Veil

'Oh, it is. Madison is very logical and very persuasive. He also has his own angle, naturally.'

'Naturally.'

'That fucker and I don't agree on many things, Kendry, but we do tend to agree on matters where you're concerned. Madison wants to destroy you, and he sees this as a way of doing it. He believes that the razor edge in you that makes you such a fine warrior is precisely what will gut you in civilian life. He thinks there's a good chance you'll end up a junkie, an alcoholic, or dead in some alley. I'm afraid he may be right.'

'He told you this?'

'In so many words, yes. Hell, he wants you to know. He knew I'd tell you this, which is why he's using me as an errand boy to deliver a more official message.'

'Which is?'

'Keep a low profile, by which I mean bury yourself someplace up to your eyeballs. If any reporters do track you down, refer them to the Pentagon. If you try to stir up old memories, the Army will come down on you. Hard. If they have to, they'll just see to it that you're put away—which was the original plan, anyway, until Madison unrolled his tongue. They'd like you to change your name.' 'No.'

'Kendry, they won't hassle you if you don't hassle them.'

'Put me away or cut me loose, as you please,' Veil replies evenly. 'In either case, I'll do as I please. As a matter of fact, I'll keep the family secrets because I have no inclination not to.'

Bean nods slightly, then rises to his feet. 'From you, I suppose that has to be considered a major concession.' He walks to the door of the cell, signals for the guard, then turns back. 'An added word of warning, Kendry— personal, and definitely unofficial. I don't think it matters to Madison whether you keep your mouth shut or produce your own television program about what happened. You managed to put his ass in a sling along with your own, and he's a mite pissed at you.'

Veil smiles. 'Somehow that doesn't surprise me.'

Bean returns Veil's smile, and for a moment there is a feeling of genuine warmth and friendship between the two men. Then Bean's smile fades. 'No matter where you go, and no matter how much time goes by, you watch out for Madison and his men. If you don't end up a junkie, an alcoholic, or dead, Madison could get a little impatient.' 'Thank you for the warning, sir.' Bean salutes. 'Good luck to you, warrior.' Veil leaps to his feet, braces, and snaps a return salute. 'Good luck to you, sir.'

Chapter 13

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Veil squatted on the lip of a ledge beside a cascading waterfall and used both hands to shield his eyes against the mid-morning sun as he gazed east toward the high, valley-wide wall and barbed-wire barriers that marked the entrance to the Army compound. Flanked by sheer cliffs, the compound appeared impregnable.

Veil rose, turned to go back up the trail leading to his chalet, and was startled to find Perry Tompkins leaning against a boulder a few yards away, studying him. Veil was even more surprised that the man had been able to come up behind him without his being aware of it. The burly painter with the huge, black, smouldering eyes was dressed in cut-off jeans, a T-shirt, hiking boots, and heavy wool socks. His face, arms, and legs were burned a ruddy cordovan color from the sun.

'Veil Kendry,' Tompkins announced casually, a bemused smile playing around the corners of his mouth. 'In a black wig. I thought it was you lurking around here the past couple of days. You don't belong here. What the hell are you up to, pal?'

He'd always wanted to meet Perry Tompkins, Veil thought wryly, an artist whose appetite for life, artistic technique, and breadth of vision astounded him, along with most of the art-conscious people in the world. However, now—wearing a ridiculous wig and in a place where no guest could know his identity—was not the time. He lowered his head, mumbled something about mistaken identity, then started up the trail. As he came abreast of Tompkins, a huge hand reached out and gripped his shoulder.

'What are you doing here, Kendry?' Tompkins continued. His voice was low and menacing.

Veil stopped walking, but did not look up. 'Back off,' he said softly.

'Dr. Solow says you're on her staff. She thinks you're working for her, which is bullshit; obviously, she doesn't know who you really are. I do. We don't like our privacy invaded, Kendry. Some of us—especially me—might take great offense at your snooping around here.'

Suddenly Tompkins grabbed for Veil's wig. Veil pushed away the hand, then blocked the left uppercut that followed. He stepped back and looked at Tompkins, who was staring in disbelief at his left fist, as if it had betrayed him.

'Back off,' Veil repeated in the same soft tone. Deciding that his disguise was useless, at least as far as Perry Tompkins was concerned, he removed the wig from his head and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans. He took off his dark glasses, put them in the breast pocket of his shirt. 'I don't want to fight you, Tompkins.'

Tompkins met Veil's gaze. His lips curled back in a sardonic smile, and he slowly nodded with respect. 'You know, you could probably hurt me if you wanted to. Not too many men can. The article implied that you were a tough bastard; at least I know you're fast.'

'What article? How do you know who I am?'

'I may be responsible for your being here, and I hope I'm not going to regret it. If you're fucking over Pilgrim and Dr. Solow, you may have to hurt me. Does Dr. Solow know who you really are?'

'Yes.'

'Why are you here, on this mountain?'

'That's none of your business.'

'I told you we take our privacy very seriously. That's our business. And if you're trying to put something over on the people who run this place, I'll take it as my business.'

'Pilgrim knows I'm here, and why.'

'You looking for somebody?'

'No. Not a guest.'

'Working for a newspaper or magazine?'

'No.'

'I know you're a private detective. You could have been paid to snoop around here.'

'I'm not a detective, private or otherwise.'

'You spend a lot of time acting like one. You're acting like one now.'

'I paint for money, and sometimes I help people in exchange for other things I need. I have no license. Tell me how you know who I am.'

'You tell me what you're doing here.'

'It has nothing to do with you, or any other guest at the hospice. I'm not invading anyone's privacy, and I'm not putting anything over on Pilgrim or Dr. Solow. I'd take it as a great courtesy if you'd mind your business, not tell anyone who I am, and get out of my way.'

Suddenly Tompkins's great black eyes grew wider and brighter. The muscles in his massive shoulders and arms rippled as he clenched his fists. 'Damn, Kendry, I can't remember the last time I had a good fight. How about showing me just how mean a bastard you are?'

'I won't fight you, Tompkins.'

Now the eyes glinted dangerously. 'Why not? You think because I'm dying I can't still kick ass like I used to?'

'That's not the point. I've got better things to do.'

Tompkins, moving more carefully this time, stepped forward and flicked a left jab. Veil casually moved his head to one side and let the punch fly past his ear as he kept his eyes on the painter's right fist, which immediately flashed toward his midsection. Veil could easily have blocked, parried, or stepped out of the way, but at the last moment he decided to take the punch. He braced, tensed his stomach muscles, and hissed softly to focus his chi at the moment the fist landed in his stomach. The force of the blow pushed Veil back a step, but he used even this involuntary motion to advantage, reaching out to grab Tompkins's wrist and pulling his off-balance opponent after him. Veil reversed his direction, stepped around behind Tompkins, and brought the burly