"I'll try. What I mean is that I find myself constantly amazed—and amused—by some of the things most people take seriously. I used to be known as a man with an extremely quick temper. Now I rarely get angry at anything."
"What you're describing sounds like apathy."
"But it isn't. In fact, I have a much greater sense of wonder and involvement with the world as a whole. It's just much harder to get angry about anything. I think the strongest and most consistent feeling I have is curiosity."
"About what?"
"Everything. Especially us—human beings."
"Are there things you took seriously before the accident that you don't take seriously now?"
"Any number of things, but I don't see any need to list them. The point is that you become more curious and involved, but less emotional. At least I did."
"All Lazarus People do, Jonathan. You know that."
"Compiling statistics is your job."
"I can't argue with that. Once again, there was no religious feel to any of this?"
"None."
"Have you experienced any unusual physical sensations since your near-death experience?"
"Ghost-limb syndrome, but that's to be expected after any amputation. It often feels like my hand is still there."
"Jonathan, that's about it for the questionnaire. Is there anything you want to add?"
"No."
"Are you sure, Jonathan? I'm a little worried about you."
"I'm sure, and there's no need for you to worry about me. Remember that I'm still waiting to see how things turn out."
"You really believe that this man you've invited to the Institute can give you the answer, don't you?"
"Let's close this out, Sharon. I really am tired."
"All right, Jonathan. End of intake interview. Mark."
Chapter 15
______________________________
Veil? Can't you tell me what this is all about?"
Veil glanced at Sharon, who was studying him from where she sat at the far end of the conference table in her suite of offices. There was confusion and hurt in her pale, silver-streaked eyes, and she was staring at him as if he were a stranger—a reaction Veil found perfectly understandable, since he had been going out of his way to behave like a stranger. Something about the atmosphere surrounding the Institute, and particularly the hospice, was very disorienting to him, he thought. There was not only the mystery of the Golden-Boy to be solved, but also a mystery within himself— a riddle that had only posed itself since he'd agreed to be Jonathan Pilgrim's guest. It was as if there were something in the air over these two particular mountains that made him open and trusting in ways he had never before been in his life. Now he felt betrayed, not only by Pilgrim—and possibly by Sharon and Henry Ibber—but also by his own instincts. He had been wandering around in a mental fog, displaying the kind of doe-eyed innocence that could get him killed, and he had resolved that it was going to stop.
"Veil, did you hear me?"
"Not now, Doctor."
"Doctor? We're getting rather formal all of a sudden, aren't we?"
"I want to wait until Pilgrim and Ibber get here so that I won't have to repeat myself."
"Henry will be here?"
Veil nodded. "I asked Pilgrim to bring him over."
"Veil, what's wrong?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out. It's time to sort out a few things."
"But—"
"Kendry?!"
Veil turned to face Henry Ibber, who had stopped just inside the door to the conference room. Ibber's high, shiny forehead glistened with perspiration, and the mouth below the drooping black mustache gaped open with astonishment.
"Come in and sit down, Ibber," Veil said curtly. It seemed that Pilgrim had not told his investigator who wanted to see him, and Veil wondered why.
Ibber's dark eyes suddenly flashed with anger. "What the hell are you doing here, Kendry? And who are you to be giving me orders?"
"Go ahead, Henry." Jonathan Pilgrim's voice, soft but insistent, came from the doorway just behind the large-framed Ibber. "Do as he asks."
Ibber thrust his stocky shoulders forward and glared at Veil for a few moments, then abruptly walked across the room and sat down at the table, next to Sharon. Pilgrim, walking casually with his hand in his pocket and a faintly bemused expression on his face, entered the room and sat down at the end of the table closest to where Veil was standing, apart from his two colleagues.
"It's your show, my friend," Pilgrim continued, turning to Veil. "Let's do it."
"We'll do it, all right, Colonel," Veil said, his voice hard. "You've been jerking me around since I got here. I don't like being 'handled,' and I want to know why you felt you had to do it. I also want to know what part you expected me to play in this spook show you've got over here."
Pilgrim glanced sharply at Sharon, who blanched and put a hand to her mouth. "The tape," she said in a husky voice. "He's heard the tape."
"You're damn right I've heard the tape. I've also had a very interesting chat with Perry Tompkins, who was kind enough to show me his latest paintings. That means it's time to tell me the name and rules of the game you've been playing."
Veil had been speaking to Sharon, but the woman was still staring wide-eyed at Pilgrim. "Jonathan, I'm so sorry. I never thought—"
"Don't worry about it, Sharon," Pilgrim said easily as he lit a cigar. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who brought him over here. I knew it was risky, but I couldn't think of any other place to put him where he'd be safe. He'd have eventually found out, anyway; hell, I'd have told him. It's just bad timing."
"My God, Jonathan. He's the one, isn't he?"
Pilgrim looked at Veil and winked broadly. "That's him."
"Come on, Sharon," Veil said. "Are you trying to tell me that you didn't know or guess? You were the first person I was supposed to see. Does the Colonel always use his director of near-death studies to conduct garden-variety interviews on the other mountain?"
"No, but—"
"I'd told her that we had a couple of people out sick," Pilgrim interrupted. "She really did just make the connection, Veil. She saw Perry's work, but she's never seen yours. You've heard the tape; I wanted Sharon to work with you because I needed her special perspective, but I didn't want her to know why. I wanted any discoveries about you to be made independently, not by somebody like me—looking for and hoping to make them."
"Excuse me," Ibber said, looking back and forth between Sharon and Pilgrim. "Would somebody mind telling me what this is all about?"
"Sorry, Henry," Pilgrim said with a shrug. "I'm afraid your time is being wasted. Veil was quite insistent that I include you in this meeting, so I brought you over. I don't think he'd have believed me if I told him that you didn't have the slightest notion of why I really wanted him here."
"Your real reason for wanting me here isn't the point, Colonel. Somebody tried to kill me, remember?"
"I remember," Pilgrim replied softly.
Veil turned to face the Institute's chief investigator. "Ibber's the man who ran my background check."
"Just a minute, Kendry!" Ibber shouted as he leapt to his feet. "Are you accusing me of something?"
"You'll know when I accuse you of something," Veil said without emotion.
"I checked you out the same as I do, or someone on my staff does, every other individual who's invited to the Institute. I wrote up my report and submitted it to Jonathan. Period."
"You knew that the man who tried to kill me was a Mamba—an Army assassin."
"So what? That was none of my business."
"Then what were you doing there when Parker questioned me?"