Pilgrim stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then abruptly reached down into the ice bucket and withdrew two more cans of beer. He pushed one across the desk to Veil, who left it unopened. "It would seem that our interests converge," Pilgrim said thoughtfully. "We both want to find out who controlled the assassin, and I need to find out what he wants here."
"Isn't that obvious? He's spying on the military."
"Not so obvious. The Army runs a totally separate operation, and their compound is sealed off. Henry and I are the only people who can go in there, and Parker is the only military official who's allowed to come here. You were to be my guest, not theirs. Did you tell anyone you were coming here?"
"Only the owner of the gallery that shows my work. He's not a suspect, and he wouldn't tell anyone else."
"Then you could have been made by someone who saw you at the reception."
"Dr. Ibber did a heavy research job on me. That certainly could have set off warning tremors, and somebody could have figured that the research was just a cover to establish a reason for my being invited to the Institute."
"That's possible. But it still doesn't tell me why any intelligence agency, American or foreign, would bother to spy on my operation. If anyone wants to know what we're doing here, all he has to do is subscribe to our journals and newsletter. We're always looking for new subscribers."
"Parker obviously thinks that your work is important—and sensitive."
"Sure. But it's not classified. I won't allow any of our research to be classified. What people do with the data is another matter, as long as they don't expect to use our facilities or research staff, but the data is published."
"Maybe somebody wants to make certain of that."
"It wouldn't take long to verify, and it wouldn't require a spy network."
"Are you going to tell Parker that he's been infiltrated?"
"No. Not yet, at any rate."
Veil raised his eyebrows slightly. "Why not?"
"Because I want answers to my own questions first, before Parker has a chance to screw things up and send our spies running for cover. Also, to be perfectly frank, I'd like to be in a position to use any information I get to counter future pressures from Parker and the Pentagon. If Parker gets loose on this thing, he'll cut me out." Pilgrim paused and puffed on his cigar. "That's it, Veil. Can we work on this problem together?"
"That suits me fine. The problem is that I'm working blind, and the person I'm after knows me. Golden Boy's controller knows I'll be coming for him. He'll be taking extra precautions, and he has all the advantages."
Pilgrim took his feet off his desk and stood up. "Then we'll have to do what we can to even the odds. You'll need some kind of disguise, and a secure base to work from."
Veil pointed to the map on the wall. "The second gray area?" "Right."
"What's there?"
"You'll see." Pilgrim picked up the telephone on his desk and punched out a three-digit number. Veil heard a faint click on the other end, then a woman's voice blurred by fatigue.
"Yes, Jonathan?"
"Sorry about the missed sleep, Sharon. Our friend finally showed up. We're coming over."
Chapter 7
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The cable car moved smoothly across the chasm between the two mountain peaks. In the valley a thousand feet below them, dawn seeped like a blood tide across the tops of trees and glinted like rubies on the surface of a clear, swift-running river. To the east, the ominous wall and electrified fence sealing off the army compound ran like an ugly scar across the face of the verdant valley.
"Parker's over there right now wondering where the hell you are and stewing in his own juices because you didn't show up in New York," Pilgrim said wryly.
"Can you get me in there?"
"Tough. Like I told you, Henry and I are the only outsiders who have free access. Even if I could manage to get you in, what would you do over there? You can't exactly stroll around a top-secret military complex."
Veil smiled thinly. "I'm very sneaky."
"I don't doubt it for a moment. But you really wouldn't want Parker to catch you inside his compound, Veil. The way things stand, you don't want him and his people to catch you alone anywhere—and certainly not at the center of his own damn spiderweb. I'm not sure I could help you."
"The man sent to kill me came out of there," Veil replied evenly. "If I can't find who and what I'm looking for in your complex, then I have to try to take a look at Parker's operation and personnel."
"I'll give some thought to the problem."
Veil stepped to the front of the car and looked out. Clouds of mist were rising off the face of the second mountain, and he could see what appeared to be a cluster of wooden buildings set in a clearing. Higher up on the mountain was a white structure that looked like a hospital. Trails branched in all directions from the central compound, and many led to large wooden chalets scattered among the trees. The atmosphere seemed elegiac, pastoral.
The cable car was fast approaching the lip of a steel-and-concrete landing platform cut into the side of the mountain. Extending out from the platform was an observation deck. A puff of wind momentarily swept away a cloud of mist, and Veil was astonished to see the unmistakable figure of a man who was generally acknowledged to be the greatest living painter and sculptor, an artist whose raw talent and breadth of vision were constantly being compared to Picasso's. Despite the early-morning chill, the man was standing at the railing of the observation deck clad only in shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers. His huge, coal-black eyes stared out over the valley in the direction of the rising sun. Veil stepped back to avoid being seen, and Pilgrim casually saluted with his hook as they passed over the spot where the man was standing.
"That was Perry Tompkins," Veil said, making no effort to mask his surprise.
"Yeah."
"Tompkins supposedly disappeared over six months ago; it made headlines all over the world. People in a dozen different countries are still searching for him."
"Obviously, Perry didn't disappear. He simply came here. Those he chose to confide in know where he is, and Perry's friends aren't in the habit of talking to the press."
"What is this place, and what's Tompkins doing here?"
Pilgrim reached around Veil and pushed a red button on the emergency control panel next to the sliding door. The car immediately stopped, gently swayed for a few seconds, then was still. "This is the Institute's hospice," the director said evenly. "Sharon—Dr. Solow—who was supposed to give you a battery of psychological tests before somebody got the notion to kill you, heads it. It's also where she conducts what she describes as near-death studies, a long-range project examining the changes in attitude, perception, and consciousness some people undergo as they are dying. Perry is dying, and he accepted our invitation to come here and share the experience of this last transition with Sharon. Most of the hospice guests, like Perry, are in the last stages of terminal illness, but there are also a few men and women we call Lazarus People who come here to be studied."
"People come here to let you watch them die?"
"Watch and study, yes. They're people who are approaching their own deaths with a certain measure of equanimity and a great deal of curiosity. Do you find that unsettling?"
"It takes some getting used to."
"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."