Science and Sorcery Read Online Free
Author: Christopher Nuttall
werewolves.”
“I hope you’re not going to put that in your report,” Tomlinson said. He smiled, but it didn't quite touch his eyes. “It won’t be easy to convince anyone to take it seriously if you put that word into an official FBI report.”
Caitlyn opened the folder she’d been carrying and produced a set of pictures. “Gwen Crichton,” she said. “Sixteen years old; born and bred on a ranch in Texas – died yesterday, after being attacked by what witnesses describe as a large black dog. The doctors all agree that nothing human could have inflicted such injuries so quickly.”
She tapped the second photograph. “Rupert Summers; fifty-seven years old, manager at a local grocery store in Chicago. Killed in his own store by a giant wolf; this time, we have the whole attack on CCTV. The beast crashes through the glass door and attacks him, ripping out his throat before he can escape.”
Tomlinson held up a hand. “I understand what you mean,” he said. He had been a Special Agent himself, once upon a time, but he’d been in upper-level management for years. “But if you are trying to convince me that something...supernatural is going on...”
“I don’t know what to suggest,” Caitlyn admitted. The FBI didn't really investigate the paranormal, at least outside television shows such as The X-Files . “Attacks by wild animals are not uncommon, but there are simply too many of them in a single night not to draw our attention. And then there was the girl who was shot.”
She produced a third photograph and passed it to her supervisor. “I think that something very weird is going on,” she added. “We need to investigate.”
Tomlinson studied the photo thoughtfully. “And is there a more... mundane theory for public consumption than werewolves?”
Caitlyn had given the matter some thought. “There are...chemicals that simulate fury in animals,” she said. The FBI had lost several agents to dogs who had been fed drugs that drove them into homicidal rage. “Someone could have doped several creatures with one of them and then let them out to cause havoc...”
“Which doesn't explain everything,” Tomlinson said. He rubbed his forehead. “And yet, if the media discovers that we’re looking at werewolves...”
“They’re already talking about werewolves,” Caitlyn reminded him, quietly. “It isn't going to go away if we bury our heads in the sand. This could be nothing, or it could be another 9/11 plot.”
Tomlinson scowled. Fifteen years had passed since 9/11, but the memory of just how badly the FBI – and the CIA, along with every other intelligence and counter-terrorism service – had let the country down still rankled. Three thousand Americans would have survived if the data had been looked at properly, without inter-agency fighting and political correctness getting in the way.
“Right,” he said, finally. “How do you propose we proceed?”
Caitlyn smiled. “The incident in New York is the one that stands out,” she said. “I suggest that we investigate it carefully, starting with an autopsy for the girl who was shot. Several other reports say that people fired at the wild animals, but this was the only one that produced a body. Either there was something in the air, or something very weird happened last night.”
“It wouldn't be the first time some cop on duty made a tragic mistake,” Tomlinson pointed out. He tapped the table thoughtfully. “Very well, Agent Lyle; you’re officially in charge of figuring out what the hell is going on. I’ll speak to the Director and put together a task force, under your command. If worst comes to worst, we can always brand it another exercise in fostering communications between departments.”
“Thank you, sir,” Caitlyn said. It was what she wanted, after all, even though she knew that her career
“I hope you’re not going to put that in your report,” Tomlinson said. He smiled, but it didn't quite touch his eyes. “It won’t be easy to convince anyone to take it seriously if you put that word into an official FBI report.”
Caitlyn opened the folder she’d been carrying and produced a set of pictures. “Gwen Crichton,” she said. “Sixteen years old; born and bred on a ranch in Texas – died yesterday, after being attacked by what witnesses describe as a large black dog. The doctors all agree that nothing human could have inflicted such injuries so quickly.”
She tapped the second photograph. “Rupert Summers; fifty-seven years old, manager at a local grocery store in Chicago. Killed in his own store by a giant wolf; this time, we have the whole attack on CCTV. The beast crashes through the glass door and attacks him, ripping out his throat before he can escape.”
Tomlinson held up a hand. “I understand what you mean,” he said. He had been a Special Agent himself, once upon a time, but he’d been in upper-level management for years. “But if you are trying to convince me that something...supernatural is going on...”
“I don’t know what to suggest,” Caitlyn admitted. The FBI didn't really investigate the paranormal, at least outside television shows such as The X-Files . “Attacks by wild animals are not uncommon, but there are simply too many of them in a single night not to draw our attention. And then there was the girl who was shot.”
She produced a third photograph and passed it to her supervisor. “I think that something very weird is going on,” she added. “We need to investigate.”
Tomlinson studied the photo thoughtfully. “And is there a more... mundane theory for public consumption than werewolves?”
Caitlyn had given the matter some thought. “There are...chemicals that simulate fury in animals,” she said. The FBI had lost several agents to dogs who had been fed drugs that drove them into homicidal rage. “Someone could have doped several creatures with one of them and then let them out to cause havoc...”
“Which doesn't explain everything,” Tomlinson said. He rubbed his forehead. “And yet, if the media discovers that we’re looking at werewolves...”
“They’re already talking about werewolves,” Caitlyn reminded him, quietly. “It isn't going to go away if we bury our heads in the sand. This could be nothing, or it could be another 9/11 plot.”
Tomlinson scowled. Fifteen years had passed since 9/11, but the memory of just how badly the FBI – and the CIA, along with every other intelligence and counter-terrorism service – had let the country down still rankled. Three thousand Americans would have survived if the data had been looked at properly, without inter-agency fighting and political correctness getting in the way.
“Right,” he said, finally. “How do you propose we proceed?”
Caitlyn smiled. “The incident in New York is the one that stands out,” she said. “I suggest that we investigate it carefully, starting with an autopsy for the girl who was shot. Several other reports say that people fired at the wild animals, but this was the only one that produced a body. Either there was something in the air, or something very weird happened last night.”
“It wouldn't be the first time some cop on duty made a tragic mistake,” Tomlinson pointed out. He tapped the table thoughtfully. “Very well, Agent Lyle; you’re officially in charge of figuring out what the hell is going on. I’ll speak to the Director and put together a task force, under your command. If worst comes to worst, we can always brand it another exercise in fostering communications between departments.”
“Thank you, sir,” Caitlyn said. It was what she wanted, after all, even though she knew that her career
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