Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  So he’d agreed to be a government witness, and gone into the Witness Protection Program.

  For murder, racketeering, and various other crimes, Grappo got three life sentences with no possibility of parole.

  Grappo was out of circulation, but not out of action. As Harry learned after the first attempt on his life.

  Myra took the girls and left him after the second attempt, in the supposedly secure house in Spokane, Washington.

  The Feds had never found the money Grappo was supposed to have. But Grappo knew where it was and how to get at it, and with the help of a few trusted associates on the outside, was using some of it to even his score against Harry.

  Harry had been alone when Grappo’s people had tried to kill him in Phoenix. No Myra to think about now. Just saving his own skin.

  And here he was in Troy Hills, listening to this truck begin to downshift as it came over the crest and started down his street.

  Nothing so suspicious about that.

  Unless you’ve already had two attempts made on your life under conditions in which you were supposed to be perfectly safe.

  The truck was starting down the winding road past his house, and Harry could tell by the whine of the gearing that it was going faster than it should have been, given the conditions.

  He was standing at the front window. Up the hill, he could see the truck’s lights illuminate the road.

  Maybe it didn’t mean anything . . .

  But he couldn’t take the chance. He ran to the hall closet. He had an overnight bag packed there. He had another, identical bag upstairs, in the bedroom. So he could get at one of them quickly and get out.

  He grabbed his overcoat, and, bag in hand, went out the back door, into his small back yard.

  It was cold! But you couldn’t expect a man to be wearing his skiing longjohns all of the time.

  He went to a corner of his back yard, where the little opening in the hedge led to a short path connecting with the next street down.

  He had just gotten into the path when he heard the truck slam into his house, and, a moment later, blow up. Burning junk was propelled into the air and came raining down in hot firebrands and flaming shingles. For a moment he was blinded by the flash, even though he hadn’t been looking directly at it. But then his eyes adjusted and he was into the street below.

  At the end of the path, on the street below, was a small wooden garage half-hidden in trees. It had been one of the points that had induced him to accept this location. At least he had transportation away from his house if they got at him again.

  He dug his duplicate car keys out of the overnight bag. Within minutes he had the vehicle moving, making his way down the slick road with caution.

  WHILE DRIVING, Harry used his cell phone to call Richard Selles, his current FBI contact. Selles was alarmed to hear of this latest attempt on Harry’s life. Despite the lateness of the hour, Selles agreed to meet Harry at a diner they both knew near the Northway.

  Harry was there in twenty minutes, and soon after, Selles arrived. The FBI man was tall, dark-haired, well groomed, like all the others Harry had met.

  Harry cut through the man’s obviously set speech about how unaccountable this was, how it was unprecedented in the Witness Protection Program for a secure place to be revealed, not once but three times.

  “And you’re very sorry about this,” Harry said. “Sure, I know. But your regrets don’t do a thing for me. I told you before, you’ve got a leak in your program. Somebody’s telling Grappo where I am. It’s got to be someone on the inside.”

  “Not necessarily,” Selles said. “I and other agents have gone over all the evidence. If it were a leak in the program, others in Witness Protection would be involved. But it’s only you.”

  “That doesn’t prove you don’t have a leak.”

  “No. But it offers a pretty strong inference. Especially when taken with other evidence.”

  “Like what?”

  Selles stirred his coffee. Then he asked, “How well did you know Harold Grappo?”

  “I went to high school with the guy,” Harry said. “After that, he went into the army and I lost track of him for a number of years. I didn’t meet him again until he telephoned me out of the blue and offered me a job. But you know all this, I’ve told you and the other agents this a thousand times.”

  Selles persisted. “Grappo never talked to you about what he did in the army?”

  Harry shook his head. “We were never exactly buddies. I was just someone he’d known in childhood.” Harry grimaced bitterly. “Therefore someone he could trust.”

  Selles considered for a few moments, then said, “Would it surprise you to learn that during his service time, Grappo was assigned to a section researching psi phenomena?”

  “Yes, it would,” Harry said. “I didn’t know he had any expertise that way.”

  “He didn’t. He was assigned to a guard unit at a special facility in Colorado. All he did was watch gates and TV screens and check credentials. But we figure he kept his eyes and ears open. It’s the only way we can make any sense out of what’s happening here.”

  “I still don’t get what you’re driving at.”

  “We think he must have contacted a Far Viewer.”

  “What in hell is that?” Harry asked.

  “The Far Viewer program was an army experiment using people with demonstrated psychic abilities to project themselves mentally into situations to which they didn’t have physical access. The idea was to spy on certain foreign governments—the Russians and East Germans, specifically—and get a lead on what they were up to.”

  Harry thought about it and shook his head. “I still don’t get it.”

  “Some of these Far Viewers were really good. They could sit in a darkened room and go into a trance and project their consciousness to different locations. A few of them were extraordinarily gifted. They could trace individual people across a continent, through some mental gymnastics we still don’t understand.”

  Harry frowned, trying to get his mind around the concept. “And you think that’s what’s happening to me?”

  “At the moment, it’s our only working conjecture.”

  “You got anything else that makes you think so?”

  Selles nodded. “We’ve checked out all Grappo’s telephone contacts over the past two years. He’s talked several times with a woman named Anna Freed. Name mean anything to you?”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “She was one of the most promising Far Viewers in the army program until the experiment was abandoned.”

  “What have you done about her?” Harry demanded.

  “We’re asking permission to set up surveillance. The okay should come down in a day or two.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Harry said. “And meanwhile I get killed, right?”

  “We have another place for you. We’ll put guards on it. You’ll be safe this time, believe me.”

  “Where does she live, this Anna Freed?”

  “Harry, we have no real evidence against her. There’s nothing we can do.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything. Just give me her address.”

  “That wouldn’t be ethical.”

  “But what’s going on is okay, huh? Listen, Selles, give me her address or forget about my cooperation. If I can’t talk with Anna Freed, try to make some arrangement with her, I’ll talk to Grappo, see what I can do there.”

  “Grappo will just kill you.”

  “What do you think he’s trying to do now? I want her address.”

  Selles hesitated, then said, “You understand we can’t condone any violence.”

  “I don’t intend any. I just need to talk to the lady.”

  Selles thought for a while, then came to a decision. He pulled a slip of paper from an inside pocket, scribbled on it, and handed it to Harry.

  “She’s in Saugerties, New York. That’s pretty convenient.”

  “Yes, very handy.”

  “
It would be better,” Selles said, “if you let us handle this.”

  “I can see where that’s gotten me,” Harry said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He got up and left the diner. Within minutes he was in his car again, driving toward Saugerties.

  When Anna Freed got off the bus, the brief winter sunset of the Hudson Valley had faded, and a darkening grayness now pervaded the western sky.

  “Have a nice evening, Miss Freed,” the bus driver said.

  “Good night, Tony,” Anna said.

  The bus moved on, completing its loop back into Saugerties. Looking up from the bus stop, Anna saw her apartment building, standing all by itself on the rim of the hill, silhouetted against the sky, with lights already winking on behind leaded windows. The old redbrick building was scheduled for demolition soon. They were going to put up a development. Anna hated the idea, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  She climbed the broad concrete steps leading up to her building. She was a small, plump person, middle-aged in appearance. Her clothing was the dowdy, respectable long skirt and matching jacket with brooch that so many librarians affected. She wore an old army parka over it all.

  The front door of the building was seldom locked, although the insurance people always scolded her about that. She went through the unlocked door, climbed one flight of stairs, and went down the corridor to her apartment in the rear.

  She let herself in, turned on the living room lights, and got a shock. There was a man sitting in the big armchair facing the front door.

  It was only a small shock, however, because she knew who this man was, although she had never actually met him before.

  “Hello, Anna.” He was an average-sized man, balding, getting close to middle age. He had a harrassed, querulous look on his face. This didn’t surprise Anna at all.

  “Hello, Harry,” she said.

  She took off her parka and hung it from a peg in the little hallway. She came into the living room and sat down in a straight chair facing Harry’s. She sat alertly, waiting for him to speak.

  Harry seemed at a loss for words. He stared at her, his mouth working, his forehead creased, and at last he said, “Well, lady, how does it feel to kill a guy? Because that’s what you’ve done, you know. You’re the one been tracking me for Grappo, am I right?”

  “You’re perfectly right,” Anna said. “But until two days ago, I had no idea Mr. Grappo wanted to kill you. He said he wanted me to trace people who ran out on their debts. He told me it was normal collection agency procedure, except for the psychic angle, which he wanted to experiment with. I saw nothing wrong with it. It paid well, and I needed the money.”

  “You never thought about investigating Grappo?”

  “No, why should I? I understand your position, Harry, but your attempt to reproach me is badly conceived. From what I know of you, moral indignation is not your strong suit.”

  Anger flared across Harry’s face. He looked like he was going to jump to his feet, do something, and Anna braced herself for violence. But then Harry’s shoulders slumped, he sat back in the armchair and covered his face with his hands. Finally he pulled himself together and said, “So I’m a dead man.”

  “Not on my account,” Anna said. “I have stopped working for Mr. Grappo. I quit as soon as I learned what he was really up to. I stayed long enough in the Remote Viewing posture last night to see the attack on your house.”

  “So you knew I got away?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And that I talked with Selles, the FBI guy?” She nodded.

  “Did you know I was coming here to see you?”

  “I thought it likely,” Anna said.

  “But you didn’t try to avoid me?”

  “No. Why should I? My conscience is clear. As soon as I learned that attempts were being made on your life, I stopped working for Mr. Grappo.”

  “Well, that’s something, at least,” Harry said.

  “Something, but not much. Mr. Grappo employs at least half a dozen other Far Viewers. I don’t think any of them have my talents. But they will find you.”

  Harry was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “I came here with half an idea of killing you. But don’t be alarmed. I’m not going to do it.”

  “I am not alarmed,” Anna said.

  “I’ll get out of here now,” Harry said. He stood up. “Thanks for talking to me. I just wanted to know what was going on.”

  “Where are you going?” Anna asked.

  “I guess I’ll call Selles, try his next hidey-hole. At least it’s free room and board. And maybe I’m getting used to the idea that pretty soon I’m going to wake up dead.”

  “It is good to take a realistic attitude,” Anna said. “But perhaps there’s something you can do other than resign yourself to the inevitable.”

  “Like what? Stay here?”

  Anna shook her head. “I have no protection to offer you. Grappo’s Far Viewers could find you as easily in my apartment as anywhere else on Earth.”

  “Then I’m all washed up,” Harry said.

  Anna stood up and walked over to him. She peered into his face for several moments. Then she sighed and said, “This was not my fault, but I feel I owe you something.”

  He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

  “The Far Viewers can find you anywhere on Earth. But I know a place that is on the Earth but not of it. A place where you could go. Where Grappo and his men could never find you.”

  “What are we talking about here?” Harry said. “Shangri-La?”

  “Something like that,” Anna said.

  Half an hour later, when Harry left Anna’s apartment, the rain had stopped and snow had begun failing in big, slow flakes. He cleared off his windshield and got going again. This time he had a New York State roadmap Anna had given him. And her silver brooch, which she said he’d need. The routes he was to take were marked in thick black grease pencil. He was going north, into the Adirondack Wilderness, to a place he didn’t really believe existed. But he was going there anyhow. What else was he to do?

  He stopped at a diner on a road outside of Lake Placid. It was colder now, and a brusque wind had come up. When he sat down at the counter, he realized how ravenously hungry he was. For the first time in his life he put away one of those lumberman’s specials—eggs, ham, hashed browns, biscuits and sausage gravy. While he ate, he occasionally reached into his pocket and touched the heavy silver brooch. It was his only solid reminder that this last hour hadn’t been some sort of a dream.

  Finally, reluctantly, he finished his meal, paid, and returned to his car. He was still chilly. His emergency getaway kit had been a good idea, but he hadn’t planned far enough ahead when he’d assembled it in Phoenix, not thinking to include a down-filled parka, hiking boots, thick shirt, heavy sweater, wool socks, gloves. He had been able to buy a Saranac Lake sweatshirt at the diner counter. At least it provided another layer.

  He kept the heater/defroster on high through Keene, and then on the back road toward Au Sable Forks. He had to slow down, because the driving was getting slick, and the snow was coming down faster, turning into a winter storm. It was difficult driving, but at least he had a fair assurance that Grappo’s people weren’t on to him yet. He didn’t have to worry about his back. And he didn’t dare think about what lay ahead.

  He almost missed the turnoff to South Jay Mountain. The road marker had blown down. But Anna had told him there was a farm with two big silos just beyond it, and Harry was able to back to the turnoff. After that, it was very slow going, slipping and sliding on the narrow, rutted dirt road that wound up the mountain. He passed the sign she’d warned him about—DANGER! ROAD CLOSED! At that point, the chain on his rear left wheel came loose. He got out and fixed it.

  Then he was back in the car, climbing up an increasingly steep and slippery road. The headlights dazzled off the snow and frozen black branches whipped against his windshield. The car wallowed, uncomfortable on the high-crowned dir
t road, its wheels spinning. Harry had the impression that there were things out in the woods, just outside the headlights’ reach, that were watching him with what he could only think of as hungry interest. Bad as that was, however, he didn’t want it to end. He knew he’d soon have to leave the car and continue on foot.

  Anna had tried to reassure him about that. “It’s a dangerous trip, but there’s nothing supernatural about it. Not until the end. The supernatural part comes after you have to leave the car.”

  “What happens then?” he had asked.

  “For most people, nothing. Just South Jay Mountain. Which, in winter, is bad enough. But for you, you have my brooch. The Guardian will sense it, and will come for you.”

  “And then?”

  “He will bring you where you need to go. Where you couldn’t get to on your own. To the Village.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Harry had asked her. “This can’t be much of a life for you.”

  “My sister and I made our choices long ago,” Anna told him. “This is all I can do for you.” Her expression softened for a moment. “I hope my sister welcomes you. I hope she’s not quite as—adamant—as before. You’re in a desperate situation. Maybe this time she’ll bend the rules.”

  “What’s your sister’s name?” Harry had asked.

  “They call her the Lady.”

  Harry had wanted to know more about everything, and especially how this village could be in this world but not accessible by ordinary means. Anna refused to say any more. “I could talk for hours. But the only way you’re going to find it is by going there.”

  And now the car slewed around again, seemed to fight for its footing, then slid into a deep ditch to one side.

  END OF THE EASY PART, if you could call it that. Harry sighed unhappily, made sure he had the brooch in an outside pocket where he could get at it easily—Anna had insisted on the importance of that—and stepped out into the cold.

  He followed the road, now knee-deep in snow, until it petered out. He had his overnight bag in one hand and a three-cell flashlight in the other, but the bright beam only turned the falling snow into an impenetrable gleam of white light. He finally realized that he could see better without it. He turned off the beam and went on, slipping and sliding, sometimes falling. Slowly he became aware that something was out there on the mountainside watching him.