League 1977 - Chapter one
For reasons unknown, here's a starting chapter of a story I wrote a ways back...part of a rather larger 'project' I dabble in from time to time, called The League. Here's the pitch...basically inspired by Alan Moore's THE LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN (the comic, not the terrible movie), which assembled all manner of characters from Victorian era fiction into a single shared universe. Only I decided to use live-action tv shows instead, which worked oddly well thanks to the inherent limitations of the medium. I've written a few odd stories here and there in this universe...my original, present-day based story never ended up wrapping, tho i may post it here someday. Instead, I'm putting up this one that i'm into right now, set in the '70's, and detailing the League of that era, such as 've put it together.
I have no idea at all how to pimp or advertise these stories, as there's not much of a market for Kolchak/Bewitched/Sea Hunt/Flying Nun/Magician/Land of the Lost/etc.. crossover fics. Still, that doesn't seem to have stopped me so far. Enjoy if you care to, and I'll gladly explain any of the myriad references I've sandwiched into the fic if you wish.
THE LEAGUE
1977
Chapter One
A ROUTINE EXPEDITION
September 7, 1974
California
“Water sure seems to be getting rough, doesn’t it, Dad?”
“Aw, quit your squawking, Holly. You’re the one who wanted to go rafting so bad.”
“You shut up, Will! You wanted to go too!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Rick Marshall put some weight behind his words, and his children got the message, falling quickly silent. They were a heck of a handful at times...like oil and water, more often than not. And he’d never planned on doing this all alone. But they were good kids. The best.
“Besides, Will, Holly’s right,” Rick added, keeping close eye on the increasing current all around their tiny raft (and ignoring the smug glare Holly was now shooting her older brother, to his chagrin).
“...the current’s picking up. I think we should make for shore, just to be safe.”
“Aw...okay, Dad,” Will sullenly agreed. He really HAD wanted to go rafting, too. It was always great getting out of doors with Dad...and okay, Holly too, when she wasn’t being a brat...especially ever since Mom passed on. He knew it must be hard on Dad, and he tried his best...
A sudden loud rumbling in one of the nearby canyon walls interrupted Will Marshall’s train of thought, as several small chunks of granite slashed into the rapidly churning waters ahead. Will glanced around and saw disturbingly similar scenes all around them.
“Dad, what’s happening??” He shouted, gripping his oar tight. He felt his Father’s hand fall briefly on his shoulder. The water started moving faster.
“I think it’s an earthquake, Will,” Rick said, loud to be heard over the rising din. Rocks started to fall more rapidly now. Holly breathed faster.
“Daddy, I’m scared!” Will reached over and grabbed his little sister’s hand.
“Just hang on, kids! As long as we stay away from the rocks, maybe we can ride this...”
Before he could finish, a massive shock seemed to crack the canyon wall just ahead, splintering it straight up the middle. Rick Marshall had never seen anything like it...and before he knew it, water started rushing into the new inlet formed in the rockface at a fantastic rate. And he and his family were being dragged right along inside.
Before he could even think, Rick Marshall’s raft was swept along into the side of the canyon, through the ever-widening gap in the granite wall. He was trying his best not to seem too terrified in front of the kids. A feat that became harder when, seconds after they crossed inside, a slab of solid rock the size of their house crashed down behind them from above. They were buried alive.
“Dad, the water’s getting rougher,” Will shouted, hanging on now for dear life, “...I can’t even steer!”
“Daddy, it’s so dark in here,” Holly cried, “...where ARE we?”
The raft jerked violently, crashing over the rapids in a quick descent to who-knows-where. “Some branch of the river the earthquake opened up, I think,” he cried, “...just try and keep calm, Holly, Will...we’ll get out of this okay, I p...I pro...”
But the words couldn’t quite make it out of his mouth, as the raft took another dip...and the waterfall came roaring into view. It wasn’t on any map of the area...Rick Marshall had worked in this park the last ten years, and had never heard a whisper of it, but now...now it was seconds away. There was no time. No time for anything. Last words, a hug...a goodbye. His children...he’d tried so hard to take care of them, keep them safe, and now...
But there was no time for remorse, either, and all there was left to do was scream as Rick Marshall, Will and Holly were tossed over the falls, a thousand feet, straight down.
...give or take.
THREE YEARS LATER...
400 feet beneath the Arizona desert
“Yahoo!! Praise be! Ding, Dong, the witch is dead!”
Carl Kolchak positively danced across the polished floor of their newly refurbished HQ, occupying the main floor of what was once known as ‘Project Tic-Toc’. He giddily pranced past the freshly arrived statues of Artemus Gordon and Captain Jim Albright, quite ignorant that his teammate was giving him a most distasteful glare. When he finally opened his eyes and noticed, somewhere around the portrait of Alexander Waverly, it still only caused him the most momentary of pauses.
“Oh! Oh, but I do apologize, my dear Samantha! I was using ‘witch’ in an ancient, and positively derogatory term, and you have my unending sympathies for any pain its use may have caused. Believe you me, I wasn’t referring to the wondrous kind of witch that is YOU, oh no, oh no!”
Kolchak danced around the still-staring Samantha Stephens, nearly toppling a pedestal holding Janos Bartok’s ball lightning generator. Samantha couldn’t help but laugh.
“I take it, then, that you’ve heard the news about Philip..?”
“He’s GONE!” Kolchak shouted, echoing across the massive chamber underneath the desert sands, “...that tight-assed, pencil-pushing son-of-an-editor is no more! It’s a brand new day!”
Leaning back, Samantha Stephens could only sigh. “I HAD hoped that trip to Europe would calm the poor fellow,” she aid, “...but I think our involvement in the Monkees/Goodies debacle finally proved too much for him. Personally, I haven’t seen reality take such a beating since the last time Major Nelson had Darrin and I over for dinner.”
“Gerard has no sense of the absurd,” Kolchak agreed, slowly calming his celebratory exhortations, “...or humour, or style, or anything else worth having I can think of.”
“Now Carl, you’re being unfair. Philip WAS a very accomplished policeman, after all...”
Kolchak fixed Samantha with a puppy-dog stare. “Mrs.Stephens...I get so few joys in this mad life. May I ask that, just this once, you let this old newshound wallow in his schadenfreude? Hmm?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what that means,” Samantha said with a grin, “...but you win. But please, no more of your dancing, you’re upsetting the workmen.”
Kolchak glanced about, watching as a veritable army of tiny, green-skinned creatures milled all about the vast space, performing a dozen different tasks at once, and seemingly loving the work. Almost thirty of the little critters were nearby putting the finishing touches on a glass case containing the skeleton of an adult horse. The plaque on the display simply read ‘Edward Post’.
“We live strange lives, Mrs.Stephens,” Kolchak muttered, tilting his hat back on his head, “...what’d that ghoul we work for call them?”
“Doozers,” Samantha replied, “...and I think they’re adorable. But do stay out of their way, they take their work VERY seriously.”
“I’ll, uh, give them a wide berth,” Kolchak said, watching as about a hundred Doozers down a hallway carefully rolled in a massive wooden riverboat wheel inscribed with the blazon ‘Sultana’. Another of the bizarre trophies being assembled deep beneath the blasted surface.
“Have you seen the others yet?” Kolchak asked, taking his eyes off the miniature workmen for a moment, “...Tony, Bertie? A place this size, we might never find them.”
“Bertrille was unpacking in the dormitories, I think,” Samantha noted with a hint of concern, “...what little she has. The poor thing...I really am getting worried about her, Carl.”
Kolchak nodded, creasing his brow. “Me too. Rooked into this...this ‘League’ business, right after getting booted from her convent...the girl’s never had a normal life!”
“She still won’t open up to me about what happened to make the sisters send her away,” Samantha added sadly. Kolchak only shrugged.
“I always figured it was because of the flying,” he said, “...let me tell you, Mrs.S, these religious types can be downright vicious intolerant, despite all their high falutin talk about...love and acceptance. It’s the great paradox of our times.”
Serves me right for getting him started, Sam thought with a grin. “You want intolerance, you should have seen my parents when they heard about Darrin and I.”
Kolchak coughed, clearing his throat. “Ahem....yes, of course. Uh, how is Mr.Stephens, anyhow? And the kids..?”
“Oh...fine. Fine, everyone’s fine!” Samantha looked away, embarrassed for reasons she didn’t quite understand, and a few she understood only too well. A wall frame boasting the tarot deck of Count Teleky caught her eye, and she happily thought of another topic to leap to.
“And Mister Blake,” she asked, looking back at Kolchak as he bashfully played with his weatherbeaten straw hat, “...you were asking. I haven’t seen him yet, myself.”
That brought a mischievous smile to Kolchak’s face. “Old ‘Blake the fake’, eh? Now, don’t you deny it, I heard you call him that when his name first came up last year!”
“Well, I..!” Samantha blushed. “I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean it like THAT. I just...I simply wasn’t used to the idea of a ‘magician’ who was, well...”
“Human?”
Sam and Kolchak both nearly jumped at the sound of Blake’s voice, turning to the sight of him, striding gracefully across a walkway towards them. He was, as always, immaculately coiffed and wearing ‘casual’ clothes that probably cost more than Kolchak’s entire wardrobe. Idly, Carl felt a twinge of pride that he didn’t hate the man.
“We can’t all be like you, Mrs.Stephens,” Tony Blake offered, sweeping past a string of Doozers hurriedly carrying the sword of Tessa Alvarado to an undisclosed location for safekeeping. Blake hardly seemed to notice them.
“We mere mortals can only do what we can in the face of such...unique beauty.”
With a sly smile, Blake stooped and kissed Samantha’s hand, eliciting an embarrassed chuckle from her (and a barely audible ‘oh brother’ from Kolchak, who quickly cleared his throat to cover up).
“Ahem! Uh, listen, Tony, glad you’re here. Sam and I were just wondering if you’d seen the others, because, well, I can’t find my way around this blasted place. It’s like a museum!”
“That’s because it is.”
It wasn’t Blake that answered, but a new man, elegant looking in a dark, expertly tailored black suit. He moved towards the trio slowly, an unreadable look on his face. Kolchak put him at somewhere around 40, but couldn’t be sure one way or another. Something about the fellow gave him chills.
“Everyone needs a place to put their memories, don’t you agree?” he said, with a smile that put even Blake on edge. “Mrs.Stephens...Mister Kolchak, Mister Blake, the honour is mine, I assure you. If you’ll please, the Director is ready to brief you on your new assignment...should you choose to accept it, of course.”
Sam, Tony and Kolchak glanced among themselves for a moment. Samantha broke the silence first. “Then we DO have a new mission,” she began, “...do the others know?”
“Certainly,” the man with the strange smile replied, “...I’ve already sent your colleagues on ahead. I’m afraid you’ll be using the garage wing for your meeting, if that’s not too barbaric...still under reconstruction, this old place.”
“Ah, but what a place it is,” Blake offered with a flourish, seeking to disarm the newcomer, and secretly dismayed at how obviously he had failed, “...I suppose we’re, uh, left with no choice but to follow your lead, mister..?”
“Agent,” the silver-haired stranger corrected smoothly, “...special agent Windom Earle. If you’ll all follow me..?”
*************
“...but what happened to agent Colby? He was such a pleasant fellow...no offense meant, of course, I only...”
“Reassigned,” Agent Earle explained, the terse answer doing nothing for Samantha’s misgivings. Behind her, the boys were being boys, gawking at the displays around them in their new museum headquarters.
“What’s that one?” Blake asked, in a rare moment of incredulity, “...looks like a flying train rammed into a yacht!”
“The A.O.D.,” Earle answered, leading the group further down a long walkway, “...prototype civilian multi-environment transport, from the late fifties. It had...mixed field success, to put it charitably.”
“That’s Bob Carson’s Aerocar,” Kolchak shouted, pointing towards a curious winged vehicle hanging from the ceiling, “...and the Songbird! The Cessna?”
“You impress me, mister Kolchak,” Earle noted with a nod, “...you do your homework.”
“That’s my job, agent...holy COW...!”
Sam glanced over her shoulder. “Carl?”
Kolchak was stammering, looking up at a gleaming craft that stood out from the rest. “That...that’s the Dart,” he managed, “...that’s the Silver Dart! It is, isn’t it? The REAL one?”
Everyone looked where Kolchak was boyishly staring for a moment, and saw the ship, shining majestically between the rotting hulk of Cutter’s Goose and the charred remnants of space capsule Scorpio E-X-1. But then, every schoolboy could pick the Silver Dart out of a crowd.
“We have an exceptional collection, I think you’ll find,” Earle noted, “...but mister Collins and his guest are waiting. If we could move along?”
Agent Earle kept his party moving, around a corner and away from the more exotic sights of the museum, through a doorway and into a maintenance garage that had been converted into a conference room, for the moment. A few folding chairs had been set up facing a small wooden desk and a dilapidated old wreck of a car Two people were already seated and waiting, a young woman and an older man.
“Bertie, dear!” Samantha quickly broke away from Agent Earle and the others, heading towards the former sister Bertrille, looking calm and forlorn as she often did these days. Sam paused only briefly to give a quick wave to her other teammate across the aisle.
“Sorry, Mike,” she said, “...good to see you...how are you?”
A few feet away, Mike Nelson waved a craggy hand back at Mrs.Stephens. “Never better, Sam,” he shouted, “...some set-up they got us in, huh?”
Samantha only nodded in reply, settling down next to Bertrille. Mike shrugged, leaning back in his tight metal chair with seasoned calm. Back near the walkway, Agent Earle turned his eerie smile back on Kolchak.
“Mister Collins will be along in a moment, gentlemen, and I have other matters to attend to. You’ll be all right on your own..?”
“Uhh...certainly, yes! Yes, thank you, thank you very much, Mister Earle.” Kolchak wasn’t sure why he was stammering like a schoolboy. All he knew was he hadn’t had a chill like this since the Ripper story, back in Chicago.
“AGENT Earle,” Earle corrected with a nod, “...it’s been a delight, Kolchak. Be seeing you...?”
With that, Earle brushed past Kolchak back down the walk, disappearing mercifully quickly into the darkness. Kolchak watched him go with palpable relief, fanning himself a moment with his trusty hat. “Brother. I tell you, Blake, there’s something not right with that character, what do you...Blake?”
Kolchak looked about awkwardly, finally spotting Tony Blake a dozen feet away, taking the empty aisle seat right next to Samantha. He already had her and Bertrille laughing.
“Smooth,” Kolchak muttered, shoving his hat tightly down on his head as he shuffled inside. Too damn smooth.
“Carl, over here!” Mike waved Kolchak towards him, a beaming smile on his weatherbeaten features. “Unless you’re sitting on the ladies side with Princess Blake? Huh?”
Kolchak slumped into the chair beside Mike Nelson with resignation. He knew that if Mike’s Blake-bashing wasn’t cheering him up, something was really wrong.
“Mike,” Kolchak started with a sigh, “...you ever get the feeling that we’re getting too damn old for this crap?”
Mike pounded his thigh with a fist. “Old? Are you kidding me? Is this the same Carl Kolchak who was wrestlin’ a whole damn school of land sharks with me in Harlem not six weeks ago?”
“I must be, “ Kolchak noted with another, slightly more defeatist sigh, “...I saw the scars again just this morning.”
“Wear’em with pride, kid,” Mike roared, slapping Kolchak’s back so hard he nearly knocked him to the ground, “...lemme tell ya. You’ll KNOW when you’re too old for it, Carl. When they toss the first shovel full’a dirt on your coffin, huh? THEN you’re done.”
Mike laughed, and Kolchak had to stifle a fatalistic grin himself. “Your comforting needs a bit of work, my friend.”
“Hey, you want comfort, go talk to nancy-boy or one of the other girls. Mike Nelson tells it like it is, always have. Now buck up, kid. Here comes the boss.”
Kolchak snapped his head up as ‘the boss’ entered the garage, stepping around the relic auto and holding a large, portable telephone to his pale ear. There was almost no information available on him, though lord knows Carl Kolchak had tried. Came from old, old money from a family up in Maine, roots in merry old England. And there was something else about him...something that Vincenzo would have chewed Kolchak out for but good for bringing up...but he knew he was right, once again. He watched closely as their immediate supervisor seated himself, talking into the phone all the while. The man he’d heard some of the government stooges they’d worked with refer to as ‘Mister C’. He and the others just knew him as Collins.
Barnabas Collins.
“I’m telling you no, Doctor Ratton,” Collins said calmly but firmly into his telephone, “...I’ve only just begun trusting REAL humans, I’m not about to take a risk on fake ones. Do what you will with the Haven project, but do it without us, thank you.”
The team settled and watched as Collins rolled his eyes at the conversation in his hand. “No, my answer is firm, Doctor. Now if you could get me Sam Casey, that would be a different story. What I wouldn’t give for an Invisible Man..!”
A long pause, and Collins smiles politely to no one in particular. “I understand, of course. My best to Oscar. Good day, Doctor.”
The phone clicked dead in Collin’s hand, and he set down with obvious distaste. “Scientists,” he grumbled, turning his old eyes onto those assembled before him, known in their strange line of work simply as ‘the League’. A tradition dating back to the early 1800's, at least in America, although Collins remembered other, older incarnations from other, and older nations. But he was trying to put nostalgia behind him...it hadn’t done him much good in his life, thus far.
“Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. Before we get started, I should like to formally acknowledge the resignation of our esteemed colleague and field leader, Marshal Phillip Gerard...”
“Yahoo!”
“...noted, Mister Kolchak. I’m currently in a search for an adequate replacement to your ranks...in the meantime, I’ve decided that temporary field command will be placed in your hands, Mrs.Stephens.”
“What?” Samantha looked up with a start. “Me? In...are you sure??”
“Zero and I agree,” Collins said with a smile, “...besides, you have experience dealing with children, so this lot shouldn’t be too great a stretch. We have faith in you, Samantha...we trust you’ll impress us?”
Samantha stared, first at Collins in utter disbelief as Bertrille clutched supportively at her hand. And then, despite herself, her eyes started to drift, just to the right...
“As I say, this is only a temporary commission, but if you acquit yourself...I’m sorry, is something wrong?”
Samantha shook her head as if she were coming out of a trance, but still couldn’t take her eyes off of it...the car lumped beside Collins’ makeshift desk. “No, no...I’m sorry, it’s the strangest feeling, I just...what is that?”
She stared at the car, and soon everyone else in the room was also. Collins looked the vehicle over with what looked like disinterest. “Porter convertible,” he said, “...1928 model. Bit of a collector’s item, if that’s your area of interest. So I’m told.”
But Samantha wasn’t interested in such details, shaking her head strongly now, a frightened look in her eyes. Bertrille gripped her hand tightly, and Kolchak glanced quickly between her and the car with decided intrigue. He trusted Sam’s instincts implicitly by now.
“No,” she said again, fear in her voice as she stared the dusty old relic of a jalopy down, “...what IS it?”
Collins looked back at Samantha, and recognized the look in her. She knew. Their kind often were sensitive to such things...he should have realized.
“That’s classified,” he said, with an unusually sympathetic tone, “...I’m sorry, but, if we could move on..?”
Samantha gave Bertrille’s tiny hand one last squeeze before swallowing and putting her misgivings aside. She tore her eyes away from the automobile (terrible, desperate pleas still ringing in her soul...) and back towards Collins.
“I’ve gone over all of your reports from the England assignment,” he relayed, “...and as usual, I only have concern with one of them.”
Kolchak didn’t need to hear his name. “What’d I do now??” He groaned, throwing his arms up in defeat. Collins didn’t even look at him.
“A report from some sources of mine in the old country,” he said with a silent smirk, “...about a trip you and a member of our British counterpart organization made, entirely withOUT authorization, I might add?”
Kolchak made his best feign of outraged indignance, but Collins was having none of it. “Mister Kolchak, can you explain just what you and Mister King thought you were doing at Harlington-Straker?”
“What..!” Kolchak looked hurt...a look he’d practiced on many an editor. “Jason and I are old friends! We had some down time, heard that Montgomery Flange and Guy Hathaway were filming an action picture there, and, well, you know what an autograph hound I am...”
“Balls,” Collins growled, shutting Kolchak down in a flash, “...as a personal courtesy which you may or may not deserve, I’ll allow you to keep the notes you took on Shado, Kolchak. On the explicit understanding that, on pain of death, you are never, EVER, to even contemplate publishing them. Are we understood..?”
Kolchak took a moment, then folded his arms and slumped back in his chair. “Spoilsport.”
Collins flashed a menacing grin. “Don’t test me, Mister Kolchak. Janos Skorzeny was a friend of mine.”
The mention of that name nearly made Kolchak leap over the next few rows of chairs. Collins was only to happy to shut that instinct down. “On to new business,” he said sternly, “...if you’ll all please pay attention, this is a most serious matter. Three years ago, while boating on the rapids in California, a family of three went missing. A widowed father and his two children, gone without a trace.”
“Missing persons,” Mike voiced, “...too bad. Sounds like something Gerard would have really sunk his teeth into.”
“Perhaps even beyond our friend Phillip’s dogged capabilities, Mister Nelson,” Collins replied enigmatically, “...you see, three months ago, the father of that family reappeared with a most fantastic story. He’s been trying to get someone to listen to that story ever since.”
“And now he’s found us,” Kolchak piped up, “...and we’ll believe ANYthing, right?”
“Unbelievable has never been a problem for you, has it, Mister Kolchak?” Collins asked, “...but I think it best to let our guest tell you in person. Mister Marshall?”
From the side door, a man in his 30's stepped forward, looking awkward and uncomfortable in his light grey suit, like a dog wearing a knitted sweater. The curly black hair on his head gave him a young appearance, but his eyes were sad and old, older than they should be. Mike thought he looked like he’d been through Hell. Bertrille thought he looked exhausted. Of them all, only Samantha got it right...she thought he looked like a parent.
“Hello, I...my name is Rick Marshall. Mister Collins here tells me you can help me, and...and I hope to God you can. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
************
Rick Marshall’s briefing to the group lasted just over two hours, and there was scarcely a dull moment to be found. Kolchak was already well into his second notebook, his reported instincts having long since taken over. At the first moment Rick stopped talking, Kolchak’s hand was up with a shout of ‘question!’
“Mister Marshall, I apologize if I don’t understand, but...you said earlier that this ‘land of the lost’ of yours was a...and I quote here...’a closed universe’. No one goes in without someone else going out, is that correct?”
“That’s my best guess, yes, Mister..Kolchak, was it?”
“So how DID you manage to escape then, mister Marshall?” Tony Blake asked, annoying Kolchak by beating him to his next question. It was Collins who answered.
“Intelligence suggests that mister Marshall’s brother, Jack, was doing some searching along the stretch of river they originally vanished from. He disappeared approximately the same time as Richard here found himself cast back upon our shores. It seems this ‘land of the lost’, as he calls it, does a fair job at keeping track of inventory.”
“It’s just Rick,” Marshall corrected, “...and I never saw Jack come in, but...there was an earthquake when I got thrown out, just like when we fell IN, so...”
“So what are we waiting for?” Mike practically shouted, his old eyes aflame with a new challenge, “...how do WE get in to this prehistoric looney bin?”
“We’re working out the last details of exactly that, mister Nelson,” Collins assured, “...Zero is calling in a few extra hands for this one. But I want you all prepared to move out tomorrow morning. Mrs.Stephens, I trust you can have this rabble ready to go in such short order?”
“Oh! Oh, yes...yes, of course. Sir. Yes.” Samantha grimaced at her stammering...she wasn’t used to the idea of being in charge yet. She was still reeling from Marshall’s briefing, to be honest. To her right, Bertrille was leaning forward with eager curiousity.
“Will you be coming in with us, mister Marshall? You must be just crazy to see your family...”
“No,” Collins interrupted, even as a look of pain crossed Rick Marshall’s face, “...that is out of the question, I’m afraid.”
“Hey, now hang on a minute!” Mike protested, “...this whole job sounds like downright hokum to me, but if this nuthouse really exists, then Marshall knows it better than anyone, right? Hell, he’s the only one who knows it at all!”
Kolchak was quick to fluster in agreement. “Absolutely! Hey, wouldn’t it be nice to NOT send us in completely blind? For once, I mean..?”
“That’s enough,” Collins snarled, flashing a scowl at the reporter, “...I understand all the arguments in favour, but Zero was adamant on the subject. Our mission is to rescue the Marshall family, NOT to put the only one who got out right back in jeopardy.”
Rick Marshall turned on Collins with a flash of anger. “Who the Hell IS this....this ‘Zero’, anyways?”
“Opinions vary,” Kolchak shouted towards Marshall, “...our great and fearless leader, so they say. He’s the one who put this whole, er, operation together. Calls himself Zero, sometimes ‘zee’ or ‘zed’...no one knows who the bastard REALLY is.”
“No one NEEDS to know,” Collins said, his calm returned, “...and please, Kolchak, none of your usual wild speculation on the matter for today, hmm?”
Kolchak waved his hands in acquiescense, quietly flipping through a mental rolodex of suspects his digging had come up with over the last eight months...it wasn’t much of a list. Zelda Gilroy at OSI was a long shot, and while his California Bluebook contacts had repeatedly fed him the name ‘Zordon’ like it mattered, so far that was a dead end too. But Momma Kolchak didn’t raise any quitters. He’d keep looking.
“That’s all for tonight, then,” Collins said with finality, “...you’ll all find mission-specific files in your dormitories, not that I expect you’ll pay much attention to them. Get some rest, will you?”
Collins rose to his feet like a shadow, drifting back into the dark before anyone could question him further. The door fell silent behind him, and those left behind just glanced about bemusedly.
“He could teach me a few things about making an exit, I’ll give him that,” Blake noted drily, standing up and helping Samantha to her feet. “Well, it seems you’re the boss now, Sam. May I say, they couldn’t have made a finer choice.”
“Oh...thank you, Tony. I’ll certainly do my best...but I never expected THIS. I sort of hope it really is just temporary.”
“Have faith in yourself, Samantha. We all do, you know.” He flashed a winning smile. “May I show you to your dormroom..?”
But Samantha was already looking away. “Oh...no thank you, Tony, I can manage. Will you excuse me..?”
Without another word, Sam stepped around Tony and out of the room, leaving the former stage magician alone amidst the chairs...and the skewering glare of Mike Nelson from across the aisle. He waved amiably back at the old seaman.
“Pleasure to be working with you again, Mike,” he shouted, and Mike just growled back, moving in Sam’s direction out into the hallway. Tony Blake remained behind a moment, scratching his head and wondering why the old sea dog hated his guts so much.
Not that he minded. A little confrontation made life...interesting.
*************
“Excuse me...sister?”
Bertrille had almost made it out of the conference room herself, along the side wall, when Rick Marshall’s voice stopped her and she turned back. She looked into his tired eyes and offered a weak smile.
“I’m not in the order anymore, mister Marshall,” she said, a little too blandly, “...it’s just Bertrille...the others call me Bertie. Or even Elsie, if you prefer...”
“I know,” Rick said, apologetic even as he stepped closer towards the girl, “...I mean, your mister Collins, he...he told me about that. Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Bertrille said, shrinking back despite herself. “But, is there...I mean, what can I DO for you, mister...”
“It’s just Rick, please,” Marshall offered, “...and I just needed...there was just no one else I could think of to TALK to. I just thought that...with your background and everything...”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much use if it’s a confessional you’re looking for, Rick,” Bertie noted, a slightly sad look on her face. But Marshall didn’t budge.
“It’s not that,” he said, voice dropping, “...there’s just something I need to explain...before you go in to that place. Something I didn’t...couldn’t say to Collins.”
Bertie looked back at Rick Marshall. He was shaking.
“It’s about my family,” he began. Bertie took his hands in hers, and just listened.
************
Sam found Kolchak where she expected to, leaning out by the railing, staring at the Silver Dart with a little boy’s reverence. She smiled, walking over and leaning beside him, facing the adjoining wall. A framed photo hung there, well aged and showing a seemingly mismatched collection of six people.
“It’s something, isn’t it, Mrs. S?” Kolchak said, his voice echoing out into the great chamber before him, “...what we’re a part of? Sometimes I forget...”
Sam chuckled. “Tell me about it. I never knew the Human world held so many secrets..!”
Kolchak turned to face in Sam’s direction. “I spent my whole adult life trying to dig those secrets up, and now, here I am, part and parcel of the biggest one of them all! And I’ll be damned if I can even figure out what I’m DOING here.”
Staring across at the picture in the frame, Kolchak felt a distinct frisson of inadequacy run across his whole body. Their predecessors, from 1939, give or take, at some airfield in the middle of God knows where. Jake Cutter, Sarah White, Quentin Deverill, that mysterious bastard Roarke, Janice Covington...and the man himself...Jim Albright. A legend among legends, staring back at him from behind the glass of the picture frame with what felt to Kolchak at that moment like a distinctly accusing glare.
“Look at them,” Kolchak muttered, “...heroes, every damned one of them. Me? I’m just a broken down old newsman, in over his thick head. Who am I to try and measure up to THAT bunch?”
Samantha’s head tilted with a sigh, and she lay a hand on the shoulder of Kolchak’s seersucker suit. “You’re not ‘just’ anything, Karl...and you’re hero enough for anyone. Trust me.”
“You’re the boss,” he said with a laugh.
“Darn straight,” Sam agreed playfully, “...now buck up! Self-doubt doesn’t suit you one bit.”
The reporter shrugged, looking back out at his childhood hero’s mythical plane, now just a relic in a museum no one but a privileged few would ever walk through. “At least our new ‘mission’ should provide some welcome distraction, hey? Another fantastic story I’ll never be able to print.”
Samantha breathed in deeply, brow furrowing. “Something spooks me about this one, Carl. I mean it.”
“Pfft. Can’t be any weirder than our rescue mission to Lidsville. I hardly trust my hat to this day! A few dinosaurs and ape-men should be gravy after all we’ve been through. A routine expedition.”
But Samantha’s brow continued its furrowing ways, and she stared again at the picture on the wall. She noted it didn’t say what happened to any of them.
“I can’t put my finger on it, Carl,” she said, a chill creeping through her, “...but I really do wish you hadn’t said that.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
I have no idea at all how to pimp or advertise these stories, as there's not much of a market for Kolchak/Bewitched/Sea Hunt/Flying Nun/Magician/Land of the Lost/etc.. crossover fics. Still, that doesn't seem to have stopped me so far. Enjoy if you care to, and I'll gladly explain any of the myriad references I've sandwiched into the fic if you wish.
THE LEAGUE
1977
Chapter One
A ROUTINE EXPEDITION
September 7, 1974
California
“Water sure seems to be getting rough, doesn’t it, Dad?”
“Aw, quit your squawking, Holly. You’re the one who wanted to go rafting so bad.”
“You shut up, Will! You wanted to go too!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Rick Marshall put some weight behind his words, and his children got the message, falling quickly silent. They were a heck of a handful at times...like oil and water, more often than not. And he’d never planned on doing this all alone. But they were good kids. The best.
“Besides, Will, Holly’s right,” Rick added, keeping close eye on the increasing current all around their tiny raft (and ignoring the smug glare Holly was now shooting her older brother, to his chagrin).
“...the current’s picking up. I think we should make for shore, just to be safe.”
“Aw...okay, Dad,” Will sullenly agreed. He really HAD wanted to go rafting, too. It was always great getting out of doors with Dad...and okay, Holly too, when she wasn’t being a brat...especially ever since Mom passed on. He knew it must be hard on Dad, and he tried his best...
A sudden loud rumbling in one of the nearby canyon walls interrupted Will Marshall’s train of thought, as several small chunks of granite slashed into the rapidly churning waters ahead. Will glanced around and saw disturbingly similar scenes all around them.
“Dad, what’s happening??” He shouted, gripping his oar tight. He felt his Father’s hand fall briefly on his shoulder. The water started moving faster.
“I think it’s an earthquake, Will,” Rick said, loud to be heard over the rising din. Rocks started to fall more rapidly now. Holly breathed faster.
“Daddy, I’m scared!” Will reached over and grabbed his little sister’s hand.
“Just hang on, kids! As long as we stay away from the rocks, maybe we can ride this...”
Before he could finish, a massive shock seemed to crack the canyon wall just ahead, splintering it straight up the middle. Rick Marshall had never seen anything like it...and before he knew it, water started rushing into the new inlet formed in the rockface at a fantastic rate. And he and his family were being dragged right along inside.
Before he could even think, Rick Marshall’s raft was swept along into the side of the canyon, through the ever-widening gap in the granite wall. He was trying his best not to seem too terrified in front of the kids. A feat that became harder when, seconds after they crossed inside, a slab of solid rock the size of their house crashed down behind them from above. They were buried alive.
“Dad, the water’s getting rougher,” Will shouted, hanging on now for dear life, “...I can’t even steer!”
“Daddy, it’s so dark in here,” Holly cried, “...where ARE we?”
The raft jerked violently, crashing over the rapids in a quick descent to who-knows-where. “Some branch of the river the earthquake opened up, I think,” he cried, “...just try and keep calm, Holly, Will...we’ll get out of this okay, I p...I pro...”
But the words couldn’t quite make it out of his mouth, as the raft took another dip...and the waterfall came roaring into view. It wasn’t on any map of the area...Rick Marshall had worked in this park the last ten years, and had never heard a whisper of it, but now...now it was seconds away. There was no time. No time for anything. Last words, a hug...a goodbye. His children...he’d tried so hard to take care of them, keep them safe, and now...
But there was no time for remorse, either, and all there was left to do was scream as Rick Marshall, Will and Holly were tossed over the falls, a thousand feet, straight down.
...give or take.
THREE YEARS LATER...
400 feet beneath the Arizona desert
“Yahoo!! Praise be! Ding, Dong, the witch is dead!”
Carl Kolchak positively danced across the polished floor of their newly refurbished HQ, occupying the main floor of what was once known as ‘Project Tic-Toc’. He giddily pranced past the freshly arrived statues of Artemus Gordon and Captain Jim Albright, quite ignorant that his teammate was giving him a most distasteful glare. When he finally opened his eyes and noticed, somewhere around the portrait of Alexander Waverly, it still only caused him the most momentary of pauses.
“Oh! Oh, but I do apologize, my dear Samantha! I was using ‘witch’ in an ancient, and positively derogatory term, and you have my unending sympathies for any pain its use may have caused. Believe you me, I wasn’t referring to the wondrous kind of witch that is YOU, oh no, oh no!”
Kolchak danced around the still-staring Samantha Stephens, nearly toppling a pedestal holding Janos Bartok’s ball lightning generator. Samantha couldn’t help but laugh.
“I take it, then, that you’ve heard the news about Philip..?”
“He’s GONE!” Kolchak shouted, echoing across the massive chamber underneath the desert sands, “...that tight-assed, pencil-pushing son-of-an-editor is no more! It’s a brand new day!”
Leaning back, Samantha Stephens could only sigh. “I HAD hoped that trip to Europe would calm the poor fellow,” she aid, “...but I think our involvement in the Monkees/Goodies debacle finally proved too much for him. Personally, I haven’t seen reality take such a beating since the last time Major Nelson had Darrin and I over for dinner.”
“Gerard has no sense of the absurd,” Kolchak agreed, slowly calming his celebratory exhortations, “...or humour, or style, or anything else worth having I can think of.”
“Now Carl, you’re being unfair. Philip WAS a very accomplished policeman, after all...”
Kolchak fixed Samantha with a puppy-dog stare. “Mrs.Stephens...I get so few joys in this mad life. May I ask that, just this once, you let this old newshound wallow in his schadenfreude? Hmm?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what that means,” Samantha said with a grin, “...but you win. But please, no more of your dancing, you’re upsetting the workmen.”
Kolchak glanced about, watching as a veritable army of tiny, green-skinned creatures milled all about the vast space, performing a dozen different tasks at once, and seemingly loving the work. Almost thirty of the little critters were nearby putting the finishing touches on a glass case containing the skeleton of an adult horse. The plaque on the display simply read ‘Edward Post’.
“We live strange lives, Mrs.Stephens,” Kolchak muttered, tilting his hat back on his head, “...what’d that ghoul we work for call them?”
“Doozers,” Samantha replied, “...and I think they’re adorable. But do stay out of their way, they take their work VERY seriously.”
“I’ll, uh, give them a wide berth,” Kolchak said, watching as about a hundred Doozers down a hallway carefully rolled in a massive wooden riverboat wheel inscribed with the blazon ‘Sultana’. Another of the bizarre trophies being assembled deep beneath the blasted surface.
“Have you seen the others yet?” Kolchak asked, taking his eyes off the miniature workmen for a moment, “...Tony, Bertie? A place this size, we might never find them.”
“Bertrille was unpacking in the dormitories, I think,” Samantha noted with a hint of concern, “...what little she has. The poor thing...I really am getting worried about her, Carl.”
Kolchak nodded, creasing his brow. “Me too. Rooked into this...this ‘League’ business, right after getting booted from her convent...the girl’s never had a normal life!”
“She still won’t open up to me about what happened to make the sisters send her away,” Samantha added sadly. Kolchak only shrugged.
“I always figured it was because of the flying,” he said, “...let me tell you, Mrs.S, these religious types can be downright vicious intolerant, despite all their high falutin talk about...love and acceptance. It’s the great paradox of our times.”
Serves me right for getting him started, Sam thought with a grin. “You want intolerance, you should have seen my parents when they heard about Darrin and I.”
Kolchak coughed, clearing his throat. “Ahem....yes, of course. Uh, how is Mr.Stephens, anyhow? And the kids..?”
“Oh...fine. Fine, everyone’s fine!” Samantha looked away, embarrassed for reasons she didn’t quite understand, and a few she understood only too well. A wall frame boasting the tarot deck of Count Teleky caught her eye, and she happily thought of another topic to leap to.
“And Mister Blake,” she asked, looking back at Kolchak as he bashfully played with his weatherbeaten straw hat, “...you were asking. I haven’t seen him yet, myself.”
That brought a mischievous smile to Kolchak’s face. “Old ‘Blake the fake’, eh? Now, don’t you deny it, I heard you call him that when his name first came up last year!”
“Well, I..!” Samantha blushed. “I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean it like THAT. I just...I simply wasn’t used to the idea of a ‘magician’ who was, well...”
“Human?”
Sam and Kolchak both nearly jumped at the sound of Blake’s voice, turning to the sight of him, striding gracefully across a walkway towards them. He was, as always, immaculately coiffed and wearing ‘casual’ clothes that probably cost more than Kolchak’s entire wardrobe. Idly, Carl felt a twinge of pride that he didn’t hate the man.
“We can’t all be like you, Mrs.Stephens,” Tony Blake offered, sweeping past a string of Doozers hurriedly carrying the sword of Tessa Alvarado to an undisclosed location for safekeeping. Blake hardly seemed to notice them.
“We mere mortals can only do what we can in the face of such...unique beauty.”
With a sly smile, Blake stooped and kissed Samantha’s hand, eliciting an embarrassed chuckle from her (and a barely audible ‘oh brother’ from Kolchak, who quickly cleared his throat to cover up).
“Ahem! Uh, listen, Tony, glad you’re here. Sam and I were just wondering if you’d seen the others, because, well, I can’t find my way around this blasted place. It’s like a museum!”
“That’s because it is.”
It wasn’t Blake that answered, but a new man, elegant looking in a dark, expertly tailored black suit. He moved towards the trio slowly, an unreadable look on his face. Kolchak put him at somewhere around 40, but couldn’t be sure one way or another. Something about the fellow gave him chills.
“Everyone needs a place to put their memories, don’t you agree?” he said, with a smile that put even Blake on edge. “Mrs.Stephens...Mister Kolchak, Mister Blake, the honour is mine, I assure you. If you’ll please, the Director is ready to brief you on your new assignment...should you choose to accept it, of course.”
Sam, Tony and Kolchak glanced among themselves for a moment. Samantha broke the silence first. “Then we DO have a new mission,” she began, “...do the others know?”
“Certainly,” the man with the strange smile replied, “...I’ve already sent your colleagues on ahead. I’m afraid you’ll be using the garage wing for your meeting, if that’s not too barbaric...still under reconstruction, this old place.”
“Ah, but what a place it is,” Blake offered with a flourish, seeking to disarm the newcomer, and secretly dismayed at how obviously he had failed, “...I suppose we’re, uh, left with no choice but to follow your lead, mister..?”
“Agent,” the silver-haired stranger corrected smoothly, “...special agent Windom Earle. If you’ll all follow me..?”
*************
“...but what happened to agent Colby? He was such a pleasant fellow...no offense meant, of course, I only...”
“Reassigned,” Agent Earle explained, the terse answer doing nothing for Samantha’s misgivings. Behind her, the boys were being boys, gawking at the displays around them in their new museum headquarters.
“What’s that one?” Blake asked, in a rare moment of incredulity, “...looks like a flying train rammed into a yacht!”
“The A.O.D.,” Earle answered, leading the group further down a long walkway, “...prototype civilian multi-environment transport, from the late fifties. It had...mixed field success, to put it charitably.”
“That’s Bob Carson’s Aerocar,” Kolchak shouted, pointing towards a curious winged vehicle hanging from the ceiling, “...and the Songbird! The Cessna?”
“You impress me, mister Kolchak,” Earle noted with a nod, “...you do your homework.”
“That’s my job, agent...holy COW...!”
Sam glanced over her shoulder. “Carl?”
Kolchak was stammering, looking up at a gleaming craft that stood out from the rest. “That...that’s the Dart,” he managed, “...that’s the Silver Dart! It is, isn’t it? The REAL one?”
Everyone looked where Kolchak was boyishly staring for a moment, and saw the ship, shining majestically between the rotting hulk of Cutter’s Goose and the charred remnants of space capsule Scorpio E-X-1. But then, every schoolboy could pick the Silver Dart out of a crowd.
“We have an exceptional collection, I think you’ll find,” Earle noted, “...but mister Collins and his guest are waiting. If we could move along?”
Agent Earle kept his party moving, around a corner and away from the more exotic sights of the museum, through a doorway and into a maintenance garage that had been converted into a conference room, for the moment. A few folding chairs had been set up facing a small wooden desk and a dilapidated old wreck of a car Two people were already seated and waiting, a young woman and an older man.
“Bertie, dear!” Samantha quickly broke away from Agent Earle and the others, heading towards the former sister Bertrille, looking calm and forlorn as she often did these days. Sam paused only briefly to give a quick wave to her other teammate across the aisle.
“Sorry, Mike,” she said, “...good to see you...how are you?”
A few feet away, Mike Nelson waved a craggy hand back at Mrs.Stephens. “Never better, Sam,” he shouted, “...some set-up they got us in, huh?”
Samantha only nodded in reply, settling down next to Bertrille. Mike shrugged, leaning back in his tight metal chair with seasoned calm. Back near the walkway, Agent Earle turned his eerie smile back on Kolchak.
“Mister Collins will be along in a moment, gentlemen, and I have other matters to attend to. You’ll be all right on your own..?”
“Uhh...certainly, yes! Yes, thank you, thank you very much, Mister Earle.” Kolchak wasn’t sure why he was stammering like a schoolboy. All he knew was he hadn’t had a chill like this since the Ripper story, back in Chicago.
“AGENT Earle,” Earle corrected with a nod, “...it’s been a delight, Kolchak. Be seeing you...?”
With that, Earle brushed past Kolchak back down the walk, disappearing mercifully quickly into the darkness. Kolchak watched him go with palpable relief, fanning himself a moment with his trusty hat. “Brother. I tell you, Blake, there’s something not right with that character, what do you...Blake?”
Kolchak looked about awkwardly, finally spotting Tony Blake a dozen feet away, taking the empty aisle seat right next to Samantha. He already had her and Bertrille laughing.
“Smooth,” Kolchak muttered, shoving his hat tightly down on his head as he shuffled inside. Too damn smooth.
“Carl, over here!” Mike waved Kolchak towards him, a beaming smile on his weatherbeaten features. “Unless you’re sitting on the ladies side with Princess Blake? Huh?”
Kolchak slumped into the chair beside Mike Nelson with resignation. He knew that if Mike’s Blake-bashing wasn’t cheering him up, something was really wrong.
“Mike,” Kolchak started with a sigh, “...you ever get the feeling that we’re getting too damn old for this crap?”
Mike pounded his thigh with a fist. “Old? Are you kidding me? Is this the same Carl Kolchak who was wrestlin’ a whole damn school of land sharks with me in Harlem not six weeks ago?”
“I must be, “ Kolchak noted with another, slightly more defeatist sigh, “...I saw the scars again just this morning.”
“Wear’em with pride, kid,” Mike roared, slapping Kolchak’s back so hard he nearly knocked him to the ground, “...lemme tell ya. You’ll KNOW when you’re too old for it, Carl. When they toss the first shovel full’a dirt on your coffin, huh? THEN you’re done.”
Mike laughed, and Kolchak had to stifle a fatalistic grin himself. “Your comforting needs a bit of work, my friend.”
“Hey, you want comfort, go talk to nancy-boy or one of the other girls. Mike Nelson tells it like it is, always have. Now buck up, kid. Here comes the boss.”
Kolchak snapped his head up as ‘the boss’ entered the garage, stepping around the relic auto and holding a large, portable telephone to his pale ear. There was almost no information available on him, though lord knows Carl Kolchak had tried. Came from old, old money from a family up in Maine, roots in merry old England. And there was something else about him...something that Vincenzo would have chewed Kolchak out for but good for bringing up...but he knew he was right, once again. He watched closely as their immediate supervisor seated himself, talking into the phone all the while. The man he’d heard some of the government stooges they’d worked with refer to as ‘Mister C’. He and the others just knew him as Collins.
Barnabas Collins.
“I’m telling you no, Doctor Ratton,” Collins said calmly but firmly into his telephone, “...I’ve only just begun trusting REAL humans, I’m not about to take a risk on fake ones. Do what you will with the Haven project, but do it without us, thank you.”
The team settled and watched as Collins rolled his eyes at the conversation in his hand. “No, my answer is firm, Doctor. Now if you could get me Sam Casey, that would be a different story. What I wouldn’t give for an Invisible Man..!”
A long pause, and Collins smiles politely to no one in particular. “I understand, of course. My best to Oscar. Good day, Doctor.”
The phone clicked dead in Collin’s hand, and he set down with obvious distaste. “Scientists,” he grumbled, turning his old eyes onto those assembled before him, known in their strange line of work simply as ‘the League’. A tradition dating back to the early 1800's, at least in America, although Collins remembered other, older incarnations from other, and older nations. But he was trying to put nostalgia behind him...it hadn’t done him much good in his life, thus far.
“Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. Before we get started, I should like to formally acknowledge the resignation of our esteemed colleague and field leader, Marshal Phillip Gerard...”
“Yahoo!”
“...noted, Mister Kolchak. I’m currently in a search for an adequate replacement to your ranks...in the meantime, I’ve decided that temporary field command will be placed in your hands, Mrs.Stephens.”
“What?” Samantha looked up with a start. “Me? In...are you sure??”
“Zero and I agree,” Collins said with a smile, “...besides, you have experience dealing with children, so this lot shouldn’t be too great a stretch. We have faith in you, Samantha...we trust you’ll impress us?”
Samantha stared, first at Collins in utter disbelief as Bertrille clutched supportively at her hand. And then, despite herself, her eyes started to drift, just to the right...
“As I say, this is only a temporary commission, but if you acquit yourself...I’m sorry, is something wrong?”
Samantha shook her head as if she were coming out of a trance, but still couldn’t take her eyes off of it...the car lumped beside Collins’ makeshift desk. “No, no...I’m sorry, it’s the strangest feeling, I just...what is that?”
She stared at the car, and soon everyone else in the room was also. Collins looked the vehicle over with what looked like disinterest. “Porter convertible,” he said, “...1928 model. Bit of a collector’s item, if that’s your area of interest. So I’m told.”
But Samantha wasn’t interested in such details, shaking her head strongly now, a frightened look in her eyes. Bertrille gripped her hand tightly, and Kolchak glanced quickly between her and the car with decided intrigue. He trusted Sam’s instincts implicitly by now.
“No,” she said again, fear in her voice as she stared the dusty old relic of a jalopy down, “...what IS it?”
Collins looked back at Samantha, and recognized the look in her. She knew. Their kind often were sensitive to such things...he should have realized.
“That’s classified,” he said, with an unusually sympathetic tone, “...I’m sorry, but, if we could move on..?”
Samantha gave Bertrille’s tiny hand one last squeeze before swallowing and putting her misgivings aside. She tore her eyes away from the automobile (terrible, desperate pleas still ringing in her soul...) and back towards Collins.
“I’ve gone over all of your reports from the England assignment,” he relayed, “...and as usual, I only have concern with one of them.”
Kolchak didn’t need to hear his name. “What’d I do now??” He groaned, throwing his arms up in defeat. Collins didn’t even look at him.
“A report from some sources of mine in the old country,” he said with a silent smirk, “...about a trip you and a member of our British counterpart organization made, entirely withOUT authorization, I might add?”
Kolchak made his best feign of outraged indignance, but Collins was having none of it. “Mister Kolchak, can you explain just what you and Mister King thought you were doing at Harlington-Straker?”
“What..!” Kolchak looked hurt...a look he’d practiced on many an editor. “Jason and I are old friends! We had some down time, heard that Montgomery Flange and Guy Hathaway were filming an action picture there, and, well, you know what an autograph hound I am...”
“Balls,” Collins growled, shutting Kolchak down in a flash, “...as a personal courtesy which you may or may not deserve, I’ll allow you to keep the notes you took on Shado, Kolchak. On the explicit understanding that, on pain of death, you are never, EVER, to even contemplate publishing them. Are we understood..?”
Kolchak took a moment, then folded his arms and slumped back in his chair. “Spoilsport.”
Collins flashed a menacing grin. “Don’t test me, Mister Kolchak. Janos Skorzeny was a friend of mine.”
The mention of that name nearly made Kolchak leap over the next few rows of chairs. Collins was only to happy to shut that instinct down. “On to new business,” he said sternly, “...if you’ll all please pay attention, this is a most serious matter. Three years ago, while boating on the rapids in California, a family of three went missing. A widowed father and his two children, gone without a trace.”
“Missing persons,” Mike voiced, “...too bad. Sounds like something Gerard would have really sunk his teeth into.”
“Perhaps even beyond our friend Phillip’s dogged capabilities, Mister Nelson,” Collins replied enigmatically, “...you see, three months ago, the father of that family reappeared with a most fantastic story. He’s been trying to get someone to listen to that story ever since.”
“And now he’s found us,” Kolchak piped up, “...and we’ll believe ANYthing, right?”
“Unbelievable has never been a problem for you, has it, Mister Kolchak?” Collins asked, “...but I think it best to let our guest tell you in person. Mister Marshall?”
From the side door, a man in his 30's stepped forward, looking awkward and uncomfortable in his light grey suit, like a dog wearing a knitted sweater. The curly black hair on his head gave him a young appearance, but his eyes were sad and old, older than they should be. Mike thought he looked like he’d been through Hell. Bertrille thought he looked exhausted. Of them all, only Samantha got it right...she thought he looked like a parent.
“Hello, I...my name is Rick Marshall. Mister Collins here tells me you can help me, and...and I hope to God you can. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
************
Rick Marshall’s briefing to the group lasted just over two hours, and there was scarcely a dull moment to be found. Kolchak was already well into his second notebook, his reported instincts having long since taken over. At the first moment Rick stopped talking, Kolchak’s hand was up with a shout of ‘question!’
“Mister Marshall, I apologize if I don’t understand, but...you said earlier that this ‘land of the lost’ of yours was a...and I quote here...’a closed universe’. No one goes in without someone else going out, is that correct?”
“That’s my best guess, yes, Mister..Kolchak, was it?”
“So how DID you manage to escape then, mister Marshall?” Tony Blake asked, annoying Kolchak by beating him to his next question. It was Collins who answered.
“Intelligence suggests that mister Marshall’s brother, Jack, was doing some searching along the stretch of river they originally vanished from. He disappeared approximately the same time as Richard here found himself cast back upon our shores. It seems this ‘land of the lost’, as he calls it, does a fair job at keeping track of inventory.”
“It’s just Rick,” Marshall corrected, “...and I never saw Jack come in, but...there was an earthquake when I got thrown out, just like when we fell IN, so...”
“So what are we waiting for?” Mike practically shouted, his old eyes aflame with a new challenge, “...how do WE get in to this prehistoric looney bin?”
“We’re working out the last details of exactly that, mister Nelson,” Collins assured, “...Zero is calling in a few extra hands for this one. But I want you all prepared to move out tomorrow morning. Mrs.Stephens, I trust you can have this rabble ready to go in such short order?”
“Oh! Oh, yes...yes, of course. Sir. Yes.” Samantha grimaced at her stammering...she wasn’t used to the idea of being in charge yet. She was still reeling from Marshall’s briefing, to be honest. To her right, Bertrille was leaning forward with eager curiousity.
“Will you be coming in with us, mister Marshall? You must be just crazy to see your family...”
“No,” Collins interrupted, even as a look of pain crossed Rick Marshall’s face, “...that is out of the question, I’m afraid.”
“Hey, now hang on a minute!” Mike protested, “...this whole job sounds like downright hokum to me, but if this nuthouse really exists, then Marshall knows it better than anyone, right? Hell, he’s the only one who knows it at all!”
Kolchak was quick to fluster in agreement. “Absolutely! Hey, wouldn’t it be nice to NOT send us in completely blind? For once, I mean..?”
“That’s enough,” Collins snarled, flashing a scowl at the reporter, “...I understand all the arguments in favour, but Zero was adamant on the subject. Our mission is to rescue the Marshall family, NOT to put the only one who got out right back in jeopardy.”
Rick Marshall turned on Collins with a flash of anger. “Who the Hell IS this....this ‘Zero’, anyways?”
“Opinions vary,” Kolchak shouted towards Marshall, “...our great and fearless leader, so they say. He’s the one who put this whole, er, operation together. Calls himself Zero, sometimes ‘zee’ or ‘zed’...no one knows who the bastard REALLY is.”
“No one NEEDS to know,” Collins said, his calm returned, “...and please, Kolchak, none of your usual wild speculation on the matter for today, hmm?”
Kolchak waved his hands in acquiescense, quietly flipping through a mental rolodex of suspects his digging had come up with over the last eight months...it wasn’t much of a list. Zelda Gilroy at OSI was a long shot, and while his California Bluebook contacts had repeatedly fed him the name ‘Zordon’ like it mattered, so far that was a dead end too. But Momma Kolchak didn’t raise any quitters. He’d keep looking.
“That’s all for tonight, then,” Collins said with finality, “...you’ll all find mission-specific files in your dormitories, not that I expect you’ll pay much attention to them. Get some rest, will you?”
Collins rose to his feet like a shadow, drifting back into the dark before anyone could question him further. The door fell silent behind him, and those left behind just glanced about bemusedly.
“He could teach me a few things about making an exit, I’ll give him that,” Blake noted drily, standing up and helping Samantha to her feet. “Well, it seems you’re the boss now, Sam. May I say, they couldn’t have made a finer choice.”
“Oh...thank you, Tony. I’ll certainly do my best...but I never expected THIS. I sort of hope it really is just temporary.”
“Have faith in yourself, Samantha. We all do, you know.” He flashed a winning smile. “May I show you to your dormroom..?”
But Samantha was already looking away. “Oh...no thank you, Tony, I can manage. Will you excuse me..?”
Without another word, Sam stepped around Tony and out of the room, leaving the former stage magician alone amidst the chairs...and the skewering glare of Mike Nelson from across the aisle. He waved amiably back at the old seaman.
“Pleasure to be working with you again, Mike,” he shouted, and Mike just growled back, moving in Sam’s direction out into the hallway. Tony Blake remained behind a moment, scratching his head and wondering why the old sea dog hated his guts so much.
Not that he minded. A little confrontation made life...interesting.
*************
“Excuse me...sister?”
Bertrille had almost made it out of the conference room herself, along the side wall, when Rick Marshall’s voice stopped her and she turned back. She looked into his tired eyes and offered a weak smile.
“I’m not in the order anymore, mister Marshall,” she said, a little too blandly, “...it’s just Bertrille...the others call me Bertie. Or even Elsie, if you prefer...”
“I know,” Rick said, apologetic even as he stepped closer towards the girl, “...I mean, your mister Collins, he...he told me about that. Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Bertrille said, shrinking back despite herself. “But, is there...I mean, what can I DO for you, mister...”
“It’s just Rick, please,” Marshall offered, “...and I just needed...there was just no one else I could think of to TALK to. I just thought that...with your background and everything...”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much use if it’s a confessional you’re looking for, Rick,” Bertie noted, a slightly sad look on her face. But Marshall didn’t budge.
“It’s not that,” he said, voice dropping, “...there’s just something I need to explain...before you go in to that place. Something I didn’t...couldn’t say to Collins.”
Bertie looked back at Rick Marshall. He was shaking.
“It’s about my family,” he began. Bertie took his hands in hers, and just listened.
************
Sam found Kolchak where she expected to, leaning out by the railing, staring at the Silver Dart with a little boy’s reverence. She smiled, walking over and leaning beside him, facing the adjoining wall. A framed photo hung there, well aged and showing a seemingly mismatched collection of six people.
“It’s something, isn’t it, Mrs. S?” Kolchak said, his voice echoing out into the great chamber before him, “...what we’re a part of? Sometimes I forget...”
Sam chuckled. “Tell me about it. I never knew the Human world held so many secrets..!”
Kolchak turned to face in Sam’s direction. “I spent my whole adult life trying to dig those secrets up, and now, here I am, part and parcel of the biggest one of them all! And I’ll be damned if I can even figure out what I’m DOING here.”
Staring across at the picture in the frame, Kolchak felt a distinct frisson of inadequacy run across his whole body. Their predecessors, from 1939, give or take, at some airfield in the middle of God knows where. Jake Cutter, Sarah White, Quentin Deverill, that mysterious bastard Roarke, Janice Covington...and the man himself...Jim Albright. A legend among legends, staring back at him from behind the glass of the picture frame with what felt to Kolchak at that moment like a distinctly accusing glare.
“Look at them,” Kolchak muttered, “...heroes, every damned one of them. Me? I’m just a broken down old newsman, in over his thick head. Who am I to try and measure up to THAT bunch?”
Samantha’s head tilted with a sigh, and she lay a hand on the shoulder of Kolchak’s seersucker suit. “You’re not ‘just’ anything, Karl...and you’re hero enough for anyone. Trust me.”
“You’re the boss,” he said with a laugh.
“Darn straight,” Sam agreed playfully, “...now buck up! Self-doubt doesn’t suit you one bit.”
The reporter shrugged, looking back out at his childhood hero’s mythical plane, now just a relic in a museum no one but a privileged few would ever walk through. “At least our new ‘mission’ should provide some welcome distraction, hey? Another fantastic story I’ll never be able to print.”
Samantha breathed in deeply, brow furrowing. “Something spooks me about this one, Carl. I mean it.”
“Pfft. Can’t be any weirder than our rescue mission to Lidsville. I hardly trust my hat to this day! A few dinosaurs and ape-men should be gravy after all we’ve been through. A routine expedition.”
But Samantha’s brow continued its furrowing ways, and she stared again at the picture on the wall. She noted it didn’t say what happened to any of them.
“I can’t put my finger on it, Carl,” she said, a chill creeping through her, “...but I really do wish you hadn’t said that.”
TO BE CONTINUED...