The Valley of the Ancients Read online

  At last, Lucinda announced that the mobile energizer was ready for testing. The timing was perfect for the professor, who had now acquired all the information he needed to continue the project on his own and was looking for an opportunity to arrange a freak accident for his junior colleague. He had already bought a new dark suit to wear at her funeral.

  Lucinda was anxious to test the cloak in natural daylight, for all her experiments up until now had been in the artificial light of the laboratory and she was terrified that the invisibility device might somehow be less effective in full natural light. The mobile energizer now made it possible to use the cloak outside and one afternoon she and the professor went to a deserted spot for the trial. She was a keen scuba diver and knew of a suitable cliff top above the bay where she and fellow club members practised their underwater skills. The professor kindly offered to drive and after lunch he packed her cameras and specialist equipment into the boot of the Jag and they drove out to the coast.

  There was no shade at the location she had chosen and the cliff top was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Far below, the Atlantic breakers pounded against the base of the cliff. Before they got out of the car to begin their ground-breaking experiment, the professor reached into his pocket, took out a small parcel and gave it to Lucinda.

  ‘For you my dear,’ he said with a fatherly smile. ‘A token of good luck for what I’m sure is going to be the most momentous day of your life.’

  Lucinda took the parcel and opened it. Inside was a velvet-covered box emblazoned with the name of an exclusive jeweller:

  Gyges of Lydia

  In the box, nestling in silk, was a lucky clover, exquisitely chased in solid gold and mounted on a ring.

  She was lost for words at the touching gesture.

  ‘Why … it’s … it’s … beautiful,’ she eventually stammered as she slipped it on to her finger. ‘I shall always treasure it as a memory of this day and your kindness to me over all these weeks.’

  She leaned over and kissed the professor on the cheek and he blushed faintly with embarrassment, as well he might.

  Lucinda had readily agreed to the professor’s suggestion that he should be the one to don the invisibility cloak so that she could do her experiments with various light meters and cameras from different angles. The cloak was basically a large cape shaped like a poncho with Velcro slits inserted in the sides so that the arms could be poked out if necessary. There was a Velcro hem to adjust the length of the cloak precisely so it hung just clear of the ground. The portable energizer fitted into a pocket inside the cloak. There was a separate invisibility helmet with two tiny eyeholes cut in it that the professor referred to as ‘Hades’ cap’, for some reason that Lucinda couldn’t discern. As she helped the professor to put everything on she noticed his hands were trembling and felt touched that he was so excited about the outcome of her experiment. Her interpretation of his excited state was, of course, completely wrong, as she was soon to discover. With the robe in place Lucinda set up her instruments and cameras at different angles and then instructed the professor to switch on the energizer. To her delight he instantly disappeared.

  ‘Does it work?’ she heard his disembodied voice ask, eerily, out of apparently empty space.

  ‘Yes, it’s fantastic,’ she replied. ‘Nobel Prize, here I come!’

  ‘Just walk completely round me and check I’m invisible from every angle,’ said the voice. Lucinda obediently walked round the spot where she knew him to be standing. She couldn’t even see the flattened grass beneath his shoes, for the light simply flowed around the robe down to the ground. It was truly as though he didn’t exist. As she passed between the invisible man and the cliff top she suddenly saw a disembodied hand appear in midair; as it moved towards her a wrist and a forearm appeared, followed by an elbow.

  ‘I’m sorry about the Nobel Prize, my dear, but I think it’s about time I received one myself!’

  As he spoke, the midair arm emerged completely from the slit in the robe and pushed her off the edge of the cliff.

  Even up to the last second she did not suspect what he was about to do and as she tumbled backwards into space her terror was mingled with an overwhelming sense of injustice and betrayal. As she fell she took a deep breath in mid-air and struggled to twist her body into the semblance of a dive; she knew that at all costs she mustn’t be struck unconscious by the impact with the water and prayed she would avoid the vicious rocks at the base of the cliff.

  The shock of hitting the water was unbelievable and stunned her for a second or two but she had protected her head with her hands and remained conscious. From her scuba diving she had an intimate knowledge of this section of coastline – her diving club was only half a mile along the bay – and, still under water, she swam down and towards the rocks where she knew there was an overhang. If she could reach this area where the sea had cut in under the rocks she knew she would be invisible from above. She resisted the temptation to break surface and look up. She wouldn’t be able to see her invisible assailant, but he might see her and know she had survived. At last, with her lungs almost bursting and her heartbeat drumming in her ears, she surfaced under the rocky overhang, bruised, frightened, but alive.

  As she sat on a ledge, gasping for breath and recovering her strength, her eyes fell upon the ring the professor had given her just an hour before. From being a token of luck and affection from one had she believed to be a true friend and mentor, it had now became a symbol of hatred and betrayal. She wrenched it off her finger and hurled it out into the ocean.

  Back on the top of the cliffs the professor congratulated himself on how smoothly his little plan had gone. He was afraid of heights so he lay on the ground and crawled to the edge of the cliff.

  Staring down over the brink at the waves smashing themselves against the jagged rocks below he gave a smirk of satisfaction – it was inconceivable that anyone could have survived that fall. But just to be sure … he struggled out of the invisibility robe and ran to the car. In the boot was a box that he had left behind while unloading Lucinda’s other equipment. A wire ran from the box to the car aerial leads which ran down inside the boot. Now he flipped back the lid of the box and inspected a flat-screen computer monitor.

  His face fell for an instant as he saw the trace of a heartbeat coming across the screen. The gold ring he had given Lucinda was more than an exquisite piece of jewellery: it was a masterpiece of electronic engineering that was recording the pulse in her finger and transmitting it to the car aerial. But even as he watched, the pulse flattened and stopped. A flat line traced across the screen. She was dead. Fame and fortune awaited him!

  Lucinda rang the police from her diving club. She had changed into a set of dry clothes she always kept there in her locker and was now clutching a cup of hot chocolate and telling her story to a policeman. On hearing that her accusation was attempted murder a senior detective called Poirot had come in person to interview her and they now sat in a quiet corner of the locker room. The detective had originally intended to inspect the scene of the crime, but on hearing Lucinda’s story he changed his mind in case the professor should see him and realize that she had survived. Lucinda told him that she thought the professor was trying to steal her research, but didn’t say what it was about.

  ‘We’ve had our eye on the professor for some time now,’ the detective divulged to Lucinda. He did not tell her that at that very moment a captured Bolivian terrorist was ‘helping them with their enquiries’ and had already been persuaded to reveal Luke’s identity.

  ‘I can’t say any more at present,’ the inspector continued, ‘but he’s involved in a serious matter concerning state security and we now know that he’s prepared to commit murder. If he discovers you are still alive he’ll stop at nothing to do the job properly the second time. If you agree, I think you should tell only your closest relatives that you are OK and go away on extended leave. I will have a quiet word with the Vice-Chancellor of the university – I need to tell him anyway
about the professor – so your job will be secure. In the meantime we will let the public know that a body has been washed up and that it seems that a young woman was involved in a tragic cliff fall. That should keep you safe from the professor while we continue to observe him and tighten the net around all his terrorist contacts.’

  Lucinda readily agreed to this plan and was only too happy to hear that the professor would not only eventually get the justice he deserved but would never be able to steal the credit for her wonderful discovery. She rang up her older sister Maria, a widow with two children who adored their Aunt Lucie and were delighted to hear that she was coming to stay for an indefinite period. Two days later the Dean called an emergency meeting of the senior university staff and announced that, tragically, the body of the young woman that had been reported in the news that morning as having been washed ashore was almost certainly that of Dr Angstrom.

  The professor appeared to be devastated by the news.

  ‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed, striking his forehead in an histrionic gesture. ‘I simply can’t believe this!’ The Dean’s secretary couldn’t help thinking that he looked just like an actor overplaying a dramatic scene, but then immediately felt guilty at letting such an uncharitable thought cross her mind about the poor man. She gave him some strong coffee and a large brandy before helping him back to his office as he dabbed his eyes with a large handkerchief.

  Beneath the professor’s outward show of grief his obsession with the invisibility suit now made it essential for him to obtain further supplies of metamaterial. Without this it would be impossible to create more suits using the stolen know-how. Lucinda had been uncertain how long the cloak would remain effective, as she had no idea whether or not its metamaterial coating might start to deteriorate and the professor was terrified that it might do so before he had the chance to obtain more of the precious ore from which it came. He had to track down the pilot who had first brought the mystery rocks to the university. He had already obtained the name of the prison from Lucinda’s boyfriend and now, using his extraordinary IT skills, he hacked into the confidential computer prison records and learnt all he could about the man who held the answers to the knowledge he was so desperate to acquire; in particular, he found the exact location of the man’s cell within the immense prison.

  The professor thought about his strategy in great detail. The first thing was to make sure that the pilot could take him back to where he had found the rocks and was willing to do so. He might have to let him in on the secret at some point to gain his cooperation, but as long as he alone possessed the invisibility suit he could always dispose of the pilot when it suited him. It would be no more difficult than getting rid of the girl had been. Next, he had to get the pilot out of jail. It would be easy for the professor to get in to jail, but much more difficult to get the pilot out. That was something he would have to give some thought to but, with his new-found power, the problem should not be insuperable.

  6

  A Voice in the Dark

  Biggles awoke with a start. He thought he had felt a hand on his shoulder, but decided he must have been dreaming. Chopper was snoring like a pig on his bunk on the opposite side of the cell and though the cell was narrow he couldn’t possibly have reached the pilot. The cell was dimly illuminated from the corridor lights shining through the barred door and as Biggles became fully awake he was puzzled to see that the shadows of the bars on the floor, which he had observed through countless sleepless nights in jail, had changed position. He sat up in bewilderment and then saw, to his astonishment, that the cell door was slightly ajar. Then he heard the voice. He broke out in a cold sweat as childish fears of ghosts and other supernatural entities flooded through his imagination.

  ‘Ssh. Don’t be alarmed. Listen.’

  The voice in his ear sounded real enough but what on earth was going on?

  ‘Who are you? Where are you? What the hell’s happening?’ Biggles’ voice was hoarse with fear.

  ‘Never mind that for the moment,’ the voice replied. ‘Are you interested in making a great deal of money – enough to keep you in luxury for the rest of your life?’

  ‘Yes … but …’ the pilot stammered, ‘how can I get it or spend it while I’m in this hell-hole?’

  ‘Just tell me the answer to one question and I can sort everything,’ came the reply. ‘You took some rocks to the university a few weeks ago. Can you remember where you found them and could you take me there?’

  The pilot swallowed hard as he cast his mind back to the crater. Could he find it again? He was sure he could; he assiduously kept records and map references of all his flights with notes about any special circumstances or problems he had encountered. Over the years this record had proved invaluable in his dangerous flights over the remote rainforest and had saved his life on more than one occasion.

  ‘Yeah, I can get you there OK. There’s just this little problem of getting out of here.’

  ‘Leave that to me. I’ll be back in touch soon,’ said the voice.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the pilot.

  ‘Just call me X for the moment. I’ll be back.’

  The cell door closed and there was a quiet click as it was relocked.

  ‘Who the hell were you talking to?’ demanded Chopper. He had clearly been woken by the disturbance, but Biggles wasn’t sure how much he had heard or whether he had seen the door move.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘Just a nightmare. I’m OK now.’

  Chopper grunted, turned over and within a few moments was snoring again.

  The pilot lay awake on his back staring at the ceiling in the dim light. Common sense began to reassert itself. The hand on his shoulder must have been a dream. The voice must somehow have been transmitted to him electronically. The guard must have left the door open during a final inspection after he and Chopper were asleep and he must have come back and relocked it without Biggles catching sight of him. But what about the message he had received? Clearly the rocks contained some valuable ore and somebody at the university intended to make himself a little fortune out of it. Well, that was OK with Biggles as long as he got a fair share. But how was he going to get out of jail? He didn’t sleep any more that night as he went over and over in his mind what had happened.

  The next day Chopper sat opposite Biggles at lunch. Chopper ate greedily despite the appalling food – his massive frame needed every calorie it could get to keep going. When he had scraped his bowl clean he looked across at Biggles, having made sure that nobody else was in earshot.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘tell me what was really going on last night. I heard another voice whispering and I’m sure I saw the door being shut. Have you got a scam going on with one of the guards, ’cos if you have, I’m in on it, OK?’

  Biggles thought quickly. Despite the friendship that he had formed with Chopper, he was, like everyone else in the jail, intimidated by the big man and knew he could expect the worst if Chopper thought he was trying to deceive him. The only safe course of action was to tell him the truth.

  He told Chopper everything that had happened and explained that he had made up his story about a nightmare simply because he didn’t understand what was going on and didn’t want Chopper to think he was going mad. Chopper listened to the whole story without interrupting. An inveterate liar himself, he recognized the truth when he heard it and he knew that the pilot was being completely honest with him. He was, as always, calculating his best way of exploiting the situation. It sounded as though a previously undiscovered gold or uranium mine could provide a fortune for several people, not just the pilot and his unknown conspirator. Chopper had already been considering including the pilot in his forthcoming escape – he had, after all, formed a close working relationship with the man – and now he saw how this unexpected turn of events could benefit everyone. He leant towards Biggles, who had now finished his tale and was watching Chopper with some trepidation.

  ‘Let’s make sure I’ve got this right. You know where some fancy
rocks come from. This guy says they’re worth a fortune if you can get out and show him where they are. You need him because he knows what’s special about them, and he needs you ’cos he doesn’t know where they are. He’s got some way of talking to you in here, but you don’t know what it is. Is that it?’

  The pilot was relieved beyond measure at Chopper’s reaction.

  ‘Yeah, you’ve got it in one,’ he replied, his voice trembling with relief.

  Chopper fell silent and gazed into space for a few moments. Then he turned back to the pilot.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘here’s the deal. My brother is going to get me and my mates out of here on Tuesday night – I don’t know how he’s going to do it yet but I’m pretty certain he will. If you cut us all in on your little arrangement with the mystery voice I’ll take you out with us.’

  Biggles thought for a moment. He really had nothing to lose as he certainly wasn’t going to make any money staying in jail, and a fortune was a fortune however it was divided up. And he was still anxious to stay on the right side of Chopper.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘but there’s a problem. I can’t talk to this bloke – I have to wait ’til he talks to me again and we’ve only got two more nights before Tuesday.’

  ‘Well,’ said Chopper grimly, ‘you’d just better hope that your mystery mate gets in touch soon or you’ll be enjoying these prison lunches for another five years.’

  Chopper didn’t know whether putting pressure on the man would make any difference but it certainly couldn’t do any harm.

  That night Biggles lay awake, hoping against hope that he would hear the voice once again. But the night passed with no sound other than Chopper’s snoring and occasional laughter from the guards’ coffee room. He felt sick with fear that he had truly dreamt the events of the previous night and was doomed to spend years in prison but, after Tuesday, without the protection of Chopper.