Finally there came a kicking sound, accompanied by beats of pressure on the left side of his head. The kicking became scraping, and in a few moments he felt a rifle butt bump against his arm as dirt and scraps of wood were scraped away from his face and chest.
Chimes tolled behind his eyes.
Veil slowly removed his arm from his face and found himself squinting up into the cold, vaguely curious, and surprised face of a man in a green uniform. The man grunted, then casually lifted his rifle and pointed it at Veil's head. Then a hole suddenly appeared in the commando's forehead, and from it spewed bone chips, blood, and brain tissue that sprayed over Veil's face.
Thwop-thwop-thwop.
With its blood-gorged, unseeing eyes still open, the body of the sapper crumpled onto Veil's chest. Veil turned his head away and spat out the man's gore. And he waited.
Thwop-thwop-thwop.
Perhaps he was unconscious—or dead?—and dreaming, Veil thought. He seemed to be back in a jungle clearing in Laos, surrounded by Hmong tribesmen, waiting as a helicopter came in low over the treetops.
Thwop-thwop-thwop.
If he wasn't dead, Veil thought, he soon would be. The helicopter was coming to spirit him away to Valhalla.
Endomorphins.
Thwop-thwop-chiiiir.
There was a gust of wind that ruffled Veil's hair and the sapper's shirt. Then the motor died and there was silence surrounding him once again.
Or did he hear footsteps? It was hard for Veil to tell, for the sound of the explosion was still ringing in his ears.
A shoe sole appeared in his field of vision, coming from over his right shoulder. The sole moved on to reveal a dusty, wingtip shoe and brown wool slacks that clashed with blue argyle socks. The man who owned the shoe, slacks, and sock pushed the sapper's body off Veil.
"For chrissake, Kendry," Orville Madison said brusquely. "What a mess. I never thought I'd see the day when I had to play fucking nursemaid to you."
Chapter 27
______________________________
Veil stared through the glass partition built into the wall of the Army hospital room at the still figure of Sharon, who was dressed in a lacy, blue nightgown Veil had bought for her. On a table next to her bed, bellows attached to an oxygen tent rose and fell in perfect, mindless rhythm. Needles slipped into her veins carried nourishment—and the Lazarus Gate drug mixture—into her system and carried away waste. Electrodes attached to her body recorded her heartbeat, as well as a brain-wave pattern that indicated to Veil that Sharon was still somewhere beyond the Lazarus Gate, wandering alone in the gray mist where he had lost her. On her face was the same expression of rapture and longing that Veil had seen in the hospital clinic.
"I haven't had a chance to thank you for bailing me out of the Army compound," Veil said in a flat voice. "I'm thanking you now."
Orville Madison grunted as he lit a cigar, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign posted in the small observers' gallery outside Sharon's room. "You know better than to thank me, Kendry. You're mine to kill, if and when I choose to, not the Army's. I was just protecting my prerogatives."
"Yeah? Well, I'm here to tell you that you shaved this particular prerogative pretty close. How the hell did you think I was going to get out of the compound itself?"
"Funny thing about that; there was never any doubt in my mind that you'd find a way. What's the matter? Age catching up with you?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. You don't look so hot yourself. You're even fatter than when I last saw you, and that stupid toupee you're wearing looks like shit."
"How did this Pilgrim fellow get my name?"
"It's a mystery."
Madison turned his head and squinted at Veil. "Is it?"
"Very much so."
"Pilgrim gave me some background on the phone, but I still need the answers to a lot of questions. Now that you're up and about, will you talk to me?"
Veil shifted his left arm to a more comfortable position in its sling. "What do you want to know?"
"What the hell was Ibber doing trying to blow up a hospice and blow away a bunch of ex-stiffs and future stiffs?"
"He didn't want anyone else to know what Jonathan and Sharon had discovered, and he couldn't be certain how many others did know. His solution was to kill everyone."
Madison puffed slowly on his cigar, feigning boredom and indifference, but the sudden tightness in his voice betrayed him. "What was it they discovered?"
"That there's a state of consciousness, a fleeting moment, some men and women experience as they approach death when minds merge."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You want me to say it again?"
"I heard what you said; I want to know what you mean. It sounds like you're saying that dying people, if they're dead enough, can communicate with each other." "You've got it. Except that the people doing the communicating have to be dying together, and they have to reach this precise state of consciousness at precisely the same time— or close to it."
"You're bullshitting me, Kendry."
With the aid of his cane Veil shuffled around until he was squarely facing the other men. "No. It's the truth, Madison. Now you know more than Ibber actually knew. He only suspected it, and that was enough to make him do what he did."
"There must be more."
"Ibber also suspected that you could stretch out, or freeze, that moment. He was right." Veil nodded toward the figure on the other side of the glass. "That's what happens."
Madison's eyes had narrowed to slits. "You're trying to tell me that a KGB agent who'd penetrated a top command post of the United States Army then proceeded to throw it all away because he wanted to start a vegetable patch?"
Veil winced inwardly; the other man hadn't changed. "He didn't know that would happen; nobody knew at the time Sharon attempted it. He just wanted to make certain that we couldn't use any of this information militarily."
"Is there any way we can use it militarily?"
"Ibber thought so."
"Do you think so?"
"No."
"Where can I get a second opinion?"
"Try the Russians."
"Come on, Kendry. You owe me."
Again, Veil nodded toward Sharon. "If she ever comes out of the coma, she'd be a good person to ask. Or you can talk to other scientists doing near-death research. Hell, have the CIA start its own hospice and see what you can find out."
"Why do I have the strong feeling that you're hiding something?"
"I don't know. Do I sound or act as if I'm hiding something?"
"No," Madison finally said after a long pause. "What were you doing over in the Army compound in the first place? Pilgrim never got around to explaining that to me."
Veil smiled, then grimaced as the wires in his jaw cut into his gums. "You think I'm working for somebody?"
"Unless you've got a double, I know you're not. That doesn't answer my question."
"Ibber was afraid I might be working for you people—and that's no joke. He sent an assassin after me the morning after I arrived. I was over there trying to find out why."
Madison dropped his cigar on the floor and ground it out with the toe of his shoe. "Shit," he said dispassionately. "What a waste of time."
"Yeah."
"If I'd known this was all there was to it, I might have decided to let Ibber kill you."
"You were always a prince, Madison."
"Can you believe that I'm still pissed at you after all these years? I've got pins in both my collarbones, and they hurt like hell when it rains or snows. Also, I'd probably be top man in Operations if I hadn't lost four years making up the ground you'd shoveled out from under me."
"Madison," Veil said evenly, "I have a personal favor to ask of you."