Veil

'Of course. That's one reason why we don't publicize the hospice facility. Another is the fact that, from time to time, we have some very famous people here, and we want to insure maximum security and privacy. The hospice is the most private place at the Institute. This cable car provides the only access to it, and the car is key-operated. Only residents and staff of the hospice are allowed to use it.'

'What are 'Lazarus People'?'

'Do you know the difference between clinical and biological death?'

'The way I understand it, clinical death is when heartbeat and respiration stop; the person can still be revived, if action is taken quickly enough. Biological death involves the deterioration of the brain and other organs, and it's for keeps.'

Pilgrim nodded. 'That's it. A small percentage of men and women who've survived clinical death—on the operating table, from electric shock, drowning, or whatever—report an out-of-body experience and the glimpsing of a bright portal of light that we call the Lazarus Gate. Along with certain other characteristics, these experiences define Lazarus People. What's so fascinating is the fact that the phenomenon Lazarus People describe is remarkably consistent, whether the person comes from Kansas or the Kalahari. It seems to be universal, culture-free.'

'What about you? Did you see this Lazarus Gate when your plane crashed?'

Pilgrim smiled thinly. 'I suffered clinical death the good, old-fashioned way—I don't remember a thing. It's not an experience I look forward to repeating, although—interestingly enough—Lazarus People usually do.'

'Privacy is one thing, secrecy something else. I can't remember ever reading anything about near-death studies in connection with the Institute.'

'This isn't an area of research we put a lot of emphasis on, and we don't publish our findings.'

'Why not?'

'The Institute is a hard-science operation. That's our image, and our meal ticket. Near-death studies have the sort of mystical, hocus-pocus aura about it that gets you featured in the kinds of newspapers they sell at supermarket checkout stands. We don't need that.'

Veil thought about it, nodded in agreement. 'What are the other characteristics of these 'Lazarus People'?'

'Some other time, Veil, if you don't mind,' Pilgrim said, glancing at his watch. He pushed a green button on the control box, and the car started moving again. 'Sharon's been up all night, and we're all tired.'

'How do the people you want to study find out about this place?'

'We have a network of people around the world who serve the hospice, as well as the rest of the Institute; they keep us informed of people who might warrant, and welcome, an invitation. Also, certain people—artists like Perry Tompkins, for example—are told of the hospice's existence and its purpose. If the situation arises, and if they so desire, they have an open invitation to join us. In return, they agree to share their last experience with us, as best they can.'

'And all of this to study death?'

'To study the passage from life to death. We know that Lazarus People experience a sudden shift in consciousness as a result of unexpected, and sometimes violent, death, but there's some evidence to indicate that certain people with terminal illness also go through unique shifts in consciousness as they approach death. Sharon is trying to chart and codify those shifts.'

'How does she do that?'

'Mostly through a succession of in-depth interviews and specialized tests she has developed. I'm sure she'll be happy to explain the details, if you're interested.'

'Who'll know I'm over here?'

'Just Sharon and myself.'

'Not Dr. Ibber?'

Pilgrim shook his head.

'You said you trusted Ibber.'

'Trust isn't the point. If I were to tell everyone I trusted, then most of the staff at the Institute would know. Henry has nothing to do with the hospice; he doesn't even have access. I figured it would be best to keep the fact of your presence here on a strict need-to-know basis.'

'Good. Am I supposed to be terminally ill, or a Lazarus Person?'

'Neither. You'll find that the day-in, day-out close proximity to death makes people hypersensitive and aware. Each guest jealously guards his and everyone else's privacy, and it's almost impossible to fool or lie to these people for very long. It wouldn't take long for somebody to spot you as a ringer. You'll be staff, on some kind of special assignment; Sharon screens and hires her people personally, usually on recommendations from her colleagues. As soon as we rig some disguise for you to wear, you'll be free to come and go as you please. In the meantime, I'll try to figure out some way to get you into the military compound—if you're sure you want to go.'

'I'm sure. When will I meet Dr. Solow?'

'Now,' the director said as the car bumped gently into its berth in the side of the mountain. Pilgrim slid open the door and motioned for Veil to exit first.

He stepped out onto the platform. The woman standing to his right was an inch or two over five feet, with long, silky blond hair that fell straight across her back. Her eyes were a pale, glacial blue and, in the light of dawn, appeared to be streaked with silver. Obviously cold, she was huddled in a worn green suede jacket that was too large for her. She wore sneakers and faded jeans that emphasized her slim legs and hips. Even with fatigue etched deeply into her face, Veil considered her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was, he thought, about his own age, and he found himself looking down at her left hand; she wore no wedding band.

'Hello, Mr. Kendry,' the woman said brightly, stepping forward and extending her hand. 'I'm Sharon Solow.'

'Pleased to meet you, Dr. Solow,' Veil replied softly, staring into the silver-streaked blue eyes and holding the soft, tapered hand a second longer than necessary.

'Hello, Captain Hook,' Sharon Solow said as Pilgrim stepped up to her and kissed her forehead. 'How have you been?'

'A bit distracted,' the astronaut answered with a wry smile and a quick glance in Veil's direction. 'How have you been?'

'For the past few hours, extremely curious.'

The greeting was rather formal, Veil thought, but the exchange had a bittersweet quality that, for some reason, made him feel terribly sad. Embarrassed and shaken by the power of his physical and emotional reaction to Sharon Solow, Veil quickly looked away; in the space of a few seconds, the sight of this woman and the touch of her hand had made him feel depths of pain, longing, and loneliness he had not known he had. He now realized how many sights, sounds, smells, and feelings had rushed past him during the course of his life; they were things he had never given a second thought to until this moment.

When Veil looked back, he was surprised to find Sharon Solow studying him.

'Well?' the woman continued, raising her eyebrows slightly and tilting her head toward Pilgrim. 'Is he, or isn't he?'

'Once upon a time,' Pilgrim answered. 'He's a real heavyweight, but he promotes his own fights now.'

'I think I'm missing something,' Veil said, looking at Pilgrim.

'Jonathan told me he thought you worked for the CIA,' Sharon Solow said, still studying Veil intently. 'He also ventured the opinion that you were a good guy, and Jonathan is very good at telling the good guys from the bad.'

Veil shrugged. 'I'm flattered.'

'Sharon,' Pilgrim said, 'I don't want anyone to see Veil until I can rig some kind of disguise; he needs to be able to wander around the main complex incognito. Do you have a place where he can hole up?'

'Good grief,' the woman said in a joking tone that was laced with nervousness and tension. 'Am I entitled to an explanation?'

'You certainly are, m'dear, and you will get it in living color and full stereo. But not now, if you don't mind. I'm beat.' Pilgrim paused, glanced sharply at Veil. 'I think we're all beat, and explanations can wait a few hours. It will probably be late afternoon before I get back.'

'Jonathan, I must ask you something. Will Veil's presence here pose a danger to any of my people?'

'No. Our problem is on the other mountain.'