The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 94: The Dead Speak

Chapter 94: The Dead Speak

In the car three miles behind them, another conversation of sorts:

"We'll never catch up to them!"

"Here, dearie, just turn left up here, and in your own time."

Newt blinked. "How do you know that?"

She batted her eyelashes at him, and he turned back the road.

"Never mind."

The adept turned around to the back seat where Shadwell and his face grew more ashen by the minute. "I brought sandwiches, dear, if you get peckish—"

"No! Ah, no, thank you." The small man put up a grubby hand. "What are we a doin'?"

"Forty miles an hour."

"Well, I suppose ye need to hurry, to keep up with that speed demon."

Newt muttered something no one could make out.

"You could have sat up here, dear," Tracy offered.

"No," Newt spouted.

"Why not—"

"He's smells eldritch."

"Are you being nice?"

Newt took the left. "Are you going to be the one to wash his coat? Because there are imbedded substances in it that are older than me. They could tell stories, and on warm and wet days, they do."

Tracy twisted around and patted her hair. "Well, all the same, I have sandwiches." She tapped her lips with a long fingernail, then asked," Newt? How are your investigations going?"

"Oi!" came a cry from the back, "Why ye askin' em?"

"Because I'm actually trying to do something while you're regaling no one who cares on your exploits in the good ol' days!" Newt raised his voice. Then, kindlier to Tracy," My contact wants to see the rest of those things Crowley swiped. He thinks...well....he thinks he's found someone."

"Oh?"

Shadwell's head suddenly popped up between them.

"Two someone's actually."

"Who is this person you keep speakin' of? Your marine friend Gerald?"

Newt started to breathe through his mouth. "Ack, really, can you back up a bit? That thing is ripe tonight!"

Shadwell irritably shrugged off the coat. It was marginally better.

"No. I mean, I started there. But since I can't look up things on the web, I asked for documents. I've been following up on lots of documents."

"That be all the mail you've been gettin'? That pile o' stuff in your living room tied up in twine?"

"Get a bunch once a week." Now Newt was preening. "Just keep picking up on leads, one right after another. Old public records, letters, publications. I get a little unofficial help from Gary. And that's when I found Ester Drummond."

At the mention of the name, Tracy flashed a look to Newt.

But he took no notice. "She had loose connections to an odd group. An on again/off again national intelligence agency, possibly defunct now, possibly any manner of things, really. But the point being, she sent me some material, gave me a few names, although what she could give me was sparse. And I found out a few things."

"Like?" Shadwell barked.

Newt's shoulders and neck moved in a strange way. "Like—" he barked back, "The properties in that lock of hair have a correlation to a new optics technology an American engineer was creating. A few years ago, he was contracted by the U.S. government to help create invisibility tec."

"That's science fiction."

In answer, Newt rummaged around under his seat until he brought up a scientific journal, and shoved it Shadwell's face. The other man took it, and flipped through it with a thoroughly bewildered look on his face. But he could comprehend large print and pictures. He put the journal next to him and said," Cor."

"Right," Newt affirmed, puffing up a bit more. "And this guy, he just disappears one day, and pops up in a mental health clinic. Turns out he was kidnapped and viciously tortured by somebody. He's a recluse now, but I might be able to find him if I keep digging."

"Who's the other lead?"

"A fertility doctor from Yorkshire. All I have is a name so far on that. That and the name of one of her clients."

"What's the connection?"

"This client happens to be the one who tortured the poor engineer."

Tracy made some sort of sign. "Heaven preserve us. This is getting weird."

Shadwell's mind was whirling. His yellow teeth gleamed in the headlights of an oncoming car. "Lad, yer brilliant! All I have to do is check with some of me ol' buddies from the clink! They could find out more 'bout this client o' yours—"

"She never was never charged," Newt broke in with flat tones. "That's where the trail runs cold. She vanished without a trace. All I have are a few aliases and one grainy picture. She was using stolen social security numbers. No one know who she really is. But if I can speak to these other people, maybe I can pick up the trail."

"And that's why we're tagging along?" Shadwell asked. "You think those things of Crowley's can help?"

"Ester suggested they may be composed of the same materials the engineer was working on. Or have something to do with his research. "

"That means one of those two will be coming along."

"Is that so bad? We all agreed to keep an eye on the angel."

"Hmph. Can we take the other one?"

"He's still hunting," Tracy put in. It was barely a whisper.

With that, Shadwell pulled back into the backseat, and picked up the journal once more and tried to make heads or tails of it. His interest was piqued, and he was trying to make an effort.

But Newt noticed that Tracy was very subdued. Everyone rode in silence for a while, until the young man found the courage to ask her, "What's the matter?"

"This is all very hush-hush-like, innit it? Very conspirator and political and—"

"Scares you a bit? A rabbit hole?"

"Not backing out."

"Ah."

"But."

Newt side eyed her.

"When you mentioned that name, Ester....?"

"Drummond."

"Dearie," she stated very pointedly. "I got a very strong feeling she crossed over a long time ago."

Newt gulped, and admitted. "Yes, that's what she tells me."