Parallax

by Jon F. Merz

  "What's that got to do with all of this?"

  "Maybe you're fighting the change and the result is a headache each time. I'll bet if you just relaxed the next time you started to see something in your head, you wouldn't get the headaches any more."

  "You seem awfully confident about this."

  "I've always been interested in this stuff. You know, love potions and all that sort of junk."

  "Love potions?" Frank shook his head. Was this the same Gia he'd known before?

  "What?"

  "You just never struck me as going in for that kind of stuff, that's all."

  "There's a lot you don't know about me, Frank."

  "I guess so."

  "Promise me you'll at least try to relax the next time it happens?"

  "What if I say no?"

  "Then your head will probably hurt like a bastard afterwards. I'm just trying to save you some agony is all."

  "All right."

  Gia looked at the television. "Isn't that the guy from yesterday?"

  Frank looked. Bobby was on television. "Turn it up."

  Bobby's voice rolled into the room. "ÉMr. Patrisi will be sorely missed. We don't know exactly who might have done this, but I want to assure the community that Mr. Patrisi's name will carry on. His benevolence will not end. Nor will any of his employees rest until we find out exactly what happened on Beacon Hill last nightÉ"

  Gia looked at Frank. "Funny, he doesn't exactly look like a shy kid anymore."

  "They told me he was fresh out of college or something. But the way he acted yesterday, the way he tried to get the drop-shot on us, I should have known."

  "Known what?"

  "He's not with Patrisi. He never was. Bobby there must be from another family."

  "Another family?"

  "Looking to move into Boston, most likely. They must have sent him on ahead. Possibly to see what the make-up of Patrisi's organization was."

  "And they put him on you?"

  "Looks that way."

  "But he's no silly kid."

  "No," said Frank, studying the face on the screen. "He's something much more dangerous: he's an assassin just like me."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The phone rang forever.

  In the lobby of the Charles Hotel in Harvard Square, Stahl gripped the receiver and kept scanning the area. Come on, he thought, answer the phone.

  Finally it picked up. He heard a faint scrabble of static. "Allo?"

  "Alois?"

  "Papa?"

  Stahl exhaled. "Yes. Yes it's me, Alois. How are you feeling?"

  "Tired."

  Stahl took a breath and tried to fight off the wave of emotions sweeping over him - threatening to sweep him out into the black sea. "I know."

  "When are you coming home?"

  "Soon. I'll be home soon." Stahl prayed it would be, too.

  "Tonight?"

  "Not tonight."

  "Oh." The disappointment traveled thousands of miles. But the distance did little to lessen its impact.

  "Soon," said Stahl. "I promise."

  "Okay."

  He smiled. "You English has gotten quite good."

  "I practice every day, like you said I should. I speak with one of the nurses here. She says I'm doing well."

  "You sound like it." Stahl leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "Listen to me, Alois: I'm doing this job for you, understand? I'll be home as soon as I can and then we'll take that trip I was telling you about, remember?"

  "To the Matterhorn?"

  "Yes."

  "Could we climb it, Papa? Could we really?"

  Stahl smiled through the hot haze covering his eyes. "Yes. We can climb."

  "Hurry back, Papa. I want to see you again."

  "And I want to see you, too, Alois. I'll be with you by your side just as soon as I possibly can, okay?"

  "Okay, Papa. I have to go now. It's time for dinner."

  "I love you son."

  "I love you, too, Papa."

  Stahl hung onto the receiver for another minute, staring at the number pad, willing the hot tears forming in his eyes to go away. He took a shaky breath and turned from the phone, pushing his way out into the courtyard where a harsh winter gust stung his face and made the tears slip out of his eyes.

  Stahl wiped them and walked down toward Brattle Street.

  At the bus station, he doubled-back on himself. Again, he didn't think he was being followed. Not yet. It was still too early, but precautions were precautions because of the "pre". You took them before you thought you might be under surveillance and you survived.

  Stahl felt especially wary in Harvard Square. Despite his new face. Despite the pains he'd taken to make sure no one recognized him, he knew there were plenty of active Operations Directorate employees working for the Central Intelligence Agency walking around.

  Boston's listed CIA office was in Government Center. It was overt, ostensibly used for human resources and liaison work with other federal agencies.

  The CIA's second office was housed in Harvard Square. It was covert. Used for launching certain domestic and international operations. Stahl smirked when he thought about how silly most Americans were when it came to believing the CIA didn't do work stateside. Regardless of what their official charter stated, the CIA worked where it wanted.

  And Stahl didn't need anyone who might remotely recognize him seeing him on the streets right now.

  In the bus station he used another phone to dial the number Karen had given him the other day. She answered on the second ring.

  "It's me."

  "Do you remember the name of the cafŽ we used to discuss the future over coffee in?"

  Stahl thought for a minute. "Yes."

  "That's the name of my street. I trust you'll have no problems finding it."

  "What number?"

  "1982 of course." She hung up.

  Stahl smiled as he replaced the receiver. 1982. A good year. And it was the year he'd first slept with Karen during an operation. He was surprised at her sentimentality.

  The cafŽ. He'd almost forgotten about that. Outside of Pamplona there'd been a small cafŽ run by a tall lanky Spaniard named Garces. He'd named his cafŽ after his youngest daughter Mirabella.

  Stahl exited the bus station and stopped a young student and asked him for directions, figuring if anyone knew about the streets, a Harvard student would.

  He was right. The young kid pointed him out of Harvard Square.

  Stahl thanked him and walked down the street, leaving the Square's academic ambience behind.

  The houses grew smaller. Stahl looked at the gray clapboarded Cape houses and one word popped into his head.

  Quaint.

  But he knew they cost a lot of money. Living so close to what many people considered one of the intellectual hotspots in the nation - if not the world – would drive up property prices anywhere.

  Stahl himself would have enjoyed living here. The interaction and discussions with the younger kids could prove interesting and amusing. But he preferred living with his wonderful son.

  He sighed again as he threaded his way down a side street.

  Tired.

  Alois was tired.

  He knew it was a normal part of his son's condition, but it didn't make him feel any better about being several thousand miles away from the person who needed him the most.

  Damned finances!

  If Stahl hadn't needed the money, there was no way he would have agreed to take the job. And if the old man had pressured him too much, Stahl would have simply killed him and been done with it.

  But he needed the money.

  Alois needed the money.

  And that meant the job had to go off.

  He needed Karen for that.

  He found Mirabella Street exactly where the student had told him. He found 1982 easily enough as well. A small two-story split-level number in white with black shutters and a wrought-iron fence the squeaked when Stahl pushed through it.
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  He kept his right hand in his overcoat pocket around the butt of his pistol. It wasn't that he didn't trust Karen. But he didn't not trust her yet either. And he didn't want to walk into an ambush if he could avoid it.

  He rang the bell with his left hand.

  She answered the door quickly. "Come in. It's cold out and you'll let the heat escape."

  Stahl stepped inside and kept both his hands in his pockets. "Anyone else here?"

  She eyed him. "Why would there be anyone else in my home?"

  "No boyfriend?"

  She frowned. "Are you asking out of curiosity or caution?"

  "Yes."

  She cracked a grin. "There's no boyfriend. There's no husband. It's just me and my cat Willie." She bent and scooped up a longhaired Persian. She looked at Stahl. "You know what the kids call me at school? The young ones, I mean."

  "What?"

  "The Ice Queen. Can you believe that? They think I'm some kind of frigid woman just because they never see me in the company of men. How's that for progress?"

  "Doesn't sound like progress to me."

  "It's not," said Karen. She thumbed at a room behind her. "I made coffee."

  Stahl followed her into the kitchen. She stopped and looked at him. "Are you going to keep that gun trained on me until you leave?"

  Stahl smiled. "Sorry-"

  "-old habits, yes, I know. You should have seen me when I first came over here so many years ago. People thought I was weird walking everywhere and never taking my coat off."

  "You still do that?"

  She shrugged. "What's the point? Eventually I have to satisfy myself with the idea that I got out and everyone thinks I'm dead. I made a new start here. I figured if I acted like I was guilty of something, I'd be in worse shape. I gave it all up. I don't even own a gun now."

  Stahl found that hard to believe. "You don't?"

  "How would it look if a college professor at Harvard University applied for a gun permit? In Cambridge especially. It's not exactly a conservative part of town. They hate gun owners here."

  "What about if someone comes for you?"

  "Who's going to come for me? You're the only person I've seen since I killed the Donkey. That was years and years ago. I'm clean. And if the police ever show up, what would they hold me on? My backstopping is as good as anything the Donkey ever produced. I can be traced right back to a family grave plot in Calais. I haven't done anything illegal." She looked at him. "Even helping you with your little errand wouldn't get me into trouble."

  "Aiding and abetting an international assassin?"

  "You're not an international assassin anymore, Ernst. You aren't Javier, you aren't the Murderer of Milan, the Panther, or any of those other silly tags the papers used to give you." She sighed. "You're just a man now."

  Stahl sat down and slid out of his overcoat. "I've still got a job to do, Karen. My son's health depends on it."

  She poured them coffee. Stahl cupped his hands around the mug feeling the warmth bleed through the ceramic into his hands. "I spoke to him today. He's tired a lot. I think it's a common ailment for people with his condition."

  "They said a transplant would cure him?"

  "No guarantees," said Stahl. "But I've got to try. I wouldn't be here wasting your time if I thought there was another way."

  "I know it."

  He looked up. "Did you get the supplies I needed?"

  "Yes. They're in the other room. I packed them in a shoulder bag so you'd be able to carry them easily enough."

  Stahl nodded. "What do I owe you?"

  "Consider it a gift. It's nice just seeing you again. I'd heard that you might have made it out alive. Part of me wanted to believe you'd come for me. That you'd confess some sort of undying love for me that you'd never realized when we worked together. I used to sit up night thinking about us, you know that?"

  Stahl sipped his coffee. "If it's any consolation, I think you would have made a terrific mother for my son."

  Karen smirked. "I'm talking about us right now, Ernst."

  "I know you are."

  "Stupid of me, wasn't it? To think that."

  "We couldn't be together then, Karen. And afterwards, we were both lucky enough just being alive. If we'd gotten together it would have drawn them to us."

  "Not if we made the break cleanly."

  "Too risky. I had Alois to worry about as well."

  "Fate's a fickle thing."

  "Fate routinely fucks us all over," said Stahl. "And there's not a damned thing we can do about it but try to get on as best we know how."

  Karen sighed and drank some coffee. "You getting along okay in town here? Any problems?"

  Stahl thought about the Bulgarian cabby he'd killed last night. "No. No problems at all."

  "There was some disturbance on Beacon Hill last night. A murder and then some kind of bomb blast or fire. Two deaths in the space of a single night. Be careful. Boston may not be the safest town for you."

  It sure won't be once I complete my assignment, thought Stahl. "I'll watch my back."

  "You look concerned. Everything okay?"

  "Just thinking about my son."

  Stahl could feel her eyes on him. "You do the job and then head back, is that it?"

  "What's your timetable?"

  "Soon," was all Stahl said.

  "The backpack's in the other room."

  He looked up. "You're kicking me out?"

  Karen shrugged. "Is there any reason for you to stay?"

  "I thought we could talk."

  "About what? Our past? What do you want - to rekindle the love I once felt for you? You'll just leave me again, Ernst. I'm not that na•ve girl anymore. I'm older now. The years have gotten to me. Look at the wrinkles by my eyes, the creases in my forehead. My beauty's gone. I'm an old woman now. You wouldn't want to be with me."

  "You're too hard on yourself," said Stahl. But he stood anyway.

  Karen left the room. When she came back, she had the knapsack in one hand. "Here. Take it. It's got everything you needed."

  Stahl hefted the bag. "Heavy."

  "Your equipment doesn't come light."

  "I guess not."

  He slid into his coat and then strapped the bag across his back. "I'll be going now, I guess."

  Karen followed him to the front door.

  He turned to face her. "I can't thank you enough for your help."

  Her eyes looked moist, her jaw firm. "Forget it. Forget all about me, Ernst. Our time, I think, is past."

  Stahl kissed her quickly. "Vielen dank, liebchen."

  He turned and walked out, never seeing the steady stream of tears surge from Karen's eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Relax."

  Frank frowned.

  Relaxation was toughest to accomplish when you were trying to do it. Try to do something and it naturally became harder.

  Moe had taught him that. Moe's answer to dealing with stress? "Just grab the Jack Daniels and let him do the work for you instead."

  Frank found that useful on occasion, detrimental on others.

  He turned his head. "I don't even know why I let you talk me into this."

  "It's an experiment," said Gia. "We've got nothing to lose."

  "You don't believe me that I'll try this on my own if it ever happens again?"

  Gia's face loomed closer. "How long have I know you?"

  "Few years."

  "You think I don't know by now that you're one stubborn son of a bitch? I know what your promises mean. I know all about them in fact."

  He sighed. "Let's not turn this into a discussion about my faults, okay? I thought we were trying to accomplish something here."

  "Then lean back on the bed and close your eyes."

  He grinned. "Promise you won't molest me?"

  "I don't think you have anything to worry about there, Frank. I gave up finding you attractive a long time ago."

  "Cripes. That hurts."

  "Close your damned eyes."


  Frank allowed his lids to close, sealing off his vision. Darkness covered him. Gia had already shut the blinds in the bedroom to keep daylight from leaking into the room. Soft music played in the background.

  "I feel like a complete weirdo."

  "Frank, you aren't giving yourself over to the experience."

  He almost laughed. If the folks in the neighborhood could hear Gia talking like this. She sounds like a different person now, he thought. One of those New Age hippie freaks. The time she's been away must have been good for her. But what about for me?

  "Relax your breathing."

  "Huh?"

  "Take deep natural breaths like you're asleep."

  Frank evened out his breathing pattern and began trying to loosen his muscles. He could feel the bed underneath him. He felt the firmness of the mattress pressing and cradling his back. He felt the pillow cushioning his neck and head. A light blanket on top of him kept him warm even though the thermostat in the building was set nice and high.

  He tried to concentrate on the back of his eyelids. He could see vague patterns there as if he's pressed his palms into them and then pulled them away. Vague reminders of the yellow sparkles, he called them.

  Gia's voice floated into his head.

  Soft.

  Soothing.

  Attractive.

  "Let your breathing deepen now. I want you to relax and think about nothing at all."

  Easier said than done. Frank's mind swam with thoughts. What about the hit on Patrisi? What about Bobby? What about his headaches? What about Gia? Don't think about anything - yeah, sure.

  "I want you to recall how you felt the last time you saw the images in your head that you think are of this other man. Think about seeing them play back in your head all over again. Let them come."

  Frank took another deep breath and thought about when he'd been sitting in the Explorer over on Beacon Hill. He saw the same strong face swim into his mind's eye. He saw the same strong jaw line, the same cold eyes of a killer that had surprised him the other night. He tried to concentrate on remembering what the man looked like.

  And then the image changed.

  In Frank's mind he was floating almost. He felt like he was anyway, but he supposed that was just his own impression of the experience. Hell with it, he thought. He'd figure it out later.

  A room.