Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (8 page)

“Theoretically,” Banks said, “but highly debatable, Secretary Thurman.”

“What about the civilians?” Coates asked, horror filling his face.

“If these swamis of Banks’ are correct,” Thurman went on, “the death toll will rise exponentially if we don’t do something decisive and immediate. And if they’re wrong, Mr. President, this craziness could be your political knell. That’s what we should be concerned with. We have no proof any
innocent
civilians are even there.

“I personally believe something much less paranormal is skulking about in the dark
— no less dangerous, politically. These scientists and surgeons — the people who seem to be missing — none are essential personnel, that is to security, defense, secret projects in the works. These people who have them — we’ve seen their workings before, the so-called militia movements of the Aryan Nations, Branch Davidians,
Posse Comitatus
, other paramilitary crazies within our own borders. They’ve set up shop somewhere discrete, and they’re up to no good — God knows what . . . plotting assassinations and delving into the paranormal, mind power studies, things we don’t understand and they don’t either. Admittedly, what’s happening on the world scene is unnerving, perhaps they’ve linked with another paramilitary group — possibly even
Al Qaeda, Hezbollah, Hamas, Islamic Jihad
or one of the other terrorists organizations around the globe.

“Find them, wipe them out in one fell swoop, and I’m confident the entire thing can be swept under the rug as an unfortunate accident
— a denial-of-knowledge sort of thing — and your office could be kept out of the ensuing controversy almost completely. We could head off this mess — if there really is some sort of smoke-and-mirrors plot going on. Hell, we could easily blame it on Al Qaeda. It could be over in a matter of twenty-four hours, and we could all be sleeping, safe and secure, in our own soft featherbeds by tomorrow night.”

Coates gripped the arms of his leather-upholstered chair. “Mr. President, I’d suggest we give Major Jackson some time. That when we discover his location, we offer support for his rescue mission
— national guard troops, ATF, FBI SWAT — and do this right, take care of our people. We’re not Russia and this isn’t Chechen rebels.”

Thurman said. “Talk about controversy
— it could be Waco and Ruby Ridge times a thousand. Whatever this
isn’t
, we do know some of what it
is
— a well-organized operation being carried out by a large group. A small band like Jackson’s doesn’t stand a chance. We’ll be caught up in having to rescue the rescuers — end up worse than Mogadishu and the
Mayaguez
. The prudent thing to do is destroy all evidence and sweep it clean.”

Coates blurted, “You’re an
idiot
!”

Coates’ outburst caught Mason off guard, and he stared at his trusted, normally reserved cabinet member as the door opened without a knock or introduction. CIA boss Carl Winston stepped in, briskly went to the empty seat in the middle of the room and sat down. He brought his briefcase to his lap, turned the small tumblers on both of its latch locks and opened it smartly.

“Mr. President. Gentlemen,” Winston said. “I see we’ve already started the bonding session.”

Chapter 6

Michelle gaped at me wide-eyed almost as if the television explosion had been something I’d caused.

Awesome, Superman
, Harvey said, but I didn’t take the time to scold him away.

I jumped up from the table and hurried to the counter. After snatching the TV cord from the wall outlet, I turned off the sink light.

Michelle sat still, her back to me. Her head and shoulders trembled.

“Mish, you okay?”

When I placed my hand on her arm, she cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder. She chuckled nervously and patted my hand. “I’m fine. Just startled me.”

I looked at the microwave and saw its LED was out and then realized my eye glasses had cracked slightly. When I went to the refrigerator and opened the door, the light didn’t come on. “Power surge, I guess. Electricity’s out.”

“I’ll call the electric company,” she said, her voice quavering.

“I hope it didn’t ruin any of the other appliances. I can stay home, wait until they’ve checked it out, and they have the electricity back on.”

“Don’t be silly,” Michelle said. She seemed to have recovered and found her normal voice. “I’ll be fine. Your customers are expecting the store to be open. Besides, I know how much you want to get back to work.”

“You’re sure?”

“I mean it. You go. I’ll take care of the electric company. Don’t you think I can handle that either?”

“I think you can handle about anything.” I smiled at her. “But I’ll need to check with our homeowner’s insurance about claim forms for the damages, and
— ”

Michelle nodded. “I’ll call the insurance company, too. And the exterminator about taking care of your little friend with Mickey Mouse ears.”

Then she frowned at me, and I realized she had noticed my broken glasses. I pulled them off and inspected them. “They’re not that bad. Just small cracks.” I looked at her, my memory failing. “Do I have another pair?”

Her eyes shifted. A long moment passed before she answered, and it was as if she had a revelation. “At work. You always keep a pair at work.”

“I can wear these until I get there,” I said and glanced at the clock above the refrigerator. It had stopped at seven thirty. I checked my watch. It showed the same time, and the second hand wasn’t moving. I held it to my ear. Old habit as it was battery powered, and I could hear nothing.

“Odd,” I said. “Watch stopped, too. Almost like some kind of sonic thing
— a sonic boom or something, but I didn’t hear anything.”

Michelle shook her head absently. She wasn’t wearing a watch. She reacted to my gaze with a kind of shrinking look, her eyes lowering again. I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Battery’s probably dead. I’ll get one at the store. And if it’s the watch, I have a new shipment of Seiko’s. I’ll just pick out one for myself.”

Even with his batteries removed, Harvey popped into my head again.
Pretty day. Supposed to snow. How about a walk?

I glanced out the window of the nook. Harvey was right. The houses across the street were silhouetted by a gorgeous orange and purple sky
— like a painter’s canvas, all the colors in between blended smoothly at the hand of a master. “I’ll bet it’s seven thirty-five by now,” I told Michelle. “I’m going to be late.”

“Late? You still have ten minutes.”

I pointed outside. “Look how beautiful a day it is. It might do me some good if I walk to work. You can pick me up from the store on the way to the hospital, say — three thirty. How’s that sound?”

She said nothing for a moment as if considering my suggestion. She finally said, “Another good plan. But don’t forget our lunch date.”

“Lunch?” I tried to look questioning. Maybe I’d get a genuine smile from her if I joked a little. “I’m sorry, I’ve already made a date with one of my ‘other girls.’”

She raised her eyebrows again. “If you’re not at the Gold Mine Grill by twelve fifteen, I just might find another boy.”

The diner she referred to was only two blocks from the store. I tucked the newspaper under my arm. “Yeah, but would he be as good a lover?”

She gathered up the dishes and went to the sink. “You are always so sure of yourself.”

“Yep.” I looked at her backside while she stood at the counter. I’d heard of some study claiming men have a sexual thought every couple minutes. I was having mine. “By the way, did we make love last night?”

She turned and frowned. “You’re joking.”

I thought about it, unsure if the concussion was a good enough excuse for spacing it out. “I mean, you asked earlier if I ever got enough. So I guess we . . . I don’t remember. Last night. Did we?”

“You mean after seven years of marriage, it’s gotten that bad?” She flung the dishtowel at me, but I caught it before it covered my face.

Looking at her petite but nicely rounded body, those feminine curves, the way the morning light shone softly on her tan face and black hair, I would have felt very cheated of such a sweet memory if we
had
made love. I had to know. “Sorry, sweetheart. Did we?”

Her frowning eyes widened. “Poor darling,” she said and hurried to me with her arms out. “Of course we did. Don’t you remember? I drove us home from seeing Will. I helped you into bed even though
Mr. Macho Man
insisted he didn’t need me to. And I found out you really
didn’t
need any help — any help at all.” She gazed at me coyly. “I didn’t want to because of your head. But I gave in pretty quickly, Casanova.”

I wasn’t pleased at being robbed of the reminiscence, but now, Casanova was a nickname I could live with. “I’ll make up for it tonight with a lovin’ neither of us will ever forget.” I lifted her off her feet and twirled her light body around one full swing.

“Careful,” she said, “you’ll get dizzy.”

I set her down, and we kissed.

“See you at noon.” I handed back her dishtowel and started toward the front door in the living room.

She patted me on the butt as I walked away.

“And don’t forget — ” I began, and when I reached the door, I turned back to see her watching me with her hands on her hips.

“There’s nothing wrong with
my
memory,” she said. She paused and then added, “Oh, by the way, Mike phoned while you were in the shower.”

“Ah-hah! Your own brother. You almost forgot he called, didn’t you?”

“
Almost
doesn’t count. Anyway, he said you won the football pool. Ninety dollars. Said he’d be by later this morning to settle up.”

“Cool.” I nodded. “And I already thought I was the luckiest man in the world.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “So whatcha gonna buy me?”

“How ‘bout a large Coke for lunch.”

“Cheapskate.”

I wriggled my fingers and smiled as I went through the doorway.

But suddenly, when I stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind me, it was as if I’d entered another universe.

I leaned back against our front door, staring out at the yard and the neighborhood, not understanding what was happening to me. My heart fluttered inside my chest, and a dizziness came over me like vertigo. What I saw was not the issue, it was how I saw it. The yard was my yard; the street, sidewalk, trees, neighboring houses
— my neighborhood. But it seemed so open, so different. I felt the need to clutch the doorknob behind me for fear of falling into what suddenly appeared like a broad expanse of openness.
Agoraphobia
, I thought — fear of open spaces. Could that be it?

I slowed my shallow, quick breaths, closed my eyes and breathed deeply. When I slowly looked again, nothing had changed, but I seemed to be adjusting. The concussion, I remembered
— that was obviously my problem. But how bad of a problem was it? Should I wuss out, go back inside and tell Mish that I couldn’t go into work today? No, there was too much to be done. I’d be okay. I just needed to get past this.

I slowly released the doorknob and took a tentative step, then another and stood on the edge of our front stoop. I gazed around me at the trees and houses that lined our lovely street, and I breathed in deeply once again. It was so calm. No birds, no breeze, not even a car passing in the street
—
a sort of quiet before the storm
, I thought. But why should I think of something like that? What brought on that idea? What storm?

The voice came again
. Hey, Superman,
it said. But this time, the voice was different — somewhat clandestine, a gruff whisper
. Where are you?
it continued.

I knew the question came from my own mind, still I queried myself in my thoughts
What do you mean, where am I?
I imagined the Harvey character again. But this time, I couldn’t see him. Gazing out at the brightening day, I imagined him somehow in the shadows, hooded, only his eyes apparent, glowing from the dark. And they were yellow, reptilian slits for pupils.

Whe-air-r-r are-r yo-ou?
he sung.

I frowned at my surroundings.
I am going mad
, I thought. I wanted to yell out,
You’re not Harvey! You’re something evil. Leave me alone!
How ridiculous my thoughts had become.

Still, I considered what the voice was asking. As I looked out through the trees and behind the houses on the other side of the street, I could see the nearby mountains. This was my home. I had gazed upon those mountains
— that same ridgeline — for thirty-five years.

But as I gazed my point of view seemed to travel past the mountains, and I felt my body follow, as if suddenly being yanked, slingshot at supersonic speed through the air. With the sound of rushing air, pressure built inside my skull and the agoraphobic feeling spun my thoughts again. The din increased, like white noise on a radio, it blared louder and louder, a tremendous cacophony. Soon I saw stars, but not the kind you see when you’re whacked on the head and about to pass out
— these were real stars, the ones you don’t see on bright, sunny days.

Now the disruptive clamor that had blasted in my ears slowly decreased and, for a moment, sounded like some kind of ethereal choir.  The harmonic noise finally calmed to a light hiss as the dark universe lit up with billions of pinpoints of light. It was like what I’d seen when I’d been camping, way up in the mountains, and there were no city lights in any direction on the horizon to interfere. But I was closer to these stars, I realized, and the world became completely silent again. The silence became loud, indescribable. The stars grew larger and I sped by them, now, not at supersonic speed but at light speed
— Star Trek warp speed. I zoomed past the celestial bodies, and they appeared all around me like bright streaks of intense light.

As quickly as if a hypnotist had snapped his fingers, I suddenly was back on my front stoop, standing in the advancing morning light once again. The agoraphobic sensation had evaporated. I blinked several times and noticed a squirrel on a low tree branch in our front yard staring at me. Below the grey, tree-dwelling rodent, a walnut lay on the sidewalk. He had dropped it
— the hypnotist’s finger snap. The squirrel’s tail flipped in the air as he chewed — or was he only chewing?

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard a whisper,
Get ready! Here they come!

I scanned around me, fearfully, as my heart hammered. But I saw nothing to be alarmed about.

This was not normal. What was wrong with me?

“Good lord,” I said, shaking my head. Again, I knew the words I’d heard only came from my own thoughts, but that knowledge did little to settle my nerves. I hustled out to the sidewalk, kicked the walnut up close to the tree trunk and walked on briskly without looking back.

*  *  *

Located four miles up the snaking blacktop from Gold Rush, Mount Rainy Biotronics was built into the south face of Rainy Mountain. With the mountain’s rocky bosom at its back and its arms of granite on both sides, the front of the building was the only portion visible from the wide expanse of parking lot. On a busy day like today, the lot was filled to near capacity, as many as a thousand vehicles. Without windows, the only exterior glass on the building was in the main entry doors, a carousel wide enough for three people to push around, shoulder to shoulder. No fire escapes or fancy fascia marring its smooth, five-story-high, stark-white walls, it was neither an architectural wonder nor a gaudy blunder. It was purely functional.

Doctor Xiang Gao had joked during its construction that if the building inspector and fire marshal of Summit County, Colorado, ever saw the facility, they would just
shit
. Certainly, he would welcome both onto the premises — open the wide front gate, raise the steel barricade arm personally. He would show them around while they jotted down notes, made out citations for the many building codes and public safety rules broken. He would show them the dark secrets, tell them the many things going on here that the world should never know. And then he’d take them to dinner in the hospital wing’s cafeteria, treat them to a fine vintage of Burgundy, maybe a little pâté or caviar, and perhaps have Maurice, his personal chef, whip up some beef Wellington or lamb chops with mint sauce. When they’d finished and had a nice cherries jubilee or perhaps some tiramisu dessert, he would wrap his large hands around each of their throats and choke them both to death at the same time. That was, if they would ever show. Odds were against that — a pity.