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                      SEX, LIES, AND NECROMANCY

                                  by

                    Daniel Parsons and Brandi Weed

                      Facts are stubborn things.
                         -- Alain Rene Lesage

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The intercom beside Angel's bed crackled, and the desk clerk's voice
came through. "Hello, Ms. Braithe?  There's someone here to see you."
     "Who is it?"
     "Mr. Harrison.  He says he's from your agency, and has something
he wants to ask you.  It won't take long, he says."
     It was that twit from the CIA, with more questions, no doubt.
She slowly let her breath out, counted to ten, and said, "Certainly,
please send him up.  I'd be happy to speak with him."
     "He'll be right up."
     Not for the first time, Angel wondered why he was even here.  It
seemed ludicrous to give them a NATO case as their first assignment.
Unless the matter was so sensitive that Hartree deliberately asked for
inexperienced agents so as not to attract attention.  There could be
others who'd wanted the Cray, and who would have gone after it if
they'd any idea it wasn't on the bottom of the ocean.  But why?  Just
about anyone with a million pounds to spare could get one.
     There was a knock on the door, and Harrison opened it. "Good
morning."
     "Good morning, Mr. Harrison.  It's a pleasant day, isn't it?"
     He looked out the window. "Yes, very.  Now, if you don't mind,
I'd like to ask you a few questions."
     "Certainly.  My time is yours."
     "Thank you."  Harrison sat down beside the bed and opened his
briefcase.  After fumbling around inside for a while, he extracted a
pad of lined paper covered with tight, scribbly writing and a roll of
loose papers bundled up with a rubber band.  "I'd been reading your
reports on the case."
     "Yes?"
     "There were a few things that weren't quite clear to me."
     Angel slowly nodded.  "Yes?"
     "To be more specific, at no point did you give any satisfactory
explanation for how Mr. Merryweather was able to get the Cray, or
provide any motive he had to steal it."
     Inwardly, Angel sighed with relief. "There's a very good reason
for that, Mr. Harrison.  Professor Merryweather stole the Cray because
he is insane."
     Harrison raised one eyebrow. "Do tell."
     "Oh, yes, completely.  We did not include it in our final report,
but Merryweather believed he was a sorcerer who could awaken a dead
god and take over the world.  He thought the Cray would help him."
     Harrison regarded her, the eyebrow remaining in place. "I take it
the eye of newt and tongue of dog weren't up to the job?"
     "Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Mr. Harrison.  I believe he was
using it for an astrological calculation."
     "He should have asked Jeanne Dixon.  You can confirm this?"
     "I'm afraid not.  The only reference we had was a 19th century
religious text, which we believe Merryweather was inspired by.  And
even there, we have no solid evidence.  Tell me, has anyone actually
looked at the Cray, to see what program is was running?"
     "Yes, actually.  Your Mr. Hartree tells me it was running a huge
number of calculations over a gigantic database that no one's been
able to make sense of.  Astrological calculations, you say?"
     "Yes.  We believe he thought that more than one solar system was
involved, interacting in a non-Euclidean manner over at least 10
dimensions of space.  At least, that's what Janie said."
     "That's a mouthful.  I'll tell the boys in the computer
department.  They'll be really happy to hear it."
     "Glad to be of help." Angel smiled tightly and rang for the
nurse. "Will you be leaving now?  I should like to take breakfast."
     "No.  There's still my other question.  How did he get it?"
     "I'm afraid we don't know."
     Harrison eyed her again.  He had a way of slowly looking at you
as if he weren't sure if you were lying or just plain crackers, which
Angel was starting to find irritating. "You have no explanation."
     "The only possible explanation is that the Benevolent Temple of
B'nai B'rith was involved.  The president and treasure of the
Inverness branch of that organization were found among Merryweather's
inner circle in Keckhaver."
     "Yes, they were found, quite dead.  But that still isn't an
explanation.  They didn't have what it took either.  Unless you'd like
to advance the theory that the Shriners and a philosophy professor
could combine forces to overwhelm your best security?"
     "I believe Merryweather was in metaphysics, actually.  Though
that doesn't change the basic quandary.  I will be the first to admit
that the theory sounds insane, but we have no other."
     Harrison smiled sarcastically. "It's almost as unbelievable as the
idea that one man with a cheap rifle could kill president Kennedy."
The smile disappeared. "Think: he got the Cray.  He set up the Cray,
which is not a simple task.  He found someone to program and run the
Cray.  It's not like it takes DOS or anything you could find in the
local software store.  He did not have the knowledge to do this."
     "Perhaps the Shriners' treasurer, Mr. MacIntree, knew how to
program and run the Cray."
     "I think you're going to have to do better than that, for the
sake of your reputation, if nothing else.  How would an accountant
know how to run one of the most complicated supercomputers in the
world?"
     "Mr. Harrison," Angel began tersely, "I will thank you not to
take that tone of voice with me.  I am not stupid.  I am perfectly
aware that it sounds far-fetched.  That is why I did not include it in
the official report.  Your whole line of inquiry is quite ridiculous.
The only other possible explanation is that Merryweather was a real
sorcerer, and summoned up the Cray by magic.  Though if he could work
magic, heaven knows why he would need a computer."
     Harrison was giving her the look again. "Don't you think
something's missing?  If Merryweather couldn't have done it, and the
Shriners couldn't have done it, don't you think they must have been
working with someone who could have done it?"
     "A very logical deduction.  But the facts of the case eliminate
the only person capable of doing so.  We know that Professor Samuels
was not involved in the Cray's theft.  In fact, he was rather upset
about it, as I recall."
     "Professor Samuels has been questioned, and I agree with you."
Harrison smiled again.  "He didn't steal it.  No means, no motive.
But Merryweather had even less reason.  He couldn't even use the thing
himself.  He had to have been working with someone else."
     Angel wondered if Merryweather could really know how to set up
and program the Cray.  Some kind of mind-reading spell, to pull the
knowledge out of somebody's head?  Sacrifice something to his god?
But how would a dead god know how to run a computer, anyway?  "We
found no evidence that Merryweather was connected with any major
power.  We only know of his connections to the Shriners, and a car
thief named John Finger.  That is all."
     "Is it possible," Harrison slowly asked, "that you may have
missed something somewhere?"
     No, they'd found the truth.  But telling the truth would get her
laughed out of the force, or at least require a psychiatric evaluation
and a very large black mark on her record.  So, Angel swallowed her
pride and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Harrison.  Given the facts of the case,
few as they are, I must acknowledge that possibility."
     With a slight smile, Harrison nodded. "So... who seems a likely
suspect to you?"
     If I had any idea, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would
we?  "Well, they should be able to spirit the ship away under radar
observation, guide it to the Orkneys without being seen, and set it up
in total secrecy.  Yet, they must also be understaffed enough to put a
delusional professor in charge of it.  Very few candidates spring to
mind."
     "And so we're back to square one."  Harrison clicked his pen
closed and stuffed his pad back into his briefcase.  "By the way, did
you hear about your partner Mr. Castamir?"
     "No, what happened?"
     "He was attacked by the side of the road in Warwickshire.  A pair
of men in gray suits.  They overpowered him, questioned him, then
tried to blow up his car with a grenade."
     Angel's mind whirled.  That didn't sound like anyone who they'd
seen with Merryweather.  But there'd been no indication that anyone
else had ever been involved.  Could she have really missed something,
some link to a larger organization? "I... would greatly appreciate it
if I could be briefed as to just what happened, Mr. Harrison."
     "Sure."  Harrison handed her a thin file. "There's not much
there.  They didn't have much to say.  And they seemed to know even
less than you."
     "Thank you." Angel was already skimming through the report. "It's
good to know we're not the only ones."


Daniel Parsons                                             Brandi Weed
                          Questions or comments to dparsons@netcom.com
        Available for ftp from ftp.cs.pdx.edu, in /pub/frp/stories/SLN