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  “Demetriovich,” he said, “you should have been a lawyer. That stream of erudite nothingness would have done credit to any barrister. But, if you’ll pardon my saying so, you are suffering from an attack of ‘imaginitis’. There isn’t an earthly chance of your wild predictions coming true. And even if there were, what could you do? You—”

  “That’s enough, Kieth!” Vachell interrupted sharply. “Alex has his opinions, and you have yours. Let it go at that.”

  And there the matter was dropped. No mention of it was made during the rest of our week in the mountains.

  But the three of us noticed a change in the Russian’s attitude. Although he had been a quiet individual before, after the altercation with Kieth he was no more talkative than a clam. He seemed to have drawn into a shell. Most of the time, he kept to himself, joining us only during meals. Any attempts that we made toward restoring his good humor were promptly rebuffed. He seemed to have been irreconcilably offended.

  At the end of the week we started toward the nearest town, a small place named Byron, where we had stored our planes. There Demetriovich left us, flying west, while Kieth, Vachell and I headed east. Kieth landed in Philadelphia; Vachell and I continued on to Washington, our homes being in that city.

  And that is how one of the most remarkable adventures in history began. Three scientists and a writer, a week’s vacation in the mountains, an argument about the formation of a World Government—little things, yet they are the incidents that make history.

  The details of the discussion between Kieth and Demetriovich are rather dry and uninteresting; the arguments of such men usually are. That discussion is incorporated into this record because of its important result.

  For an entire year Demetriovich was not seen. All efforts to unearth someone who saw him after he left Byron were fruitless. He had disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up.

  A year—history in the making.

  CHAPTER II

  A Mysterious Voice

  DURING the months that followed the decision of the nations to form an International Government, a remarkable engineering feat was performed. At a point midway between Europe and North America, an artificial island was constructed. Working on the floor of the ocean, the engineers removed the tons of soil and debris that had settled there during the ages, until they came to bed-rock. There they laid the foundation for the most wonderful structure on earth.

  The island, three miles long, and equally wide, a solid mass of concrete and huge duralumin girders, was built in the form of a five-pointed star. The indentations between the points were intended for use as harbors. One portion of the island was set aside as a landing field and refueling station for the transoceanic planes and dirigibles. Another portion became the site of a rather large group of houses, the intended homes of the representatives of the world. There were various other points of interest about the island that are too trivial to mention, inasmuch as they have no bearing on this record.

  The really important feature of the island, and the reason for its construction, was the huge edifice in its center. This building, almost two thousand feet high, and covering a space larger than a city block, was constructed of great granite cubes and pillars. It was designed and built by the cooperating nations of the world as the home of the new International Government.

  Its site, an artificial island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, was chosen in preference to any other suggested locality, in order to avoid showing partiality to any single country.

  The island and the Union Hall—as the government building was called—were completed on April 6, 1968. Two weeks later, on April 20, the second World Conference was called at the Capitol, at Washington, D. C.

  President Harwood of the United States presided. After the preliminary formalities had been dealt with, they came to the real purpose of the meeting. Harwood, tall, domineering, businesslike, arose and surveyed the assemblage before he spoke.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “when we, the Chief Executives of the world, gathered for this meeting, we had a definite purpose in mind. We desired to learn whether or not our decision to unite still met with the unanimous approval that greeted it at our first conference. Perhaps some of us have come to the conclusion, during the last year that, after all, we should not unite. If there are those who have so decided, we will hear from them at this time.”

  The President remained standing, his eyes resting on the men before him. An air of tense expectancy hung over the room. For almost a minute no one spoke. When it was certain that no one intended speaking, Harwood broke the silence.

  “Since there appears to be no objection,” he began, then stopped short. He was interrupted in a most unexpected, most astounding manner. A great, roaring voice, whose thunderous volume shook the building, and set the executives’ ears ringing, seemed to come from the ceiling.

  “But there is objection,” the voice thundered. “I object most strenuously! This folly must stop! I warn you, if this meeting is not adjourned, and you men are not on board transoceanic liners headed for your respective countries within the next twenty-four hours, the entire world will regret it! This union will not take place; there mil never be an International Government! That is my warning; obey—or take the consequences. Remember, twenty-four hours.”

  THE voice ceased as abruptly as it had begun. A heavy silence fell upon the assemblage. Men stared at their neighbors, stark amazement in their eyes. What they had heard was absolutely incredible, but the ringing in their ears testified to the truth of the impossible. Eyes that had been gazing upward, lowered; the blank, unresponsive ceiling was all that they had seen.

  For a moment President Harwood was at a loss for words. His face was pale, and his voice trembled when he finally spoke.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “we are confronted by an utterly inexplicable occurrence. We can’t explain it, but we can be sure of one thing. Either this room contained someone who shouldn’t have been here, and who is opposed to our views; or a huge amplifier is concealed somewhere. Both thoughts are preposterous, yet, one or the other must be so. In either case, however, the best thing that we can do, is to adjourn this meeting until tomorrow, and have the building searched immediately. Obviously, we cannot consider obeying the ridiculous commands that we received; we’ll gather here tomorrow at this time.”

  A moment later they filed from the room.

  Within two hours, the entire world knew about the voice and its threat. An enterprising newspaper reporter had learned something about the affair, and President Harwood, when questioned, had decided to tell the facts as they occurred, in order to prevent distorted and inaccurate accounts from being published. International Radio News had received the facts from the press, and the entire story was given world-wide publicity. Within two hours it was the chief topic of conversation all over the world.

  When the story came over the radio, Vachell and I were seated in the living room of his apartments, a few squares from the Capitol, “listening in.” The strange happenings in the International assembly aroused our immediate interest. When Vachell suggested that we visit President Harwood, with whom he was well acquainted, I readily assented.

  We were about to leave, when the telephone bell rang. The President wished to speak with Vachell. After a few moments of conversation, the latter hung up the receiver. “The President wishes to see me at the White House,” he said, and smiled. “You are welcome to go along if you wish,” he added. I was ready to go; a few moments later we started up the street toward the Executive Mansion.

  An Exhibition of Power

  PRESIDENT HARWOOD greeted us cordially as we were ushered into his presence. After I had been introduced to him, he motioned us into chairs, and without preamble began talking about the subject that was uppermost in the mind of each of us.

  “I understand,” he began, “that you are familiar, in a general way, with the events that broke up the International Congress this afternoon,” We nodded. “Still, to
be certain that you have the facts straight, it will do no harm to repeat them.” Rapidly, then, he reviewed the events of the International Conference, outlining briefly that which I have recorded in greater detail. When he had finished, he continued:

  “Using that as a basis for our consideration, at what conclusion can we arrive? With what have we to deal? Is it the work of an individual, a faction, or a dissatisfied nation? So far as I can see, we have no way of determining. What is your opinion, Leo?” he asked of the scientist.

  Vachell hesitated before replying.

  “Well,” he said finally, “in my opinion, it’s the work of an individual, or, what is more likely, a group. There’s little chance of a nation being back of it; I don’t believe that any government would risk antagonizing every other country on earth, and certainly no nation would adopt the method that this—voice is using. By the way, what was your reason for taking the action you did after you had heard the threat of the voice?”

  Harwood smiled quizzically. “Frankly, I don’t know. Prompt action was necessary; and I said the first thing that came to my mind. In reality, I don’t believe that the warning came from someone concealed in the room; the voice had a metallic quality, indicative of an amplifier. Still, it’s more probable that a man was concealed in the room, than a big loudspeaker. Yet how could a man have spoken with such enormous volume, without mechanical aid? And, whether it was a man, or machine, or both, how on earth was it able to talk from the ceiling?

  “That ceiling, the entire room, and every part of the building itself, have been carefully searched, and nothing unusual has come to light. The fact of the matter is this: it’s absolutely inexplicable, and entirely out of reason.” And Harwood gestured helplessly.

  For more than an hour the President and Vachell discussed the problem, while I was an interested spectator. The only actual result of the discussion was their decision to have Vachell and myself present at the conference on the following day. I suppose I was included for the sake of courtesy rather than for any assistance I might lend, but I wasn’t greatly concerned about that.

  A short time later, Vachell and I left the White House, and headed toward our apartments.

  APPROXIMATELY twenty-four hours after leaving Harwood, we retraced our steps to the Capitol. When we were about two hundred feet away from the building, a man accosted us and asked what business we had in the neighborhood. Vachell explained briefly, and the Secret Service man—for such he was—permitted us to pass.

  As we were about to ascend the steps of the Capitol we were stopped again, this time by an armed guard. At that opportune moment, a number of closed cars drew up to the curb, and the world’s chief executives alighted. As Harwood greeted Vachell and me, the guard withdrew, and we followed the government leaders into the building.

  Some time later when Vachell asked Harwood about the two men who questioned us, the President explained that the Capitol was completely surrounded by armed guards and Secret Service men, and that army planes, circling overhead were intended to prevent any possible attack from the air. Although there was little likelihood of the threat of the voice being carried out, he had said, they had decided to take no unnecessary chances.

  A strained tension seemed to rest upon the air as Harwood called the assembly to order. A feeling of expectancy, tinged with apprehension, made itself known to every man in the room.

  As the meeting progressed, uninterrupted, the tension relaxed to some extent, and we began to feel more at ease. Evidently, we thought, the voice would not make itself heard in this meeting; the guards had kept it or him away. Nevertheless, I began to feel rather disappointed; it seemed that I wouldn’t experience the excitement I had expected.

  We were safely past the point in the meeting where it had been interrupted the day before, no objection having been raised, and were about to adjourn, when a faint, purple glow crept over the room. Harwood, who had been speaking, became silent. A deathlike stillness fell upon us.

  Suddenly, with a roar that set our eardrums ringing, a great, mirthless, sardonic laugh split the silence. As on the previous afternoon, the voice seemed to come from the ceiling. After a moment, with disconcerting abruptness, the laughter ceased. Then mighty, thunderous words crashed upon us.

  “How droll, how very funny! Fools with the minds of children, and you imagined that mere armed guards would keep me from this room! You, in your abject helplessness, attempted to control me!” A roaring volley of laughter rolled over us again; it ended as abruptly as before.

  There was no suggestion of mirth in the giant voice when it spoke a second time; it was cold, stern, angry. “You saw fit to defy me, to disobey my commands! I warned you, but my warning went unheeded! You’ll have to take the consequences!” Then its tones became more lenient, thoughtful.

  “Still, I may be expecting too much. Perhaps, if you realise the extent of the power with which you are dealing, you’ll be more willing to listen to reason. Perhaps, if you understand how utterly helpless you really are, you will think seriously before disobeying me again. I am going to give you an exhibition of my power, and then, if you see fit to persist in your foolhardy decision to unite, you must be prepared to take the consequences! But you’ll never do it!

  “As for my power, you are beginning to feel that, now. You seem to be growing heavier. A great weight is pressing upon you. That weight will increase until you are powerless, seemingly chained to the ground. This will be true of everyone within a radius of five hundred feet of this room. For an entire hour you’ll be at my mercy, defenseless as the tiniest infant.

  “But no harm will befall you; it is not my purpose to injure you unless it is absolutely necessary.” The thundering words ceased.

  Harwood is Defiant

  WHILE the voice had been speaking, everyone in the room had been motionless, silent. Now that it had seemingly finished, I attempted to turn to Vachell. I could not! I was powerless to move! The words of the voice were true; a great weight seemed to be pressing upon me, crushing me against the seat. I could do naught but look directly ahead.

  President Harwood was still standing in the same position he had held when the purple haze had spread across the room. That haze, I noticed now, seemed to be growing more intense with every passing second. Harwood strove to speak then, but only a formless mumble came from his lips. I tried to move my jaws. They were clamped together in a viselike grip.

  For an entire hour a deathlike silence, and an equally deathlike absence of motion gripped us. And for a similar period of time, we learned later, consternation and terror clutched the heart of every individual within a radius of five hundred feet of the Conference Room. Although the complete loss of control over our bodies was anything but pleasant to us, who knew its source, it was absolutely terrifying to those who knew nothing about it.

  Men, walking along the street, were stopped short in midstride, as though turned to stone. The army planes circling over head within the designated radius, dropped to the earth like plummets. Fortunately, none of the aviators were seriously injured. Machines that had been darting through the streets, had their flight arrested with a sudden snapping jolt that jarred the bodies of the drivers painfully. If it had not been for the increased weight on the drivers themselves, they would certainly have been thrown through their windshields.

  Finally, that interminable, nerve-racking hour passed. Like a suddenly released spring, the invisible cords that held us snapped; the purple haze that mantled the room disappeared. Then the mighty voice roared its final remark.

  “You have heard my warning and command; felt my power; now heed.”

  While our minds strove to comprehend the full significance of all that had occurred, and we tried to restore blood circulation and freedom of movement to our cramped muscles, Harwood spoke. His voice was determined.

  “Gentlemen,” he said firmly, “we will pay no attention to the warning we have heard. The nations of the world cannot afford to obey the commands of an unknown dictator, regardless
of what power he may possess. We will meet again in the Union Hall, at the time we decided upon, and unite our governments.

  “And now, gentlemen,” he added wearily, “the meeting is adjourned.”

  When I joined Vachell outside, I noticed a particularly thoughtful expression on his face. His brows were knitted in a thoughtful frown. I was about to refer to his meditative air, when President Harwood called to us from his car parked along the curb. We turned toward him, and crossing the pavement, entered the machine.

  E had hardly seated ourselves when the President spoke to Vachell.

  “Leo,” he asked, “what is your opinion of my final action in the meeting? Do you think I followed the right course, or—”

  “Absolutely! You did the only thing that you could do under the circumstances. We can’t submit to the dictation of one man.”

  “One man?” Harwood questioned.

  “Yes, one man! Unless I am very badly mistaken, the mysterious dictator is none other than Alexis Demetriovich. He is probably the cleverest and most resourceful scientist I have ever met; and he has a motive for doing what the voice has done.”

  Then he related the gist of what had occurred in the cabin in the Alleghenies almost a year before.

  “My reason for thinking it is Demetriovich,” he concluded, “is the way in which he said, ‘But you’ll never do it!’ His first and last statement in the argument in the mountains was almost that very exclamation; and immediately after he said that this afternoon, this suspicion entered my mind. The longer I think of it, the more certain I become.”

  “Well, if that is true,” Harwood responded, “it simplifies matters a great deal. We need have no fear of any nation revolting and starting a war.”

  “I fail to see where it simplifies anything, for we are still as helpless as we were before. We haven’t even a vague idea concerning the source of his power. In fact, we know nothing about his activities except that which he wants us to know.