Veil

Chapter 11

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It was after ten P.M. by the time Veil returned to his chalet. He removed the tinted aviator glasses and black wig that comprised his simple disguise, tossed the articles on the bed, then poured himself half a tumbler full of Scotch from the well-stocked bar. It had been a long and frustrating day—long because he had been up and across the valley to the Institute's main complex before dawn; frustrating because his random search for a familiar face had been an exercise in futility. There was a good possibility that he wouldn't recognize the man he was after even if he walked past him. He had managed to cover the entire complex; he had seen many fascinating and sensitive experiments in progress, but nothing that would justify the risk and cost of setting up the kind of spy network that would include the care and feeding of an assassin like the Golden Boy. He knew that he needed a more systematic approach.

He had more faith in his dreams. His past seemed to be the key, and when he slept, his subconscious kept returning him there, allowing him to sift and sort memories in the search for a link between then and now—if there was one.

He opened a dresser drawer and took out a map of the Institute that included the hospice and the Army compound. He drained the Scotch, then set the tumbler on the gray area of the Army compound. The Golden Boy had come out of there, Veil thought, and he was going to have to find a way to get in.

"Veil?"

He turned to find Sharon Solow, her fine hair backlit by moonglow, standing in the shadows just beyond the open doorway. The muscles in his stomach and groin fluttered with surprise, pleasure, and anticipation. "Come in, Sharon," he said quietly.

The woman entered the chalet carrying a covered tray, which she set down on the rough-hewn wood table in the center of the sunken living room. She removed the gingham cloth to reveal an array of sandwiches, a bowl of tossed salad, and a carafe of red wine. "I know you missed dinner, so I thought you might like something to eat. Nothing fancy, as you can see."

"Fancy enough," Veil replied with a grin as he moved to the table. He hadn't eaten all day, and the sight and smell of the food made him realize just how hungry he was. "Thank you very much. Will you join me?"

Sharon shook her head. "I've eaten."

"Then please keep me company."

"All right," Sharon replied evenly, sitting down in the chair that Veil pulled out for her.

He sat down across from Sharon, poured two glasses of wine from the carafe, then selected a roast beef sandwich from the tray. "Delicious," he said when he had finished the first sandwich and was about to start on another. "This wasn't necessary, but it's certainly much appreciated."

"I had an ulterior motive for coming here tonight, Veil."

Veil set aside the second sandwich and looked up. Sharon was leaning forward on her elbows, chin cupped in the palms of her hands. She was staring at him intently. "Which is?"

"I'd like you to answer some questions."

"I'll try."

"What are you?"

"Just a man," Veil replied softly, sipping at his wine.

"We've established that you worked for the CIA. Are you a spy now?"

"No. Now I'm just a painter from New York City."

"I don't think I believe you," Sharon said after a long pause.

"It's true."

"What are you doing here?"

"You know what I'm doing here; I was invited."

Sharon sighed and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, there was a glint of frustration and anger in their pale depths. "You're just using words, Veil. If you don't want me to know what's going on, simply say so. Don't play games."

"I'm sorry, Sharon. I don't mean to be rude. If you want to know what's going on, I think you should ask Jonathan."

"I'm asking you."

"You seemed content yesterday to take Jonathan's direction on this. Has something happened?"

"Let's just say that I feel a renewed sense of responsibility."

"For the hospice, or Jonathan?"

"Both."

"Where is Jonathan?"

"I don't know, Veil. Wherever he is, he went there in the helicopter just before noon. He may be in Monterey, or even San Francisco, doing research, but I can't be sure. He almost never leaves the mountain, unless it's on some kind of fund-raising business. I don't think that's what he's doing, and it makes me uneasy. That's why I'd like you to tell me what's happened."

"Somebody made a mistake, Sharon. I have to find out who made the mistake and why it was made." "What kind of mistake?"

"A dangerous one. It involved me, but it could also affect the Institute. That's why Jonathan wants me to get to the bottom of it."

"You're not telling me anything, Veil."

"I feel in an awkward position, caught between my host and hostess. Jonathan made it very plain that he didn't want you to worry."

"Is there something to be worried about?"

"I don't know, Sharon."

The woman took a deep breath, slowly let it out. "Can what you're doing bring harm to Jonathan?"

Veil rose from the table, poured himself a second Scotch, and lit one of the few cigarettes he allowed himself each day. "I don't know the answer to that question, either," he said as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't something he's doing, or has already done, that could harm him."

"I'm not following you."

"What are you and Jonathan hiding from me?"

The question startled the woman, causing her to stiffen in her chair. "Veil, I don't know what you mean."

He sipped at his drink, studying Sharon over the rim of the tumbler. If she was putting on an act, he thought, it was a very good one. He set the glass down, ground out his cigarette. "What else do you do over here that you haven't told me about?"

"Nothing." Sharon replied, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. "It's just near-death studies, and I've told you virtually everything there is to know about it. We look for changes in consciousness and behavior as people approach the cusp between life and death."

"But you also study Lazarus People, whom you believe may already have been on that cusp."

"Yes. And, of course, we provide any continuing medical treatment that's required. I'm sure you've seen our hospital, farther up the mountain." "What kind of medical treatment do you provide?"

"The best, but standard—if there is such a thing. We're not a medical research facility, Veil; this is psychological research. Lazarus People, naturally, don't require medical treatment, unless they become ill from something else while they're here. As for the others, they've already run through the gamut of medical treatment by the time they get here. They come here to share their deaths with us, Veil, not to look for a cure. There's nothing more that medicine can do for them, except make them more comfortable."

"And what you've just described to me is all that's happening on this mountain?"

Sharon flushed slightly. "Well, 'all that's happening' isn't exactly the way I'd choose to put it, but I suppose the answer to your question is, yes—that's it. It's a terribly complex field of study, but our procedures are simple. This isn't a large facility, and you've seen what I do."

"No secret research here? No Pentagon-funded studies?"

"Of course not."

"Could anyone conduct research projects here without you being aware of it?"

"You must be joking."

"Sharon, I assure you I'm not joking."

"It would be impossible. Besides, what would be the purpose?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

"And I've given you an answer. Veil, why are you so suspicious?"

He finished his drink and lit another cigarette. "Remember the soul-catching phenomenon you told me about?"

"Of course. It's part of the Lazarus Syndrome—but very rare."

"Is it? What you describe as soul-catching is something I've experienced all my life—or at least as long as I've been getting into serious trouble, which covers quite a few years."

There was prolonged silence as Sharon stared at him, her lips slightly parted and her eyes filled with confusion. Finally she swallowed hard and shook her head. "A bell inside your head? A chiming sound?"

"Precisely as you described it."

The woman lifted her hands in a gesture of bewilderment, let them fall into her lap. "Veil, I don't know what to say, except that I'm astonished."

"Jonathan wasn't."

"What?"

"I told Jonathan about it, during the course of one of our earlier conversations. He didn't even twitch. In light of what you've told me about Lazarus People and soul-catching, I would have thought he might have said something when I mentioned it."

"I would have thought so too," Sharon said softly, staring at the wall over Veil's left shoulder. "I'll have to ask him about it."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd hold off on that. I'd like to talk to Jonathan about it—in my own time and in my own way."

Sharon thought about it, finally nodded. "All right. Jonathan must have had a good reason. ..." Her words trailed off as she half turned in her chair and stared into the shadows in a corner of the room.

"Sharon, I almost died at birth. Could that make me a Lazarus Person?"

The woman looked back and slowly blinked, as if she were having trouble concentrating on Veil's words. "If so, it would be a first. All of the Lazarus People we've studied had the near-death experience which changed them as adolescents or adults, after they had a fully developed human consciousness and memory pattern. Did you suffer clinical death again as an adult?"

"No."

"But you've been in the kind of dangerous situation that would trigger the soul-catching response?"

"Once or twice," Veil said, suppressing a grim smile. "In any case, the fact that I almost died at birth had nothing to do with the reason why I was invited here."

"Veil, I understand your confusion," Sharon replied uncertainly. "I'm confused myself. I wish I had answers for you, but I don't. Jonathan can sometimes be . . . peculiar. He can do things for peculiar reasons. Still, nothing must happen to him. He's very special, and you don't know what it costs him to stay here."

"Meaning?"

Sharon shook her head. "Nothing," she said in a voice just above a whisper. "He's just a very special person."

"By 'here' you mean staying alive?"

"Veil, I really don't wish to discuss Jonathan in this way. It's too personal. You're the one who should talk to Jonathan if you want certain information."

"Oh, I will. Does anyone else do this kind of research?"

"Not really." Sharon was still gazing into the shadows, but her tone had lightened, as if she were happy to be leaving the subject of Jonathan Pilgrim. "Actually, I should say nobody that we know of. There have been a number of books written on the subject, but they're all in a popular or religious vein. I don't think anyone else is trying to do serious research on the subject."

Veil studied Sharon's profile for a few moments and decided that there was nothing more to be gained by pressing the woman for information. It was Jonathan Pilgrim he would have to confront for the answers he wanted, not Sharon Solow. "I'm very attracted to you," he said at last.

Sharon looked at him, smiled. "Talk about changing gears! How very direct of you, Mr. Kendry!"

"I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't embarrass me; but you also don't know the first thing about me, aside from what I do—and thanatologists don't normally attract too many suitors."

"Tell me the first thing about you."

"Ah, but I'm of the opinion that anyone who thinks she can tell you the first thing about herself is a fool."

"Well said."

"Do you know the first thing about you?" "No. Not the first."

"Strange," Sharon said after studying Veil for some time. "I think you'd be much more likely to know that first thing about yourself than I would about myself."

"Self-deprecation doesn't become you."

"I'm not being self-deprecating, Veil, just truthful. How about settling for some bits of information that are in the personal top ten?"

"Excellent."

"I'm thirty-five years old and I weigh one hundred and eleven pounds—on a good day. Men tend to find me attractive."

"Indeed!" Veil responded with a laugh.

"I've never been in love—and I assume I would know if I had. I'd like to have children; I know that my time for doing that safely is running out, but I've simply never met a man with whom I wanted to have children. Oh, I've had affairs, but none of them have ever worked out. My work is very important to me, and it's hard for many men to accept that. One reason why Jonathan and I get along so well together is that we're truly friends, with nothing beyond that to complicate matters. He understands the importance of my work, and he has no sexual interest in me."

"Because he's in love with Death?"

"Veil, I never should have said that to you."

"All right. It won't be repeated."

"I think you're a very dangerous man."

"Not to you."

Sharon smiled wryly. "No? There are different kinds of danger. I'm not sure I want to feel the things I could feel for you. From what I've observed in other people, those feelings can hurt a great deal."

Veil reached across the table and rested his hands on the table, palms up. After a second's hesitation, Sharon put her hands in his. "Many years ago a fat fortune-teller warned me that I would die at a time in my life when I was happy. At the time he said it, I really didn't pay any attention; I didn't even understand what he meant, although I thought I did then. Only recently, within the past few years, have I come to understand that, in my entire life, I've never been at peace or happy. Excited, yes; exhilarated, yes. But not those other things. Now I'd like to know what it feels like to be at peace and happy. I believe you're the person who can show me."

"Wow," Sharon said, smiling and raising her eyebrows. "If that's a line, it's a terrific one."

Veil laughed. "No line."

"I take it you don't believe in fat fortune-tellers."

"Oh, I believe in this one. He's very good. Also, he has a way of making his own predictions come true. But then, nobody lives forever. In fact, there's no guarantee that either of us will be alive five minutes from now, much less tomorrow or next week."

"True. Perhaps that's the real reason why I'm here."

"A number of things have happened to me since I came here."

"Now I think it's my turn to say 'indeed'!" Sharon replied with a thin smile. "I wish I knew what they were."

"One of the most significant things—to me, at least—is the emotional response I get when I look at you. I used to think that I wasn't afraid of death. Now I'm beginning to understand that the feeling of fear never even entered into it; I never even thought about death. There's a big difference."

"A serious contemplation of death can change life. That's what near-death studies are all about."

"I understand—now. I also understand that you can't experience fear without thought, and you can't display courage without fear as a backdrop. Now I'm afraid to die because I have something to lose—a newfound sense of wonder, if you will, at all these new feelings wiggling around inside me. My fat fortune-teller is turning out to be a lot smarter—and crueler—than I once thought, and he's not exactly the kind of man you underestimate. My death isn't the point, although he'll try to see to it that it happens when the time is right. I think what he really wants is for me to discover that I'm a coward as a kind of going-away present."

Sharon's hands had begun to tremble. "Veil, this 'fat fortune-teller' is a real man, isn't he?"

"Indeed. Very clever, very nasty. And now I'm the one who's talking too much."

"Veil, please. I want to know more."

"I don't think so, Sharon."

"You know you're not a coward."

"On the contrary, I know nothing of the kind. Now that I know what it means to be afraid, I have to discover if I truly have courage. I find the prospect intriguing." "Veil—"

"No more on that, Sharon," Veil said, squeezing her hands gently. "If you'd like, you may consider this an invitation."

Sharon frowned slightly, squeezed back. "To what?"

"Perhaps to tango on the edge of time—since time, in one way or another, is beginning to shape up as the thing that links me to all this. I have a valuable adviser, of sorts; it's a dreaming state, which I don't want to get into right now. Lately my adviser has been strongly hinting that what I am, and what I have been in the past, are the keys that could open a number of locks around this place. Now I want to know more about me. My invitation is to dance with me on that edge, to see what we have to say to each other—to feel to each other— about our own humanity. For some reason, questions like that have become very important to me since I arrived here; more important than anything else."

"I don't know what 'locks' you're talking about," Sharon said softly, "but I do know that the edge of time is death. From the little you've told me, it seems that you're the one who's in danger of being pushed over that edge."

"Which is why I choose to be so direct."

"Veil, I don't want your fat fortune-teller's prophecy to come true."

"I'm sure he'd be highly amused if he could hear this conversation; also, probably pleased as hell with himself."

"That's what worries me."

"It shouldn't. It's my worry."

"This is a little fast for me," Sharon said, gently easing her hands away from Veil's and rising from the table. "Which is not to say that I'm turning down your offer—your invitation. As I mentioned. I've also been feeling under a bit of time pressure lately."

Veil stood up, smiled. "All right," he said evenly.

"We'll see what we shall see."

"Yes."

"Good night, Veil."

"Good night."