MIND FIELDS (38 page)

He changed into the shirt that he had worn last night and went to the lobby. By the time he returned, Sandi had changed back into her jeans.  She was bare up top except for her bra.  Paul tossed her the sweat shirt.

“Don’t ever buy clothes for me again, OK?”

He nodded sheepishly and changed shirts.  They checked themselves in the mirror again.

“That’s better,” Sandi said. 

Paul had to agree.  Even the plaid pants didn’t look too bad with the sweatshirt hanging over them a bit.  He walked across the room to the window and glanced down again.  “Time to go,” he said.  Trace McKnight was across the street getting out of cab.  “We’ve got company.”

Paul tossed their things into a laundry bag and checked the room quickly.  He wrapped the briefcase in a towel, and put it into a second laundry bag.  Sandi cleaned the bathroom, removing all signs of the hair dye.  She tossed everything into the trashcan and pulled out the plastic bag, stuffing it into one of the laundry bags in Paul’s hands.

“Ready?” she asked, walking over to the window to take a look.  She saw Trace McKnight accompanied by a large man with a bandage on his forehead.  “Jesus.  Who’s the big thug?”

“It’s Sean, or whatever his real name is.  Don’t you recognize him?”

“Duh.”  She smacked him lightly on the side of the head.  “I know who Sean is, but who’s the monster with him?”

Paul looked out the window, stunned by what he saw.  “Shit.  It’s the frickin’ Terminator,” he muttered.

“The what?”

“The Terminator.  You know that old movie, “The Terminator?”  The guy never dies, he just keeps coming back.”

She had a blank stare on her face.

“You know, the one with Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

Still a blank stare.

“You’re a deprived person,” he said.  “It was a classic.”

“So you pick now to do movie reviews?”

“That guy,” he said motioning toward No-neck Mason, “is the Terminator.  He’s the guy I killed, the guy I pushed off the road into the river.”

Sandi looked out the window.  “You didn’t do a very god job.”

“I guess not.”

Trace and No-neck were crossing the street toward the entrance to the Kensington Gate Hotel.  Paul picked up the laundry bags and led Sandi out the door.  They tossed the bags into a utility closet down the hall and took the elevator to the lobby.  Trace was talking to the front desk clerk as they walked by, turning their faces away.

“Excuse me folks,” the clerk said to them.  They tried to ignore him and kept walking.  “Excuse me,” he repeated a bit more loudly.  Paul turned toward him.  “We keep the keys at the desk while you’re out, sir.”

“Of course,” Paul said in a raspy voice, walking over to the clerk.  “I haven’t traveled out of the States too much.”  He placed the key on the counter next to Trace, who looked up at him.

“American, huh?”

“Yes, sir, young fella,” Paul said.  “From Dayton, Ohio.”  He knew that Trace had never been to Dayton.  “How about you?  Where are you from?”

“Uh, Maryland,” Trace said, looking strangely at the old man.  “Do I know you?  You look awfully familiar.”

Paul looked him over.  “Don’t think so.  Ever been to Dayton?”

“Nope.”

“Doubt it, then.”

Trace shook his head.  “You sure look familiar.”

“Ah, I get that all the time,” Paul said with a wave of his hand.  “I guess I’ve just got one of those faces.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Trace said, pulling out a picture of Paul.  “I’m looking for a buddy of mine.  I could have sworn he said to meet him at the Kensington Gate.  You seen him around here by any chance?”

He glanced over at Sandi, who turned away from him, and then he stared intently at Paul as he handed him the picture.

“Ah!” Paul winced as he took the picture with his gnarled left hand.  “Damned rheumatism.” 

Trace looked down at the deformed joints in Paul’s hand.  The fingers angled unnaturally, not the sort of thing that could be done to a hand with make-up or synthetics.  “Pretty painful, huh?”

“Just one of the joys of aging.”  Paul put on his reading glasses.  “Now let’s see that picture.”

Paul looked at the picture that Trace had just handed him.  It was a photo that they had taken at a department party a couple of years back.  “Can’t say as I’ve seen him around here.  Good looking fellow though, eh?” Paul smiled as he handed the picture back to Trace.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose so,” Trace said.

“Harry,” Sandi called over.  “We’re gonna be late, Harry.”

“Coming, dear,” he called back.  “You married?” he asked Trace.

“Nope.”

“Harry!”

“Thank God,” Trace added, looking in Sandi’s direction.

Paul smiled.  “Ah, it ain’t so bad...”

“Come on.  Let’s go, Harry.  We’re going to be late.”

“...most of the time,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Good luck, mister.  Hope you find your friend.”

“Thanks,” Trace said as Paul walked away.

As they got to the door, Sandi whispered to him.  “Are you nuts?”

“Just having a little fun,” he said with a glimmer.

They walked out the door and Paul signaled for a cab.  Sandi’s knee started to buckle as she walked down the steps. She reached for the handrail and a massive hand grabbed hold of her arm, steadying her.  She looked up into the eyes of John “No-neck” Mason and started to tremble.

“You all right, ma’am?” he asked with a deep, soothing voice. 

“Yes, sir.  Thank you.” He made her feel strangely at ease.  Mason was intimidating to look at, but to his friends, he had the manner of a gentle giant.

He helped her down the stairs.  “Ma’am,” he nodded as he let go of her arm and leapt up the stairs two at a time.

“Terminator, huh?” she said to Paul, who was relieved to see Mason leave.

They got in the cab.

“Heathrow, please.”

Chapter twenty seven

  Wisps of cottonwood silk floated through the air and danced like dandelion fluff in the warm summer breezes, swirling down along quaint residential streets and fluttering into the heart of Aspen.  The skiers were long gone and the excitement of renewal coursed through the city, invigorated by the festivals of summer.  The town pulsed with the influx of locals and visitors alike, who were enjoying the festivals that celebrated the picturesque mountain village.  The convergence of the Summer Wine Festival, the Aspen Summer Words Literary Festival and the Summer Concert Series created a particularly vibrant undercurrent meandering through the city.

  Jessica Ryan sat on the quiet patio of the Mogul’s Edge Hotel at the base of Aspen Mountain, basking in the warm dry air and sipping a lemonade, enjoying a respite from the festivities. 

  “There you are,” her husband Taylor said as bent to give her a kiss on the cheek and sat down beside her.  “You missed a great presentation.  Hector Gonzalez from the Travel Channel showed some of his stuff that never made it to the airwaves, the real juicy stuff, you know?”

  “Sounds like a guy thing.”

  “Not that kind of stuff, Jesse.  It was wildlife footage, not wild footage.”

  Jesse giggled.  She enjoyed Taylor’s sense of humor. 

  “I’ve never felt so free, Taylor, and...God, I love that name...Taylor.”

  “Well, you should.  You picked it.”

  The wealthy young couple had been in Aspen only a few short months, but they were at home here.  Sandi felt like she had been on the run for months, and always far from home.  When she had first suggested to Paul that they move to Aspen, where she could be near her Aunt Darcy, he thought it was a lousy idea.  “Any thread of our past could be used to hang us, Sandi,” he had said to her.  But he couldn’t stand to see her so despondent, and eventually gave in.  They took the names of Jessica and Taylor Ryan and moved to Aspen in time to enjoy the last month of ski season.  It was great to be young again.

  Darcy Fletcher nearly fell off her horse the day her niece walked in.  Sandi looked exactly as she had after her senior year in high school; it had been the last of her summer vacations in Aspen.  Darcy didn’t pretend to understand the chronobot theory, and at first was sure that Jessica Ryan was just a young woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sandi, but before long the young girl had convinced Darcy that she really was her niece.  Sandi knew she could trust Aunt Darcy with her secret.  Paul prayed that she was right...for all of their sakes.

  “Do you miss it, Taylor?” Sandi asked Paul as she sipped her lemonade.  She glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop.  “The work, I mean.”

  Paul let out a deep breath.  “Sure, sometimes.  But this,” he raised his arms toward Aspen mountain and held them wide, “this is the stuff that dreams are made of.”  He leaned over the table and smiled at her.  “To be young, rich and living in Aspen... We’re living a dream, Jess.”

  She smiled whimsically.  “I only wish we could share it with the world.”

  “Maybe some day, Jesse, but not now.”

  Sandi understood completely.  They had this discussion before.  If they were to bring Paul’s chronobots to the world, the NSA would surely find them.  Even more worrisome was the thought that humankind was just not ready for the chronobots yet.  It upset her, the thought that they were playing God, deciding what humanity was or was not ready for, but the thought of what people like Trace McKnight and James O’Grady might do with the chronobots was enough to convince her that Paul was right.  She did not wish to contribute any further to the atrocities that men like those two could wreak on humanity with the technology that science could create.  Aspen had helped to restore her own sense of humanity, to bring her a little closer to God. 

  “I feel alive, Taylor.  For the first time in a long time, I feel alive.”

  Paul smiled.  He loved to see Sandi happy, but still...he couldn’t help thinking that Trace would find them; he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder. 

  “Me too, Jesse.  Me too.”  He would do his best to make sure that she would never know how he felt, never feel the tension that he was cursed to endure.

___

  Paul and Sandi drove up Cemetery Road toward the Fletcher Ranch.  They enjoyed their quaint Victorian home near the center of town.  It afforded them easy access to the gondola in ski season, as well as the run of Aspen’s wonderful shops and restaurants, but come summer they loved to ride the trails.  They asked Aunt Darcy to save their two favorite horses for a trek up to Maroon Bells, and she insisted that they join her for breakfast before the ride.

  It was a glorious summer day, and Paul opened the top of his Jeep to let the wind blow through.  He loved the feel of the dry wind whipping through his hair, but Sandi was sure that she’d look like a clown by the time they got to Aunt Darcy’s, with her thick brown hair sticking straight out in all directions.  Paul glanced over as she struggled to hold her hair in place; he couldn’t help laughing.

  “Sure,” she shouted above the wind noise, “laugh now, but when you get on that horse, you’re mine, wise-guy.”  Paul wasn’t quite the rider that Sandi was.

  Paul could tell by the look in her eyes that he was in for a tough day, but it was worth it.  He stepped on the gas.

  Darcy was sitting on the porch when they drove up.  Sandi got out of the car, patting down her hair.

  “Well, look at you,” Darcy chuckled.  “Just like the old days, huh?”

  “Oh, please,” she sniped, glancing toward Paul with laser eyes.

“Don’t you worry now, dear,” Darcy said, nurturingly, “A brush will fix that. You’re beautiful.  You look like a part of nature.”

Somehow that didn’t sound so bad to Sandi anymore.  It had driven her nuts when she was a kid, but it seemed like a compliment now.

“Thanks, Darcy,” she said, and she ran inside to use the mirror.

She looked back at Paul as he came walking up the porch steps.  “I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving me some of those little Fountain of Youth robots of yours, now could I?”

“Now, Darcy,” he said, glancing around nervously, “we’ve talked about that.  It’s too dangerous.  We still don’t know what the long tem effects will be, and,” he looked around again at the surrounding countryside, “if those goons find us...”

“Aw, hell’s bells,” she said, “there’s no one as far as the eye can see.  Anyone within a half mile of this porch would be trespassing.”

“These men don’t care about trespassing.  Hell, they don’t need to trespass.  They could be listening to us, watching us from miles away, even from a satellite.  You can’t even imagine what these guys can do.”

“I’ve got a pretty good imagination, young man.”

“I’ll bet you do.”  He had no doubt that Darcy had led an interesting life of her own.  “Listen, when the time comes, we’ll take care of you.  I promise.”  Paul took her hand; he knew what she meant to Sandi.

“I appreciate that...Taylor.  I really do.”  She knew what he meant.  One day, she would feel the power of the chronobots.  Staring out across the mountains toward Snowmass, she hoped that day was still far off in the future. 

  They both turned as Sandi walked out the front door, every hair in place.

  “Well,” Darcy said, “much more presentable, young lady.  Now we can eat.”

  Sandi glared at Paul.  She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him just yet.

  The three of them went inside.  Sandi helped scramble the eggs while Darcy put up the bacon and Paul started the coffee.

  “So what’s happening in the world today?” Paul said as he flipped on the TV.

  “Three months here and you still haven’t left the big city, eh?” Darcy said.  “Who cares what’s happening out there.  We’re in here, in the shelter of the Rockies, in our own little world.”

  “Ah, but if it were only that easy,” Paul said.  “God, how do you find anything with this,” he asked Darcy as he played with the remote control.  You need a new TV, one that understands English.” 

“I’m not going to start talking to a TV,” she said.

“Ah, here we go,” Paul said, ignoring her, as he found CNN and put down the remote control.

“Ohh, that coffee smells good,” Sandi moaned.  “I could really use some right about now.”

“Shh,” Paul said, trying to concentrate on the TV.

A picture of President Huntley Forsyth appeared on the screen.  “President Forsyth officially announced his withdrawal from the ’52 presidential election today, citing peace of mind for himself and the American people.  He still adamantly denies any wrongdoing in the death of Senator Stanton Cole, and both he and Natasha Cole, the granddaughter of the deceased senator, deny having had any sexual relations.  However, a smattering of evidence strongly linking the two romantically continues to arouse — no pun intended,” the reporter snickered, “suspicion amongst the American people.  Mr. Forsyth has vowed to defend himself vigorously against the allegations, and has chosen to drop out of the race in order to give this matter his full attention.”