As far as John Eritine was concerned it was just another wasted afternoon.
He did enjoy getting away from the Institute for a while, but that bit
of freedom meant he would have to work harder at producing a report for
Fennman that exactly matched the conversation with the two FBI agents.
The tape quality was lousy. Fennman was a stickler for details and
he was not going to be happy. Eritine felt FBI liaison was a waste
of time. He had yet to learn anything from those reports that wasn't all
ready covered in CIA briefings. Well, his was not to wonder why.
He called Fennman. This would probably be another phone conference,---
some days the old man wouldn't allow anyone into the inner sanctum, not
even John.
“Anything new?” Fennman asked.
“No, Sir,---
the same old thing,--- reports on a group of suspected Arab terrorist who
might be trying to enter the country, another on some skinheads in Texas and
a neo-nazi bunch up in Montana. We could have gotten that news by watching
CNN. Anyway, it was all covered in the CIA report last week.”
“I've been trying to listen to the tape. What the hell happened?”
“Sorry, Boss, it was a rush job and Peterson didn't do a sound test. I've
straightened it out,--- the next one will be as clear as those made here
at the Institute.”
“It better be!” Fennman warned. ”Replace Peterson, I don't want
this kind of screw up again.”
“Yes, Sir. I've all ready assigned Bennett to the job. I'm just starting
on the report. Do you want me to bring it around when it's finished?”
“Tomorrow is soon enough. One thing though, which man told about seeing
naked women fighting in the street?”
“Oh, that was Harris. Turner said something about going to a professional
women's wrestling match and Harris came up with a story about two women
tearing each other's clothes off and going at it on a city street. He said
the fight ended up right out in middle of traffic. Turner didn't believe
him. Apparently the two have been playing a little 'one-upmanship' in the
story telling department.”
“When and where did this supposed fight take place?”
“Harris didn't specify when, Sir, but he did mentioned Oklahoma.”
“Oklahoma!” Fennman yelled, “Jesus Christ, Eritine, didn't that ring
a bell with you? You've read all the theories on Decoviak. Most of
them point to an ability to make people see what's not there. I want you
to check on Harris and find out if he was involved in the attempted capture
of Decoviak, either in Arizona or Oklahoma City. Damn it, man, we could
have one of his spies practically in our midst. Check out Turner as well.
I want to know where those men were assigned before coming here.”
Eritine said, “Yes Sir.” and got off the line as quickly as possible.
Fennman was practically frothing at the mouth. John was nervous. The
smallest error by anyone in security and the shit seemed to stick to him
personally,--- and when the stink gets too much, he thought, Fennman will
be out looking for a new head of security. The man shuddered,--- a not so
idle thought crossed his mind,--- 'I wonder if Katz had premonitions
about being replaced.'
By noon the next day, Eritine had the information Fennman wanted. Harris
had indeed been in on the failed attempt to corner Decoviak.
“And Turner?” Fennman asked.
“No, Sir, he hasn't had an assignment outside the Beltway for the last
decade, he's a desk jockey.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“John, I want Harris at the Carson center ASAP.”
“But, Boss, the FBI would never authorize testing one of their men!”
“Did I ask you to get permission?”
“No, Sir---”
“Then just do it and make sure he doesn't realize where he is or how
he got there, understand?”
* * * * * * *
On the evening the day after the meeting with Erik Lance, Ron was in his
small apartment in Bethesda. He changed out of his normal business suit
into jeans and sweatshirt and was just deciding if he should order a pizza
or heat up a T.V. dinner when the doorbell rang. Not expecting anyone, Ron
answered it, hoping it might be one of the girls from across the hall, the
redhead in particular, but as he opened the door he was struck in the face
by a pungent, choking cloud of gas. Half-blinded, Ron staggered back. He
never saw his assailant,--- just the floor as it suddenly rose up to meet
him.
* * * * * * *
“I'm not happy at the thought of destroying so many careers. Wouldn't
the plan work if I picked out just a few of the worst cases?” Ivan
complained.
“We've been over this a hundred times, “ Jason replied. ”We can't
know how many unsuspecting people are actually supporting Fennman. It's going
to take a major shakeup to get to him,--- and that means everyone.”
The discussion halted when Bart pushed through the door carrying a tray
loaded down with dishes,
“Soup's on,” he called cheerfully, “Also, Chet's meat loaf, mashed potatoes,
gravy and string beans, plus Sven's dessert. Feeling well enough to eat?”
“I thought we were going to have carry out again? Not that I'm complaining,
mind you. Yes, I am hungry and it smells wonderful.”
“Good.” Bart replied as he sat the tray down. ”There's food on
the table, Jason,--- you'd better hurry. Those two,” he indicated the next
room with a jerk of his head, “Are feeding their faces like there's no tomorrow.”
“Go eat, JT,“ Ivan urged, “I know you're right, it's just I needed
to work through it in my mind. We'll talk about it later.”
“Jason is right, Love, there's nothing else you can do. Fennman has to
be taken down; otherwise, there will always be someone dogging us.”
“Ironic, isn't it our safety depends on destroying a number of basically
good people over little shit that happened in their past. It doesn't sit
well with me, Bart.”
“Ever consider you might be overstating the situation? The media will
have so many major scandals to report they may never get around to the small
stuff. Anyway, I want you to forget all that now and eat your lunch,--- while
it's hot.”
Ivan smiled, “Yes, Mother.” He replied, aloud.
After lunch, Ivan decided he wanted to get up for a while.
“Leave the heplock in, just unhook the IV. I want to walk around
without dragging that hat rack along.” He said, pointing a thumb at the
drip stand.
“You sure?” Bart asked.
“Yep, unhook me and let me stretch my legs. I'd like some fresh air too,---
maybe we can go out for dinner this evening or to a mall,--- I hate being
cooped up in this apartment day after day.”
Bart helped Ivan dress. A long sleeved shirt covered the needle in his
arm nicely. He surprised the others by coming out of the bedroom fully
clothed and wearing a lightweight jacket,
“Bart and I are going for a little walk, just around the complex,---
we won't be long. When we get back, I'm going to read all the contacts one
last time and if nothing new is on the horizon, then I'll start implementing
Jason's idea. Any objections?”
“Not from me! “ Chet responded.
“I see no other way.” Sven commented
Jason looked relieved. Bart held open the outer door then took his life
partner's arm and steadied him until his old stride came back. Between
them communion flowed, no need to ask Bart for his opinion,--- it was imprinted
perfectly in Ivan's heart and mind.
* * * * * * *
“We have a problem, Boss. The team at Carson allowed Harris to wake up
for a few minutes,--- he can probably identify half of them.”
“I heard,--- you know what has to be done.” Fennman answered.
“Yes, Sir, only how? He's healthy, could be worth a lot if you want him
typed.”
“We don't have time for that!” Fennman shouted, “Didn't you read the
report? They found at least a dozen instances where Harris' memories had
been tampered with,--- some of them recently. Get rid of him!”
* * * * * * *
A grueling day for Ivan. After the brief airing, he settled down to sifting
once more through the minds he had read in September. The task of searching
those minds caused no strain, but the sheer number of them combined with
the dichotomy of thought processes that politicians seem to have, soon tired
Ivan. He kept at it until Bart called a dinner break,
“You're working too hard,” Bart complained, “No more tonight!”
“There are only a few left,--- I'll finish up after supper. Tomorrow
I start the cascade and it's going to be ugly. An atom bomb might do less
damage to Washington.”
The fine Italian meal relieved at least some of Ivan's weariness.
The five sat around a table at a small place called Gino's, just gabbing
and relaxing until nearly nine o'clock. Mostly, Ivan was weary at finding
no alternative to starting the cascade. Like a gambler he was hoping one more
coin in the slot,--- one more hand of cards would change his luck, but nothing
did. Since afternoon he worked his way from the center of corruption,--- Davis
and his cohorts, down the peripherals. It was now pushing midnight. The only
ones left were Turner and Harris,--- about as far from the center of things
as one could get.
Turner was watching T.V. --- the late show,--- the same show Chet and
Jason were watching in the next room. Ivan played a bit, jumping from one
internal view to another and discovered Turner's T.V. received a different
feed than the one Chet and Jason were watching. A slight, almost imperceptible
delay had the T.V. in the next room lagging behind the one Turner was watching.
Ivan did a scan on Turner and found nothing of interest. He then switched
to Harris and got a blank.
“Jason, I think Ron Harris is drunk, or high! All I'm getting from him
are vague, rather nightmarish images.”
“I don't think Ronny drinks and I know he wouldn't use drugs. Are you
sure he's not hospitalized?”
“Well, I can't be sure” Ivan projected as he arose and wandered into
the living room, “But I don't think so.” He added verbally. “He's
not completely out. It's like his mind isn't connected to his body,--- he
doesn't seem to see or feel anything, but there's a radio playing nearby
I can hear it plainly.”
Muting the T.V., Chet asked, “What's up?”
“I can't rouse Harris,--- it's like he's,--- wait a minute,--- say,---
he's in a car and it just turned onto a rough road,--- pot holes, lots of
them, jarring the hell out of him. At least the bouncing is making him more
alert, only I still can't see anything. What the hell is going on?”
“Try projecting. If he's drunk, he won't be spooked by it, and he might
just answer.”
Ivan tried, only it would have been easier threading a marshmallow through
the eye of a needle. Harris's mind seemed light years beyond reach. Ivan
felt the car shudder to a halt, heard a door open and slam, and a moment
later another door opened. Someone grabbed Harris and pulled him from the
car where he limply collapsed to the ground,--- Ron's hands seemed to be
tied together like a convenient towing point. The man, (Ivan assumed it was
a man), began dragging Harris, Ivan could feel sharp stones gouging Ron's
back. At last awareness began to seep into Harris. He struggled, weakly,
ineffectively and the dragging continued unabated on for a few more yards
before the man dropped Ron's tied hands. Ivan heard a metallic 'click',---
and then a voice,
“Sorry, Kid, just following orders.”
A sudden realization washed over Ivan. He tried to disengage only it
was too late. When the bullet crashed through Ron's brain, Ivan had a seizure,
he fell, kicking and thrashing on the living room floor, his convulsions
exactly mimicking Ron Harris's death spasms.