car chase to waking up with a new face at the Blue Ridge Clinic. He took his hands from hers, watching the concentration in her eyes. Her fingertips were delicate. “You might recall my voice,” Matt said.
“Shut up.” She shook. “You were drunk that night. You spoke differently, if it was you.” The hands moved, fingertips now softly probing the scars around his hairline.
“Well?”
“It’s not your voice. Your eyes.”
“You remember my eyes?”
“I do believe you, weird as it sounds.” She lowered her hands. They still shook. “How did you get here?”
“I escaped late last night. I came back to Sweet Briar to find my old diary from when I was at college in Beirut.”
“What about the car that was forcing you off the road?”
Matt winced. “We braked hard and sent them over the edge and into the river. I assume they drowned.”
“Funny, there was no mention of any other car crash that evening in the police report. I got a hold of the police file on the accident.”
“Looks like they fixed that, like they fixed the phony accident.”
She shook her head. “Things certainly aren’t adding up. I’m still having a hard time believing the full facial transplant.”
Matt sucked in the cold air and looked around. No one seemed to be paying attention to them. “Well, I’m a doctor, or at least I was once. It’s a highly experimental procedure not yet perfected in the U.S. but the work is first class. Dr. Weissman said he was brought to the clinic so he could finish his transplant research. Somehow the bastards decided on me as a guinea pig.”
“Can I touch it again?” She traced her fingertips along the jaw line, around the hairline and the neck. “Yeah…”
“What?” Matt pulled back.
“Faint, but I can feel the scar tissue underneath. God, this is like a Frankenstein movie.”
“It gets worse. The face belongs to an international assassin, a contract killer. He worked for numerous governments till he fell out with one of them. I don’t know what’s happening yet I’ve got the face of a known assassin. Not a long life expectancy I’d say.” Matt turned towards the car. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys.
Nicole put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Look… Matt? Are you all right? I do want to help. And I do believe you.”
“At first I was a little unsteady from the drugs they were giving me, but that’s all cleared up-and I’m off the booze. In fact, I feel better than I have in years, though I’m not so sure I like this face.”
“It’s a funny thing, but when I met you briefly at the reception for Dr. Melikian, I instantly noticed your eyes, how light blue they were. To be honest I kind of fancied you, but then I saw you were, how should I say, attached?”
“That wasn’t one of my better evenings, and as you know it got a lot worse.”
“When you came up to me this morning in the campus yard the first thing I noticed was your eyes. I recalled the enchanting eyes, but the face didn’t match. It’s amazing, I thought face transplants were something out of science fiction. But it looks perfect. Quite swarthy and equally handsome as before.”
“Anyway,” Matt shrugged, “it’s mine now. But I came back to find my diary and here it is. Maybe it contains some details that will lead to this terrorist group before they strike again. If they even exist.”
Nicole watched him.
“In or out, Nicole?”
“In. I’m in. Definitely.”
“A great freelance story if we come through it alive.”
“Don’t patronize me, Matthew Richards.” She glared at him. “You’ve got yourself a partner, not a tag along bimbo.”
Matt unlocked the car door.
Loud voices rang out. A group of students dodged between the parked cars, chasing each other, laughing in the bright cold air. They both relaxed.
“Shit, if we’re late again for class the witch will kill us,” one of them squealed, dashing past Matt and Nicole, who flattened themselves against the car door to let her by. Matt reached for the door handle.
Blood splattered across the hood of the Passat. What the hell? The window exploded. Shards of glass flew in every direction, nicking the left side of Nicole’s face. The dead weight of the young student crashed onto the hood of the car. Nicole pulled Matt to the asphalt. No sooner had they hit the ground than they heard sharp pings ricocheting off the metal door frame where Matt’s head had just been. A sniper.
The young coed lay on the ground next to them, her neck gushing blood. The other girls screamed. Nicole grabbed the journal off the pavement and pulled Matt around to the other side of the car.
“We’re getting out of here,” she yelled over the screaming. “There’s a sniper out there trying to kill you. Follow me and run for your life.” Then she was up and away, sprinting and zigzagging behind parked cars toward a small wooded ravine at the edge of the parking lot. Several windshields exploded behind her.
Matt stayed put, his medical training kicking in. He crawled around the car toward the young woman, intent on checking her pulse. His heart sank. He yelled at the others to lie down, Only then did he sprint after Nicole, doubling over as he ran. In less than a minute they were both at the bottom of the ravine.
“Okay, Professor,” she said, breathing hard, “this is your campus-which way out?”
Matt got his bearings. “There’s faculty housing at the end of this ravine. Come on.” he jumped up and ran at a full sprint.
Had the sniper moved to another location? We can’t outrun a bullet. He stumbled over the frozen ground, suddenly weak. He looked around. How much longer before they get a clear shot and end his miserable life? If not today, then tomorrow, next week, or next month?
Well, maybe he could do a little damage before they blew his head off. The big problem was, he really didn’t know who they were. The best plan so far was to find a connection to the terrorist cell through his old Beirut friends. If I can locate them.
Minutes later, winded and cold, his legs shaking from exhaustion, Matt emerged from the ravine and stepped into the backyard of a small wooden house. His foot slipped on a patch of melting snow. He crashed onto the frozen lawn. Nicole, close behind and not breathing nearly as heavily, helped him to his feet. They scrambled up to the back door. “Stay here,” Matt whispered as he glanced around nervously. “I’ll only be a moment.” He slipped inside.
The house belonged to a faculty friend and Scotch drinking buddy. He knew the layout well and when he entered the kitchen a sense of relief flooded his senses. Hanging from a familiar nail in the wall were the keys to a battered Jeep Cherokee.
Two minutes later, Matt and Nicole were bouncing along a snowy track on the far side of the Sweet Briar campus. “This is a service road that comes out next to the Briar Patch Bar, near the town of Amherst.”
“Do you know all the bars around here?”
“That’s a low blow. I thought we were partners.”
“You asked if I could stomach the truth. Well, what about you?”
“It’s a bar the students and some horny faculty often frequent. It’s also right near the highway. I vote we head for the Charlottesville airport, leave the car, pick up a rental and get the hell out of this area.”
Nicole remained silent.
“Are you okay?”
“After shock, I guess. I’ll be fine.”
Matt glanced at her. “Hey, partner, you were pretty great back there. You sprang into action.” He paused. “Thanks for saving my life. I guess I froze.”
“To be honest, I was scared out of my wits. But I’ve covered conflicts and been caught in crossfire before, so I just reacted. Self-preservation is my middle name. But I got the journal,” she said, brandishing the leather volume. “What about that young woman?”
“Dead. The bullet must have passed through her neck, severing the carotid artery before it shattered the car window. Jesus Christ. Those bastards. They can’t just kill innocent people like that.”
