Bukovsky interrupted: “So you assume there was a third victim?”
“Almost certainly. Possibly a girl — if they prefer to stick to their original sexes. And now there must have been still another. You know Clapperton’s body was found in the river this afternoon?”
“No.” Bukovsky hardly seemed interested. Carlsen had observed before that when Bukovsky was faced with serious decisions, his usual nervous, aggressive manner disappeared, and he became totally calm, a calculating machine surveying a thousand possibilities. After a moment of silence, he said: “This obviously has to be treated with the utmost secrecy. If it got out, there’d be a panic. I’m going to speak to the Space Minister. What’s your number there?” Fallada gave it to him. “I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, do you think there’s any possibility of destroying these things?”
“I am inclined to doubt it.”
Bukovsky sighed. “So am I.” He rang off.
None of them spoke for a moment. Then Carlsen said: “I’m afraid I’ve got a great deal to answer for.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” It was Heseltine who spoke. “You were only doing your job. Thank God you didn’t bring more back.”
Carlsen said: “I suppose that’s one consolation.”
Fallada placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be too gloomy. Luck has been on our side so far. If that girl hadn’t given herself away by killing Adams, they’d all be on their way back to earth by now. And if I hadn’t applied my new lambda test to her body, we’d now be assuming they were all dead. Things could have been much worse.”
“Except that you think they’re indestructible.”
Heseltine said: “Come into my office. I’ve ordered tea and sandwiches. I don’t know about you, but I’m damned hungry.”
It struck Carlsen suddenly that he was hungry too, and that part of his depression was probably due to an empty stomach.
Fallada helped himself to a cigar from the box on the desk. “I didn’t say I thought they were indestructible. There’s no way of knowing. But at least there are certain things in our favour. In effect, we have three murderers loose in the community. But murderers leave a trail behind them, as we have seen.”
There was a knock at the door; a girl came in pushing a tea trolley. The ham sandwiches were freshly made; as Carlsen ate, he felt his optimism returning. He said: “Well, I suppose the damage they can do is rather less than the road-accident rate.”
Heseltine said: “I should hope so. The present fatality rate is about forty-nine a day.” He pressed the key of the telescreen. “Mary, get me the City Co-ordinator, will you. It’s probably Philpott today.”
When the screen buzzed, a few minutes later, they heard him say: “Hello, Inspector. There’s something I want you to do for me. You remember the girl found on the line at Putney yesterday? It turns out to be a case of murder. I want you to collect together reports of all similar deaths, from all over England. Got that? Anyone who dies suddenly, either from strangulation or without apparent cause. Get the directive out to every police headquarters in the country. I don’t want any panic about it. If the press get wind of it, say it’s a routine enquiry — you know, a statistics test, or something. But I want you to notify this office within seconds of getting any new report. We think this chap’s a lunatic, and he’s got to be caught. By the way… don’t go away… he may have a woman accomplice. All right?”
He rang off. “That’s a first step, anyway. We’ll have to form a separate squad to deal with it. Which means, of course, that the press are bound to get wind of it sooner or later.”
Fallada said: “I’m not sure that would do any harm. Carlsen says that these creatures can’t destroy anyone without his own consent. If we emphasised that, it shouldn’t cause a panic. And we’d have public cooperation trying to track them down.”
“That’s true. But I don’t think it’s our decision. It would have to be taken at ministerial level.” The screen buzzed as he spoke. “Hello?”
“Hello, Sir Percy. Is Carlsen there?”
It was Bukovsky. Carlsen moved into camera range.
Heseltine said: “Would you like to take it next door?”
Bukovsky said: “No, it concerns you too. The P.M. wants to see us all at Downing Street as soon as possible. That includes Dr Fallada. There’s been another rather peculiar development. Could you get down there as soon as you can?”
“Me too?” Heseltine asked.
“He asked for you especially. See you as soon as you can make it.” He rang off.
Carlsen took another sandwich. “Not until I’ve finished my tea.”
Whitehall was crowded with office workers on their way home. The day had turned golden and tired, and the chill had returned to the air. Carlsen reflected that any one of these people could be an alien, and his frustration sharpened for a moment into pain.
A Rolls-Royce passed them at the corner of Downing Street. Carlsen recognised one of the men in the rear seat as Philip Rawlinson, the Home Secretary. He was climbing out as they arrived at Number Ten. Rawlinson said: “Ah, Heseltine, glad to see you here. Do you know Alex M’Kay, the Space Minister?” M’Kay was a short, bald man with a massive red moustache.
He looked at Carlsen from under raised eyebrows. “I recognise you. You’re the chap who started all the trouble, aren’t you?” When Carlsen smiled embarrassedly, M’Kay clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out.” Carlsen wished he shared his conviction.
Inside, a middle-aged but attractive secretary said: “The Prime Minister won’t keep you a moment. He’s on the telephone.”
“No, I’m not. Bring them up.” The bulky figure of Everard Jamieson appeared at the top of the stairs. “We’ll use the Cabinet Room.”
Jamieson was even taller than Carlsen. A journalist had once said he had the face of Abraham Lincoln, the voice of Winston Churchill, and the cunning of Lloyd George. When he shook hands, his grip was so powerful that it made Carlsen wince.
“Good of you to come, gentlemen. Please sit down.” He placed a hand on Fallada’s shoulder. “And unless I’m mistaken, you are the ingenious Dr Fallada, the man they call the Sherlock Holmes of pathology?” Fallada nodded without smiling, but the compliment obviously pleased him.
There was a tray with whisky and glasses in the centre of the Cabinet table. Without waiting to be asked, M’Kay helped himself.
Jamieson sat down at the head of the table. He lowered his head, frowning at the tabletop as if in deep meditation. There was an involuntary silence, broken only by the hiss of the soda syphon. A moment later, the secretary came in and placed a sheet of paper in front of each of them. Carlsen studied it closely, decided it was upside down, and turned it round. It appeared to be a map, and the outline was vaguely familiar. But the writing was in a script he had never seen.
“No sign of Bukovsky?” As Jamieson spoke, the door opened, and Bukovsky came in, followed by a fat man in rimless glasses. “Ah, there you are, Bukovsky. And that, unless I am mistaken, is Professor Schliermacher? How kind of you to come, Professor.”
Schliermacher blushed, made a rumbling noise in his throat, then said nervously: “It’s an honour, Prime Minister.”
Bukovsky sat down and began to clean his glasses. He saw the map. “Ah, you’ve got this already?”
“I had it sent from moonbase. Would you hand Dr Schliermacher a copy? Thank you.” He looked round the table and coughed to attract M’Kay’s attention; the Space Minister was mopping his brown with a handkerchief and staring out of the window. “Now, gentlemen, I think we’re all here. We can begin.” He turned to Carlsen. “So let me start with you, Commander. Do you know what that is?” He tapped the sheet of paper in front of him.
Carlsen said: “Is it a map of Greece?”
Jamieson turned to Schliermacher. “Well, is it, Professor?”
Schliermacher looked puzzled. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you know where it came from?” He was speaking to Carlsen again. Carlsen shook his head. Jamieson surveyed the faces around the table, looking for someone to answer the question. He reminded Carlsen of a headmaster with a class of sixth formers. When the silence became uncomfortable, Jamieson said: “It came from the control room of the Stranger .”
There were exclamations of astonishment; Jamieson smiled around at them, evidently pleased at the effect he had created. “The details are poor, of course. The original should tell us a great deal more.”
Rawlinson said: “That’s simply incredible.”
“But nevertheless true, as Dr Bukovsky will confirm.”
Bukovsky nodded, without looking up from the map. Schliermacher had produced a magnifying glass from his pocket and was studying the map intently. Jamieson said: “You realise what this means, of course?”
Rawlinson said: “That they know the earth pretty well.”
Jamieson’s face showed a flicker of irritation at being anticipated. He slapped the table. “Precisely, gentlemen. It means that these creatures have almost certainly visited our earth on a previous occasion.” The voice was vibrant and Churchillian. He looked around at them gravely. “The only alternative I can imagine is that they have examined the earth through incredibly powerful telescopes. But I can imagine no third possibility. Can you?”
Carlsen looked across at Fallada. He could see that Fallada was baffled and for the moment unsure of himself.
Schliermacher said suddenly: “But this is completely incredible.”
“Why, Professor?”
Schliermacher was evidently so excited that he had difficulty in speaking. He tapped the map with his finger.
“You see… this is Greece, but it is not modern Greece.”
Bukovsky interrupted acidly: “That is to be expected, surely?” He ignored the Prime Minister’s stare of rebuke.
Schliermacher, stammering slightly, said: “You don’t understand me. You see, this is very strange. Look.” He leaned over Bukovsky. “Do you know what this is?”
Bukovsky said: “I presume it’s an island.”
“Yes, an island. But it is the wrong shape. This is the island of Thera — we call it Santorin now. On a modern map, it is shaped like a crescent moon. Because about 1500B.C.it was blown apart by a volcano. This map was made before the volcano exploded.”
The Prime Minister said: “You are telling us this map was made before 1500B.C.?”
“Sure, that’s what I’m telling you.” Schliermacher was so excited that he was forgetting his awe. “But you see, there is a lot that I don’t understand. This is Knossos, on Crete. This is Athens. No human being at that period could have made such a map.”
Jamieson said: “Precisely. No human beings could have made it, but these creatures could, and did. Rawlinson, pass me the whisky. I think this calls for a celebratory drink.”
As Rawlinson pushed the tray down the table, Fallada asked quietly: “Would you tell me what we are supposed to be celebrating?”
Jamieson smiled at him benignly. “Gentlemen, I should explain that Dr Fallada thinks these creatures are dangerous. And for all I know, he could be right. But I also believe that this map represents one of the greatest advances in historical knowledge of our time. And as you all know, I regard myself as a historian rather than as a politician. So I think we might be justified in raising our glasses to Commander Carlsen and the Stranger .” He began to pour whisky into half a dozen glasses.
M’Kay said: “I think that’s a damn good idea. In fact, I’ve already given orders for the Stranger to be thoroughly examined.” He turned to Bukovsky. “I presume that’s being done?”
Bukovsky reddened. “No.”
M’Kay asked evenly: “Why not?”
“Because I agree with Fallada that these creatures might be dangerous.”
M’Kay began: “Now, look here —”
Fallada snapped: “They are dangerous. They’re vampires.”
M’Kay said scornfully: “So’s my grandmother.”
The others all began to speak at once. Jamieson said: “Gentlemen, gentlemen”. His voice had a calming effect. “I think there’s no need to get excited about this. We’re here to discuss this fully, and” — he turned to Fallada — “everyone has a right to give their point of view. So let us forget our differences for a moment and drink Commander Carlsen’s health.” Fallada continued to frown as he accepted his whisky. Jamieson raised his glass. “To Commander Carlsen and his epoch-making discovery.”
Everyone drank, while Carlsen smiled with embarrassment. Jamieson said: “I should add, Commander, that this is only one of several maps found on the Stranger . I want Professor Schliermacher to take charge of the examination of this material.”
Schliermacher, his face red, said huskily: “I am deeply honoured.”
Jamieson smiled at Fallada. “Doctor, do you remember the story of the Piri Reis maps?” Fallada shook his head sullenly. “Then let me tell it to you. If I remember correctly, Piri Reis was a Turkish pirate who was born at about the time Columbus discovered America. In 1513 and 1528, he drew two maps of the world. Now, the amazing thing is that these maps not only showed North America — which Columbus had discovered — but South America as far as Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego. And these countries had not been discovered at that time. Even the Vikings, who discovered North America five centuries before Columbus, never got beyond North America. But that isn’t all. Piri Reis’s maps also showed Greenland. That was easy enough to explain — the Vikings were familiar with Greenland. But in one place, Piri showed two bays where modern maps showed land. That seemed worth investigating, so a team of scientists made seismographic measurements in Greenland. They discovered that Piri Reis was right, and the modern maps were wrong. It wasn’t land — it was a thick sheet of ice that now covered the bays. In other words, Piri Reis’s map showed Greenland as it was before the ice covered it — thousands of years ago.” He looked around the table; everyone was listening intently, even Fallada. Jamieson said: “We now believe that Piri Reis based his maps on much older maps — maps perhaps as old as this one, or even older.” He tapped the map on the table. “And these maps could not have been made by human beings on earth. They were not advanced enough.” He turned to Fallada, and his gaze was almost hypnotic. “Would you not agree that it is possible that those old maps were made by these same alien creatures that you call vampires?”