“So how was this left?'
“I told him I had a man there. Once I found out all the details of the Nazi's past history, I knew I could motivate him easily ... and to get his operatives out of the way. That we'd handle it.'
“You sure this is prudent considering your man's, uh, instability?'
“Well, sir, I think it's perfect for us. If it works, and he accomplishes the mission, it proves our case. We redeem ourselves in the sense that we have proof such an individual can be manipulated to perform jobs of this type. It ratifies and validates everything we've done: the brain implant of the locator, the technology, the efficacy of my drug Alpha Group II, the concept itself. If it doesn't, then our man at large has outlived his usefulness and we'll take steps to dispose of both the matters.'
There was another pause while the scrambled linkage sizzled across time zones.
“All right,” the old man said.
Norman thanked him, promised progress bulletins, and disconnected.
He was mildly annoyed by one aspect of the new plan. He'd have liked to allow his pet subject more rest and relaxation time after the automobile accident he'd had, but Dr. Norman was familiar enough with Daniel's Herculean recuperative powers to know he'd bounce back sufficiently for this simple task. It would be a form of R & R for him.
The doctor had known what he had to do the second he'd first learned of a Justice op within a few miles of Daniel's current turf. He had to make the most of what might become an unfortunate coincidence. In Dr. Norman's opinion, Daniel's protection superseded all other considerations. He couldn't take a chance on his treasured human experiment running around in someone else's kill zone. Bad enough if it had just been Justice, but
Too bad about Shtolz, in a way. He'd been familiar with the man's dossier for years and, frankly, admired his accomplishments. He'd done some brilliant work on brain-host discorporation. Pity the two of them would never be able to discuss such things.
Everything was dovetailing beautifully. Norman's job was suddenly so much easier. He could instantly imagine Daniel's reaction to photos of the doctor's early experiments. Norman had, in his own collection, quite a stack of grisly mutilation shots. The clinical torture murders of babies and animals would send his big friend up the nearest wall. There was one in particular where they'd had their brains removed while they were still alive and the three host subjects were wide eyed, as if living, but with the tops of the little skulls sawn open and empty, that would evoke an interesting rage. Nor would his man at large be at all amused by the image of the puppy with the top of its head cut off.
On paper, it appeared to be a by-the-numbers mission. Potentially, at least. Send a team in, create a diversion, and inject Daniel by dart gun, or whatever means. While the Alpha Group II was taking hold, show him the old Nazi's experiments on children and animals, and simply point him in the right direction. At that juncture one only had to get out of the line of fire, which is why Norman had phoned the old man.
It was one thing to pull Justice off a covert op, but quite another to interdict a serious running mission by the Israelis, who were sure to have assets in place. If we knew, one could be certain they knew, and it would take a personal call from the old man to stop the otherwise unstoppable Mossad.
47
They were in Meara's farmhouse when Ray's phone rang. It was Jimmie Randall. Could Meara stop in to the office this afternoon? Afternoon in Bayou City could mean anything from 12:01 P.M. to anytime it wasn't too dark to farm without headlights. Sharon had things to do and they said their good-byes, with Meara following her back to town.
A lot of rain was coming. You could tell from the air and from the sky. It stunk of fish and worms and stagnant ponds; a funky, festering rankness that fumed up out of the turgid road ditches to meet the humid, malodorous promise of the descending rain clouds.
Only a few hours later, but hours of a day that had been so long and eventful that it already seemed like the next day, Ray was pulling up in front of the motel. Sharon heard his now familiar truck motor outside the door and was peering out around the curtains when he knocked.
“Come in,” she said.
He dripped in out of the wetness. “Hi.'
“Urn, hello,” she said, as he kissed her.
“Thought I'd stop by on the way home. Guess who I talked to today?'
“FBI.'
“You got it. They'd just finished with you. There they were in the Bayou City police chief's office. Asked me a lotta’ questions about
“That's nice. You told them I was an okay person?” He moved over close and leaned down for another kiss.
“I told them you were very okay,” he said, breathing in the fragrance of the woman who was all he thought about now.
It was a long, soulful kiss, but it wasn't quite the same as earlier in the barn, and then in the house. Some of the heat had cooled.
Sharon reached up and touched his face and smiled, and moved over to the window, seemingly preoccupied, pushing the curtains aside and looking at the sky. In between the buildings across the road you could glimpse the horizon. The flatlands were all cottony looking with a misty look to the blue tree line, and where Sol was beginning to set there were slashes of blood and flesh-tone pink across the bruised black and blue cloud banks.
“Thinking about your dad?'
“Mm.” She nodded.
He put his hands on her shoulders very gently, coming up behind her, and she tightened a little. “S'matter?'
“Nothing.'
“Sure?'
“Just tired.'
“I wish I could say something—you know—optimistic. Promising. Give you an encouraging word.'
“Thanks.” She smiled. You could hear the television laugh track on the speaker in the next room.
“I just thought I'd stick my head in the door on the way home. Tell you I was thinking about you.'
“You're a nice guy. Very sweet.” She smiled again but her mind was blank. She knew she should invite him in or something, but it was the “or something” she wasn't in the mood for. “Don't mind me, Ray. Women are too strange.'
“Tell me about it. I never could figure them out.'
“Now hold on a second, we're strange but not impenetrable.'
“'Zat so?'
“All we want is perdurable love from a caring person. That's not so hard to figure out.'
“It is if you don't know what the per-thing is,” he said.
“Perdurable,” she smiled prettily, “my dear, means permanent. Lasting. Very durable. A love that won't pale over time, one that won't wear out through all the female mood swings.'
“Fine, Sharon. Very durable. Why not say that in the first place?'
“Because we think in words,” she said, too pooped to realize he'd been teasing her.
“That's a heavy concept.'
“Come on. Perdurable. Good word. Expand your mental horizons. How many words can you name that begin with the p-e-r prefix? Perform. Performance. Pertinent. Perky. Perfect. Come on.'
“Person ... purple.” They laughed. “I'm going home,” he said and started out.
“Keep going,” she said, softly. “Percolate. Permanent. Pertain.'
“I got one,” he said, putting his big hands on her shoulders. She looked exquisitely beautiful framed there in the doorway. Tired or not, she was so spectacular.
