Rebel in Time

'Yes, Mr Dryer, of course.' Troy had the horrible feeling that if he didn't interrupt he would be in this chair, getting lectured to, for the rest of his life. 'But what exactly was it that the colonel took and did not return?'

'Blueprints. Of the Sten-gun. The 9 millimetre Sten machine carbine, Mark Two, to be exact.'

'I've never heard of it.'

'No reason that you should. It hasn't been manufactured for over forty years. But it is well known in military circles, while the blueprints do have a certain historical value. I want them returned at once. If they are returned nothing will be said about the matter. But you must understand, abduction of historical documents is no laughing matter.'

'No. It certainly isn't,' Troy agreed. Neither is murder. But how did this ancient gun fit in? 'Do you know why the colonel was interested in this specific weapon?'

'No particular reason, I am sure. I told you he was interested in all weapons of this type. He was also enthusiastic about comparing various weapons, and has many times pointed out to me characteristics I would never have noticed, things that he saw when he actually had them in his hands. I sincerely hope this present difficulty will be…'

'Excuse me, I'm sorry to interupt, but you say he held the weapons? Do you have models here?'

'Not models, sir, the real thing. The Army has donated many obsolete weapons, private collectors as well.'

Perhaps looking at this old popgun might help to explain McCulloch's interest. And yes, Dryer would be happy to show it to him. 'They are not intended for public display,' he explained, unlocking a door and leading Troy into the darkened depths of the building. It smelled of dust and oil. 'We do prepare displays for museums and the like, when we have the financing, using our duplicates, of course. We have more than one example of many of our weapons, so in this way we can preserve the best specimens. Down here, please.'

Rows of metal bins vanished off into the darkness. There were labels on the shelves that Dryer peered at closely as he walked. He stopped in front of a shelf and pointed.

'Here we are. Now I'll just unwrap it.' He picked up a bundle of stained canvas and carefully opened it. The weapon inside was thick with preserving cosmoline. He turned it over as he examined it. 'No, not this one,' he said, carefully rewrapping the bundle. 'That is an interesting variation, the silenced version, did yeoman service during the Korean War. The one that we want is here…'

Dryer was suddenly silent as he picked up a length of canvas, then dropped it again. He poked into the darkness of the bin, then stepped back.

'What's wrong?' Troy asked.

'I can't understand this. I put it away myself. I know I did. But it's gone. How could that have happened?'

How indeed, Troy thought. McCulloch, of course. But why? Instead of getting any simpler, the mystery was deepening. What could this last development possibly mean?

Chapter 14

In the fall of the year, when the leaves are turning to their autumn golds and reds and yellows, it is very pleasant to drive out of the city on the George Washington Memorial Parkway. The river lies below with the forested bluffs rising up behind it, the landscape is a most relaxing one — as long as it is not the rush hour and the parkway has not been jammed solid by the notorious District traffic. But by mid-afternoon the cars had thinned out and Troy could drive with little attention to the road. He had left the Smithsonian, deep in troubled thought, and driven away with no destination in mind. Without thinking he had found himself heading for the Pentagon. There were no answers there. At the next junction he had turned and driven north, in the opposite direction.

The pieces to this puzzle were all there now, he could feel it. But they still made no sense. How could he tie in the gold, the murder — and now the missing blueprints and the antique weapon? They were linked together, he was sure of that, but what did it all mean? And the time machine as well; that had to be the crux of the situation. All of McCulloch's unusual behaviour had begun after he had been assigned to the Gnomen project. Something about the project had interested him, started him thinking, reading, going to the museum — then buying the gold. It had to be that. The answer was at the lab, and the only way he could find it would be by concentrating on McCulloch's movements since he had gone to work there. That job would have to start now.

Troy pushed down on the accelerator and moved up to the speed limit, turning off at the junction with the Beltway. When he reached the lab he checked into the security office, but there were no messages. He thought of talking to the director, then changed his mind. Roxanne had helped him as much as she could. Whatever had drawn McCulloch's attention was located in Laboratory 9. He headed there.

Bob Kleiman was seated at his desk, a cup of cold coffee in front of him, staring into space. He turned when he heard Troy come in.