Soon (10 page)

White jeans, white shirt, white cowboy hat. Everyone else was flamboyantly dressed, so the figure didn’t even stand out at the Houston Cheetah Racetrack. The gleaming glass-and-steel structure south of the city was a giant, modernistic bowl with three tiers of tracks, hundreds of betting windows, and seats for the tens of thousands who came to watch the exotically beautiful, fastest-running land creatures in the world.

Ringing the seats and tracks were gardens interspersed with a range of restaurants, from Houston’s finest to humbler tourist haunts. At precisely eight o’clock the figure in white found a table at one of the latter, Horatio’s House of Ribs, and ordered a full slab, coleslaw, potato salad, and a black cow. Waiting for his food, the figure turned over the paper “Texas History Quiz” place mat and began to jot the day’s events: the brutal killing of Stephen Lloyd; the roughnecks’ detention at the Sardis Oil field; the unknown whereabouts of its owner, the well-known magnate Donny Johnson; and the second mysterious conflagration.

When the food came, the place mat was right side up, and the figure was checking off answers to the multiple-choice quiz questions.

When the white-clad figure was gone, the place mat was left folded in half, quiz side up—all filled in, every fact correct—with the empty soda glass placed directly over a picture of Spindletop and enough cash to cover the bill.

Before dawn every media outfit in the state had a helicraft circling the Sardis Oil field, capturing the striking image of the two white columns of flame against the dark sky. Newscasts around the world led with the story: “Texas Mystery: Twin Pillars of Fire.”

10

PAUL FELT
conflicting sensations and dreamed strange dreams. At times he felt afire. Moments later he shook uncontrollably from cold. He was vaguely aware when he was jostled, moved, lifted, settled, strapped. He heard voices but couldn’t make them out. He was aware of crying out in pain; then another compressed air injection brought the floating, mellow feeling, rendering him so drowsy he felt he could sleep forever.

The image of a blast of white light was implanted on his brain. Whenever he roused, it jolted him
. Soot. Can’t breathe.
Smoke. The exploding well. The white gusher.
Terror.

He was moved from a vehicle and was now outside. His skin was so tender he wanted to scream, but he could not make a sound. He was covered, but cold wind sliced through him to the bone. Now he was on a gurney, rolling over uneven ground. On a ramp. Bumping, almost tipping. Whining engine sounds. An airport? A plane? Was he going home?

More voices. Someone was referred to as Doctor and Doc. Were they talking to Paul himself? He could not respond. Another injection and sweet relief. Drifting, drifting . . . and hewas gone into dreams of his family. Jae and Brie and Connor embracing him, welcoming him home. Driving to work, but Felicia was now his boss. Then she was in flames, and the Chicago bureau’s building crashed into the river.

When Paul awoke, his head was clearer, his senses acute. His eyes were bandaged snugly, and he felt gauze circling his head. His scalp was cold, and he was sure his hair was gone. Unmistakable hospital smells. The heavy padded steps of thick-soled shoes.

Paul felt the clear, irritating pain of an IV shunt in his right hand. His lips were cracked and dry, but when he licked them he tasted petroleum jelly. An oxygen feed irritated his nostrils. He swallowed and tried to clear his throat. Paul’s whole body ached, and though he sensed he had not moved in hours, he was sleepy.

“Water.”

But no one was there. He felt for a button, but through the tape he couldn’t make out anything.

“Where am I?” he tried, louder.

Someone hurried in. The voice of a young woman. “Are you awake, Dr. Stepola?”

“Am I in Houston?”

“Oh no, sir. You’re in PSL Hospital in Chicago.”

“PSL?”

She sounded conspiratorial. “Well, years ago it was Presbyterian-St. Luke’s, but of course they don’t call it that anymore.”

She pressed a tiny sponge between his lips and he bit eagerly, sending cool water across his tongue and down his throat. He coughed. “More.”

“Slowly.”

“Is my hair gone?”

“I’ll get your doctor.”

“Tell me that. I can take it.”

“Temporarily, yes. And it looks rather striking, if I may say.”

“Am I burned?”

“You were.” He heard pages turning. “But you were lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“You had on a hat and mask. Your hands were inside your sleeves. You must have used your arms to shield your face, except for the line from your eyes to your ears.”

“What about my eyes?”

Her hesitation pierced him. “I’ll have to get your doctor. He wanted to know when you were conscious anyway.”

She gave him a little more water and hurried out. Within minutes he heard two sets of footsteps.

“Hey, Paul!” It was Koontz. “You are one tough customer. I’m starting to think you’ve got nine lives.”

“Not funny, Bob.”

“It’s no joke, buddy. Listen, your wife and your father-in-law will be in to see you soon. And when you’re ready for it, the kids, of course.”

“Bob—”

“This is Dr. Raman Bihari—a top eye specialist who will also oversee your general care.”

Paul felt a hand laid gently on his left biceps. “Dr. Stepola?” A male Indian accent.

“Yes. What’s wrong with my eyes? I want the truth.”

“I will be very frank with you about your vision. After your burns were assessed and treated, I performed a procedure that allowed me access to your eyes. Your lids had been badly burned, but fortunately, technology has advanced to where we believe they will look and function normally.”

“I’m less concerned aboutmyeyelids thanmyeyes, frankly—”

“Of course, and so am I. The truth is that you apparently took actual flame directly into your pupils in both eyes. There is considerable damage that may only be able to be rectified through transplant surgery. But the body is an amazing self-healing mechanism. My plan is to monitor you carefully, but keep your eyes medicated and covered for approximately two months to see how much natural restoration may take place on its own. Then we will decide on surgery.”

“But for now I’m blind?”

“With or without the bandages, yes, sir.”

“What’s your best guess about my vision returning?”

The doctor drew in a long breath. “I hesitate to speculate. . . .”

“Tell me.”

“My guess is that there is a better than 90 percent chance that you will require transplant surgery in order to have any return of vision.”

“Then why not just do that now?”

“The odds against success would be just as bad if we didn’t wait for your body to heal the retinal area itself.”

“And if it doesn’t do that?”

“Even the transplant surgery would be futile.”

“Tell me. How common is it that the body heals itself enough to make transplant surgery viable in cases like mine?”

“I’m sorry. It is very rare. I never give up hope because you never know, and as I say, the body is amazing. But it is very possible that nothing more can be done.”

“What will I be able to see? Fuzzy images? Shadows? Anything?”

“Without significant restoration, you would not be aware even of shades of light.”

Dr. Bihari called in help so Paul could get out of bed. Paul had heard of the other senses becoming hyperacute when one went blind or deaf, but he was astounded at how quickly this manifested itself. It was as if he could hear everything on the floor. He was also supersensitive to touch and felt the draft under his gown.

He immediately became demanding. “I need a robe. I’m not going another step in this getup.”

A few minutes later he was changed and back in bed. “Bob, get everybody else out of here and shut the door.”

“You want to wait and talk when Jae and your father-in-law—?”

“Do I sound like I want to wait?”

Paul made him pull a chair close. “Bob, I want to know what happened in Gulfland.”

“You have a right to know. Another oil well caught fire. Johnson’s chauffeur said Johnson went to check it out but never came back. You tied a rope around your waist before you went out into the smoke to save him. That was good thinking, because then the well blew. The chauffeur was trying to drag you back when fire rescue showed up. They followed the rope and found you. After the docs got you stabilized, we flew you back here. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for about a week.”

“What happened to Johnson?”

“Didn’t make it. Smoke inhalation.”

“I let him go out there, Bob. I should have stopped him.”

“We know from Tick that he had a gun and he’d just beaten a man to death. Suicide is not in your job description. You did the right thing.”

“Tick told you what led up to it?”

“He said you were sweating a suspect when the horn went off.” Koontz hesitated. “Tell you the truth, Tick is catching major heat on this one. The word leaked about the second well. It was all over the news even before Johnson’s body was found. And of course, a death like that couldn’t be kept quiet. Half the country seems to think this is some kind of miracle, and the other half wants to fire the entire NPO for failing to foresee and prevent terrorism. People upstairs believe Tick botched this. He’s been encouraged to take a leave of absence.”

“What a mess.”

“He’s got a daughter to visit in Australia. But he’s really torn up about Johnson’s death and about you. Your injuries, I mean.”

“I don’t want his pity. Yours either.”

“Easy. All I’m saying is that people care.”

“Caring won’t bring my sight back.”

“Paul, you’re getting tired.” He heard Koontz stand and move his chair. His voice came from farther away now. “Get some rest before Jae gets here.”

“It bothers you that I’m angry? Losing my whole life—job and everything—shouldn’t upset me?”

“Paul, it’s going to take time to adjust. I don’t blame you for how you feel. I want to help. I’ll spend every off-hour here, if that’s what it takes. And don’t worry about your job. No matter what, there’s a place for you in my shop.”

“Yeah, right.”

Paul wanted to think rather than sleep, but he couldn’t bear the pain. When he was given medication he slept soundly. He awoke early that afternoon, still trapped in darkness but feeling the warmth of the sun through the window, even through his bandages.

“Hey there, chief.” It was Ranold. Why did everyone feel they had to sound jolly for him? “I’ve got a young lady here who’d like to see you.”

“Jae?”

“Hi, honey.” She stepped close. “I’ve been so scared. I’m so glad you’re going to be all right.”

“I’m not going to be all right. There’s almost no chance I’ll ever be able to see again.”

“The doctor said that?”

“Don’t believe me? Ask him. There are things they can try, but it will take time.”

“How much time?”

“At least two months. I’ll be here awhile.”

“Well,” Ranold said, “I think we should hear it from the doctor. Let’s get him in here. What’s his name?”

“Bihari.”

“What kind of a name is that?” Ranold said.

“Indian.”

“Great. They can’t even give a government agent an American doctor?”

“He sounds knowledgeable.”

“Yeah? Well, they all talk a good game.”

A few minutes later, Dr. Bihari was forthright with Jae and Ranold about Paul’s prospects. Paul heard Jae crying.

“Turn off the waterworks,” Paul said, “and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Oh, Paul, this just makes me so sad. I know you’re strong enough to cope with this, but it will be hard—”

“Hard for whom? I’m the one who’s blind. You’re only making me feel worse.”

“Paul, I’m not up to fighting. I’m just overwhelmed and sorry—”

“You’re
overwhelmed?”

Paul heard her leave the room, sobbing.

“Dr. Stepola,” Dr. Bihari said gently, “situations like this affect the whole family. Everyone will have feelings they need to express, but that doesn’t mean they will be unwilling or unable to support you. And you may need that support.”

“Spare me,” Paul said.

“I’m just saying that even a strong man uses all his resources, including his family.”

Paul shook his head, sighing. “Ranold, would you tell Jae I’m sorry?”

“No you don’t,” Ranold said. “Believe me, I’ve learned the hard way that women don’t want to be chased down in a situation like this. She’ll pull herself together. Now, Doctor, thank you. If you would excuse us . . .”

When they were alone, Ranold shut the door and pulled a chair next to Paul’s bed. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you a real doctor, a specialist.”

“Bihari
is
a specialist, and I don’t want anyone else. He tells me they’re going to use freezing techniques, synthetic skin, laser debridement of the burned areas, the whole bit. Now please, get Jae back in here.”

“Trust me on this, Paul. I know these things.”

Yeah. I can tell from your own stellar marriage.

“Women are emotional,” Ranold said. “It can take them a while to grasp the big picture.”

“Which is?”

“That we should all admire you, Son, for risking your life in the line of duty. You got knocked around in San Francisco, of course, but you didn’t know a bomb was in that house. This time you knowingly stuck your neck out to save a man—that’s what it means to be a soldier. You’ve paid a terrible price, Paul. That makes me proud.”

Proud? Going blind is what it takes to impress you?
“Well, I didn’t save him.”

“You tried, and that’s what counts. Don’t worry. Jae’s going to come around.”

Where is she, anyway?

“And we’re going to get the terrorists who did this to you. You can jump right back into the fight when you’re better. The agency will always need a mind like yours.”

“Don’t patronize me, Ranold. That’s the same line Koontz fed me.”

“Don’t be so negative, Paul. You’re an expert on these religious fanatics.”

I don’t understand them at all.

“If nothing else, this should strengthen your resolve to stamp them out. That alone is going to make you a major asset to the agency. And I feel more sure of you now than ever.”

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, Paul, it’s no secret you and I have always been a little at odds. And then Pass died, the funeral . . .”

“What about it?”
So you did plant that letter.

“I wasn’t sure how seriously you took the threat. But your work with the task force has shown me the kind of man you are. Now, is there anything you need, or should I just let you sleep?”

“You know, there is something. Can you get me the New Testament on disc? There’s a lot I’m trying to figure out about these terrorists—what they believe, how they think.”

“That’s the spirit. Stay focused. I’ve been there. Revenge can be a real motivator. I’ll see what I can do.”

Ranold returned a few minutes later and read a note from Jae. “‘Paul, I’m sorry this is so difficult for me. It hurts me to see you in pain and so angry. I need a little time, but I promise to try to be strong for you. I’ll bring the kids to see you soon. Meanwhile, know that my thoughts are with you.’”