The iron quietness in Cliffs voice shook Eric deeply. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?” he whispered, his eyes stricken.
Cliff sighed. “And of me. Your father and your family are the only family I’ve ever had. But Eric, if we free the others, we’ll free Madeline and the children. If we don’t free them, freeing the four who mean the most to us will never justify us before God or our fellow beings.”
“The longer the implantations are in, the more permanent the conditioning will be,” Eric said. “I can’t just forget them.”
“We won’t forget them. But we can’t just forget the others either.”
For almost a full minute, Eric stared out into the darkness, his fist clenching and unclenching. “Can we do it, Cliff? Can we pull all of this off?”
“I don’t know. We face terrible risks, tremendous obstacles. But the greater question is, can we not try and ever face ourselves as men again?”
Chapter 16
Nicole picked up the phone, expecting that her dinner engagement with Travis was about to be cancelled. “Yes, this is Nicole.”
It was Shirley Ferguson, the afternoon tracking monitor who had taken over for Nicole at four o’clock.
“Nicole, cancel the alert. Eric isn’t headed for the Museum of Remembrance.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. When he entered Alliance Square, we assumed that was his destination, but actually he’s coming here.”
She frowned. “To Central Control?”
“Yes. He’ll be inside the building in another minute or two. Which surprises me a little. Isn’t this his day off?”
“Yes, it is. Maybe he left something he needs.” Nicole was too relieved to really care. As long as he wasn’t headed for the museum, he could roller-skate down the hallways of Central Control for all she cared. “Thanks, Shirley. Keep an eye on him just in case.”
As she dropped the phone back onto its cradle, she thought about Eric for a moment. Then she returned to her paperwork.
A few minutes later a knock sounded at the door, and she looked up, a little surprised. She and Travis were supposed to work until five, and it was still only twelve minutes to.
She brushed at her hair quickly with her hands and swept the papers into the top drawer of her desk. “Come in,” she called.
The smile of welcome froze on her face as the door opened and Eric stepped inside. He was dressed casually, in jeans, an opennecked knit sports shirt, and tennis shoes. A large, odd-shaped package wrapped in brown paper was tucked under one arm.
“Hello, Nicole.”
She managed to recover and keep her composure. “Hello, Eric. This is a surprise.”
He closed the door, moved to the chair in front of her desk, and sat down. “You mean nobody is watching me on Big Mama?” he said, teasing her gently.
“Well, I—I mean I’m surprised that you’re here to see me. What can I do for you?”
He lifted the package and set it carefully on her desk. “Well, believe it or not, I’m here on a mission of peace.”
“Oh?”
“During the past weeks I’ve decided something about you.”
“What?”
“You don’t particularly enjoy this, do you.”
She started at that, and gave him a long, searching look. “I enjoy my work,” she finally said.
“Oh, I know that. But being my electronic supervisor—you don’t particularly enjoy that, do you. Or the thought of having to recommend me for Stage Three implantation if I don’t make it?”
She dropped her eyes, unable, in her surprise, to meet his. The Major’s threat of Stage Three implantation was supposed to be a secret. How had he found out?
“You even find the whole idea of implantation distasteful, don’t you.”
“I…”
“You promised me once that you’d always be totally honest with me,” he said softly. “Remember?”
“I—yes, I’ll have to admit, I don’t like some things about this particular assignment. And I’ve never been overly thrilled with implantation.”
“I thought so.”
“But make no mistake, Eric Lloyd. If you aren’t smart enough to accept the way things are, I’ll recommend whatever is necessary. Please believe me on that.”
“Oh, I do. And I suppose in some ways that still raises my hackles a little. But not as much as it would if you enjoyed doing it.”
Her face softened. “No, I don’t relish the task. I can honestly say that. Not for you or anyone else. So give in,” she pleaded, leaning forward. “You can’t win. Don’t make me recommend anything but removal of the implantation.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and she thought she sensed sudden rebellion in them, but they were as fathomless as the gray mists that shroud Flathead Lake during a winter storm. Then suddenly they were filled with wide innocence. “Give in? What makes you think I haven’t already?”
Before she could answer, he leaned forward quickly and pushed the package toward her. “I’ve been working on a project in my free time. I’d like you to have it.”
Nicole stared at him, completely disarmed by the surprise move.
“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s not a bomb.”
She waved that aside, embarrassed. “I know that, it’s just that—” She stopped and looked at the package.
“I thought about giving it to Clayne, but decided this would be a way to tell you I’m sorry I happened to come along and put you in a situation you’d rather not be in.” He stood up, suddenly anxious to go. “I suppose also that I have a bit of a selfish motive as well. I hope it’ll help you understand why I’ve made it so difficult for you.”
He stepped to the door and opened it.
“Eric, wait! Let me see what it is.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to get some things out of my locker. Good-bye, Nicky. Take care.” He flashed her a quick smile, tinged with sadness, and then he was gone.
For a long moment she stared at the door. Then she turned to the package. Opening the drawer of her desk, she took out a pair of scissors and snipped the twine. The brown wrapping paper slipped partially off, and she pulled it away. She stared for a moment, then slowly set the scissors down.
Travis had said Eric was good at woodcarving, which made him a master of understatement. From the redwood burl, using its natural shape and grain, Eric had carved an American bald eagle, suspended in flight, its wings nearly forming a V. For a moment she thought he had caught it in the moment of descent, just before it landed on the tree limb that formed the base for the sculpture. But the balance was off. The bird was almost tumbling over backwards, its neck bowed grotesquely.
Puzzled, she leaned forward and turned the piece slightly. And then she saw why. The eagle was not landing but taking off—or more correctly, trying to take off—in flight. But one leg was shackled to the limb with a heavy chain, and the eagle was clawing at the air with wings and talons, trying to break free. Eric had left the detail rough and the surface unpolished, which only added to the riveting force of the piece.
Something happened inside her as she stared at the carving. A deep revulsion welled up, a revulsion focused on the chain that bound this wild creature, born to ride the wind. A small, rectangular area smoothed into the rough wood, with numbers on it, caught her eye. She pulled it closer, not understanding. Six numbers had been left raised in the smoother area. Then suddenly she knew. Four-four-five-five-one-two. It was Eric’s computer file number.
For some unaccountable reason, Nicole was deeply stirred. She was looking not just at the artist’s signature, but at the title of the piece. And for the first time, she understood Eric Lloyd and what was driving him.
Several minutes later, a soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, forcing her attention away from the carving on her desk. “Come in,” she called.
“Hi, honey,” Travis said, as he stepped through the door. “Are you ready?” He stopped as he saw her uniform. Then his eyes dropped to
the desk. “Hey, what’s this?”
Nicole glanced quickly at the statue, then looked up. “Eric brought it to me a few minutes ago.”
“Well, well,” Travis said, moving closer. He picked it up and turned it over slowly in his hands. “It’s beautiful.”
“He’s going, Travis.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Yes. In his own way.”
“Well, we figured that.”
“Tonight, Travis.”
He set the carving down slowly. “Tonight? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. You’d better call the Major.”
He looked dubious, torn for a moment, and then the phone rang. Nicole picked it up, then nodded. “Yes, he’s right here.”
“This is Captain Oakes.”
The dubious look disappeared instantly as a wave first of surprise, then of anger, clouded Travis’s face. “Yes, thank you. We’ll be right down.”
He slammed the phone down. “It’s Eric. He just went inside the Museum of Remembrance.”
From his vantage point near the windows on the second floor of the Museum of Remembrance, Eric spotted Clayne Robertson’s huge figure hurrying across the quad toward him. Eric smiled grimly. If he hadn’t been watching, he’d never have seen him. And it made his throat constrict for a moment. If Clayne came in after him, it would be blown. But Clayne didn’t come into the museum. He slipped in behind a large blue spruce tree near the front entrance, and Eric saw him take out a walkie-talkie and speak into it quickly.
He turned away from the window, a look of triumph on his face. They’ve taken the bait!
Glancing at his wrist computer, Eric patted the hard object tucked in underneath his belt. It was 5:27. The loose-fitting shirt had been chosen specifically to hide his second and far more important piece of sculpture. He moved past the War Rooms at a leisurely pace, checking to make sure he was alone. Once he was sure, he ducked into the custodial closet and pulled the door closed behind him. Reaching high up on the top shelf, he groped in the dark behind the cans and bottles, then gave a little grunt of satisfaction as his fingers closed on the screwdriver he had hidden there three days earlier. Burrowing behind a stack of dirty linen, just in case the museum’s caretaker felt impelled to check every room, he settled down to wait, trying to ignore the dull pain now hammering steadily in his stomach. With a conscious effort he pulled his mind away from the next few minutes and what he had to do, for he knew that was betraying him, and would only cause the pain to increase until it wracked his whole body. He began to whistle softly, thinking of summer days spent in the mountains around the valley. Today was August first, he suddenly remembered. A good day for starting something new.
“Central Control?”
Clayne’s voice was almost a whisper as it came through the speaker in the Monitoring Room. Travis, the Major, and Nicole all looked up, but it was Travis who answered. “Yes?”
“The caretaker of the museum is just now leaving. He’s locked the door.”
“Roger,” Travis responded, lowering his own voice. He glanced at the monitoring screen. “Eric is still sitting tight in the janitor’s closet.” He glanced up at the clock. “But he’ll have to move pretty soon. The cleaning crew starts arriving by 6:30. That gives him only forty-five minutes.”
“There he goes,” Nicole called.
“He’s moving, Clayne. Just to be sure, from this point on we’ll communicate with you via your wrist computer. A window may be open, and he’ll be in the front of the building directly over you.”
“Ten-four.”
Travis turned to Shirley Ferguson. “Okay, Shirley. Don’t wait for our command. Just keep Clayne posted with a running commentary into his wrist computer. And for heaven’s sake, don’t make it buzz first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s moving toward the War Rooms,” Nicole said, watching the blip of light on the enlarged plan of the museum’s second floor.
“Okay,” the Major commanded. “Activate the camera.”
The large screen sprang into life as Nicole flipped a switch. She recognized the World War Two room almost immediately. The back wall, covered with a huge enlargement of Pearl Harbor and the battleship Arizona billowing clouds of dark smoke filled the screen. She pushed some buttons and zoomed the lens in on the nearest display case.
“Can he see the camera?” the Major asked.
“No, not unless he looks closely,” Travis responded. “It’s hidden in a heating vent, but we had to make a small hole for the lens.”
“He’s been in that room twice since it was installed,” Nicole added. “He hasn’t ever given any hint that he’s seen it.”
“Here he comes,” Shirley called, watching the board. Then she typed rapidly on her terminal to keep Clayne informed.
“Look,” Travis said, pointing. “He’s got a screwdriver in his hand.”
“Well, you were exactly right, Nicole,” the Major said with a trace of sadness. “I was half hoping you weren’t.”
“So was I,” she answered softly.
“Keep me posted on the readings from his implantation,” he commanded, then turned to watch.
On the screen they saw Eric pause for a moment at the entrance to the War Room, then move swiftly to the case.
“Pain response at the point-zero-four level,” Nicole called.
“Ah,” Travis said, “so he’s already starting to feel it. And he hasn’t even started on the case yet.”
“Pain response at point-zero-eight-five,” Nicole intoned as Eric knelt down next to the case and took a screwdriver from his pocket. “Going up—point-zero-nine-six.”
“Zero-nine-six!” the Major echoed. “How can he stand it?”
“Look!” Travis was nearly shouting as he pointed at the screen. “You can see him trembling. Look at his hands.”
Nicole looked, then glanced away quickly. “Pain level holding steady,” she said, staring at the computer console.
Suddenly Eric leaped to his feet, took one lurching step away from the case, then doubled over, retching violently.
“That’s more like it,” the Major exulted. “Did he really think he could ignore his implantation?”
“Pain response dropping, point-zero-six-two.” She watched as Eric slowly straightened. Give it up! she urged him silently, but he turned slowly and lifted the screwdriver again. “Pain level climbing again.”
“If he can override those feelings,” the Major said, a little awed by the sight of the figure kneeling down again at the back of the display case, “then we’ve got to implant him at a Stage Three level immediately.”
“Well,” Travis said, “he’s not giving up. There goes the last clamp. In a moment we’ll know what he’s got his eye on.”
“He just jumped to point-two-five milliamps,” Nicole said.
“That’s incredible!” the Major exclaimed. “Look at him. He can barely work the screwdriver, he’s shaking so badly.”
“He’s got the back free!” Shirley cried, momentarily forgetting that she was Clayne’s eyes and ears.
“Pain level climbing sharply,” Nicole said. “Point-six-two. Point-eight-eight. Now it’s steadying.”
“He’s fighting for control.” Travis’s voice was tinged with awe. “I can’t believe he can endure that and just stand there.”
Nicole thought of an eagle clawing the air for its freedom, and dropped her eyes to the monitor, unable to watch any longer. The tension was as tangible as a steel cable stretched to the breaking point.
“He’s reaching inside the case.”
“What’s he going for?”
“I can’t tell with his back to us.”
“Point-eight-four,” Nicole said in a hoarse whisper. “Pointnine-two. One-point-four!”
“That’s impossible!” Travis shouted. “How can he still be on his feet?”
“Blackout!” Nicole cried. She looked up just in time to see Eric’s knees buckle as he toppled forward across the case. His finger
s clutched desperately at the top of the glass, but he couldn’t find a grip, and he slipped slowly to the floor.
“Look!” Travis said. “It was the M-1 rifle he was after.” The muzzle of the rifle projected out of the back of the case about six inches.
“Well, he didn’t get it,” the Major murmured, obviously pleased.
“What now?” Nicole asked. “Shall we send Clayne in to get him?”
“No,” the Major said quickly. “No, he should come out of it in a moment or two. Let’s see what happens.”
When Eric finally stirred and got slowly to his feet, he looked like a toy robot whose battery had run down. His head hung down, and his movements were jerky and trancelike. The four of them watched in silence as he made an attempt to push the rifle back into place, then gave up and let the screwdriver slip out of his hand and bounce noisily on the floor.
He turned so he was half facing the camera, then shuffled slowly out of the room.
“Tell Clayne he’s coming out,” Travis said to Shirley. He turned to watch the flashing light on Nicole’s monitoring screen as she flipped a switch, and the screen that had carried the television signal went dark. The Major also turned in his chair to watch Eric’s slow progress toward the front door of the museum.
“Do you want me to have Clayne pick him up?” Travis asked.
“Wait a minute,” Nicole said. “He’s stopped again.”
“He’s near the front door.” Travis pointed to the floor plan superimposed on her screen.
“That’s a pay phone there,” Nicole said, touching a small square on the grid plan. “He’s stopped at the telephone.”
“Patch us into Dr. Cameron’s phone,” the Major commanded. “Quickly!”
Nicole typed a command on her keyboard, then leaned over to the control panel and flipped a switch. For a brief moment a dull hum came over the speaker, and then a click sounded, followed by a sharp buzz and then another.
“You guessed it,” Travis whispered, as though he could be heard over the phone line. “He’s calling Dr. Cameron.”
“Shhh!” the Major commanded.