Doug Allyn - v108 n03-04_1996-09-10

“It was an experiment. The woman was wired, and I would have heard anything you said to her. I had to see for myself if it was true that Lazarus People recognize each other and are capable of some degree of telepathic communication. I wanted to see if you’d come down — which you did. You two didn’t have a real conversation, but you did recognize what she was.”

“You’re a damn fool, Denny Whalen. How the hell did BUHR find out about Lazarus People? The Lazarus Project was a decade ago, and all the records were destroyed.”

“The Lazarus Project was mentioned in KGB files. A lot of their people are working for us now, and they brought a lot of their records with them.”

“If you’ve got reports on the Lazarus Project, then you should know it was a complete bust. You can’t get to where they wanted to go from here.”

“The files are incomplete and spotty. You killed the two KGB operatives who were at the institute and on the army base.”

“So I did. You’re holding Dr. Solow?”

Denny Whalen again swallowed hard, nodded.

“Kidnapping sounds like nasty business to me, Denny, and it was a very, very bad idea. Where have you got her?”

“A safe house on the Upper West Side. The address is—”

“I know where it is. Has she been harmed?”

“No.”

“How lucky for you. How is it that the director of Ops authorized a kidnapping by a bunch of research scientists?”

“Ops has given top priority to finding out exactly what happened with the Lazarus Project. You must have really rattled some cages in the past, because nobody wanted to mess with you. That’s why we approached Dr. Solow first. But she wouldn’t cooperate. We needed you. Then it was decided that the best way to get both of you to cooperate would be to take Dr. Solow into our... temporary custody. The director gave us a field operative for that, and I was given permission to run my experiment before we contacted you.”

“How many of you are there at the safe house?”

“Three. Two researchers and the field operative.”

“Where are you keeping Dr. Solow?”

“In a bedroom on the second floor, at the rear. We have an operations center set up in the basement. Look, why don’t you let me try to—?”

“Shut up,” Veil said, then bent over the other man and searched through his pockets. He found a cellular phone, smashed it. Then he dragged the helpless man into a corner of the foyer before opening the doors of the freight elevator and stepping in. “Your paralysis will wear off in about forty-five minutes, Denny,” he continued. “If I were you, I’d just stay put and wait it out. If it does occur to you to try to crawl out of here and look for help so that you can phone ahead, remember the neighborhood you’re in. The vultures around here would like nothing better than to find a nice, well-dressed young fellow like you helpless on the sidewalk. How are you on double negatives?”

“What?”

“I will not not be left alone. And I will not allow anyone to bother Dr. Solow. Tell that to your superiors at Langley. The director of Ops will know just how serious I am.”

“Yes, sir.”

Veil returned to his arsenal on the third floor. He selected a .45 automatic, which he placed in a small duffel bag along with lock-picking tools and a length of light but strong nylon rope. Then he went out and took a cab to the CIA’s safe house on the Upper West Side. He disarmed the security system from a circuit box on the side of the brownstone, then picked the lock on the back door and went in. He found the field operative, a bald, burly man dressed in matching green slacks, shirt, and sport jacket, in a room on the ground floor watching television and drinking beer. The man leaped to his feet and grabbed for the gun in his shoulder holster when Veil entered, and Veil whipped the barrel of his .45 against the side of the man’s head, knocking him unconscious. Veil tied up the operative with the nylon cord, then left the room and bounded almost soundlessly up the stairs to the second floor. At the opposite end of a corridor an older man with a withered left arm, dressed in a brown tweed suit and smoking a pipe, was sitting in a chair outside a closed door. When the man looked up, he saw Veil stalking down the corridor toward him, gun raised and aimed at his head. The pipe dropped from the man’s clenched teeth and the color drained from his face as he leaped to his feet and thrust his hands in the air.

“Open it,” Veil said quietly, nodding toward the door.

“It’s not locked,” the man with the withered arm replied in a choked whisper.

Veil turned the knob and opened the door. Then he grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and shoved him hard into the room. The man in tweed stumbled, spun around, landed on the bed, bounced, and fell on the floor on the other side. Dr. Sharon Solow, her long, wheat-colored hair tied back in a ponytail, was sitting under a bright light in an easy chair across the room. She looked up from the book she was reading, and her eyes, almost as blue as his own, went wide when she saw him. She dropped her book, leaped to her feet, and rushed into his arms.

Veil held the woman he loved tightly in his arms, caressing her hair, brushing his lips against her forehead and cheek.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Sharon kissed him hard on the mouth, then stepped back and frowned. “Veil, somehow they found out about the Lazarus Project. They came to me, wanted me to fill them in on the details. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about. There wasn’t anything I could tell them that wouldn’t involve you. I don’t understand how—”

“They already knew about my involvement. They got hold of some old KGB files that presumably mention the two of us and what you were trying to do in that little mountaintop hospice at Pilgrim’s Institute.”

“Oh God. They must know just enough to get somebody killed.”

“It appears that way. I wonder how many people the Russians killed trying to get somebody through the Lazarus Gate and back again.”

“How did you find me?”

“They decided to use some Lazarus Person they’d found to run a little experiment on me before calling me to tell me they had you. The experiment didn’t quite turn out the way they’d expected.”

“Veil, we have to talk to them!”

“Talk to them?” Veil paused, glanced at the man in the tweed suit, who had gotten to his knees and was peering at Veil over the top of the bed. “I’ve been giving some thought to killing everybody in this house.”

“No, my love! You mustn’t do that! They’re just scientists, and they’re terribly curious.”

“These terribly curious scientists work for a particularly ugly little department in the CIA that was supposed to have been shut down last year.”

“But these people mean no harm — except for the man in green.”

“He’s sleeping this one out.”

“It’s what they’re trying to do that’s so dangerous, my love. We have to talk to them, tell them what will happen if they try to repeat those experiments.”

“I’ll talk to them. You go home.”

“No. I want to be with you.”

Veil turned to the man in the tweed suit, who had finally risen to his feet and was holding tightly to his withered arm, as if it were a frail captive that might slip away. “It looks like you’re finally going to find out what you want to know. Take us to your leader.”

The man cleared his throat, drew himself up straighter. “I... uh, I’m the leader. I’m Dr. Schaefer. What have you done with Dr. Whalen?”

“He’s taking some time out to rethink his approach to this whole matter, and maybe consider other career options. Who else is in the house, besides the Jolly Green Giant?”