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

Chapter 10


Enlightenment was a slightly longer process for Sven, yet even he found it
impossible to share another's thoughts and still maintain a wall of
prejudice. It took about a week of sifting through the lives of others
before his epiphany came about. Ivan pushed it along, gently prodding,
bringing forth the memories and the understanding needed to cement the bond
- and in the end it was as Ivan predicted. Sven now saw JT through
different eyes and felt ashamed at his first reaction to the man.

He tried to explain his feelings to Chet, his fear and anger - the betrayal
he felt as he lie bleeding in a ditch.

"I've wasted a good part of my life in hating blacks, and yet I realize now
that I brought it on myself. I was 21 when I met Kinakut, he was only 17 a
cabin boy, and so beautiful I fell in love with him. I pushed myself on the
boy, actually you might say I forced him to become my lover - I saw only
what I felt for him, not how he felt about being used. God, what a fool I
was - and what a fool I've been all these years since."

"Don't worry, Jason understands. We all do. When it comes to love we have
very little control of our emotions. Hate too is another unbound passion,
but we can work through if we try. Does it still upset you that Jason is
black?"

"No, not at all, but I'm embarrassed. He must think I'm a poor excuse for a
human being."

"I doubt that. Jason also had to work through prejudice - in fact we all
have in one way or another. There is no perfect understanding anywhere
except between the five of us. Look, Jason went with Maria shopping today,
but when he comes back you might want to sit down and talk to him. I think
you'll feel better if you do."

Perhaps it was Chet's memories of the first night he spent with Sven, the
ones he shared so intimately with Jason, or maybe they simply clicked,
whatever the reason, the bond between Jason and Sven became extremely
close. Over the next couple of weeks it was not uncommon to see the two off
by themselves talking animatedly, laughing, and enjoying each other's
company and more than once they had been sighted in some quiet terrace
bower holding hands.

"Do you feel left out?" Ivan asked, as he and Chet watched the two again
wander away, lost in conversation.

"No, not really. I'm glad it's happening for them. I envy them, of course,
but I don't feel abandoned and definitely not left out. If you care to
look, you'll see that's not been the case." Chet said, grinning.

"Well, as long as you're not upset." Ivan said, pulling a notebook from his
shirt pocket. In the process his pen slipped out and fell to the ground. He
reached for it and a pained look crossed his face.

"What's the matter?" Chat asked.

"It's just a catch in my back, I guess. I had this couple of times up
north, it goes away in a minute."

He leaned back in the chair and the pain soon passed.

"We've got two weeks yet before we head north again, but we need to get
organized. First off we have to develop contingency plans for each of us in
case we really screw up. There's also Maria and Jose to think about. We
might be gone for quite awhile."

"OK, then let's set up a fund that will cover the lease for the next year,
and wages of course. We'll need to beef up to Maria's household account too
- utilities, license tags for the car any other fees you can think of, and
we'll have to get an attorney to make sure everything is legal."

"Yes," Ivan replied, "But I'm wondering if we also shouldn't hire someone
to stay here with Maria."

"Are you worried about break- ins?"

"No, not really, but I just don't feel right about leaving her alone when
she can't use a telephone."

"OK, then get one of Jose's grandchildren to stay with her - they're here
three days a week anyway. The 12 year old, Teresa - she's a smart little
girl and she and Maria hit it off fine, in fact Maria's teaching her to
sketch."

"That's a good idea. I'll talk to Jose and maybe have one of the older boys
stay too. Phillip is almost 16, I'll bet he could use some extra money."

"OK, the domestic stuff is settled. Now what about those contingency plans
you were talking about?"

"I'm thinking extra passports for everyone and enough cash and credit cards
to keep each of us mobile in case we get into a jam. If trouble develops
we'll have to spread out and go in different directions. The cards I've
already arranged for, the passports will be Jason's job when we get back in
the States."

"And?"

"That's it really. If anything happens, we scatter, each to a
pre-determined place and then regroup."

"Some contingency plan! I like our main scenario better - you know - the
one where nothing goes wrong? I'd also like it better if you'd stay a
thousand miles away from Washington and just directed us. We can do the
legwork. You shoot us the passwords, Jason directs and we can destroy
practically everything written about us. You don't need to be there."

"Yes I do! Until I can read Fennman, I have to be on the scene. We're sure
the FBI and CIA are covered, but Fennman might have other agents or
agencies involved and we wouldn't even know that until we got nailed. No,
I've got to be there. They'll all have to be erased at the same time - in
layers, from the center to the outer edge of each group, but Fennman
remains the keystone. Also, we still have no idea of how many at the
Institute are directly involved. There could be dozens."


The planning went on for a week. During that time Chet saw another instance
or two of Ivan's back pain, but again thought nothing of it.  However, on
the morning three days before their scheduled departure, Ivan was in such
pain he couldn't get out of bed and Bart came rapping on Chet's door,

"He hurting bad. It just came on all of a sudden. I'm getting worried."

When Chet got to the room, Ivan's face was grimaced in pain. He was trying
to sit, but Bart eased him back into the mattress.

"Damn," he said, "I've never had anything hurt like that before. It's like
being stabbed with a knife."

He tried breathing deeply and each breath hurt, but finally the pain
subsided.

"Whoa, now that was a bad one!"

"I thought you said it was just a sprain? That sure doesn't act like any
pulled muscle I've ever seen. Does it still hurt?"

"No, it's OK now."

"You just lie still - I'm going to call a doctor."

"Don't bother, I've got a hunch I know what it is."

"What?"

"Liver cancer. I remember my Dad suddenly having this same kind of pain."

"Well then I guess we're not going to watch you grow old after all, are we?
Bart, get a transfusion kit. We're going to take care of this right now!"

"NO! Not yet. I'll use painkillers if I have to."

"For God's sake, why?"

"Because I can't!  What if I have more than liver cancer? I've always
wondered why my ESP developed so suddenly. What if a transfusion wipes it
out - where the hell would that leave us? No, I can't chance it until we've
put everyone off our trail."

"So that's why you've been holding off." Bart interjected. "Why didn't you
tell me?"

"I'm sorry, I figured eventually Fennman would fade away and it wouldn't
make any difference."

"Cancer runs in your family," Bart chided, "your Dad and two of your uncles
died of it, and you kept assuring me it was only a pulled muscle. I though
we didn't have any secrets between up?"

"Well Jesus, Bart, I didn't realize it until just a few minutes ago," Ivan
protested, "I still can't be sure, but I do know that we don't have time to
fool with doctors and biopsies."

Chet sorted through his memories of Ivan's father and saw that the man had
lived only a short time after the onset of the disease. More importantly,
the last weeks of his life had been spent in a drug-induced haze. All three
men arrived at the same conclusion at almost at the same moment.

"We'll have to change our plans." Chet said quietly, "If it's cancer, you
won't be able to handle a long campaign. You had better call Jason and
Sven, we'll need a war council."


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. . ."