Fatal (2 page)

*****

The airport in Atlanta, Georgia was a busy hub for international travelers. Early in the summer of 1978, two men arrived from Dubai. They moved easily among the passengers departing the plane, joining the crowd of travelers waiting to get through the passport line. Their credentials passed without much more than a glance and a few questions. From there, they gathered their luggage, transferred their bags to a domestics flight. Another security line to pass through and a short wait for a domestic flight got them to Washington, D.C. where they booked separate hotel rooms not far from each other. During this trip, they neither spoke nor acknowledged each other. Passengers with similar travel schedules were far from uncommon. To the authorities, they were businessmen with the same destination. It happened every day.

The older of the two came into the United States as Victor Dubin, a furniture executive from France. He was looking for new and creative ideas among designers in the US. He found inspiration in the world of art, he had told the plump woman sitting next to him on the plane. She was traveling back to Georgia after visiting the Holy Land on a trip with her fellow church members, many of whom were seated close by and spent their time regaling him with stories of the revered sites they’d visited. He had expressed polite interest, escaping into a book as the flight progressed, and their enthusiasm waned. Sleep came eventually, interrupted by meals. By the time the flight reached final approach, he had gathered his things. An experienced traveler, he had watched with amusement as his seatmates stood when the plane halted at the gate, only to be to wait in the aisle as the forward passengers took their time.

Now in his hotel room, he showered and changed into fresh clothes. Laying his baggage out on the bed, he began to remove the contents, stacking them neatly aside. He reached into the corner of the bag and pulled a small tab, exposing a compartment inside that contained two separate passports, a similar set of driver’s licenses, and corresponding credit cards. He opened the first, checking the picture against his image in the mirror over the dresser. Satisfied, he restocked the bag, returning Victor Dubin to the compartment. He was now Andre Kohl, systems engineer. Dubin was gone now, untraceable and hopefully forgotten. The picture on the passport was his own, a stocky man, heavy around the shoulders, conservatively cut blond hair, blue eyes.

Three blocks away, his partner was going through the same ritual. Edward Land became Joseph Krauss. The toy manufacturer was now a salesman for heavy machinery. Land was the junior partner on the team, earning his place working under the man now called Kohl. He had been handpicked for this assignment, having trained as a psychologist in his native country, moving on to military training and assignment to the intelligence branch. His work ethic and insight, along with his experience in the field of “paranormal” studies, made him unique among his peers. The authorities overlooked his lack of real world experience. He would be working with Kohl, as good a field hand as the KGB had.

*****

Ronnie drove back from the funeral, guiding his Nova through the low hills of Virginia, headed more or less southwest most of the way. Cassie sat in the passenger seat lost in her own thoughts, carried back to the day of their graduation. Archer’s appearance had been a surprise. Not a good one either. From the day they had reached their agreement he had been an unseen presence in their lives as they worked their way through school. His occasional use of their talents had been low key and unobtrusive, his demands reasonable. As they grew older, their ability became a kind of two-edged sword in their minds.

Ronnie leaned toward keeping that ability in his back pocket, something to fall back on if necessary. His attitude stemmed from a firm belief that the viewing came from some reservoir in the mind or body or both. It was used with care, not to be wasted or overworked. His few sessions with Archer in the last years had left him drained and empty. The pool from which the power was drawn was finite, limited, and debilitating to him. It took time to replenish. He also felt it was fading to some degree, tied to age and experience. Use it or lose it versus facing the withering effects of control.

Cassie experienced no such ill feelings, accepting the fact of her ability with no qualms. Mindful of its power, respectful of its value, she wielded her insight with commanding force. She sensed within herself growing ability, more importantly growing desire, or pressure. To her, the use of her power was not a question of “if” but “when.” Always more assertive than Ronnie, Cassie relished the idea of self-control applied in the right direction. What she had, she could use for herself, for Ronnie, for whatever she chose. She was acutely aware of the possibility of abuse, the need for discretion, but faced with the necessity she would wield her weapon. Riding alongside Ronnie, she could feel that need coming in the future, like a black cloud off in the distance.

Their last meeting with Archer had been his way of warning them of things on the horizon. His face was drawn, the face of a man rapidly losing a battle he could fight but never win. His clothes hung loosely from the loss of weight, his steps were unsteady. Only his demeanor remained the same. He was calm and matter of fact, the way he had been those years ago when he had sat outside a corner drugstore, one of the most powerful men in the shadow world of government, forging a pact with two children over soft drinks.

Moving off to the side of the crowd at graduation, Archer had gotten right to the point. “I won’t be with you much longer,” he said without preamble. “I’m sick, pancreatic cancer, and the odds are bad. Up to now, I’ve been able to keep you two under wraps. Only I and one other person within the organization know about you. The agents assigned to your protection don’t even know why they’re watching you.”

“Who else knows?” Cassie had asked. If their fortunes were falling out of the hands of Archer, she wanted full disclosure. “More importantly, can we trust him like we trust you?”

Archer looked thoughtful, shrugged his shoulders. “His name is Luke Francis. He has been working with me for ten years. I’ve never had reason to doubt him. Still, in a case like yours, who knows?” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his forehead. “I’m taking steps to protect you as much as I can. Take this.” He handed Ronnie an envelope. “Inside are some papers which will allow you to access a safety deposit box. The box is in the Hibernia Bank on Tulane Avenue. There are alternate identities, passports, and money in a bank account. It’s quite a large amount of money. Remember, if you have to use it, there’s no going back. You don’t want to go that route unless there’s absolutely no other choice.”

“So as far as we’re concerned, things just stay the same but you won’t be here?” Ronnie asked. “Just like that, we get handed off to someone else?”

Archer shrugged again. “It’s not like I have a lot of choice, do I, Ronnie? Believe me. This is not the way I wanted things to be. But it eventually had to happen. I am an old man. More to the point, I am a dying old man and that’s just the way it is. I wanted you two to be aware of the situation. Now I will say goodbye, and good luck. I’m sure Mr. Francis will be in touch with you sooner or later.”

With that, he shook Ronnie’s hand, gave Cassie a hug, and moved off into the crowd. They watched his back until he was lost, then looked at each other. Ronnie thought it was like watching your life preserver float away in the middle of the ocean. “What do you think?” he asked Cassie.

“I think,” Cassie said, “we’ve got dinner to go eat. Things will look better on a full stomach.”

*****

Andre Kohl rolled out of the hotel parking garage early in the morning, found the interstate, moving with the morning rush hour traffic. His destination lay on the outskirts of the city, in a small urban park laced with package delivery services, janitorial service headquarters, and any number of small enterprises that served the business community of Washington and the surrounding areas. He was in no particular hurry. The illness of General Archer was obvious to anyone, the fact noted many months before, and it was only now that his death had become public knowledge that the real work began. There had been considerable speculation in the Soviet Union regarding his replacement. An array of names tendered, background information gathered on all of them. The heavy odds pointed to Luke Francis and it played out that way. Archer was passing his last days in the bosom of his family. Francis assumed control. Now it was game time.

The never-ending chess match played between the Soviet and U.S. intelligence services was somewhat of a gentlemen’s affair, a polite but decidedly important contest. There were rules. Each side spent hours of investigation, occasional surveillance, and intense study of their opponents. Archer was a known quantity throughout the years of his leadership. As an understudy, Francis merited a thick file within the KGB. In his new role he rated more intense scrutiny. His years of service under Archer were documented, his place in policy understood. Not having had command, though, made him more of an unknown. Furthermore, all men had a weakness. It was Kohl’s job to find it. He was looking for an edge, a pattern. Something he could use in the future. Even the little things added up.

He drove past the small office building Archer used as headquarters. The oddity of intelligence gathering was that the need for cover often forced the people involved into the most ordinary surroundings. In this case, Archer had chosen a medium size transportation company well known within Washington, though few would have guessed its real purpose. Trucks rolled in and out of a fenced area controlled by a guard within a booth at the gate. Kohl drove past in his rented car and hooked a U-turn down the street, trying to look like a lost driver. He was careful not to appear too interested in the building itself, contenting himself with a quick drive by. The intense surveillance would begin later. Right now, he was trying to get a feel of his prey. As the summer passed, more men would filter in, all under his control.
Krauss was on his way to Virginia, where he would keep an eye on the comings and goings of Archer and any visitors. The net would tighten. Luke Francis was also of special interest. He would become a known quantity in time. Who knows what they might pick up just by watching?

*****

Cassie Reynold was intent on watching the watchers. Four years since the awakening of her viewing ability had allowed her to sharpen the edges. Archer may have believed them to be content living out their lives under his protection, but she was far too astute to trust her safety to any one man or any one organization. Each day, Cassie spent time traveling in her own way. She had known Archer was coming, known it perhaps even before he did. He was a man that kept his word, but no man could be aware of everything. That fact was borne out by his need for both her and Ronnie in a time of crisis. It was a tribute to his faith in his own power that he never felt the need to involve them in routine matters, as advantageous as that might have been. It was a simple enough matter to follow Archer. He was readily available to her at any time. It became more complex to follow the lives of the people around him.

Now she lay on a hard bed in a small hotel room right outside Jackson, Mississippi. Ronnie was in the shower, the water hot enough to push steam under the bathroom door. The trip had been a daylong affair and they were still miles away from New Orleans. As the time wore on, they began to talk, speculating on what might lie next. Ronnie, always the least aggressive, voiced the opinion that it would be best to stay wary and allow events to unfold before making any decisions.

“The thing is,” he had said late that afternoon. “We don’t know much about this guy Francis. He may not have the faith in us that Archer did. For all we know, he’s written us off as some delusion Archer had.”

“You can’t believe that,” Cassie said. “If he knows everything, and Archer said he did, he knows what we’ve done. He knows what we can do. He’ll come looking for us when he needs us. Archer said he would. We have to keep an eye on him and what’s going on around him.”

Now she was doing just that. She lay with her eyes closed. Cassie could no more explain her ability to remote view than she could explain why the sun rose in the morning or why it happened in the east. She knew it was fact and that was enough. The talent tied in to her other abilities. She could immediately see sequences and patterns that were invisible to other people. Her instincts rarely led her astray. Two minutes with anyone was enough to label them trustworthy or brand them as liars. Her ability grew stronger with the onset of puberty. As she approached full maturity, her grip had grown tighter still. If there was a weakness, it was the need for a concrete piece of material on which to lay her hands, a photograph, a name, an item close to the subject of her search. She could explore, traveling where she wanted, but honing in on a particular subject was much more difficult without what she thought of as her anchor. She had none for Luke Francis, other than his relationship with Archer. She could only hope that she would stumble on a connection.

Lying on the bed, she allowed herself to slip away. The detachment was gradual, a melting of consciousness, an enveloping blackness that resolved itself into a rushing tunnel, a forward movement. The darkness blew itself into light, returned, and blew away again. The sense of travel intensified, finally settling into a steady hum. She found herself standing on a street corner. There was a light pole next to her, the wood spattered with creosote. It was daytime, late afternoon. A car passed, slowed at a gated yard across the street, and turned in. A guard stepped from a small booth, waving the car past. The parking lot was adjacent to an office building. People moved back and forth behind a plate glass window in front, a row of desks clearly visible inside. As she watched, a man stepped out of the building, crossed the parking lot, and drove off.