Date: Mon, 27 Dec 1999 12:05:46 -0000
From: Ernie <ernies@ionia-mi.net>
Subject: Old Age

Chapter 11


Walter Fennman awoke drenched in sweat. Fumbling for the bottle of antacid
tablets on his nightstand he chewed down two of the cherry flavored pills,
then two more - his stomach was churning again, this time almost to the
point of puking. For the last year he had suffered from a singular
recurring nightmare. Decoviak! The man had searched him out and was
stealing his will away - turning him into a mindless robot. It was always
the same - Decoviak's face emerging from the mist of a fog shrouded
city-street, then the slow agonizing torture of knowing that his mind was
fading. Shaken, Fennman sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. The
reassuring texture of the carpet underfoot helped dispel the nightmare. The
lights were dimmed, but never out. He hadn't slept in a darkened since the
dreams began.

Fennman's fears were compounded by the fact that no one had uncovered a
single lead to the three men's whereabouts. It left him afraid of every new
face that he encountered - especially new faces that turned up at the
Institute. He insisted on being briefed about the hiring of each new
employee, even grounds keepers he might never come in contact with. All
employees that lived outside the confines of the Institute were now
scrutinized by camera as they passed through the gauntlet of new gates, and
every employee, regardless of status was scanned by retinal viewer before
allowed to enter any building in the complex. As much as possible, all
outside contact was limited to camera or phone. That went for security
staff as well, none were exposed to random scrutiny - no one walked the
perimeter, the fence was protected by sensors with multiple redundancy. He
had taken every precaution and still the nightmare invaded his
sleep. Latham, Decoviak and Ludlow. The three men haunted him, but he knew
precisely where the danger lay - Decoviak. The other two were medical
wonders, possible the mostly valuable discoveries since the world began and
they remained hidden by Decoviak's mind blanking power. If he were dead the
other two would be easy to find. The number of agents involved practically
assured their capture.

Unable to sleep, Fennman arose and wandered into the apartment's small
kitchen. There he set up the coffee maker, then decided on a shower - it
was almost 5 AM anyway. In two hours he was scheduled for a phone
conference with John Eritine, his head of security. Like all of Fennman's
agents, Eritine went through frequent and rigorous testing in search of the
slightest hint that he might have been 'washed' or compromised. Yesterday
had been Eritine's monthly ordeal. Today John would be hard pressed to stay
focused and on track and tomorrow too for that matter. The drugs took at
least 48 hours to dissipate. The testing ruined Eritine's effectiveness for
three days month, but it was the only safe way.

Fennman now had thirty agents in the field and as each returned from
assignment he or she was subjected to the same tests as Eritine and the
other employees at the Institute. The Carson Center in Arlington had been
specifically designed for this purpose. So far, nothing - not a blip, not a
single instance of outside tampering to his people, and although his
employees minds appeared untouched Fennman stilled worried. He couldn't
demand the same tests of the CIA or the FBI. Who knew how far Decoviak had
penetrated those two organizations. Of course the FBI was pretty much out
of the loop now anyway. All they were willing to do was pass on
surveillance information on possible terrorists- a lot of help that was. He
had originally painted Decoviak as a terrorist, but it no longer shook
trees at the FBI. The fiasco in Arizona had caused so much grief that the
Bureau were no longer amenable to his requests for manpower. Not even
Senator Davis, using all his sway on the appropriations committee could
bring them back on line. Once burned, twice shy - about the only contact
left between the Institute and Bureau was with a liaison team, Turner and
Harris, and Fennman couldn't be sure that those two hadn't already been
compromised. He hated having those men coming to the Institute. He had
never spoke to them personally, the idea of two untested agents snooping
around set his nerves on edge. Outside of his own people, Fennman had not
met with anyone face to face in 6 months and he intended to keep it like
that. Still he wished to God there was some way he could force testing on
both the Agency and the Bureau. He would feel a lot safer. . .


John Eritine had a difficult time keeping track of what Fennman was talking
about. The testing and the drugs had left feeling like shit. It was getting
so he dreaded the thought of that fucking monthly examination and yet he
couldn't do anything about it, not even complain to Fennman. The man was
crazy, a regular loony-tune, hiding out in that little apartment like some
latter day Howard Hughes and all because he was scared of one man. Shit, no
one had heard of Decoviak in years, not since Oklahoma City. Ludlow walked
out of the county jail, all the Mexican bank accounts got cleaned out and
the 3 men vanished. Hell, the they could be anywhere - Europe, the Far
East, Australia.  As sure as water runs down hill, those men had gone to
earth and it appeared as though they had found somewhere damn remote to do
it.

Why Fennman was so fucking paranoid about three guys on the run, made no
sense to Eritine. Scared shitless that his old agents were compromised,
Fennman had gotten rid of every one. Some he fired, others he moved to jobs
where they no longer had contact with the Institute, and those few who knew
too much, the ones he couldn't simply ditch, Fennman eliminated. Eritine
himself had taken out Katz. One could almost say that doing Katz was how
John qualified as the new head of security. Of course, that was back before
all this testing bullshit started . . .

Even zapped as he was, Eritine caught at least part of Fennman's tirade: He
was demanding that the FBI liaison team be kept away from the
Institute. "Meet them somewhere else, hire a hotel room or office space. I
don't want them here anymore."

The man is getting nuttier everyday, Eritine thought, but he was careful
not to voice that opinion. Crazy or not, Fennman was one dangerous
Motherfucker.

#####

The five drove to Mirida, caught the first available flight to Mexico City
and there waited several hours for the non-stop to New York City. They
didn't tarry in the Big Apple, instead they rented a large, comfortable SUV
from Hertz and headed for Virginia. Since Ron Harris' assignment to the
liaison team, Ivan had been checking him daily, trying desperately to get a
lead on Fennman. In fact Harris' present assignment had been Ivan's
doing. The trip to Washington had proved fruitful at least in one respect,
Ivan now had a handle on FBI assignments, not that it helped much, except
in the one instance of the liaison team.

One thing Ivan did learn was that Fennman was currently in Virginia,
Alexandria to be exact, Fennman's representative had inadvertently exposed
that, but where in Alexandria was anyone's guess. Ivan carefully seeded
Ron's mind into looking for clues, especially on those occasions when he
and Turner visited the Institute. Unhappily, nothing leading to Fennman
turned up. Erik Lance, Fennman's front man at the Institute, hovered over
the two FBI men from the time they arrived until he escorted them back
through the gate. Ron had little chance to snoop.

The men rented the only furnished place they could find, a two bedroom
townhouse in an upper class neighborhood. The rooms were tiny and Chet was
completely stunned by the cost.

"We could live at Casa Del Sol for a year for what this cracker box costs a
month!" He exclaimed.

Jason laughed, "Remember the old real estate clich‚: Location, location,
location? Well, if the Casa were sitting on this spot, we might be able to
afford Maria's cottage, but I wouldn't lay odds on it."

They settled in the best they could. Ivan looked tired and they were all
hungry; carry out seemed the best option at the moment. With a KFC and a
Chinese place within a mile of the townhouse, cooking could be held to a
minimum, just drinks and the kind of stuff that goes from the freezer to
the microwave. That night they dined from a double bucket of chicken,
several quarts of mashed potatoes with gravy, hot rolls and coleslaw and
while it was a long way from the spicier flavors they were used to, no one
complained.

The next morning Ivan had another bout of pain, not quite as severe as the
one in Mexico, but bad enough. It was time to see a doctor. It took awhile
finding a physician with an appointment opening. Ivan wasn't particular who
he saw, any doctor that had hospital affiliation and who could write a
prescription would do and Dr. Cole proved to be more than adequate. Ivan
searched the man's memories, finding which pain drugs were the most
effective and which caused the least disorientation. Cole wrote out the
prescriptions and forgot all about Ivan. He wouldn't remember even seeing
this odd patient, unless Ivan, needing the good doctor's aid for some
reason, spoke a certain phrase to him. Ivan now had his doctor, one who
would, if need be, make house calls although why he would be willing to do
such a thing would always remain a mystery to Doctor Cole.

>From the moment they arrived in Virginia, Ivan spent nearly all his time
reading those people who knew Fennman personally. With a little nudge he
was able to get these acquaintances to think about Fennman. Senator Davis,
for one was more than a little irked at the man. At a recent appropriations
hearing, Fennman had failed to appear, instead he sent a flunky to face the
committee. Davis was barely able to get the Institute's funding passed -
Fennman certainly had a lot of gaul, he thought, leaving him out on a limb
like that. . .

Ivan left Davis and moved on. Checking on Harris he discovered that the up
coming liaison meeting had been switched from the Institute to an office in
downtown Washington.

"It's weird, Guys," Ivan said, "I've checked everyone I read at Davis's
fund raiser last August. At least twenty people there knew Fennman
personally, yet no one has seen him in months."

"Maybe he's not here after all." Chet commented.

"Oh, he's still here!" Jason replied, "Remember what Ron saw?" Jason was
talking about the slight slip that Erik Lance had made the last time Ron
was in his office. One of the medical staff rushed in and handed a paper to
Lance saying that Doctor Fennman wanted these results as soon as
possible. Lance arose, walked to the fax machine, inserted the paper and
punched in a number. From where Ron sat, he couldn't see the entire LED
readout, but he did see the prefix and that prefix was local.

"I agree." Ivan said. "He's here and Erik Lance knows where. What I have to
do is read Lance. I've nudged Ron and several others to make inquiries on
the man but he seems to be a cipher. Ron couldn't even turn up a phone
number or an address on the guy. Maybe he lives at the Institute. I think
we're in luck though. Ron just got notice that his next meeting with Lance
will be held in Washington. At last, a chance to get a handle on
Fennman. It's about time, wouldn't you say?"

It was on aThursday ten days later when the meeting took place. The sky was
overcast and rain threatened. Chet pulled the SUV into the office building
parking lot on 22nd St. while they waited for Ron and Turner to arrive for
their 2:30 appointment with Lance. Ivan checked on Harris and saw that the
agents were only minutes away.

"OK, Sven and I are going to head for the lobby. I want to be on the 5th
floor, right near that office when Ron arrives - maybe I can catch sight of
Lance from the hallway - I would rather he not notice me at all, but if I
can't get a look at him that way, I barge into the office 'by mistake'."

"Why even worry about that guy," Chet asked, "You can just blank his mind,
make him forget he ever saw you."

"Yeah, I could, but think about Ann Arbor and Doc Conner. I made him
forgetful too and Fennman's team of shrinks restored his memory in a
week. I'd rather do this so that Lance has nothing to remember, just in
case. . ."

Ivan missed seeing Lance from the hallway, Harris and Turner were met by a
secretary who ushered the two into an inner office. Ivan was
frustrated. Through Ron's eyes he again viewed Erik Lance's bland
countanance . The man was colorless, ash blond hair and eyebrows. Lashes so
white they seemed nonexistant and eyes the color of over bleached denim. As
if this wasn't enough, the fellow's skin carried the unhealthy palor of a
dungeon dweller. The guy's teeth had more color than his face, in
comparison they appeared almost yellow. Lance was a chain smoker and he had
a Brooklyn accent that grated on Ivan's nerves even though it came filtered
through Ron's conciousness.

The meeting haden't even started when Ivan's plan went awry. A pain so
horrible he though he had been stabbed, shot through his back, putting an
end to any thought of barging onto Lance's office. He collapsed in pure
agony, unable to do anything but roll on the floor. Sven realizing what was
happening, quickly scooped Ivan up and carried him back to the
elevator. The pain just wouldn't quit, it was excruciating, never in his
life had he experienced anything like it. Sven was talking to his, but he
couldn't make out what he was saying - the pain - the pain - it overrode
everything, even his ESP. Ivan clenched his jaw trying to keep from crying
out - it seemed like he couldn't breath. A pressure in his head made his
eyes feel like they were going to explode -every point of light had a halo
around and then mercifully the elevator faded to gray.

Ivan awoke to findDoctor Cole hovering over him. An IV slowly dripped and
he realized that he was back in the townhouse. Mentally, he reached for the
Bart, Chet, Jason and Sven. They were all here, sitting in the next room,
fretting. Chet was saying that they should have started the transfusion and
worried about the consequences later. Bart and Sven agreed, but Jason
insisted on waiting until Ivan could decide.

<Guess I screwed up, huh Chet?>

"He's awake!" Chet cried, leaping up and heading for the bedroom.The others
followed and crowded into the small room.

"How are you feeling?" Bart asked, worry painted plainly on his face, "Any
more pain?"

"No, but my head is buzzing a bit - narcotics?"

"Yeah, morophine. Look, Ivan, Doctor Cole say's the cancer is spreading
like wildfire - Just by pressing on your abdomin and he can now feel
lumps." <You've got to have the transfusion!>

"Doctor, how long have I got? I want the truth."

"A few weeks, maybe less. Without a biopsy, I can't determine which type of
cancer you have, but it is obviously very fast moving. There's been a major
enlargement to your liver since I checked you 2 weeks ago."

<Well, that cooks our goose, doesn't it.> Ivan projected to the
others. <Fennman keeps on truckin' and we have to go into hiding!>

Ivan read Doctor Cole and saw that there was little more he could do at
present, so he made a few changes in the doctor's memory.

Cole packed his bag, rolled down his sleaves and put his jacket on. It
wasn't apendicitis after all, merely a case of acute indigestion. The
fellow should have just gone to the emergency room. . .

"Thank you, Doctor. I really appreciate you coming to my aid like this."
Ivan saw that Cole had planned on taking his wife out for a surprise dinner
that evening. There was still time, it was early yet, only around 5:00 PM
Cole had made the emergency call directly from his office. Flashing the
information to Bart, he watched as Bart pulled out his wallet and extracted
some bills.

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," Bart added, "We don't know what we would have
done without you. I'll be around tomorrow to pay the bill, but in the mean
time, please accept this token of our appreciation - do something nice for
yourself - perhaps take your wife out to dinner." He said as he slipped the
bills into the breast pocket of the doctor's coat.

Cole smiled. He wasn't in the habit of taking tips, but the young man was
so sincere that couldn't refuse. It wasn't until the drive home that he
pulled out the money and was shocked to find 4 crisp, one hundred dollar
bills. He shook his head. Now, THAT was an expensive case of indigestion!
Maybe I should do house calls more often, he thought.

"Well, it looks like we won't be making people forget about us. It was a
good plan, Jason and if it wasn't for this damn cancer, we'd probably have
Fennman located by now."

"You keep thinking the transfusion will destroy your ESP, but that is only
an assumption." Bart said. "Look, in the shape you're in, there's nothing
more you can do here. Let's do the transfusion and see what happens. If you
loose it, we'll just keep on moving. There's one thing for sure - we'll all
outlive Fennman, all we have to do is stay out of sight."

"There is one other option." Jason commented, "Since we don't have time to
search for Fennman, Ivan might be able to flush him out."

"How?" they all wanted to know.

"Ivan, remember what you told us about making people remorsful over past
sins?"

"Sure, with most folks it's fairly simple. A little nudge, that starts them
thinking about their misdeeds, then a little extra push and it starts
cascading. Suddenly they feel the need to confess to anyone who will
listen. Just like Juan Sanchez."

"Exactly. Now what if you did the same thing to all the people you've read
here in Washington - not just Senator Davis and that whole bunch, but
eveyone in the government that you've read."

"But most of those people have nothing to do with Fennman!" Ivan protested.

"Some do. Anyway, for this to work, we can't simply pick out known Fennman
cohorts. There are hunderds more within the Beltway supporting Fennman
whether they know it or not. What we need is a regular flood of people
coming forward - enough to distabilize the Institute. Remember, in order
for Fennman to stay in business, his backers are calling in favors all the
time. Someone votes 'yes' on an Insitute funding proposal and in turn gets
a vote for his own personal pork barrel. It's the way Washington works -
what we need to do is throw a monkey wrench into those works."

Ivan blanched, "Do you know what that would do to the country? Good Lord,
I've read half of congress and most of the senate, to say nothing of all
the those agency people. There are no squeeky clean politicians here, all
have been stained in one way or another - it sort of goes with being in
politics. Hell, there are enough skeletons in the halls of congress to sink
the whole ship of state. Jason, it might bring down the government."

"I have a bit more faith in the American people than that." Jason replied,
"Yeah, there'll be a shake up, but belive me, the union will hold
together. Besides, rooting some crooks out of Washington can't be all bad."

"But it's not just crooks who'll suffer! I can't make anyone selectivly
remorseful, once started, the cascade reaches every part of the personality
- every blessed thing will come out - infidelities - cribbing on some test
in college - little peccadilloes that has nothing to do with a man's
ability or fitness for a job. Shit, the media would have a field day."

"It's the only alternative I can come up with. It's pretty obvious that you
don't have the time or stamina for anything else. It's either this, or take
the transfusion and hope that you're wrong about what it may do to
you. . ."


Chapter 12


As far as John Eritine was concerned it was just another wasted
afternoon. He did enjoy getting away from the Institute for awhile, but
that bit of freedom meant he would have to work harder at producing a
report for Fennman that exactly matched the conversation with the two FBI
agents. The tape quality was lousy - Fennman was a stickler for details and
he was not going to be happy.  Eritine felt FBI liaison was a waste of
time. He had yet to learn anything from those reports that wasn't already
covered in CIA briefings. Well, his was not to wonder why. . .

He called Fennmann. This would probably be another phone confrence - some
days the old man wouldn't allow anyone into the inner sanctum, not even
John.

"Anything new?" Fennman asked.

"No, the same old thing - reports on a group of suspected Arab terrorist
who might be trying to enter the country, another on some skinheads in
Texas and a neo-nazi bunch up in Montana. We could have got that news by
watching CBS. Anyway, it was all covered in the CIA report last week."

"I've been trying to listen to that tape. What the hell happened?"

"Sorry Boss, it was a rush job and Peterson didn't do a sound test. I've
straightened it out, the next one will be as clear as those made here at
the Institute."

"It better be!" Fennman warned. "Replace Peterson, I don't want this kind
of screw up again."

"Yes sir. I've already assigned Bennet to the job. I'm just starting on the
report. Do you want me to bring it around when it's finished?"

"Tomorrow is soon enough. One thing though, which man was it that told
about seeing naked women fighting in the street?"

"Oh, that was Harris. Turner said something about going to a professional
women's wrestling match and Harris came up with a story about 2 women
tearing each other's cloths off and going at it on a city street. He said
the fight ended up right out in middle of traffic." Erintine , "Turner
didn't believe him.  Apparently the two have been playing a little 'one
upsmanship' in the story telling department."

"When and where did this supposed fight take place?"

"Harris didn't specify when, Sir, but he did mentioned Oklahoma."

"Oklahoma!" Fennman yelled, "Jesus Christ, Eritine, didn't that ring a bell
with you? You've read all the theroies on Decoviak.  Most of them point to
an ability to make people see what's not there. I want you to check on
Harris and find out if he was involved in the attempt to capture Decoviak,
either in Arizona or Oklahoma City. Damn it, man, we could have one of his
spies practically in our midst. Check out Turner as well. I want to know
where those men were assigned before coming here."

Eritine said, "Yes Sir." and got off the line as quickly as
possible. Fennman was practically frothing at the mouth.  John was
nervous. The smallest error by anyone in security and the shit seemed to
stick to him personally, and when the stink gets too much, he thought,
Fennman will be out looking for a new head of security. The man shuddered -
a not so idle thought crossed his mind. . .  'I wonder if Katz had
premonitions about being replaced.'

By noon the next day, Eritine had the information Fennman wanted. Harris
had indeed been in on the failed attempt to corner Decoviak.

"And Turner?" Fennman asked.

"No sir, he hasn't had an assignment outside the Beltway for the last
decade, he's a desk jocky."

"You sure?"

"Yes Sir."

"John, I want Harris at the Carson center ASAP."

"But, Boss, the FBI would never authorize the testing one of their men!"

"Did I ask you to get pemission?"

"No Sir. . ."

"Then just do it and make sure he doesn't realize where he is at or how he
got there, understand?"

#####

On the evening the day after the meeting with Erik Lance, Ron was in his
small apartment in Bethesda. He had changed out of his normal business suit
into jeans and sweat shirt and was just deciding if he should order a pizza
or heat up a TV dinner when the door bell rang. Not expecting anyone, Ron
answered it, hoping it might be one of the girls from from across the hall,
the redhead in particular, but as he opened the door he was struck in the
face by a pungent, choking cloud of gas. Blinded, Ron staggered back. He
never saw his assailent - just the floor as it suddenly rose up to meet
him.

######

"I'm not happy at the thought of destroying so many careers. Wouldn't the
plan work if I picked out just a few of the worst cases?"  Ivan complained.

"We've been over this a hundred times, " Jason replied. "We can't know how
many unsuspecting people are actually supporting Fennman. It's going to
take a major shakeup to get to him - and that means everyone."

The discussion halted when Bart pushed through the door carrying a tray
loaded down with dishes,

"Soups's on," he called cheerfully, "Also, Chet's meat loaf, mashed
potatoes, gravy and string beans, plus Sven's dessert. Feeling well enought
to eat?"

"I thought we were going to have carry out again? Not that I'm complaining,
mind you. Yes I am hungry and it smells wonderful."

"Good." Bart replied as he sat the tray down. "There's food is on the
table, Jason - you'd better hurry. Those two," he indicated the next room
with a jerk of his head, "Are feeding their faces like there's no
tomorrow."

"Go eat, JT, "Ivan urged, "I know you're right, it's just that I needed to
work through it in my mind. We'll talk about it later."

<Jason is right, Love, there's nothing else you can do. Fennman has to be
taken down, otherwise there will always be someone dogging us.>

<Ironic, isn't it that our safety depends on destroying a number of
basically good people over little shit that happened in their past. It
doesn't sit well with me, Bart.>

< Ever consider that you might be overstating the situation? The media will
have so many major scandals to report, they may never get around to the
small stuff. Anyway, I want you to forget all that now and eat your lunch -
while it's hot.>

Ivan smiled, "Yes Mother." He replied, aloud.


After lunch, Ivan decided he wanted to get up for awhile.

"Leave the hep lock in, just unhook the IV. I want to walk around without
dragging that hat rack along." He said, pointing a thumb at drip stand.

"You sure?" Bart asked.

"Yep, unhook me and let me stretch my legs. I'd like some fresh air too -
maybe we can go out for dinner this evening or to a mall - I hate being
cooped up in this apartment day after day."

Bart helped Ivan dress. A long sleeved shirt covered the needle in his arm
nicely. He suprised the others by coming out of the bedroom fully clothed
and wearing a lightweight jacket,

"Bart and I are going for a little walk, just around the complex - we won't
be long. When we get back, I'm going to read all the contacts one last time
and if nothing new is on the horizon, then I'll start implementing Jason's
idea. Any objections?"

<Not from me!> Chet responded.

<I see no other way.> Sven commented

Jason looked relieved.

Bart held open the outer door then took his life partner's arm and steadied
him until his old stride came back.  Between them communion flowed, no need
to ask Bart for his opinion - it was imprinted perfectly in Ivan's heart
and mind.

#####

"We have a problem, Boss. The team at Carson allowed Harris to wake up for
a few minutes - he can probably identify half of them."

"I heard - you know what has to be done." Fennman answered.

"Yes sir, only how? He's healthy, could be worth a lot if you want him
typed."

"We don't have time for that!" Fennman shouted, "Didn't you read the
report? They found at least a dozen instances where Harris's memories had
been tampered with - some of them recently. Get rid of him!"

#####

A grueling day for Ivan. After the brief airing, he settled down to sifting
once more through the minds he had read in August. The task of searching
those minds caused no strain, but the sheer number of them combined with
the dichotomy of thought processes that politicians seem to have, soon
tired Ivan. He kept at it until Bart called a dinner break,

"You're working too hard," Bart complained, "No more tonight!"

"There are only a few left - I'll finish up after supper. Tomorrow I start
the cascade and it's going to be ugly. An atom bomb might do less damage to
Washington."

The fine Italian meal relieved at least some of Ivan's weariness.  The five
sat around a table at a small place called Gino's, just gabbing and
relaxing until nearly 9 o'clock. Mostly Ivan was weary at finding no
alternative to starting the cascade. Like a gambler he was hoping that one
more coin in the slot - one more hand of cards would change his luck, but
nothing did. Since afternoon he had worked his way from the center of
corruption - Davis and his cohorts, down the peripherals. It was now
pushing midnight. The only ones left were Turner and Harris - about as far
from the center of things as one could get.

Turner was watching TV - the late show - the same show Chet and Jason were
watching in the next room. Ivan played a bit, jumping from one internal
view to another and discovered that that Turner's TV received a different
feed than the one Chet and Jason were watching. A slight, almost
inperceptable delay had the TV in the next room lagging behind the one
Turner was watching. Ivan did the scan on Turner and found nothing of
interest. He then switched to Harris and got a blank.

<Jason, I think Ron Harris is drunk, or high! All I'm getting from him are
vague, rather nightmarish images.>

<I don't think Ronny drinks much and I know he wouldn't use drugs. Are you
sure he's not hospitalized?>

<Well, I can't be sure> Ivan projected as he arose and wandered into the
living room, "But I don't think so." He added verbally.  "He's not
completely out. It's like his mind isn't connected to his body - he doesn't
seem to see or feel anything, but there's a radio playing nearby I can hear
it plainly."

Muting the TV, Chet asked, "What's up?"

"I can't rouse Harris - it's like he's. . . Wait a minute . . . Say . . .
He's in a car and it just turned onto a rough road - pot holes, lots of
them, jarring the hell out of him. At least the bouncing is making him more
alert, only I still can't see anything. What the hell is going on?"

<Try projecting. If he's drunk, he won't be spooked by it, and he might
just answer.>

Ivan tried, only it would have been easier threading a marshmallow through
the eye of a needle. Harris's mind seemed light years beyond reach. Ivan
felt the car shudder to a halt, heard a door open and slam, and a moment
later another door open. Someone grabbed Harris and pulled him from the car
where he limply collapsed to the ground - Ron's hands seemed to be tied
together like a convienient towing point. The man, (Ivan assumed it was a
man), began dragging Harris, Ivan could feel sharp stones gouging Ron's
back.  At last awareness began to seep into Harris. He struggled, weakly,
ineffectively and the dragging continued unabated on for a few more yards
before the man dropped Ron's tied hands. Ivan heard a metalic 'click' - and
then a voice,

"Sorry, Kid, just following orders."

A sudden realization washed over Ivan. He tried to disengage only it was
too late. When the bullet crashed through Ron's brain, Ivan had a seizure,
he fell, kicking and thrashing on the living room floor, his convulsions
exactly mimicking Ron Harris's death spasms.