The Reality Conspiracy (34 page)

Now he adjusted his grip on the rolled cloth as if it were the scrawny neck of a chicken. He squeezed it between both thumbs and forefingers as if strangling something. The heel of his right foot began to tap noisily on the wooden porch floor. His eyes darted from side to side.

"F-Father Mosely . . . he always said look in the Bible. If you have some kinda question about something, all you gotta do is jest look in the Bible."

Burlington, Vermont

W
hen Karen got home from the office, Jeff volunteered to get dinner. She agreed readily, so he kissed her on the cheek and headed out to pick up a pizza.

"I don't know about you," Karen said, "but I could sure use a drink."

Casey nodded enthusiastically.

Karen left to get a couple of Cokes. As she walked, she noticed that someone had tidied the place up. The dishes from last night and this morning were washed and put away, the magazines were arranged neatly on the oak coffee table, the surface of the piano was dust free and shiny. And Karen could tell by the combed look of the carpet that someone had vacuumed.

Could Casey have done this?

She put a frosty glass on a marble-topped end table beside Casey. "I should thank someone for doing so much work around here."

Casey smiled. "Oh, that's okay. I'm glad to help out when I can. I always do it at home . . . ."

Karen sat down across from Casey. This was their third day together, and their first real opportunity to talk when Jeff wasn't there.

"So, Casey," Karen began, "what do you think of Vermont?"

Casey wheeled herself closer to Karen's chair. "I like it. I think Burlington's a nice city. And the drive up here was really pretty."

"Think you'd like to stay?"

Casey looked down at her lap. "I guess. If Dad can find a job and everything."

Quiet for a moment, Casey studied the fingernails of her right hand. Karen thought the girl was acting uncommonly shy. Clearly she wasn't interested in small talk.

"Karen . . ."

Karen gave her full attention. "What, hon?'

"Karen . . . can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"I'm . . . I'm worried about my dad."

"I know you are, Casey."

"There's more to all this than just changing jobs, isn't there?"

Karen shifted her position in the chair. Jeff had made a big deal about protecting Casey from the real reason he had made his impulsive trip to Vermont. But, in Karen's mind, the young woman had every right to know all the details, and all the possible dangers. From experience, professional and personal, Karen had learned that certain types of protection can be harmful. She didn't approve of Jeff's secrecy.

"You're right, of course, Casey. We've been silly to think you wouldn't notice our behavior and our late-night powwows. But this is tough for me because I really think it's up to your dad to fill you in.

"But—"

"When Jeff gets back, maybe right after supper, I think the three of us should have a family meeting, and—"

Karen stopped abruptly, self-conscious about her use of the word "family." On some level she was thinking of the three of them as a team. But a family? Why had the word tumbled out so easily . . . ?

"Karen?"

"Oh, sorry, Casey, I was drifting."

"That's okay; I know you're tired. But will you tell me just one more thing?"

"If I can, sure."

"Is Dad in some kind of trouble?"

Karen felt the blood rise to her face. At the same time she was aware of a rock-solid lump in her stomach. What could she say to a question like that? Yes, your father has fled Boston with national defense secrets and he can possibly be labeled a traitor? Yes, your father might well be a target for arrest and prosecution. Maybe even—

"Casey, I just can't lie to you, honey. And to me an evasive answer is no better than a lie. But look, the fact is, this is between your father and you—"

"I know! But he won't talk to me." Both her fists came down on the padded arms of her wheelchair. "All he ever does is treat me like a kid. Ever since Mom died and I ended up in this chair . . . . It's like he's put me up on a pedestal or something. It's like I'm not a real person anymore. It's like—"

"I know, sweetie. He's scared for you just like you're scared for him. Let me tell you this for now: Jeff not only left his job at the Academy, he took something from there. A videotape. He did it because he really believes the Academy is"— She groped for the right word,—"misrepresenting itself to the public. And your dad thinks the Academy is into some . . . well"—the picture of the naked prisoner convulsing in the torturer's chair jumped unbidden into her mind,—"some highly unethical activities. He needed the tape as proof. What your father did, he did because he is a good and honest man, and he accepts that it is his personal responsibility to do everything he can to set something right . . . ."

As Karen's voice trailed off, her own words echoed in her ears, suddenly demanding all her attention. It was as if she'd revealed a great truth to herself. Yes, Jeff was a good and honest man. And that's exactly why she felt as she did about him. All at once she knew how very special he was.

"We'll talk about it when he gets home, I promise. Is that all right, Casey?"

Two forward thrusts on the wheels moved Casey to the side of Karen's chair. At exactly the same instant, each reached out for the other's hand.

A
t his room in the Radisson Hotel, Ian "Skipp" McCurdy turned away from the lake-view panorama and pulled the cord, closing the heavy drapes over the wide western window.

The room was in semidarkness. The air conditioner hummed. Wisps of cigarette smoke curled and drifted.

He sat down at the desk and opened what appeared to be a black leather briefcase.

Built into the top was a nine-by-fourteen inch liquid crystal display screen. Two thirds of the bottom was a keyboard. The other third was a powerful transmitter and receiver. McCurdy stretched an antenna that looked very much like a numberless metal tape measure. It extended about four feet from the side of the unit. Then he squared himself in his seat before the keyboard and hit the ON switch.

The outline of a hand with a truncated little finger appeared on the lavender screen. The moment he placed his left hand upon the image, he knew a confirmation signal was bouncing off a satellite miles above Burlington. Instantly, he was communicating with Bubb at the Academy In Boston.

When he took his hand away, its hazy outline remained. In the center of the electronic palm a message said:

MCCURDY VERIFIED

McCurdy typed:

* installed at burlington, vt., ready

LOCATION VERIFIED.

THANK YOU, DOCTOR MCCURDY.

The words winked at him, then vanished. New words rapidly appeared, faster than he could read them:

YOU ARE IN THE PROXIMITY

OF YOUR OBJECTIVE.

THE SACRIFICE YOU ARE ABOUT TO MAKE

IS OF TREMENDOUS VALUE AND IMPORTANCE.

ARE YOU READY TO PROCEED,

DOCTOR MCCURDY?

YES

NO

McCurdy hit the "1" on his numeric keypad.

YOUR RESPONSE IS NOTED.

DOCTOR MCCURDY,

I MUST INFORM YOU THAT

BEGINNING NOW

WE WILL MAKE USE OF

A FASTER AND MORE DIRECT

FORM OF COMMUNICATION.

ARE YOU READY TO PROCEED,

DOCTOR MCCURDY?

YES

NO

McCurdy's finger hesitated, hovering above the "1" on the numeric keypad. A faster and more direct form of communication? What could that be? His imagination was fired, his curiosity piqued.

McCurdy clicked his tongue—'Tch, tch, tch."—hoping he wasn't due for another run in with some soulless street person like that disgusting garbageman he had killed.

Well, here goes nothing
, he thought.

With a quick cavalier toss of the head, he pressed the key.

WHACK!

It was as if he had thrown a switch releasing a million volts of electricity into his body.

He bucked.

Legs jerked. Spine straightened. Instantly, rigid as a board, he snapped like a spring from the chair.

Paralyzing bolts of electrical pain coursed up and down his sides. The back of his head felt as if it might erupt like a volcano.

Blinking convulsively, he found himself on the floor, his tongue pressed against the pile of the carpet. Brilliant specks, tiny white stars, floated like dust in the darkened room.

He shook his head as if he had just surfaced from a dive. Then he laughed.

His body felt wonderful! Energized! Perfect!

His nerves were the strings of a celestial harp on which an angel played divine music. Beauty embraced him. Rushing blood sang in his veins.

And a voice spoke clearly in his mind. "I am with you now, Doctor McCurdy."

F
rom across the room, Karen glared at Jeff. Neither spoke. In the uncomfortable silence she could hear Casey's sobs beyond the closed door of the guest room.

Jeff picked up the last piece of pizza from the box. Paused when it was halfway to his mouth, then threw it down with a look of disgust. He stood up. "It was a big mistake coming here; I can see that now! A big fucking mistake."

Karen crossed her arms. "No it wasn't, Jeff. It was the right thing to do under the circumstances. What's wrong is the way you keep trying to play God with us."

"Play God! I—"

"Yes. Right. You show up here, unannounced, and drop this whole thing in my lap. Okay. Fine. I can handle it. At least you told me what the risks are. But what about Casey? You dragged her along, right into the thick of things, and you didn't so much as tell her what she's getting into. That's not fair, Jeff. Think about it!"

"Not fair! I'm doing what's best for her, considering what we're up against. She shouldn't—"

"Shouldn't what, Jeff? You've kept her completely in the dark, yet you expect her to obey silently and not ask any questions. Come on, she's too smart for that. Casey's a very intelligent young woman. She has a right to know what's going on. And you . . . and you . . ."

Karen felt her voice cracking. She was afraid she was about to lose it and start crying. Somehow, she managed to hold on and charge ahead. "Jeff, you just don't have any right to control the flow of information like . . . like . . . like some censor, or dictator or something. That's where all this started, isn't it? With you objecting because the Academy refuses to be straightforward about what they're doing? You said people need to know . . . have a right to know, for their own protection, remember? Yet you're doing exactly the same thing with Casey. And now you're angry at me because I said all three of us should talk about it."

"You were siding with Casey against me."

"Siding? What are you talking about? I'm not on anyone's side. Are we choosing up sides here?"

"How I raise my daughter is up to me; it's not your business. Karen."

"It was my business the minute you walked into my life with all this high-tech horror of yours. Jeff, listen: all three of us are in this together. Right now, right this minute. And you're the one who put us here, remember? At least you told me about the potential dangers involved—I should think you owe as much to Casey . . . ."

"Naw. No way." Jeff turned his back. "This is too much for that kid to handle. She's—"

"It's too much for any of us to handle. But we're stuck with it. I know you want to protect her, Jeff. So do I. But this isn't the way to do it. She can better protect herself if she has some idea what we're up against."