughtfully surveys his domain through the floor-to-ceiling window. Not much to see today with all the fog and smog, but when it's clear he has a breathtaking view of the London skyline. Swiveling back around, he glances over his office walls at the framed diplomas, newspaper clippings, and pictures of him shaking hands with almost every dignitary around the world. His eyes settle on his favorite picture, a portrait of himself, centered on the biggest wall, illuminated with recessed lighting.

Yes
, he thinks with a self-righteous smile,
I've spent thirty years making MI6 the most feared and powerful department in the country, not to mention the world. Now, the potential for Knighthood is just around the corner.
He smiles broadly.
Sir Cecil Dobie. That's worth thinking about. Oh, yes.
He'll have to get this Merlin involved with something quickly, the faster the better. Keep him busy, and in line.

These egghead doctors talk too much. A man with powers like Merlin will need action. But he won't bumble as the Americans did; they tried to own the man. You have to use them, and control them, but not own them.
As long as the man jumps when I want him to, I don't care where Merlin goes, or what he does. Even with the bloody lesbian doctor.

There's still plenty of time to put his grand scheme into play. Right now, he has to prepare himself for a meeting with the Prime Minister.
Bloody woman.
She always wants more and more from him and his department, but never any extra money, nor manpower. Maybe soon she'll see what an asset he and his people really are, if this Merlin turns out to be what Tober claims he is.