Close Up the Sky (16 page)

Williams nodded. "The
camouflage clothes probably kept the helicopter patrols from spotting him during
the day," he said.

"That's
right," Leahy responded. "But he must have had a supply pack. Let's
take a look around."

As they began
their search, the noise of a helicopter became audible in the distance. They
looked in that direction and watched as the chopper homed in on their fire. When
it reached the area, a bright searchlight cut the darkness and played over the
campsite. The chopper circled a couple of times before the light illuminated
the place where they were standing.

They shielded
their eyes from the glare as a speaker blared out: "This is a United
States military aircraft. Drop the weapon immediately and lie face down on the
ground! Spread your arms and legs apart and do not move!"

Leahy threw the
gun down and dropped to his knees, but Williams remained standing, glaring up
at the light. "For God's sake, Chuck, get down!" he shouted over the
noise. The urgency in his voice convinced Williams to obey. He dropped down
beside Leahy and they both stretched out on the sand, arms and legs spread.

The pilot settled
the gunship to the ground and two Marines with automatic rifles jumped out. They
ran to where the two men lay and trained their weapons on them. A young
lieutenant came in right behind them. He shined a light in their faces, and
then recognized Williams.

"Captain
Williams, sir!" he shouted in surprise. "You men get those weapons
down!" he ordered the two Marines.

After Leahy and
Williams got to their feet, the officer saluted and said, "Lieutenant
Greenwald, sir. We saw your flare."

"Have your men
secure the area, Lieutenant," Williams shouted over the noise of the
helicopter. "Spread out in a wide pattern. We've had some serious problems
here and I want to make sure there are no other people in the area."

Greenwald gave the
order and the two Marines started up the slope. While they were gone Williams
gave the officer a brief report on what had happened. One of the Marines
returned a couple of minutes later with the sniper's pack and bedroll.

"There’s a
dead man just up the hill, but no one else in the area, sir. We found this just
over the rise," he reported, holding out the gear.

Leahy took the
pack from him and dumped the contents out in a pile. Other than the expected
food items and assorted camping paraphernalia, it held nothing of importance. Next
he searched the side pockets and removed a partial box of .223 caliber
ammunition. There was also a folded topographic map. He opened it and Williams
trained the flashlight on it. Several square inches near the center had been
highlighted with a yellow marker.

Williams traced
the colored section with his finger. "We should be about here," he
pointed to a spot inside the yellow area. "In fact, this colored part is
basically the same one I marked out for Colonel Pope as the location we'd be
using for your training."

Leahy shot him a
sideways look and said, "Who else besides Colonel Pope knew where we'd
be?"

"Beats
me," Williams answered. "When I carried the map over to the colonel's
office, the desk security officer told me that he wasn't available. I left it
for him in a sealed envelope. I had no idea it might be a security risk." He
paused and looked at Leahy. His mouth dropped open as the implication of what
they were talking about dawned on him. "You don't think Pope had anything
to do
with……."

"Maybe
not," Leahy cut him off. "But somebody sure as hell did." He put
the map inside one of the L-suit's pockets and turned to Greenwald. "Lieutenant,
have your men get that body and our equipment into the chopper." His voice
had the tone of someone accustomed to giving orders, and the Marines moved to
obey him.

"Let's get out of here, Chuck," he said to Williams. "We've
got things to do." He picked up the rifle and they walked to the
helicopter.

Leahy relaxed in
one of the big, over-stuffed chairs in his quarters. His wound had been
cleaned, bandaged and diagnosed as not serious by one of the military doctors. He
was currently working on his second glass of Canadian whiskey. Taylor, dressed
in a yellow silk blouse and white pants, sat on the sofa across from him, her
face a classic study in anxiety. They were waiting on Williams, who was still
in the infirmary having his ribs taped. The impact of the bullet had indeed
fractured two of them. Durant had also been notified and was on his way to meet
with them.

"Are you
certain you're alright?" Taylor asked for the second time since they had
left the infirmary.

"I'm
okay," he answered. "It's just a little scratch."

He gazed at her,
sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped between her knees. While he and
Williams were in the desert he had spent considerable time thinking about her. Though
neither of them had done or said anything to indicate that there was more
between them than friendship, he knew that things he had once thought dead were
being reborn. A physical attraction to someone of her beauty could be expected,
but his feelings now transcended that. There was a quality about her that he
found difficult to explain. It was nothing you could put into words; it was
just one of those inexplicable things that you
felt
. Danger signals had been sounding inside his head since the
first day he met her, and he had slowly been losing a self-imposed war of
resistance. Just being near her created a whirlwind of emotions that he was
finding impossible to suppress.

He had been
married once, years ago, but long hours on the job and an uncertain
life-or-death future had taken their toll on the relationship. He was over the
shattering heartbreak he had experienced when she walked out on him, but the
searing memory remained just beneath the surface. The desolation and loneliness
he had felt following their divorce was not something he was anxious to repeat.
It had taught him to be cautious with his emotions, never to allow himself the
luxury of anything more than a casual relationship with the women in his life. Yet
here was someone he had known less than two weeks and already she commanded a
huge share of his thoughts. It was a potentially dangerous situation, but he
found himself liking it. He could not put reason to it, but he knew there was
something special about her. They had worked together almost constantly, and
had spent their evenings relaxing and talking about every subject imaginable. There
was nothing profound in their talks; they did not solve any of the mysteries of
the universe. It was just conversation between two people who seemed never to
run out of something to say. Whenever he had occasion to touch her, he felt a
warm current flow through him. In his heart he knew where his feelings were
going, but he feared to communicate them to her except in very subtle ways. For
reasons he had never understood, most women found him attractive; but he had
always been too afraid to pursue close relationships with any of them. His
diffidence with women was worse where Taylor was concerned. With her, he saw
himself as a frog swimming in a pond with a swan. But now, after one attempt on
his life and only God knew what was to come, he had to know if she felt the
same. The whiskey was giving him the courage to broach the subject, but caution
remained strong. He did not think he could stand another rejection, especially
from her. He stared down at the ice in his glass and swirled it around.

"There's
something I've been meaning to ask you," he said in a low voice.

"What?" She
moved a little further toward the edge of the sofa, her lips slightly parted.

"If it's none
of my business, just say so."

"What is
it?"

"The
policeman back at the airport, Ryan Pierce."

"What about
him?"

"Like I said,
if it's none of my business just tell me." He took another sip of the
whiskey.

"Ask!" She
held her arms toward him, palms up.

"Is there
anything between you two?" It was not exactly the way he had planned to
ask her, it just came out that way. “I
mean……are
you
more than just friends?”

She sat there looking
at him for a few seconds before she answered. Her lips formed a half smile as
the emerald eyes searched his face for what seemed to him an eternity. The
delayed response elicited a feeling of dread in him; he could feel the
stillness of his body, barely breathing, wishing he had not broached the
subject.

Finally, she
nodded and said, "Yes there is, Matt, but not the way I think you mean. I've
known Ryan for years. His sister, Kathy, and I were best friends in college. In
fact, she recommended me for my position here at Apache Point. When I got the
job and moved to New Mexico she and Ryan helped me get settled. They sort of
adopted me you might say. That's what made it so hard when I had to tell him
about Kathy." She hesitated, deep in thought, as though dredging up some
terrible memory.

"What about
her?" Leahy prompted in a gentle voice.

"I should
have told you about it before now, but the right time just didn't present
itself." She bit her lower lip,
then
said,
"She was one of the agents murdered in the Valley of the Kings. I was the
one who had to tell Ryan she was dead."

Leahy felt his
stomach twist into a knot. Her words triggered the memory of the nightmare he
had experienced his first night at Apache Point. An image of the three corpses
from the dream flashed through his mind. He remembered the woman reaching out
to him as though in supplication, a silent, agonized plea for help from across
the centuries. Her face had never been clear, only the hole where the bullet
had pierced her skull. Taylor's best friend! He felt a flood of relief that he
had not mentioned it to her before. He reached out and touched her hand.

"I'm sorry,
Taylor," he said softly. "That must have been devastating for you. Does
Ryan know the circumstances?"

“Officially, he
thinks she died in a plane crash at sea, her body never recovered, but I doubt
he believes it. He knew she was involved in top-secret work, so he didn't push
me for details. I’m not sure I could have kept from telling him the truth if he
had questioned me about it."

She took his hand and
squeezed it. "You just make sure I don't lose anyone else." She moved
from the sofa and sat on the edge of his chair, staring into his eyes for a
moment. At last she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. It was gentle and
sweet, and he drank in the warmth of her breath. "Don’t you know by now
that I'm in love with you, Matt Leahy?"

At her words, the
floodgates of his heart burst and he knew he could not hold anything back. He
was about to tell her his own feelings when they were interrupted by a knock at
the door. He squeezed her hand in return and went to answer it.

It was Williams
and Durant. "I picked this young man up at the infirmary, Matt," said
Durant after they were inside. "Doctor Fields says he'll be fine, just a
little sore for a while. How are you feeling?" There was genuine concern
in the old man's voice.

"I'm okay,
sir," Leahy responded.

"Well, Matt,
I see you don't
always
keep bad
company," Williams observed when he saw Taylor. They had not met until
now, and his remark made her blush.

Leahy introduced
them, and then gave Durant a report on what had transpired in the desert. The
physicist sat down and listened closely to his recount of the shooting,
particularly the part concerning the map. When he had finished, Durant shook
his head in bewilderment.

"It's almost
inconceivable that this could have happened,” he said, shaking his head. “You've
seen the degree of security we employ here. How could anyone breech it so
effectively?"

"He obviously
had help," Leahy responded. He produced the map taken from the sniper's
pack. "Captain Williams says he marked our planned training location for
Colonel Pope before we left. The one he marked for the colonel is identical to
the one on this map,” he held it out to Durant. “We took it from the gunman's
pack."

Durant took the
map and held it close to his eyes. With a touch of pathos, Leahy noted that the
old scientist's hands were trembling. He studied the map in silence for
awhile
then shook his head.

"You're sure
no one else was present when you laid out your training area?" he asked
Williams.

“No one else was
present, sir,” Williams answered. “I don't mean to imply that the colonel had
anything to do with what happened, but as far as I know he was the only one who
knew. I left the map at the security desk in a sealed envelope with the
colonel’s name on it.”

"There must
be some other explanation," Durant offered. "None of the operation
here has been withheld from Colonel Pope. It would be impractical to place
limits on the chief of security. He's known about our plan to enlist your help
from its inception, Matt. If he'd wanted to stop us he could have used his
authority to do it. There would be no reason for him to be involved in anything
like this."

"Then he must
have told someone else," Leahy responded. "Let's get him over here
and find out."

Durant shook his
head and let out a long breath. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips to
relieve the stress he was feeling. "He would never have revealed
confidential information to anyone," he said. "And I'm afraid it will
be impossible to speak with him at the moment."

"Why?"
Leahy asked.

"The colonel
was hospitalized five days ago, just before Captain Williams arrived. The
doctors think it's a stroke. He's been in a coma ever since."

The words had the
effect of a concussion bomb. Leahy felt a chill run down his spine. He sat
there staring at Durant, too stunned to speak, but his mind was working at top
speed trying to correlate this new development with the other facts. With the
sniper unidentified and the rifle probably untraceable, Pope was the only
prospect of finding a kink in the deadly chain of events unfolding at Apache
Point. If he died before regaining consciousness, that chain might never be
broken. The stroke may have been only a coincidence, but it was damned
convenient. He was not sufficiently versed in forensic medicine to know if such
a thing could be artificially induced, but he intended to find out. There had
already been three murders in the Valley of the Kings and two attempted ones in
the New Mexico desert. Whoever was behind them was clearly someone with access
to top-secret areas and had the knowledge to bypass the tight security measures
in place around the facility. The sabotage of the Chronocom and the
assassination attempt by the sniper provided proof beyond any reasonable doubt.
In addition, his police experience told him that they were not dealing with
amateurs. The sequence of events so far had been too tightly woven for that. In
spite of their best efforts to cover themselves, amateurs always left some
evidence behind. This time there had been none. The sniper was dead, and if
Pope died from the stroke, the only obvious link to the conspiracy would be
gone.