Amanda's Eyes (30 page)

Why me?

Deep down, each one of us believes,
I’m
the exception
.  We live our lives in the unconscious certainty that the
brick walls that fall on other people will never flatten us.  That’s why we rant
and rave and shake our fists in God’s face when life suddenly goes south.

Why me?

I had been asking that question over
and over ever since Conover left the room.  Asking for what seemed like hours.

Dying with my boots on I could
accept, at least in concept.  Guarantees of personal safety had never been part
of the job description or listed among the bennies.  I had known from the
get-go my chosen career could be dangerous; and if I was honest, I would have
to admit that element of risk was part of what attracted me to police reporting
in the first place.  Of course, accepting death in the line of duty as an
abstract idea isn’t quite the same as looking it in the eye.

Not that I was resigned to dying. 
Far from it.  I would fight and hope right up to my last breath.  Still, if this
was it, I figured I had no legitimate gripe.

But mutilation was never part of the
bargain.  Wouldn’t be now, if not for my crazy gift. 
That’s
the
Why
me?
I was struggling with.  Thousands of people have eye transplants every
year, and as far as I know, not one of them has ever complained of bizarre supernatural
complications.  So why me?  The only answer that came to me was as unsatisfying
as it was inescapable.  Why
not
me?  Why anybody else?  Aside from maybe
a cop or a spook, who was a better candidate?

I finally decided the
why
didn’t
matter much this close to the final whistle.  My predicament was what it was
for whatever reasons.  I needed to stop chasing answers I would probably never
get.  Keep my wits about me and watch for a chance to make some kind of move.

Worst case, that chance wouldn’t
come, and I would die.  Conover would cut out my eyes and chuck the rest.  Incinerate
it or dissolve it in acid or bury it deep in the heart of Texas.  However he
decided to handle the disposal, I was fairly sure nobody would ever find my remains,
and I had covered enough stories about missing persons never seen or heard from
again to understand how Mom, Dad, and my brothers would suffer.  Knowing the
truth deep down but hoping against hope for the rest of their lives.

And me?  What would happen to me?

Not the flesh-and-blood me, but the
me who has ideas and dreams and a burning,  if embarrassingly naïve, desire to
put the world right in any small way I can.  If I believed there was more to
life than our physical existence, believed there was some kind of
afterwards
—and
in spite of my hard-won cynicism, I did—was I ready for it?  The question threw
me for a loop steeper and higher than any I had ridden so far, and given my
circumstances, that was saying a mouthful.  It scared me enough that I took a panicky
mental step back from the abyss that suddenly seemed to yawn at my feet by reminding
myself all wasn’t lost yet.

Eagan, that poster boy for mistrustful,
leave-nothing-to-chance feds everywhere, was out there.  He had great
instincts.  The kind of gut that would sniff out a red herring faster than you
can say kippers.  Not only would he have been tracking our progress, but ten
seconds after our unscheduled, unannounced course change—about as long as it
would have taken to call us and get no answer—he would have sounded the alarm
and whistled up the troops.

So what if Conover had fixed it so
the van’s distress signal read New Mexico?  It might be a strong feint, but Eagan
wouldn’t put all his faith in technology.  Sure, he would check out the
signal.  He would also tap CIIS’s considerable manpower to cover all other
possible bases, because that’s what extremely suspicious people like him did.  And
needless to say, Conover’s ranch would be high on the list of bases to cover.

Conclusion?  Help was on the way.

A comforting thought, but Conover
had been off making his “arrangements” for a couple hours now, and my gut was
telling me he would be back any minute. 
Just in the nick of time
was right around the corner, and
better
late than never
wasn’t going to cut it for me.

Then the door opened.  Conover and
another man stepped into the room.

The gut calls it again.

Look for Einstein on a bad hair day.
  That’s what I would tell Iceman,
if I lived long enough to put him on the trail of Conover’s specialist. 
Unfortunately, that scenario was growing less likely by the minute.

“Who’s this?” I asked.  But while I
may not have known
who
Conover’s plump companion was, I was afraid I
knew exactly
what
he was.

“You can call him Doctor,
” answered Conover, confirming my
worst fear.

My flesh crawled as the man with the
bushy eyebrows stepped up to the gurney and eyed me with impersonal
fascination—sort of inquiring scientist to exotic specimen.  I pressed my head
back into the pillow when he bent over me, but he didn’t seem to notice as he
peered into my eyes, then checked them out with a palm-sized scanner.

“No obvious abnormalities,” he
concluded, then straightened, tapping a blunt index finger against his cheek.  A
few seconds later, he nodded pensively and said, “In addition to both eyes, I
suggest we remove the optic nerves, and take a cross-section of the lateral
geniculate nucleus, the brain’s primary processing center for data received
from the retina.”

“You’re the expert,” said Conover.

My heart jolted then sped up as I
lost sight of the doctor, who had stepped to the head of the gurney to
disengage the electronic tether.  Before I knew it, the bed was floating gently
down a long, white hall with me in it and Conover strolling by my side.

Knowing it would fall on deaf ears
but unable to help myself, I urged hoarsely, “Don’t do this, Conover!  You heard
what he said:  No abnormalities.”

“No
obvious
abnormalities.”

“There are no abnormalities,
period!  One of the best ophthalmologists in the world went over me with a
fine-toothed comb, ran tests your guy can only dream of.  I don’t know where
the Sight comes from, but it’s not structural.”

“There
must
be an anomaly,” my
own personal Doctor Frankenstein insisted from behind me, “if only on a
molecular level.  Whatever it is, I promise you, we’ll find it.”

“And replicate it,” added Conover
with evident satisfaction.

“Why?” I asked.  “What good will it
do you?”

“As is?  No good at all.  But if we
can modify it?  Imagine a world in which my Ferrymen were able to identify
undercover agents, for example.  The possibilities would be endless.”

And too horrible to contemplate.

“It won’t work.”

“We’ll see.  Meanwhile, look at the
bright side,” he suggested as the gurney pushed through a set of swinging doors
into a fully equipped operating suite as cold as a meat locker.  “You’re going
to die painlessly after all.”

They shifted me onto a table
overhung with robotic arms and bright lights, then went to scrub up, leaving me
in an agony of fear punctuated by flashes of panic, unable to so much as shiver. 
That last-minute rescue I had been counting on started to seem like a fairytale
written by self-delusion.

All too soon my captors were back in
full surgical gear.  While the doctor positioned the necessary equipment, Conover
draped a sheet over me, covering me to my chin.  The blue gaze above his mask
cool and dispassionate.

Nothing personal, just good business
.

As far as he was concerned, I was
already dead.

By now my breath was coming in
short, shallow gasps.  The thunder of my heart was all I could hear.  When the
doctor slid an IV needle into my inert left arm, I knew the clock had run out
for me.  With luck, Eagan would come in time to save Dennis, but I was going to
die, right here, right now.

A few seconds later, my world went
black for the last time.

“Aren’t you going in?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“There’s no hurry.  Take your time.”

I continued to stare.  Paradise,
pure and simple.  Light all around me.  Trees twinkled with it.  Watery
exclamation points leaping from a luminous reflecting pool glittered with it. 
Even the lofty towers glowed, erupting like luminous crystals two hundred
stories high from streets paved with light.  As I watched, the nearest tower started
to morph from the top down, its sides slowly segmenting, shifting, and
rotating.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” I
murmured.

“It hits you like that sometimes.”

“It
is
over, right?  You’re
sure it was him?”

“Positive,”  said Eagan.  “Like I
told you, I ID’d the corpse myself, then had Baker confirm.  We ran both the
DNA
and
the microbiome after you told us how he planned to fake his own
death.  It never hurts to be sure, and now we are.  Trust me, A.J., it was
Conover.”

“Okay.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know, but you have to admit, it’s
a hard story to swallow if you didn’t see it for yourself.  I mean, what are
the chances?”

“That Conover would get skewered by
a live oak while he was trying to steal one of our ATVs?  A million to one. 
Two
million.”

“Maybe there’s such a thing as divine
retribution after all.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. 
What happened that night ….”  He shook his head.  “Stuff I still can’t explain. 
Like that damned winter thunderstorm that blew in out of nowhere.  One minute
the reading is clear skies for a hundred miles, the next all hell breaks
loose.  Craziest thing is, we couldn’t have timed it better ourselves. 
Conover’s crew didn’t bat an eye when their systems shut down.  They assumed
the storm knocked them off line, when it was actually our UAV blanketing the
area with high-energy microwaves to disrupt the compound’s electrical grid.  We
caught them with their shield down while they stood around flatfooted, waiting for
the emergency generator to kick in.”

“I’m still not clear on how Conover
wound up outside, dressed in CIIS tactical gear.”

“With a six-foot sliver through his heart?”

“That, too.”

“Nobody actually saw what happened,
but we managed to piece together a rough sequence.  After the firing died down,
we found one of our agents in the library.  He went down on the threshold of a priest’s
hole tucked behind a moveable section of floor-to-ceiling shelves.  A hidden
compartment not much bigger than a closet.  Except this one was packed with
high explosives.”

“Conover’s failsafe.”

He nodded.  “Rigged for remote
detonation.  But by the time he realized he was going to need it, his systems
were down and our guys were already conducting the room-to-room.  Best guess
is, he was trying to salvage his getaway plan by jury-rigging a bypass when
Mike Morrison caught up with him.  I don’t know how the old guy managed to come
out on top, but he slit Morrison’s throat, dressed in his gear, and strolled
right out the front door in all the confusion.  Judging by the fact that we
found him straddling the ATV, hands wrapped around the grips and a surprised
expression on his face, I would say he was ready to lift off when lightning
struck, literally.  Blasted the live oak to Hell and gone.  Nothing left but a
smoking pile of bark and our pig on a spit.”

“Gives me goose bumps every time I
hear about it,” I muttered, rubbing my arms.

“Not as big as the ones I got when I
saw it.”

“Wish I could have caught some of
the action.”

“So brushing shoulders with the Grim
Reaper wasn’t excitement enough for you?”

Remembering my close encounter with
the hereafter had me rubbing my upper arms harder.  “Now that you mention it,
you
did
cut it pretty fine.”

“Not by choice, A.J.  We launched
the raid as soon as we could.”

The posse had actually mounted out
in record time.  Conover’s plan to lure Eagan and company off on a mountain-top
wild goose chase had one teensy drawback:  It would only work if CIIS was
tracking the van.  They weren’t.  They were tracking Dennis.  Nobody was
parting with the super-secret details, of course, but I gathered the process
involved material injected under an agent’s skin—a chip or isotopes, maybe—some
thingamajig so tiny and finely tuned it took a specially equipped satellite to
pick up the signal.

I was tempted to thank Eagan again
for the rescue, but the last time I tried, he all but broke out in hives.

“Hey, far be it from me to complain!”
I said instead.  “I’m alive and kicking, aren’t I?  Heck, I can even wiggle my
fingers and toes.”  Except in my dreams.

“Baker’s happy about that, too.  I
don’t think he’s stopped wiggling them since the chip was removed.”

Eagan and company tracked Dennis to
Conover’s high-tech basement.  His cell was ten doors down from the operating
room where they found me, out cold, and Conover’s butcher, standing in the dark
with his thumb in his ear.  Tough to do an enhanced lobotomy when you can’t see
your hand in front of your face.

“Conover planned to give Dennis the
same treatment he gave Sadie,” I said.

“Yeah, but you distracted him. 
Baker says he owes you.”

“Hey, it’s not like I planned it
that way.”  Still, there’s a lot to be said for holding a federal cop’s IOU.  Never
hurts to have that ace up your sleeve.  “So did we get all the bad guys?”

“Not sure yet.  The techies were
into Conover’s private corner of the Cloud five minutes after they got their
hands on his UpLink, but they’re still trying to decrypt his files.”

“I might know somebody who can help with
that.  Her name is Shuki Okazawa, and she can make an UpLink sit up and beg to tell
you its secrets.”  If I could manage to track her down.  Maybe she would catch
my upcoming broadcast and realize it was safe to come up for air.

“I don’t think it will come to that,”
said Eagan, “but I’ll keep it in mind.  On the plus side, Sidorov claims the hit
men trained at the ranch when they weren’t in the field, so we know we got some
of them.  She’ll be able to identify the bodies.  Headcount came up three short
of fifteen, so we’ve got stragglers, but they’re operating without a network.  We’ll
get names and descriptions from our Transylvanian snitch and track them down.”

“So for all practical purposes, the Ferrymen
are history.”

“Pretty much.  We’ve still got some
mopping up to do, of course.  The NavStar issue, for example.  Intel services
all over the world went bananas when they found out about that little debacle. 
Needless to say, the company is feeling the heat.  They’ve got all their
employees working twenty-four/seven on a patch to close the trapdoor in their
software.”

“And Conover’s mole?”

“Got helpful in a hurry when we
confronted him.  Same with the psycho-surgeon, Wentzler.”

“Both angling for a plea deal?”

“Chances are.  Meanwhile, we’re still
following the money.  We’ve made some progress, but word from the backroom is,
it’ll take another week to identify and untangle all the accounts and shell
companies.  With any luck, we’ll be able to scoop up some of the Ferrymen’s
customers and suppliers while we’re backtracking.”

“What are the feds going to do with
the money?”

His lips curved a bit.  “What do you
think we should do with it?”

“Give it to Change a Life.  Just
because Conover was a fiend in philanthropist’s clothing doesn’t mean everybody
who works there is.  Those charities do a ton of good.”

“The director had the same idea, and
she’s already working on a solution.  First order of business is to do
background checks on all the CAL staff members.”  He paused.  “We might need some
special help with that.”

“You got it.”

“Baker and I will keep your
participation on the QT, of course.  Ito’s got high blood pressure as it is. 
Meanwhile, we managed to pull the names of enough donors whose contributions are
probably untainted to let the director channel their money into a special fund
to keep the milk of human kindness flowing until we can sort out the rest.”

“That sounds like a—” I lost my
train of thought when a cold, wet object landed on the back of my neck.  I looked
over my shoulder and met Cosmo’s flinty gaze.  “You got a problem, pal?”

“Probably needs to stretch his
legs,” Jack chuckled.  “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.  If you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.  But why to the door?  I
was planning to give you the VIP tour.”

He grimaced at the bright red WWN
logo perched over the entrance to the nearest tower.  By now the building had
rearranged itself into a shape vaguely resembling a spiral staircase.  You’ve gotta
love dynamic architecture.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, climbing
out of the car and stepping back to make room for Cosmo, “but it’s not like I
was planning to throw you and a bucket of chum into the deep end of the
reporters’ pool.”

The frosty air was refreshing.  I
looped Biker Dog’s leash around my wrist as the three of us started toward the building. 
As we drew even with the near corner of the reflecting pool, I stared at the
fairy lights winking in the trees and shook my head.  “I feel like I’m coming
home after a year on another planet.  Hard to believe it’s only three weeks
‘til Christmas.”

“Going to spend the holidays with
your family?”

“You bet.  Oh, and speaking of my
family, thanks for not telling them about my Dripping Springs detour.”  As far
as the Gregson clan was concerned, I had spent the last few days fat and unhappy
in the safe house.  “If Mom knew how close she came to arranging my funeral, I
would never hear the end of it.  I’ll have to do girly stuff with her for a
week as it is.”

“Bet that’s the first time
need-to-know ever worked
for
a reporter.”

We walked a bit farther, then stopped
to let Cosmo baptize the leg of a wrought iron bench.

Jack said, “Are you sure about this,
A.J.?”

“About what?”

“About this gift of yours.  How you
want to use it.  Sooner or later, you could find yourself in another tight
spot.  What if Baker and I aren’t around to pry you out of it?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying nobody would blame
you if you changed your mind.”

“Wrong. 
I
would blame me.”  He
sighed and shook his head.  “Seriously.  You know, Jack, I had plenty of time
to think while I was lying there like a beached whale, waiting for Conover to
do his worst.  I asked myself, ‘If I had known the story would end this way,
would I have acted differently?’  Keep in mind, I was ninety-nine percent sure
I was about to become another Ferrymen success story.”

“
Ninety-nine
percent sure?”

“I bet the other one percent on
you.”

“Thanks.  Thanks a lot.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t lose
all
faith.   Anyway, like I was saying, I went over it again and again.  And each
time I asked, I came up with the same answer.  Yeah, I would.  I didn’t
audition for this sideshow, but I’m stuck with it, and I believe things happen
for a reason.  Gotta make the most of the talents we’re given, right?”

“I guess.  Be nice if you could get
the credit you deserve.”

“Credit’s not all mine.
 
If you
hadn’t believed in me, Conover would still be murdering people right and left, and
I would be wearing a jacket with sleeves that cross in front and buckle in the
back.  Trying to get somebody to listen to me.  If you hadn’t ridden to the
rescue, I would be dead.  We stopped them
together
—you, me, and Dennis.” 
My lips curved.  “Besides, credit is nice, but a byline’s better.  I may not be
able to tell the
whole
story, but I’ve still got one hell of a scoop.”

Cosmo interrupted with a grumble and
a pointed tug on the leash.

“Not to mention one hell of a dog,” Eagan
added.

“You sure you want me to keep him?”
I asked, way too hopefully, as we started to walk again.  God help me, I was
already attached.

“The boarding house will be headache
enough.”  So he said, but I could tell Sadie’s bequest meant the world to him. 
“Luckily, her lawyer already found a retired schoolteacher to manage it for
me.  But a dog?  I’ll settle for visitation rights.  Besides, he likes you
better.”

We were thirty yards from the
building when a lanky redhead bounded through the doors and loped toward us. 
Biker Dog stopped us dead in our tracks and growled low in his throat.

“Easy, pal.”  I patted his head.  “He’s
harmless, remember?”

Ellison skidded to halt a few feet
away.  He and Cosmo eyed each other warily.  There had been no love lost
between them since their first meeting at Sadie’s.

“What’s
that
doing here?”
asked Hank.