The Kaleidoscope

by B K Nault

  The money held no allure. Making Georgia eat her own words was tempting, but Morrie’s remark about his dad jolted him to the core. “Tell your cronies what they’re planning on doing—and I assume they will someday, with or without my dad’s technology—is disgusting.”

  “Time’s up!” The bull-horned command interrupted Harold’s refusal to join the dark side. “Give yourself up now!”

  “It’ll only take them a minute or two to find us in here. They’re probably sending in an EOD.” Harold was aware the robot seeking the bomb would consider him and Morrie collateral damage if too much time passed. “Come on, give me the remote and I’ll—”

  “You’re the one who is just a pawn, Harold. You’ll never accomplish anything important in life. Just like your grandma predicted and your ex-wife found out for herself.” Morrie tried one last time to shame Harold into joining him.

  But Harold was finished being a chump. “Would it change your mind if I showed you this?” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the real Kaleidoscope. “That’s right. The other one was a dummy, embedded with a GPS.” He got a lot of satisfaction watching Morrie’s expression change from bold to bewildered. “A GPS that has probably already led the police to your handlers. Now who’s the pawn?”

  Morrie’s jaw opened and closed.

  “And the chip is in safe hands.” Harold admired the beautiful piece of art his father had crafted. “I think this is still beautiful—”

  “You forget I hold the key to your life or death!” Outraged he’d been fooled, Morrie jumped up, striking his shin against the coffee table.

  Harold took his opportunity, and while Morrie clutched his leg, swearing in pain, he sprang. “Give me that!” He reached for the remote, but he’d momentarily forgotten about his own bruised ribs, and as Morrie’s free arm made contact, he screamed, clutching his side.

  Dizzy, Harold fell onto Morrie. The table skittered away, they crashed against the sofa, Harold on top. Morrie fought back, but Harold’s adrenaline and anger at the guy he’d once thought was his friend, spilled out through his fists. He was pummeling his face when they heard a mechanical burring, and the door jammed back against the wall, rattling all the Ansel Adams photos, and a robot wheeled toward them.

  A terse command issued through a speaker in the robot. “Freeze…or you will be overcome with tear gas!”

  Harold rolled off Morrie and pulled himself up. Morrie, hand to muttonchop sideburn, scrambled up and clutched at his hawkbeak nose, blood dripping down his chin.

  From down the hall they heard “Let’s go!” Boots trotted toward them, and the apartment filled with a SWAT team in thick black uniforms, guns drawn. One of them threw a bulletproof vest to Harold, and motioned to him to put it on. An officer took the remote device from him while he stuck his arms through the holes, and several others swarmed Morrie, unceremoniously escorting him from the building.

  “Fasten it!” another man ordered Harold, pointing to the vest, and he wondered who they thought might shoot at him. Then he realized the bomb could still go off.

  Pulling the Velcro closures tight across his chest, Harold allowed himself to be bustled along until they emerged onto the street. Pepper burst past the police line and into his arms when she saw him in the phalanx.

  “Ohmigosh! Ohmigosh! I was sure you were dead, and he was going to blow up the building!”

  They watched as Morrie was splayed out on the tarmac, surrounded by police, patted down, and cuffed. Stan was in the middle of the action, walkie-talkie to his ear.

  “When can we go in? My dog…?” Pepper reached out to one of the officers who’d escorted Harold out.

  “Not until the squad clears the building,” he held up a hand. “Could be hours.”

  “Sorry I didn’t get her.” Harold searched her brimming eyes.

  Pepper clutched him. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  Around them, the police communicators, walkie-talkies and patrol unit radios, all went off at once, and the people standing around a bank of monitors gestured, pointing at something on the screens. The officer guarding them turned.

  Pepper’s tear-stained face upturned to him, she clutched his vest to steady herself. Harold made a decision. Still pumped on adrenaline, he dashed toward the doors before the officers ordering him back could stop him.

  In the instant he entered the lobby, an explosion rocked the ground, but Harold didn’t slow down. He sprinted faster than he’d ever moved. Arriving at Pepper’s door, he dug the key out and slid it in the lock. It was dark inside, and he whistled, but didn’t see the dog anywhere. Another explosion sounded, this one even closer. “Glenda, come!”

  Remembering what Pepper had told him, he dashed to her bedroom closet, and dropped, crawling in on hands and knees. Groping in the dark past a pile of shoes, he breathed a sigh of relief when he touched fur. He scooped the dog to him, but in her fright, Glenda panicked, nipped at him, and shot past him.

  “Glenda! Please, for both our sakes, girl, it’s me!” He found her cowering under the kitchen table, snarling at him. The smoke was thickening, his lungs fought to extract enough oxygen. He coughed, and for the second time that evening, began to lose his temper as she scooted out of his reach.

  “Glenda! Sit!” He delivered the command with every ounce of whatever energy he had left. Then to his surprise, she licked her lips and sat, allowing him to grab her.

  Alarms blaring again, cinder-laden air hugging the ceiling, Harold tucked the shivering dog into a football carry and ran headlong, hunched over, his side and back screaming in pain, dizzy from lack of oxygen. He burst outside and set Glenda down to run into Pepper’s widespread arms. Hands to knees, Harold gulped in swallows of clean, fresh air.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Harold woke up the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had, and considering the past few weeks, that said a lot. The pipe bombs’ exploding had echoed down the halls and dulled his hearing, but he didn’t know by how much until he couldn’t hear the water running while he brushed his teeth. Forbidden to reenter the building until the engineers had a chance to inspect the infrastructure, he and Pepper had accepted Stan’s offer to stay with him. He fell back onto Keith’s twin bed, and rolled over to try and sleep again.

  A long, wet tongue swept across his face. Without opening his eyes, Harold pushed away. “Pepper, stop!”

  “Hey!” She stood in the doorway holding a cup of coffee. “Rise and shine, mister, the hearing is this afternoon, and it’s already almost noon.”

  Glenda snuffled him again. Harold ran a hand out and scruffed the dog’s neck. “Sit!” She did, tail dragging back and forth across the rug.

  Pepper raised the venetian blinds and sunrays pierced into his skull. “Need aspirin.” He pulled the sheets up. His recent head wound, the cracked ribs, and sliced thigh were encouraging him to stay in bed as long as possible.

  “I’ll start the shower and ask Stan for lots of medication.”

  He peeked out, watching her skirts swishing around her bare legs as she bent over him. The ties from her peasant blouse tickled his neck. “And thanks once again for saving Glenda. You’re my hero. My knight.” She pecked him on the lips, and any discomfort, from his ribs to his head, vanished, replaced by unfettered desire. He reached up for her and got a bed full of woman and dog for his trouble.

  ****

  An impromptu celebratory meal after the hearing included Walter, Harold, Pepper, Stan, Keith, Frank, and Father Tucker in a Chinese restaurant near the courthouse. The district attorney, when presented with the evidence, had dropped the charges against Walter, and filed charges against Morris Moore, et al, giving Stan the credit for solving the oldest cold case in Los Angeles’ homicide history.

  Stan told them that Morrie had already turned states’ evidence against the “associates” he’d been working with.

  “Thanks to the GPS device placed in the dummy kaleidoscope, we have been able to arrest the principles responsible for your wife
’s death, but this is far from being completely finished,” Stan cautioned Walter. “Don’t plan any trips out of town until we have everything we need. I’ll keep you apprised as we move forward.” Stan’s official tone evoked the days when he was an active detective on the force.

  The food arrived, and Father Tucker offered the blessing over the Kung Pao and General Tso chicken, and then the celebrants dug in.

  Pepper hoisted a spring roll. “Now that we have all you brilliant minds together…As much as you want to deny it, there is something magical going on in there.” She pointed at Harold.

  The real Kaleidoscope peeked from his pocket, and Walter reached over, then lifted it high, the baby lion raised for the valley of onlookers to admire. “I tried dozens of variations.” Walter sighted down the shaft.

  The waiter approached. “Two more for the party.”

  Rhashan and Leesa were behind him, and those seated scooted to make room for more chairs. Harold filled them in on how the hearing had gone.

  “We’re delighted to know the courts smiled upon you.” Rhashan’s split-toothed smile bathed Walter in genuine warmth. “And thank you for including us in this celebration. If I could also add, my lovely wife has just learned her thesis was accepted, and she will be receiving her master’s degree.”

  They clapped, and congratulated Leesa. Harold ordered a bottle of champagne.

  “What is your degree in?” Father asked when the waiter had left.

  Leesa’s brow furrowed. “As a man of the cloth, you may not approve.”

  “Please.” He spread out a palm. “Tell me. I find all areas of academic study intriguing.”

  “I specialize in crystal mythologies.” Leesa snapped apart her chopsticks. “Specifically how cultures manifest their religious beliefs on naturally occurring minerals.”

  The priest nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been an armchair mineralogist for years. I’ve long been intrigued by how our natural beings blend with the Lord’s creation in all aspects.” His long fingers described a sphere over a heap of egg foo yung. “Inseparable, and mysteriously connected.”

  Pepper indicated the ’scope. “Leesa helped Harry figure out what Walter put in the Kaleidoscope. The diamond, the computer chip.”

  All heads turned as one.

  “May I?” Father Tucker wiped his hands on a napkin, and gingerly picked it up.

  “Your ’scope is now a key piece of evidence, Father,” Stan told him. “Sorry, but you may never get it back.”

  “Of course I’ll make you another.” Walter glanced at the clergyman, who nodded. “I’ll need some more of the glass pieces. And of course it will be simply a looking device. No computer chips.”

  The priest aimed at the plate glass window to the street. The morning’s marine layer had rolled back and the light was brilliant. Shoppers flowed past, waves of cars a riptide toward the city’s center of commerce. Father twirled and stopped, then spun the dial again. “Breathtaking. The colors are gorgeous.” He lowered it enough to catch Walter’s eye. “It will be a cherished memento, especially after the church is torn down.”

  His comment twinged sadness deep inside Harold.

  Walter nodded, filled in the others. “We’d experienced hail damage from a freaky pop-up storm. Several of the panes were shattered, so Father allowed me to use some of the glass in the ’scopes.”

  Pepper reached for Harold’s hand and squeezed. He knew what her urgency meant. “The Good Shepherd panel?” Harold squeaked. From his pew at the back, he’d admired the image of Jesus leading his sheep during Mass. The stunning art prodded a corner of his soul he’d long suppressed.

  “That’s right.” Father lifted the ’scope and studied the images again. “It’s like a bit of the holiness has been captured in here, alive and eternal.” He handed the treasure back.

  All sound receded; the papered walls wavered and wobbled in Harold’s frame of vision.

  Pepper’s eyes met his. “Is it possible?” she whispered.

  “Dad.” The name caught in Harold’s throat. The first time he’d called Walter the name. He coughed, embarrassed at using the unfamiliar term, but Walter only smiled at him. Harold sipped his water, began again. “Dad, is it possible that the powers…”

  Pepper finished for him. “Is it possible that the glass from the window provides the extra boost of powers you couldn’t identify?”

  Her choice of words embarrassed Harold, but Walter didn’t flinch.

  “What I still don’t understand is how the parts work together to make the whole,” Pepper wanted to know. “What do all the pieces do to work together…how?”

  “If I may? I did some more research.” Leesa leaned forward so she could see Walter. “Isn’t it possible that the process of preparing the glass for the window suffused minerals into the glass?”

  “Stained glass isn’t just normal glass dyed different colors.” Father Tucker spread his hands wide. “The process has been developed over thousands of years. You can’t just put any old dye in and expect it to remain vibrant and true, so artists fuse in metallic salts.”

  “Silica?” Harold readied to hear their “ahas.” He leaned back, satisfied. “Of course, that explains it. A scientific explanation.”

  “Listen to what they’re saying though.” Pepper tapped his temple. “Open your mind.”

  Father Tucker went on. “There are many accounts attributing supernatural powers to gems, glass, minerals.”

  “Not so fast. You’re in the business of miracles, Father.” Harold threw down his napkin. “The definition of a miracle is that it’s rare. And we all know that silica is used for everyday things. Not supernatural at all.”

  “Gem lore is an entire branch of study.” Leesa went on, undeterred. “Diamonds, for an example, can drive away madness, protect against ghosts, chimeras, enchantments, and sorcery.”

  Harold sighed loudly. “Your woo-woo theories don’t hold water. Besides, the glass isn’t naturally occurring, they’re manufactured.”

  “By people.” Pepper turned when Harold squeezed her hand. He was proud of her for showing some sense in a discussion taking an absurd trail.

  “Yes, but the minerals inside are naturally occurring. Fusing them into the glass doesn’t change their properties,” Father Tucker argued.

  Walter eyed Harold. “Father, did you ever see anything unusual with your ’scope?”

  Father Tucker tipped his head to the side, thoughtful. “Not that I recall. But I only had it a few days before you borrowed it for your sting operation.”

  “Even if it did”—Harold was growing impatient—“I don’t concur that all this hocus-pocus has foundation. What some people call mysterious, scientists call unproven theories—”

  “So what you’re saying is, the elements are there, but how they are able to perform, say by revealing our soul’s hidden mysteries, is unexplainable in scientific terms.” Pepper squirmed, first facing Leesa, then the pastor.

  Traitor! Harold shot a cautionary glance at her. “What you’re all suggesting is that by some divine process, the hand of God, so to speak, the glass and chip technology have supernatural powers. I believe, no, I insist that everything inside this”—he held up the Kaleidoscope—“is explainable by scientific means.”

  Walter had grown quiet.

  “What do you say?” Harold said. “What were you going for? What was your intention in inventing such an object?”

  “When I began my research years ago, I was merely working on advances in artificial intelligence.” Walter paused. “Perfecting a machine that could learn from its environment. We were all trying to define what AI was going to be. And arguing over how it would affect the world.”

  “How did it become this prophetic tool then?” Father leaned forward.

  “It started as a device to deliver the chip, and then the other pieces became integral.” Walter lifted a shoulder, dropped it. “I’m still figuring it out myself. They became the perfect storm of scientific discoveries—”
/>   “Aha!” Harold’s retort sounded too loud, even to him.

  “And something I still can’t quite explain,” Walter went on, gaze leveled at his son.

  Energized, Harold persisted in his quest to uncover the truth. “You said yourself it’s to monitor evoked brainwaves, as they’re using in neurosurgical procedures.”

  “But how does it reveal the image?” Walter challenged. “Something that only God would know about the viewer. How?”

  “You just going to throw it all away, and claim a deus ex machina-type miracle?”

  “God as part of the machine,” Father Tucker translated Harold’s Latin.

  “And nothing anyone has said explains how it shows the future.” Everyone turned to Pepper, who shrugged her slim shoulders.

  “How, you say? How exactly does it work?” Walter matched Harold’s challenging gaze with his own. “Sometimes we just have to accept that science can’t explain everything, son.”

  Pepper interjected, “And why would we want to?”

  Harold’s brain ached. His father grew silent as the others discussed ideas and philosophies until his head spun from trying to keep up arguments against their naiveté. Even Pepper had betrayed him.

  “Dad.” Harold finally had enough. It was time to ground everyone in reality. “As a man of science, you have to be the first to admit it. The others, I get their need for something out there. But not you.”

  Walter reached out and took the Kaleidoscope from his son. “I can explain ninety-nine percent of what makes it work. But I can’t explain how the final pieces came to me. How exactly they work together.” He nodded at Pepper. “How it reveals our future.”

  “Magic glass?” Pepper whispered.

  Walter stopped running a finger up and down his creation. “From the window.”

  “But you added the glass,” Harold insisted. “That can hardly be called a miracle. Just because a scientist acts on a hunch doesn’t necessarily mean it’s from God. You were in the right place. It was your thought processes that came up with the idea.”

  “Explain where thought processes come from,” Father Tucker challenged.