Chapter 5
By the time they reached Salt Lake City, all of Chet's doubts were laid to rest. The night before Chet had shared Ivan's mind and at last saw there was nothing to fear from the man, instead he found a kindred soul, and someone he could care about. Not only that, he found he cared for Bart as well. The two were a part of each other, like two halves of a coin. He was rather envious of their closeness, their mental bond and the constant flow of communion they shared. He wished he could join in and while Ivan tried, that ability seemed just beyond his grasp. Chet could speak to Bart through Ivan and Ivan could project Bart's thoughts and feelings fully to Chet, yet there was not the same intensity or depth of feeling he experienced when communing directly with Ivan. Even though it lacked something, Chet still felt closer to Bart than to any other person alive, except Ivan, and he had yet to meet the man.
That finally happened when they parked in front of a small private hospital on 7th East Street. Ivan led the way through the lobby directly to Bart's room without interference from the nursing staff, in fact they didn't seem to notice the two men. Ivan's gift appeared extremely powerful at close range, Chet thought as he followed the man past
Bart looked wan, drawn and very ill. The disease had taken a heavy toll of the once robust man, yet his eyes lit up when he saw Ivan. They kissed. Ivan held his hand while introducing Chet. Bart tried to speak, only his throat hurt so badly he could not utter a word. Chet knew this from Ivan, the thoughts between the three flowed much easier now and Chet could feel Bart's pain.
"What do we do now?" Chet asked.
"Get a doctor in here." He stood quietly for a moment, and suddenly a young man appeared at the door.
"Hi Doctor Brown. I have a blood donor for Bart, would you please get it set up."
Chet expected some formality - papers or wavers demanded, but instead the doctor turned and called for a nurse. A few minutes later, Chet was lying on a gurney next to Bart and thinking maybe blood typing should be done first.
<Don't worry, you are one of those universal donor types, not 100% compatible with everyone, but close to it. I already checked into that . . .> Ivan's mental projection came to a halt.
<What's the matter?> Chet asked worriedly.
"MY GOD. Bart's lifeline just went out of sight! I can't see the end of it!"
Doctor Brown looked up distractedly, "What did you say?"
"Nothing, Sorry doctor, pay no attention to me." Brown returned to setting the flow.
<I can't believe it. It just shot out of sight. You've cured him, Chet! Not only that, you've transferred whatever it is you have. God, if Penn suspected it was this easy, he'd have the Army after you. >
<Are you sure it's a cure? > Chet harbored the thought that Bart might require regular transfusions to maintain his health.
<You're right. That might be what it means. I should know more in a few minutes. >
"One pint." The doctor said, "That's enough nurse." She pinched off the tubing and Brown pulled the needles free. Bart already looked better, color suffused his face and he thought to Ivan,
<I feel strange. It's like a fire in my veins warming me.> The soreness in his throat rapidly diminished and he could swallow without the raw painful feeling of just a few minutes ago He reached over and grasped Chet's hand,
"Thank you," he said in a hoarse voice, "Thank you . . ." He was still holding Chet's hand when a wave of tiredness came upon him and he fell asleep. Within Bart a sea change had began. Not yet noticeable to those looking on, it would take many months to complete, yet at that moment it was gnawing away at the cancer that was killing Bart.
Two hours later Bart awoke feeling far better. Chet's blood coursed through his veins, multiplying, filling him with an energy he hadn't felt in months. Chet and Ivan were still with him, Chet on the next bed asleep, Ivan, napping in the chair. Bart watched the men sleep; the one he loved above all else and the one who had just saved his life. Ivan had said this would come about and like all things Ivan promised, it came true. He was getting well, he could feel the cure working inside him like a fire racing through the damaged tissues of his body, not painful, only purifyingly hot.
The two weeks that Ivan spent back east were longest weeks of Bart's life, even though he was in constant in constant touch with him, seeing what Ivan saw, delving through Chet's memories as Ivan passed them on to him. From his bed of pain Bart saw that Chester, like himself had buried his true identity within the veneer of acceptable behavior. The demands of society can kill the souls of those not able to fit in, he thought. We become but smeared carbon copies of an impossible ideal.
Chet stirred. His eyes opened to find Bart smiling at him from the adjoining bed and he suddenly realized Bart was only good looking, not spectacularly handsome, yet in Ivan's mind, the man had seemed almost impossible so. Every little detail, the hairy chest, the strong, muscular body, even the thinning hair, the chipped tooth and the smooth mole on Bart's face took on a different aspect when viewed through Ivan's memories. It was disturbing and yet beautiful and Chet at last realized why Ivan refrained from doing deep reads at random. By now he must have hundreds of those comparisons in his mind and thousands of views of what others saw. Handling two was difficult enough for Chet. How does Ivan stand it, he wondered.
"How are you feeling?" Chet asked
"Much better." Bart's voice was stronger. "I could sit up if you would hand me the bed control," he, indicated the cord hanging just out of reach. Before Chet could move, the bed began to rise on its own accord. Ivan was awake.
<It's still there! I can't see the end of it. > His first thoughts were of Bart's lifeline.
"So, what do we do now? We can't have a spontaneous cure listed in the hospital records." Chet replied.
"What say, we get the hell out of here. I'm weak, but I can travel. I think all I need now is food and rest."
"OK Babe," Ivan said, "Where do you want to go?"
"Vegas, of course," Bart replied with a smile, "We could use some traveling money. Besides, where else can we get a plush, luxury hotel suite for so little? Jesus, but I'm tired of hospital rooms!"
Chet laughed. He knew precisely the feeling.
They left the staff with the impression that Bart had died that evening and that the Plymouth minivan was really a hearse. The records would show those facts even if though the funeral home listed could not verify them. That should be enough Ivan thought, since no one was looking for Bart anyway.
When they reached Vegas, Bart was able to stand for a short while. Hour by hour he was getting stronger and after a few days of superb meals and exercising in the hotel pool, he felt well enough for a foray into the casinos. With the lesson of their fiasco at the Black Jack table behind them, they stuck to the slots. Ivan was slowly gaining a more precise control over machinery. Before, where he could fuse a battery, or make an engine quit he now could force a payoff on a slot, not every time, but enough to turn the odds in their favor. He didn't try for jackpots, that would have brought in the local IRS agents, but consistent, minor wins do add up. In four weeks they amassed $100,000 in smallish winnings from casinos throughout the city. They were well on their way to their set goal of a half million and Ivan could detect no interest in them or the losses. Bart looked healthy again, a little thin, but gaining fast. Much had transpired in those weeks. The three now shared more than memories, more than the acknowledgment that they all needed to disappear for awhile, they now shared the bed as well. How that came about not even Ivan could say, it just happened one night and all three found it a natural enhancement to the memories they shared. Chet was overwhelmed by the experience and he especially liked how Ivan could intensify a sexual encounter. Under his influence an orgasm lasted not for mere seconds, but for minutes, it just seemed to go on and on.
Sex had never been more satisfying for Chet, except perhaps for his few years with Jim. That affair had truly been the high point of his life and even now he sometimes imagined Jim was still alive, not dead these last 25 years. Chet still dreamed about Jim, could still see his smile, those white even teeth set in a face the color of midnight. What a gorgeous man he was, at fifty he was still perfection, still deadly handsome. Chet unrolled that first encounter in his mind. They met at a rest area and Chet had been awed by the man's beauty, overwhelmed by the fact that Jim came on to him. They sat in his car until sunup, talking, necking, getting each other off time after time. Chet could still visualize it to the tiniest detail. Everything about Jim was spectacular, from the fullness of his lips to the smooth blackness of his manhood, the skin stretched so thin it looked almost transparent, the taste of him, so delightfully different from others he had know. It wasn't simply sex that brought them together, it had to be more because it didn't end with sex. Love at first sight might describe what Chet felt and perhaps that could be said for Jim as well. The next day Jim phoned, saying he had decided to move to Greenville permanently and asked if Chet would help him find a house. Chet still could hear the nuances in his warm, mellow southern accent. That day as he waited for Jim, he felt like a kid anticipating Christmas.
They looked, Jim bought and for the next three years, Jim became the center of Chet's life. It was 1973, the sexual revolution in full swing. The boys were gone, and Ivy was involved with a man ten years younger than she was. She and Chet had spoken of divorce, only neither had gotten around to do anything about it, they just went their own way, not interfering with each other. Chet spent every non-working minute with Jim, Ivy with her boyfriend and they seldom saw each other except at family functions. For Chet it wasn't just sex that drew him to Jim, It was the pleasure they found in each other's company. The movies, the books the restaurants they shared, the weekend fishing trips, hiking, holding hands, but mostly it was a feeling that they belonged together, that life with Jim was life complete. The day before Jim died, Chet awoke wrapped in those warm arms, feeling so comfortable he didn't want to move. It was a Saturday, the sun beaming brightly through the window. Chet and Ivy had again spoken of divorce and he was about to mention it when Jim asked,
"Will you always remember us like this, Love?"
"Is water wet? Is the Pope catholic?" He chided, "What a silly question."
Jim pulled him close and for awhile they lay in the pure contentment of two souls in perfect harmony. Then Ivy called. Their oldest boy had been involved in a car accident in Ft. Wayne. If Chet hadn't panicked, if he had only called Ft. Wayne first, he would have learned that John's injuries were minor. Instead he and Ivy drove down there harboring the fear that John was on the brink of death. When he came back on Tuesday, it was Jim who had died - his body already shipped back to Texas for burial. No funeral, no closure for Chet, just gone from his life forever. The memory of that last day still haunted him. Did Jim have a premonition that morning? Why would he ask that when he already knew the answer?
It took years for Chet to recover, years in which he grew older and perhaps a little wiser. AIDS came on the scene, a frightening specter which quelled the urges that ran his life before meeting Jim, yet it wasn't simply the fear of AIDS that kept him from the prowl, it was the realization that no one could take Jim's place. Ivy's affair ended as well and the two settled into a life bereft of joy. They hung on to their long dead marriage only because being with someone was better than being alone.
I'm no longer alone, Chet realized. He hadn't felt that emptiness since meeting Ivan and somehow the lack of it brought back all those memories of Jim, and stranger yet, a zest for sex that he hadn't felt in years. Everywhere he looked he saw desirable men, yet none quite as desirable as Ivan and Bart. Even as he played the slots, his mind drifted back to them and increasingly to memories of Jim. For some reason it always led back to Jim . . .
During the day they played the slots, building their ever-growing fund. Nights they allowed themselves the pleasures of great food, star studded shows and spectacular sex in a threesome of never ending delights. It became a joining where Ivan no longer pushed the envelope, it wasn't necessary. Perhaps we are each doing it individually, he thought, or maybe we just don't need it anymore. That's how it happened with him and Bart. Unconsciously they fed each other's emotions and now the same thing was happening with Chet. Love and lust are sometimes hard to separate he mused. Ivan checked Chet's surface thoughts. Yes it was there, but different than what he felt from Bart. Chet seemed to look upon Ivan and Bart as though they were one person, interchangeable. His thoughts of them contained a mixture of lust, friendship and caring and (longing?) Where did that come from, he wondered. Ah, Jim Locke, Chet's one true love. Strange, all these thoughts of Locke were new whereas before, Jim was just vague yearning connected to the past. He peered deeper, following the thread backward through time and found an area blocked off from the rest of Chet's mind, one that not even he could penetrate. A trauma? Trauma could wipe out memory, even wall off a terrifying experience. That Chet had loved Jim, and still did was very clear, but Ivan couldn't find an opening into the blank area. He scrolled through the memories of Jim and it slowly dawned on Ivan that they were incomplete. Missing were numerous mundane things like what Jim did for a living, the kind of car he drove, his birth date, all of which Chet surely must have known. In place of facts was a haze of emotion that surrounded the man. Finding an impenetrable block was a new experience for Ivan. Someday soon we will have to delve into it, he thought, if Chet is willing to try. He turned his mind to other things. Their first goal was accumulating the half million they needed to disappear and so toward that end, Ivan increased the odds a bit. They had set a limit of ten weeks to acquire the needed funds and five of those were nearly up.
They didn't have time to achieve their goal. They were still almost a hundred grand short when a Las Vegas tourist paper printed Chet's pictures and the glaring headline,
"REJUVENATING MAN VISITS CIRCUS-CIRCUS."
As Ivan had learned so well in the past, he couldn't fool cameras.
Fennman's phone rang, the blinking light indicating the private number Katz used. He picked it up.
"Penn here."
Without preamble, Katz said,
"Did you get that photo fax? No doubt about it, Latham was in Vegas almost from the time he disappeared. He's turned up on dozens of surveillance cameras, only no one remembers seeing the man in person. And he's not alone. The two guys in the picture are in nearly every shot of Latham."
"Have you identified them yet?"
"The older one is Bart Ludlow, an ex-cop from Bellingham, Washington, the younger one we haven't traced yet, but there's another mystery here. Supposedly, Ludlow died in Salt Lake City last month. I have a copy of the death certificate. The social security and Blue Cross numbers match. Ludlow had leukemia and was in and out of the same hospital for months. The staff knew him well and they say a younger man was with him most of the time, probably the guy in the photo."
"Isn't Bellingham right on the Canadian border?"
Katz acknowledged it was.
"Maybe you better check with Canada about our mystery man."
"I've done that, but it takes awhile to get anything back from them."
"I'm assuming the three are no longer in Vegas?"
"I doubt it, at least they haven't showed up on the tapes in the last couple of days. They probably split the minute that picture of Latham came out. Say, how the hell can a man as well known as Latham wander about for weeks and no one recognize him? He wasn't wearing a disguise when the cameras picked him up, yet I haven't found a single casino employee who actually saw him."
"Good question and the answer to it may lie with that unidentified man. I want you to find them Sid, pull out all the stops. I don't care what it takes, find them!"
Penn leaned back. This new information only verified the fact that something strange and unheard of was going on. Who exactly was behind the sudden weird turn of events, Latham or the other man?
Conner's memory loss was the first unexplained incident, but there were others. Lathams disappearance, was one. Under constant surveillance, he simply vanished. It took two weeks to trace Lathams car to Chicago, because the dealer had 'forgotten' to register it. He couldn't even remember where it came from. He also 'forgot' to send in the transfer on the blue minivan Latham bought.
Either Latham had abilities beyond anything appearing in his dossier, or the unidentified man was helping him. Penn classified Ludlow as a side issue, perhaps the walking proof of Conner's hypothesis that Lathams blood had properties not seen in the chilled, treated samples shipped from Ann Arbor. If that were true and Latham's blood could do for others what it seemed to have done for Ludlow, then Latham was the find of the millennium.
Penn thought of all the trouble and expense Latham has caused these last six weeks. It took nearly forty hours of intense treatment using powerful hypnotic drugs to restore Conner's memory, yet there were absolutely no leads as to when, how or who had washed him. In the ten minutes from the time Conner faxed his report, to when Penn talked to him on the phone, Conner had forgotten all about it. Could someone block memories in an instant, without drugs or hypnotism, he wondered. The ramifications of that gave him pause. If that were possible, no one was safe, not the president, not congress, not even himself . . . From Penn's view, Latham was perhaps the most important man in the world, only it now looked as though he might also be the most dangerous. Or was it the unidentified man who was dangerous? Either way, Penn decided he needed help. It was times like these when his contacts in Washington paid dividends beyond the constant flow of money. The right person for the right job, he thought as he picked up the phone.
"Marge, get me Senator Davis. Tell him it's a matter of national security."
Chapter 6
"Not Tijuana!" Chet argued, "Nogales. Or better yet, Juarez."
When Chet's picture hit the papers they left Vegas in a hurry, moving to a quiet motel on the outskirts of Boulder City and away from cameras of any sort. There they counted their loot, did a number of transactions at the local bank which Ivan tried to disguise the best he could and then played catch up for several days. It had been an unsettling week for Ivan. After that picture came out, he started checking the minds of Penn's associates again, something he had not done even once since coming to Vegas. That lapse had been a major mistake. To his horror he learned that, Penn was now looking for Bart and himself as well. By not paying attention to the obvious, he had put all three of them in jeopardy. Through the minds of four men formerly from the Ann Arbor stake out, he saw the steady build up of agents scouring Las Vegas and realized that not all were from Penn. Now FBI agents were in on the search. From the orders the men received, Ivan knew they were on to him. The word came from someone named Moore. Look at photos, don't believe your eyes . . .
"Tijuana's closer." Bart replied as they got into the van. He leaned forward from the rear seat and started playing with Chet's hair. "God, it's so soft, like spun silk!"
"Gee, I'm glad you think so, but I still don't want to go to Tijuana. It doesn't feel right. I can't explain why." He looked helplessly at Ivan. <What's up with Bart? >
"Juarez, it is." Ivan replied, <He's horny>. "Chet's right about Tijuana, They use cameras at the crossing."
"They do?" Chet asked in surprise.
"Yep, and you know how great I am with cameras." he replied, the irony all too evident in his voice.
"Poor baby," Bart responded, switching his attention to Ivan, "Come back here and sit on my lap. Let me make it all better." He and Ivan communed in silent exchanges while Chet turned the van onto US 93. They crossed the dam and soon entered a stretch of divided highway. Ivan had since reclined the seat sitting loosely relaxed, his eyes closed the way he did when checking the thoughts of far off minds. Conner was Ivan's closest contact to Penn but at the moment he was in the shower and looking forward to a cup of coffee.
He raised the seat in a single motion. Chet glanced in the mirror and laughed. In the quietness of those few moments, Bart had shed his pants. He sat on the back seat naked to the waist.
"Jesus, Bart, we're on the freeway. Put your pants on," He watched as Bart stroked himself.
"Well, pull off someplace, I need a little lovin'" He continued stroking his cock which was now visibly beading in the morning sunlight.
<Man, he's really horny! >
<Yeah, > Ivan replied, <Last night too. Didn't you notice? >
He smiled, He again glanced at Bart. <Are you gonna take care of that, or am I? >
Ivan checked the traffic. A few trucks in the offing, but nothing close. He slid between the seats to sit beside Bart. Chet glanced in the mirror in time to see Ivan take Bart into his mouth.
"Ah, that feels so good, Babe." He wove his fingers in Ivan's hair and began urging him downward. In only a few minutes he cried, "I'm coming." and he held Ivan's head firmly in place as he emptied himself in Ivan's mouth. Chet got hard watching the action. It had been this way for him for the last six weeks; just being around those two turned him on. Perhaps it was because Ivan maintained a little intermittent flow of energy between them all, what Bart was feeling, Ivan felt and thus Chet felt it as well. In a few moments, Bart and Ivan changed places. He pushed Ivan to the center of the seat, while crouching on the floor, his feet extending between the front seats, almost to the console. Chet couldn't resist. He reached back and grasped Bart's cock. It was still nearly hard.
Bart turned and smiled at him. "You're next, so get it ready, 'cause I'm gonna suck your lungs out." Then he dropped his face on Ivan's rigid piece. Chet continued playing with Bart, enjoying the intense little bursts of sexual feeling Ivan sent him. A three way on the freeway, he thought as he played with Bart's heavy balls, rolling them through his fingers. Bart loved it. Flexing his back he pushed hard against Chet's hand. Engrossed in what was going, Chet didn't notice the semi pulling out to pass, but when the guy went by he gave three long pulls on the air horn. No doubt about it, he had seen the show. Bart never raised his head, just kept on until Ivan moaned in climax. Finally he sat back on his haunches while Chet continued stroking him. Bart leaned forward, kissed Ivan and said, "Chet's turn." Pulling to the shoulder long enough to change drivers, he and Ivan swapped places, and then it certainly was his turn. Bart was like a dynamo wound to maximum. He stripped Chet and himself, dropped the seat into a bed, than began laving Chet with his tongue. It went everywhere and where his tongue went his cock soon followed. Through it all, Ivan was too busy to watch except in his mind. He was throwing up false memories at the semi drivers who were now passing every minute or so. Damned CB radios he thought.
After forty minutes of gymnastics, Chet was sated and weary, while Bart remained as energetic as ever,
<Help! Can't you turn him down? >
<Hey, I tried, I think he's stuck on 'high'. I can't figure out what's happened to him. >
In an attempt to slow the fire that raged through Bart libido, Ivan tried making him drowsy and that seemed to work. Bart drifted off into a fantasy world of sexual encounters with truck drivers and Cops - strange, confused dreams of being a sex slave, and then a tribal chief performing sexual rites of passage on strong young warriors going into battle. As the wild dreams wound through Bart's mind, Chet dressed and joined Ivan in the front seat.
<He's never been like this before. > Rather upset by the sudden change in Bart, Ivan transferred the dreams to Chet who saw in them what Ivan had missed. Everyone in Bart's fantasies was in some way reminiscent of Ivan or himself, but mostly Ivan.
<I see your point, only he's just so damn wound up in it. >
<Oh, I know what that's like. There were times when I couldn't get enough. > Chet pulled up the memory of an orgy in a bus terminal bathroom. He was in his twenties at the time and in the Army, <I could have blown the whole damn Navy that day. Haven't you ever felt like that? >
<No, I can't say I have. I get involved on a different level. I think it's the feedback that makes me satisfied with only one. >
<Or maybe two? > Chet 's memories were filled with scenes of the three of them in bed.
Ivan agreed, grinning. <What are we going to do about Bart? >
<Beat's me, just keep him occupied I guess. It passes, you know. Tomorrow he may be back to his old self. >
<Ah, but can we keep up with him for that long? >
< Well I might - with a little help from a friend. > Chet joked. He reached over and touched Ivan's face,
<Don't worry, he loves you more than life. I've known that since we met. >
<But not in the same way. I'm just a friend, to be sure, a very close compliant friend, but only a friend. >
<More than that, > Ivan protested,
Chet glanced back at Bart and smiled fondly.
<I suppose I am, only you two are connected at the soul. I've been there with Jim, I know what it's like. >
Chet was content being a third party. True, he envied the depth of feeling Bart and Ivan held for one another, but only because he once knew that feeling himself. After all these years he still missed the utter comfort Jim had brought. Yes he envied them. They were mated, like two sided of a coin. He could touch either side or both at the same time, but there is no third side to union like that.
<You can't forget Jim, can you? >
<Could you forget Bart? >
<No, I suppose not. > Ivan probed gently. Now might be a good time to let Chet know about those hidden memories . . .
<He certainly was a handsome man, I can see why he caught your eye. Did you both work for White Consolidated? >
<No, Jim worked for . . . Huh, that's funny, I don't remember. He traveled three days a week, so it must have been for one of the sales outfit in Greenville. DAMN, why can't I remember that? He was out of town Wednesday through Friday every week . . .>
<It was a long time ago, don't worry about it. > Ivan soothed. <He did died young though, only fifty-four . . .>
<Fifty-three. > Chet corrected, <His birthday wasn't until . . . Until . . .> Chet looked at Ivan helplessly <WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER? Are you doing this or am I going crazy? >
<Please, you know I wouldn't screw with your head! And you're not going crazy. Your blocked, that's all, I saw it a few days ago, but I'm not sure what caused it . . . > Ivan was interrupted by the sound of a siren. He glanced in the rear view to see a State Police cruiser closing fast. The cop shot by at close to a hundred and a minute later a TV news truck followed in hot pursuit.
<I wonder what that's all about. Did you notice? That TV truck is from a Vegas station. Must be something big going on! >
Something big indeed. They topped the next rise to see a long line of stalled traffic and beyond that a plume of smoke rising from behind the next hill. Suddenly the plume turned into a fireball. A mushroom cloud, like a miniature atomic explosion filled the skyline and a moment later the van rocked from the shock wave.
"What the Hell was that?" Chet exclaimed.
"I don't know, the cop went by so fast I didn't get a chance to read him."
Bart came awake groggily,
"What's going on?"
"Nothing, Babe, go back to sleep." Without a word, Bart lay down and started to snore.
<He's still in heat, > Ivan explained, <I can't deal that and whatever else is going on up there. > Pulling to the side of the road, he flashed,
<You drive, I'll do some checking. Some of those semi drivers must know what happened. >
Actually there wasn't much more driving to be done. Traffic was piling up fast. On a hunch, Chet pulled the van to the inside lane and onto the divider. If they had to turn back, this was as good a place as any to cross over. Ivan settled into his outward reaching mode, sifting through the drivers that had passed them earlier. One fellow at the top of the next rise presented him with picture of the devastation below. An LP gas tanker truck or what was left of it lay in a twisted scrap heap that included the remains of cars and several freight carriers. The explosion had left the man's ears ringing, the resulting rain of shrapnel shredded his truck, but left him unscathed. He knew he was lucky to be alive, there were plenty of others who weren't. The man was helping with one of them. A child in the car ahead with a gaping ragged hole in her chest where a piece of flying metal hit her. He knew it was hopeless, but still he tried to stem the bleeding. Ivan pulled back in horror from sight and cast about for others, running a fast scan on everyone in his memory. In a moment of shocked recognition he came upon someone he thought was in Vegas, one of Fennman's men, a rather dim bulb named Shea that Ivan had first read in Ann Arbor. He was being dressed down by someone not in Penn's employ, that much was evident from Shea's feeling over the matter.
"You fucking idiot! A traffic tie up, NOT WORLD WAR THREE. How the hell am I going to explain this mess? Too bad you didn't get your stupid head blown off. Jesus Christ - Jesus Christ."
Agent Riley, FBI, Shea's thoughts said. Fire trucks and ambulance crews began arriving from Kingman on the opposite side of the disaster and that's where Shea was, Ivan realized. He sifted the man's memories. The accident was intentional! Shea's orders were to block traffic with a minor accident, only he mistakenly chose a blind spot for the deed and caused a major pile up instead. Shea had barely gotten away alive. First a semi truck struck his overturned motor home and another ran into that, bursting into flame. Cars careened across the desert on both sides trying to avoid the accident, and then the tanker came over the hill. Shea ran for dear life, throwing himself behind a rock outcropping and just in time. He was scorched all over, his hair singed, cuts still dripped blood and this FBI asshole acted like it was all his fault. He wasn't about to take any more of it.
"Fuck you!" Shea shouted, "I did what you told me, if you don't like how it turned, tough fucking shit."
Ivan saw the fist coming just in time to pull away.
<It's a set up! Somehow they traced us. The accident was supposed to be a diversion, only it went sour. How the hell did they do it? >
He flashed all he had learned to Chet. Chet thought about it for a moment. He might not have Ivan's ability, but he could sort through the obvious.
<The van! They've traced the van. You can't fool eyes you can't see. They must have had crews out at night. >
<Of course. SHIT, I'll bet they've got a locator attached. Jesus, maybe even a bug in here. Don't say anything out loud. >
They had been very careful in Bolder City. The manager of the motel would swear that a single woman had rented the room, not three men, and they always parked the van in the overflow lot of the motel next door. Each morning Ivan scoured the neighborhood, picking the brains of all he met. There was no indication of anyone asking question during their whole stay at Boulder City. Of course when he wasn't around, a passerby saw the van for what it was. The regular license plate changes should have been enough since Ivan could always tell when a plate was clean. He simply read the owners before they switched them, but Chet could visualize government agents being more far interested in VIN numbers than license plates.
<I wonder how long they've had the van spotted? >
<No sooner than last night, I'll bet. Otherwise I would have picked up on it. Chet, they want us back in Boulder City, that's why they blocked the road. >
<Well, lets let them think they've succeeded. See if you can find a bug, anything that looks different, only be casual about it. They've got cameras now no bigger than a pencil eraser. >
Ivan yawned and stretched.
"Looks like were stuck for awhile. I'm going to take a nap."
He slid between the seats to lie down next to Bart. Chet slipped a tape of Kenny G in the player and turned the volume low. Tilting the seat back, his eyes carefully scanned the console.
<Found it! > Ivan exclaimed. He had been searching the overhead, looking at all the little buttons that attached the plastic trim to the van's metal framework. A couple of the buttons were missing, just dark holes, only as he looked closer, one wasn't a hole, it was smoothly capped. He continued searching.
<I see only one, anything up there? >
<Nada. When you kill it, make it look like a natural failure. Wait until we cross the divider, looks like plenty of jouncing on the way over. >
Other cars were already turning back. In ones and twos they wound their way across the stone littered divider to the north bound lanes.
< Before you cut the line, lets add a little diversion. > Chet outlined the plan and then said aloud,
"Maybe we ought to try Tijuana after all. Once we cross the border, Penn can't touch me anyway and we're just wasting time sitting here."
"As I said," Ivan responded, "I'm no good with cameras, but Tijuana sure is closer than Juarez." <And a hell of a lot closer than Laredo, but you're right, they're sure to cover Nogales and Juarez like a blanket.>
Chet put the van in gear and edged out onto the divider. As they bounced over the rocky soil, Ivan caused a spat of arcing inside the camera circuitry. Finally as they came up on the northbound lanes Chet flashed,
"We've lost the feed, sir" Agent Harris reported. "Must have jarred loose crossing the berm."
"Is the tattletale still working?"
"Yes sir, loud and clear. They're headed back to toward Boulder. Only I can't figure out why we didn't nab them when they were stalled in traffic?"
"We have our reasons. Well, what do you think, Harris, could you recognize those three if you saw them in the flesh?"
"I've already seen them in the flesh, and once was enough, thank you. But, yeah I'd recognize them anywhere."
"Think so huh? Funny, no one else can. Let me tell you, son, those three have done some pretty strange things. They stayed for five days in Boulder City and the motel manager there swears it was a lone blond woman who rented the room, not three men. There's a lot more here than meets the eye."
Harris shook his head,
"Too much has already met the eye as far as I'm concerned. What a disgusting show, and Latham a pervert too! Who would have guessed?"
"Does that bother you, son?"
"Yes it does. Watching that raunchy shit turned my stomach. How can men do that to each other?"
"Odd, what I saw wasn't much different than what men and women do."
"But, Sir, that's normal sex. Sure, a guy might do some of that with a woman, but doing it to another man is disgusting."
"Why is that?"
Unable to give a coherent answer, Harris shot back,
"Are you saying it's OK?"
"I said nothing of the sort. I asked why it upset you so much."
"Because . . . Because, it's not normal. Whatever men and women do, is . . . Normal I mean."
The man laughed heartily while Harris reddened over his stumbling lack of words.
"Son, you've got a long way to go. In the vault are pictures of men and women doing things to each other that would make those three look like neophyte choir boys. How people get their kicks is their own business. We're not after them for swapping spit, it's because they're deadly dangerous men, or so I'm told. Our job is to catch 'em, not judge 'em, so keep that in mind. Now, what else besides their disgusting sex habits did you notice?"
"Well . . . They don't talk much, just looked at each other and nod, it's like they think the same thoughts at the same time."
"I knew you were sharp. What else?"
"When the guy told the older fellow . . . Ludlow to go to sleep, he did it instantly. He was snoring almost before his head hit the bed."
"Excellent. Now tell me what it means."
Harris looked at him blankly.
"You just laid it out, so tell me. Think science fiction."
"Uh . . . Well . . . Maybe they read each others thoughts, and . . . And, not Latham, but the other guy can put people to sleep. He controls minds. ." It all fell in place for Harris. "That's why no one can identify them! The guy can blank out memories!"
"Now you're cooking. And that possibility is why we're herding them back to the dam. It's one place we can contain them without exposing ourselves. The guy can't handle cameras, remember.
"Ah, Perseus and Medusa." Harris muttered.
"Exactly."
It had been a rough morning for Senior Agent J. T. Moore, but at last things were looking up. He slapped open a cell phone and punched a single button,
"They're on their way. You have less than an hour, and no screw-ups this time, gentlemen. Call me when you're set."
It was finally going in the right direction at last, he thought. Riley had raised holy hell when the three got away, but it was his own damn fault. Moore was thankful he wasn't in Riley's shoes right now. Shit was gonna hit the fan big time over this one. The reports were grim, seven dead, a dozen injured, all because of Riley and his gung-ho tactics. Cover all exits and shoot to kill was his motto. Flush them to the dam Moore had argued, only Riley over ruled him and split Moore's team into two groups, neither large enough to do the job in time and the van slipped through. All this because Riley wouldn't listen to reason. Well, maybe he wouldn't be commanding much longer. It was a thought that took the sting from Riley's tongue-lashing.
The phone rang,
"All set, tight as a vault and with enough gas to handle a herd of elephants."
"Good, now remember, everything by remote. I don't want anyone exposed. Make sure you double team everyone, for all I know this guy can see around corners."