Close Up the Sky (12 page)

Other photographs
were not so desolate. In one, taken from a high place, rolling green hills
covered with tall grass stretched away to infinity. In the foreground, a herd
of immense elephantine creatures stood grazing on the vegetation. Matt
recognized them as wooly mammoths, a species extinct for twenty thousand years.
Off to one side, and slightly closer than the others, a solitary animal stood
staring in the direction of the camera, its trunk raised high above the massive
head, probing the air for dangerous scents.

Dozens of similar
photographs hung scattered around the room, depicting people, animals, and
intriguing scenes from the far distant past. To the uninformed observer they
might appear to be ordinary pictures with actors posing for the camera, the
scenery created by special effects in some movie extravaganza, but Matt knew
the people and places were real. Hanging about him were moments from the
history of man, snatched from the grip of time by the guileless lens of a
camera. Here Rome, Egypt, and Babylon were
portrayed
as they had actually existed, complete with the squalor as well as the
grandeur. It gave him a feeling of awe to be standing in the presence of so
many ghosts from humanity's long vanished history.

His eyes drifted
slowly about the room, finally stopping on the bookshelves that lined an entire
wall. More artifacts sat at random intervals between the books. Small statues
of men and women attired in the dress of their times faced outward from between
volumes of written history. Some had been expertly carved from the purest
ivory, onyx, and jade, while others were of simple wood, their rough lines
indicative of the crude tools used by the long-dead artists. He recognized a
small bust of Julius Caesar created from white marble. As customary in Roman
statuary, Caesar's eyes were smooth and sightless, the face stoic, showing no
emotion.

He walked into the
bedroom and looked around. Unlike the living room, it was devoid of relics. A
small gold-framed picture of him sat on the dresser. Beside it was a larger photo
of the two of them with their parents sitting in front of a Christmas tree,
arms across one another’s shoulders. He picked it up and felt a wave of
nostalgia. Their father was holding out his wrist, showing off the new watch
Edward had given him that year. His father could not have known what an
appropriate gift it was.

He put the picture
down and looked through the rest of the apartment. There was nothing unusual in
any of the drawers or closets. A sport shirt, probably the last one he had
worn, lay tossed carelessly across the bed. On the floor beside the bed was a
pair of tan loafers with run down heels. His razor and a can of Foamy shaving
cream were still sitting on the bathroom vanity where he had last used them. He
picked up the can and scraped some of the crusty residue off the spout with his
thumbnail. A good deal of time had passed since it had been used. Absently, he
wondered how the time travelers shaved while they were in the field. It would
be infeasible to use a can of Foamy and a safety razor in front of people who
shaved with knives, if they shaved at all.

Back in the living
room he sat down on the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table. His eyes
roamed across the walls, once again studying the multitude of cities,
landscapes, and faces long since obliterated by time. A book lying on the table
attracted his attention. He picked it up and looked at the cover. On the front
was an artist's conception of an Egyptian wearing a tall, pointed helmet. In
the classic style of ancient Egyptian art, he was naked from the waist up, his
upper body facing front with the face and legs in profile
. Religions of the Pharaohs
was embossed in gold letters along the
spine. It was interesting to note that the author was Dr. John Kasdan.

He opened the cover
and began flipping randomly through the pages. Near the middle, a small piece
of notepaper fell out. He picked it up and looked at it
. BABYLON STATION
was written on it in what looked like Edward’s
handwriting. Except for those words, it was blank. He looked back at the page
it had marked. The text dealt with a battle fought between the Egyptians and
another faction identified only as the
sea
people.
One paragraph had been underlined in pencil:

In an account steeped in myth and
exaggerated for effect, Pharaoh Ramses II found himself confronted by a
contingent of enemy troops most likely made up of Hittite soldiers, though
there is no evidence that this was the actual case. The story refers to the
opposing force as the "sea people," but they are not specifically
identified as to origin. Taken by surprise, the elite Egyptian Division was
routed and fled before the attack of this mysterious army. Having been at the
head of his troops when the attack came, Pharaoh found himself cut off and
facing the enemy alone. In his moment of peril he beseeched his father, the god
Amen, for help, saying that Amen was greater in battle than a million soldiers
and chariots all standing united against the foe. Strengthened by his prayer,
Pharaoh charged alone into the enemy ranks. But before the first javelin was
cast, Amen sent a great chariot with a voice like thunder to aid him. The god
spoke in the language of the sun, and the enemy fled in terror before Pharaoh. In
the words of Ramses, "Their weapons were useless against me, and they
could not find strength to hurl their lances.” There is obvious distortion in
this account as other records from the same period speak of a great defeat for
Ramses.

The story went on
for several paragraphs, but nothing else was underlined. He stuck the note back
inside the book and tossed it onto the table.

He got up and took
one last look around before going to the door. Being in the room made him feel
closer to Edward, and he hated to leave it. For an interminable time he stood
beside the door, his finger on the light switch, just listening and looking,
half expecting Edward to appear. At last he flipped the switch and plunged the
room into darkness. He was still too keyed up to sleep, so he walked back to
the pool and stood staring into the shimmering water.

"Hello
again," said a female voice from behind him.

The unexpected
voice startled him and he whirled to face its owner. He had been so deep in
thought that he had not heard Gail Wilson approach. She was wearing a white
pool robe and carrying a towel.

"I didn't
mean to startle you," she said, putting her hand on his arm.

He smiled and
shook his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I was just taking a walk around the pool
before turning in."

She filled her
lungs with night air and said, "It's nice out tonight." She spoke as
she exhaled, giving her voice a whispery tone. "I always take a swim
before going to bed. It helps me sleep. Why don't you join me?”

"No
trunks," he answered, pulling his suit coat open.

"Is that a
problem?" she said suggestively, her voice low. With a shrug of her
shoulders she let the robe fall around her feet. She had the body of a chorus
girl, and her skimpy bikini left little to the imagination.

Leahy felt his
face flush. He was glad it was too dark for her to see the redness of his
cheeks. "It's uh.........the air's a little too cool for me anyway,"
he stuttered. Under other circumstances he might have been responsive to her
forwardness, but at this particular moment she made him feel uncomfortable. For
some reason Taylor Griffin’s face flashed through his mind.

"Will you
wait while I take a few laps? It's early yet. Maybe we could talk."

"Sure,"
he answered with a shrug. He really did not want to, but he hated to be
impolite.

She walked to the
end of the pool and balanced on the edge. Leahy watched as she stretched her
hands over her head and made an expert dive into the water. The interior pool
lights made her body shimmer and writhe as she swam its length underwater. She
kicked off the opposite end and started back, swimming on the surface. After
another lap she got out and slipped the robe back on.

"What kind of
VIP are you, Matt?" she asked as she sat down in one of the pool chairs. The
robe fell away from her legs, exposing them to mid-thigh. She wrapped the towel
around her head like a turban and leaned back in the chair. He shot a quick
glance toward the windows in Taylor's apartment, but they were dark. His
quarters were next to hers, and he found himself wishing she would come out. He
had no experience at cloak and dagger situations, and was not at all sure he
could handle this one for very long.

"VIP?"
he answered.

"You're with
the NSA aren't you?"

"No
.....yes
. I guess you could say that."

"Sounds
exciting. I'll bet you're here to catch a spy or something." She hugged
herself, wrinkled her nose, and looked from side to side as though they might
be in danger of attack by enemy agents.

Her silly attempt
at humor irritated him, but he tried not to show it. He knew she was putting on
the dumb blonde act for his benefit.

"A spy? What
makes you think that?"

"Well, you're
the NSA. Don't you handle spies and things like that?"

"I think the
FBI does that."

"Oh. Then
what
does
the NSA do?"

"A lot of
paperwork. What do you do?"

"You'd be
bored. I'd rather talk about you."

"I'm
flattered."

"Where are
you from? You have such a wonderful accent."

"Georgia. A
little town called Marietta."

"Sounds
wonderful. Like in
Gone With the Wind
,
or someplace like that."

"Not quite. The
ladies don't wear those kind of dresses anymore."

"Oh. How long
will you be staying with us?"

"Probably
just a few days."

"Will you be
working in the main research building?"

"I expect
so."

"Good. Maybe
we'll get a chance to work together or have lunch. What kind of security
clearance do you have?"

"I don't know
if it's been assigned yet."

"Well, what
kind of work will you be doing?"

"Like I said,
a lot of paperwork."

"You don't
look like a paperwork man."

"What do I
look like?"

"Like someone
who's here for a special purpose. Nobody comes to Apache Point to do
paperwork."

"Do you
always ask this many questions?"

"Sometimes. Would
you like a drink?"

"I'd love
one, but it's been a long day. I think I'll turn in."

"Already?"

"I guess I'm
getting old."

She laughed. "Sure
you are!"

"See you
later, Gail." He started to walk away, then turned back and smiled at her.
"By the way, I really like that bathing suit."

"Thanks."
She stood up, smiled broadly, dropped the robe, and presented him with a
panoramic view.

Leahy shook his
head and grinned. "Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight,
Matt." She smiled, but sounded disappointed.

He had walked only
a few feet when she called after him.

"Matt?"

He turned to look
at her. The smile was gone, replaced by a serious expression.

"Be careful
with yourself. You're a stranger in a strange land, you know."

He nodded,
puzzled,
then
walked the rest of the way to his
quarters without looking back. Inside, he stood with his back against the door
thinking about her ominous warning. Was it really a warning or just her quaint
way of saying goodnight? After a few seconds he turned off the lights, closed
the curtains, and peered through a small crack between them. She was still at
the pool, sitting with her back to him. He scanned the rest of the courtyard,
but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he closed the curtain
completely and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.

"Matt, you
are
getting old," he said aloud to
himself. He took off his clothes without turning on the lights and slipped into
bed. The fatigue of the long day caught up with him, and he was asleep almost
immediately.

The narrow tunnel stretched away to
infinity. It had no end, only a deception of ending where the walls appeared to
come together in the distance. He ran as fast as he could, but the uneven floor
made him stumble and grasp for handholds on the rough-cut
stone
walls
. The air was stale and stank of decay, but he pulled great
draughts of it into his burning lungs to fuel his exertion. Far behind him a
whirlwind of green fire broke the darkness, writhing and screaming in pursuit. He
dared not look over his shoulder for fear of falling, but he knew the fire was
slowly gaining on him. His legs were as heavy as lead, but he forced the aching
muscles to move through sheer willpower.

There was something in the tunnel ahead of
him, but the distance was too great to make it out. His heart pounded in his
ears and the bitter taste of fear fouled his mouth. He was soaked with sweat,
so he pulled off his suit coat and threw it away. As he ran, the objects ahead
became clearer. He saw that it was three people standing shoulder to shoulder
across the width of the tunnel. Their backs were toward him and as he reached
them he staggered to a stop, crying out for help. As the three slowly turned
toward him he saw that their flesh was ghastly white with a red-rimmed third
eye in the center of their foreheads.

 
One of them was a woman with long dark
hair. She reached out to him, her lips forming words without sound. He forced
himself to look at the dark eye in her forehead. It stared back at him, and he
bit off the scream forming in his throat. He saw that it was not an eye at all,
but a ragged hole where her skull had been pierced by a bullet. She took a step
toward him and he recoiled in horror from the decayed flesh of her hand. Shudders
convulsed his body and he wanted to flee, but there was nowhere to go.