Veil

Sharon smiled back. 'Very well—if you'll call me Sharon.'

'Jonathan doesn't take near-death studies very seriously, does he?'

Sharon's smile vanished, and her voice became flat. 'Is that what he told you?'

'It's the impression he gives.'

'Well, he's understandably nervous about outsiders possibly misunderstanding the purpose of work as ambiguous— 'soft' is the term he would use—as near-death studies.'

'Then why does he put it under Institute aegis in the first place? He's given you a whole mountain.'

'I suppose that's a question you should put to Jonathan,' Sharon replied in a careful, neutral tone.

'Are you a physician? Ph.D.?'

'Both.'

'Doctorate in psychology?'

Sharon nodded.

'What was your specialty before you became involved with near-death studies?'

'I've always done this kind of work. I'm a thanatologist—a specialist in death and the dying.' Sharon abruptly swung around in her chair and tapped a few keys on the computer console. A wavy line plotted on a grid flashed on the screen; a red arrow indicated a sharp spike three-quarters of the way along the length of the line. 'This may interest you, Veil. This is where we think Lazarus People have been, in a manner of speaking. Did Jonathan mention the Lazarus Gate?'

'Yes. A bright portal of light.'

'Well, this is what we believe the EEG of a person at the Lazarus Gate looks like. It's the pattern of brain waves a person will exhibit just before the out-of-body experience begins. This is a computer simulation, somewhat simplified.'

'How did you come up with that?'

'Hospital records. A tiny percentage of people who've had near-death experiences and were later discovered to be Lazarus People were hooked up to electroencephalographs when they went into a state of clinical death. By going back over the EEG tapes, comparing them with anecdotal reports and feeding the results into a computer, we come up with this simulation of the Lazarus Gate. Of course, it's strictly a theory. A guess.'

Veil felt another, stronger premonition of amorphous danger as he stared at the bright display screen. 'It would be interesting to put somebody to sleep, manipulate his brainwave patterns to match what you've got there, then see what he has to say when he wakes up.'

Sharon laughed easily. 'Oh, I'm sure it would be an intriguing story—and we probably could 'put' a person here with chemical and electrical stimulation. The problem is that the person wouldn't be asleep; he'd be dead. Notice the flat amplitude of the EEG pattern before and after the spike. We might be able to get a subject to the Lazarus Gate, but there's no guarantee we'd ever get him back again. It's not an experiment that's ever likely to be done.'

'Has anyone ever actually passed through that 'gate' and come back?'

'Not that we know of,' Sharon said hesitantly, after a long pause.

'You don't sound too certain.'

'I'm certain.'

'What do you think is beyond the Lazarus Gate?'

'We have no way of knowing, Veil. I suspect nothing; just death. I'm really not interested in religious matters, except in the way religious belief may effect people's attitudes and behavior as they approach death. I don't see how any kind of consciousness, call it a 'soul' or whatever, can exist independently of the electrochemical plant—the brain—which generates it. Brain tissue immediately begins to deteriorate with the

onset of biological death. What we're examining is a moment in time in which consciousness—and subsequent behavior among the living, the survivors—may be radically changed. My concern is with exploring what the near-death experience can teach us about life.'

Veil waited for Sharon to continue, but her pale, silver-streaked eyes now seemed to be staring inward, as if at some image in her mind that was beyond words—or beyond his comprehension. Finally she tapped a key on the console; the brain-wave pattern associated with the Lazarus Gate winked and disappeared.

'If you'll excuse me, Veil, I think I will go back to work now,' Sharon continued at last, her voice very soft. 'I'd like to finish collating these reports before Jonathan gets here.'

'Of course. Thank you very much for the tour.'

Sharon did not reply. Veil studied her back for a few moments, then stepped back into the storeroom and closed the door. He lay down on the cot, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

He was certain that the woman had been disturbed by some of the things he had said, or the questions he had asked, but she had tried to cover her reactions—as he had done when she'd mentioned soul-catching. Soul- catching, he thought, was a phenomenon he'd experienced all his life. Pilgrim knew of at least one instance, for Veil had told him about it in connection with the assassination attempt by the Golden Boy. Yet Pilgrim had said nothing. Veil wondered why; he wondered what, if anything, the man and woman were trying to hide.

Veil had been certain that Jonathan Pilgrim and Sharon Solow were his allies. Now he was not so sure.

Chapter 10

______________________________

Veil dreams.

Madison glances up as Veil enters the small, cluttered office in the basement of the American embassy. Blood rushes to the obese man's face, and his lips curl back from his teeth in a snarl as he leaps up from his chair. 'Where the fuck have you been, Kendry?!' A bloated hand with thick, stubby fingers sweeps across the top of the cheap metal desk and sends folders, a small paperweight, a framed photograph, and a half-filled cup of coffee sailing through the air to smash against the cracked plaster wall. 'You were supposed to be on a fucking plane for fucking Washington twenty-seven fucking hours ago! Do you know how many generals, senators, and congressmen were standing around waiting for you with their thumbs up their asses? You left the fucking President of the United States standing around with his thumb—' Too late, the CIA controller sees the murderous rage in Veil's eyes and face, the subtle but deadly weaving of his hands, the ominous acceleration of his gait. Madison grabs for the .45 automatic in his shoulder holster. Veil shifts his weight and throws a side kick that flicks through the air with the speed of a chameleon's tongue and the force of a pile driver. The instep of his left foot snaps Madison's wrist cleanly at the joint, and the gun flies across the room to land near the coffee-stained litter already there. Madison, eyes glazing with pain and shock, clutches at his shattered right wrist and falls back into his chair.

'If you want to shout or press an alarm button, feel free,' Veil says in a low voice that crackles like electricity around the edges. 'Just know that the first person into this office had better be a damn good shot, and fast, because I'll snap your fat, sweaty neck the moment I hear the door open.'

Madison, chest heaving as he gasps for air, manages to shake his head.

'Abort Cheshire Cat,' Veil continues evenly, pointing to Madison's desk telephone. 'Stop it right now.'

'How did you find out?' Madison's eyes have cleared, but his voice is a fuzzy croak.

'A couple of hours before takeoff, a pimp tried to sell me a couple of kids—a boy and a girl.' Now Veil's voice breaks slightly. 'Kids, Madison. I happen to know these two; they're from my village. Your Major Po and his men have been terrorizing that tribe of Hmong, and Po's been making a little extra money on the side by selling the women and children to Saigon pimps. I killed the pimp, and I'm probably going to kill you when we're finished with our business. Then I'm going to kill Po.'

'I didn't know, Kendry.'

'I believe that you didn't know what Po is up to—but you knew Po, knew his reputation. I've spent the past few hours plugging into every connection we've got here, and it turns out that the good major is very well known in South Vietnam—as a black marketeer, whoremaster, and big-time dope dealer. He was getting to be too much even for the South Vietnamese, which is saying something, considering the level of corruption in Saigon. ARVN asked the Americans to find a nice quiet place to put him, and our command went to the CIA. You got the detail. When this whole idea of turning me into a toy soldier came up, you saw an opportunity to take care of two pieces of business