Anodyne Eyes

by Milt Mays

  He walked past the couple, up the row as if looking for his car. For the benefit of surveillance cameras, at the end of the row he smacked his forehead with his palm as if he’d remembered he was in the wrong row, then ran all the way across several rows to J14 and waited. He glanced up at the lamppost cameras, moving his eyes quickly and not his head. E4 had one that pointed down the row and would see him if he jimmied the Camry in E2. No other cameras seemed to point in that general direction.

  The shuttle bus was waiting for the Mexico couple to board. Would someone be scanning the screens of these video monitors? Likely not. But there would probably be a recording. No one knew where he was now. He could not afford anyone seeing him, now or in playback. He needed a diversion. At the edge of the parking lot, he found a rock three times the size of the dates he’d savored as a child, and pocketed it.

  The shuttle bus with the couple now safely inside passed him, on its way to the next stop. He jogged to that bus stop, then at the last minute halted and shook his head, as if he’d forgotten something in his car. He walked toward the rear of the bus, his head hung as if despair, spied the gas tank fill cap, and took out two one-dollar bills. He twisted them on one end and mashed the other end down so it looked like a skinny mushroom. He glanced around. The cameras were on the other side of the bus and no one was coming. The driver had stood up and was helping someone with their luggage inside. Jabril opened the hinged door to the fill cap, untwisted the inside cap, stuffed the stem of the twisted dollar bills and lit the mashed end with the cigarette lighter.

  The bill glowed under the flame, charred an edge. The wind blew out the lighter. The bill did not catch flame. He remembered something about plans of the U.S. Treasury to make flame-retardant bills.

  He took out the charred bill and tore off a piece of his shirt, twisted it and put it in the gas hole. Moving his body closer to shield the flame from the wind, he flicked the lighter. The cloth flared. He pocketed the twist cap and flipped the outside cover closed.

  The bus pulled away as he walked toward the camera on E4.

  Any minute the bus would blow. Whoever was watching on the surveillance cams would be drawn to the explosion. As insurance, he would knock the closest camera off its view with the rock. He could drive off in the Camry, no one the wiser. He started to pull the rock from his pocket.

  Then his plan went totally wrong. A car next to the Camry backed out and another pulled in, this one a Subaru Outback. A burly man dressed in Marine desert camouflage got out of the Outback. Must be a soldier on his way to drill. Or meeting a loved one. Even better. The man moved like one who had known combat, almost stealthy, well-muscled beneath his uniform.

  Jabril could not afford to change forms. And in his present form, this man would be difficult to overcome, though it was possible with Jabril’s training. The soldier caught Jabril’s eye and smiled with his lips, gaze flat, though in an instant he perused Jabril from head to foot. When his gaze came up again, it was not flat, but suspicious.

  The bus exploded fifty yards in front of Jabril. The burly man made his first and last mistake. He turned to see what caused the noise.

  Jabril threw the rock at the camera, and in one smooth movement was on the man. With all his prior training and all the strength and quickness he could muster, he twisted the man’s head on his thick neck. There was a satisfying crack, and as if disconnected from a power source, the man fell to the ground, limp. Jabril’s teachers in Afghanistan would be proud.

  Jabril quickly looked over the parking lot. The video camera he’d aimed at above row E4 was now pointing away from the cars in row E2: a flawless hit. Another row down at C4, an elderly couple was jogging toward the bus, now a conflagration, orange flames and black smoke, a flailing dark scarecrow exiting the front, consumed in fire. Behind Jabril, no other people were visible.

  He could not dispose of the soldier’s body inside the Outback; someone would see it through the rear windows. He glanced around once more, reassured at no visible watchers, and dragged the body to the Camry. Within one minute he’d picked the lock to the door, turned off the alarm, and stuffed the body in the trunk. He riffled through the soldier’s pockets and found the keys to the Outback and the parking ticket, then shut the trunk.

  One more three-sixty visual confirmed no one was watching.

  A distant siren blared; the firemen and police were on their way.

  He was in the Outback and almost to the gate when he saw something that made his stomach lurch. There was an apple-green BMW parked in one of the lanes of cars. It looked like the car Rachel had been driving when she dropped Rocca off.

  The fire truck was pulling in. The cop car was down the road, speeding toward him, top bar flashing.

  Could Rachel be in the shuttle bus he had exploded? The flashing police car was almost to the parking lot. He must leave.

  If Rachel was in the shuttle, she was either burned to death, or would soon die. Jabril would have no leverage against Alex. Yet, how would Alex know? Jabril could bluff him. He could still feel the pull of Alex. Perhaps Jabril should concentrate on finding the child and force Alex to help. Alex’s name was on all the research, too.

  No, first get to Milwaukee and grab the GMO plants.

  He stopped at the exit gate and paid the fee. The parking machine ate his ticket, the arm raised and he drove out. The police car passed him on the other side of the road and sped into the parking lot. The rearview mirror showed confusion and flames. No one pursued him.

  He gradually sped up. The Outback had three-quarters of a tank of gas. Plenty to get to Milwaukee.

  Chapter 18

  Dan dried his face and stared in the bathroom mirror. What the hell? Sam was here already and there was something wrong. And who was Rachel?

  He went down the steps so fast, his footfalls sounded like dribbling a basketball. Jeff shooting a three-pointer at his last high school game came back to him so strong he almost tripped the last few steps.

  Sam was giving Marci a hug. An athletic woman with gorgeous auburn hair and long legs inside well-fitted jeans stood beside Sam. She eyed Dan, flecks of green floating in a calm sea of brown irises—a penetrating gaze. Her aquamarine, button-down shirt made those green flecks pop. Lisette and his affair with her on Pensacola Beach surfaced and he wanted to run back upstairs. He glanced at Marci and a pang of guilt made him look at the floor.

  Adam yelled “Mamas” and ran across the kitchen in his stocking feet, snow boots in a puddle on the tile floor at the back door. Dan intercepted him and whisked him into his arms, thoughts of Jeff so strong he wanted to cry, but the joy of Little Man draining his sorrow.

  The toddler frowned at Dan and wriggled. “Pawpas, down.”

  “Yeah, Pawpas. What gives?” Sam was on one knee beside Marci. He extended his arms. “I need a hug, Adam.”

  Adam squealed and Dan let him run to Sam, his favorite uncle. Only one, really. And only in name and actions, not blood. Sam had on his typical black leather jacket unzipped to show the “Sam’s Surf Board” logo on his black tee shirt. He gave Little Man a big hug, his smile showing the love he held for the toddler. Adam giggled and laughed as Sam tickled his ribs. Sam put him down and stood, eying Dan. “Not far away, so I thought I’d stop in.” He nodded at the woman. “This is Rachel Anne Lane. Rachel, Dan Trotter. I believe I mentioned La Riva labs? She’s their top geneticist.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Trotter. Your work with nanotechnology programming is very important to us.” She took a step forward and held out her hand.

  Dan studied the tile.

  “We’re glad you came, too,” Marci said. “How about some coffee? And Sam, I have carrot cake. You sure you’re okay? You look tired.”

  Dan could feel Marci staring at the top of his head, wanting him to greet Sam and his friend. He raised his eyes. Yep. She was glaring at him. Then she walked to the kitchen. She knew him, but that didn’t mean she agreed with his social ineptitudes. This time he wasn’t being rude because
of his on-the-spectrum psyche; he was angry at Sam. And Sam knew it. So he wasn’t going to shake anyone’s hand.

  And there were Rachel’s eyes and long legs. He eyed the floor again.

  Everyone sat at the kitchen table, except Dan, who stood where he was. Sam had a plate of cake, insisting everything was fine. No problems. Just needed to talk with Dan. Rachel drank coffee. Dan picked at his fingernails glancing first at Marci’s angry eyes, then at Sam’s too-relaxed face—he looked so tired—and then a furtive glance at Rachel’s long legs. He looked at his feet, then repeated the sequence. How could they jabber about things that meant nothing? Obligatory social platitudes, dumb things, words and vagaries he had no use for. If only they could get on with it.

  Sam seemed to finally understand Dan’s lingering and insistent gaze. He stood and Rachel followed his lead. They excused themselves from Marci. Dan said nothing and led the way to the study.

  Closing the door behind them, Dan glared at Sam. “I said I needed some time, not sixty seconds.”

  “Okay, look, I’m sorry. But I don’t have much time. I thought if I told you face-to-face we could move on this thing. We have to move.”

  Dan sat down at his computer desk and began typing each letter on the top line: q w e r t y u i o p—

  “Perhaps we should leave,” Rachel said.

  Sam put up a hand. “It’s okay. He’s just pissed.”

  Dan looked at Sam, avoiding her eyes, making his face slack and devoid of emotion. “No, I’m waiting. You’re here. You had your favorite—carrot cake. We’re face-to-face. What’s the emergency? You do look tired, by the way.”

  Rachel sat. “A DNA project we were working on went haywire. It involves nanotechnology. We need your expertise.”

  “What kind of project?” The only thing Dan could think of that involved DNA and nanotechnology was Ambrosia’s GMO foods. Did they know he was already involved with that?

  Sam held up a single finger and searched the room like a nervous cat looking for a mouse.

  “What? In my house?” Dan avoided using the word “bugs” out loud. But Sam must think there were some here.

  Sam tilted his head and shrugged.

  “No way.”

  Sam took out what looked like a rectangular cell phone and turned it on. A red light flashed on the face of the box. Sam raised his eyebrows and put an open palm out, as if he were catching raindrops or, in this case, saying: I rest my case.

  They found two bugs, one in the seam of the easy chair, another in the cover of The Complete Unabridged Sherlock Holmes. Sam put both electronic devices inside a shiny black envelope and sealed it. The light went off on the bug box. He dropped the envelope in his pocket.

  “Nano-magnetized envelope?” Dan asked.

  Sam smiled. “Pretty sweet. After our last sojourn into nano-world I’ve got all kinds of cool tools. This envelope—”

  “Neutralizes the bugs but preserves their circuitry so you can trace who made them.” Dan rattled this off so quickly his words blurred. He knew what they did. He wasn’t stupid. Geez.

  “Right. You always were pretty quick with techy stuff.” Sam gestured toward the easy chair. “Why don’t you sit?” His words were slow, measured, and tired.

  Dan sat. He remembered only one other person in here besides him and Marci. The cable guy. Couldn’t trust anyone. He started to tell Sam, then Rachel sat on the desk, her shapely legs hanging. They were so long. Sam rolled the desk chair around and plopped down, facing Dan.

  “We have a situation in Milwaukee.” Rachel started, watching Dan. He took his eyes off her legs and squinted at her. She nodded. “I see you know about the people dying of hemorrhage there after ingesting Ambrosia’s new GMO foods.”

  Dan jumped up and started pacing, stopping at the window and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t have anything to do with those people dying in Milwaukee. No way. Those foods had nothing to do with his program. This was not happening again—Xoflex reverberated in his memory.

  Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped, glaring back at—It was only Sam. Dan relaxed, but moved away. He didn’t like touching, except maybe his family, and even that had taken years of therapy. Sam was okay if he saw him coming. But now Sam thought he was killing people with his Ambrosia project?

  Sam frowned at him. “What is it, Dan?”

  “I didn’t do it.” Dan hung his head.

  “Do what?”

  Dan kept his head low and twisted it as if studying his right elbow, hating that he probably looked like a small child being scolded, but unable to change.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “I get it now. You think this is like Xoflex. How could it be? You’re not even involved with Ambrosia.”

  Someone touched his head and he jumped back, frowning up at Rachel this time.

  She pulled her hand back as if she’d touched a hot coal. She looked puzzled.

  Sam put an arm out, reminding Dan of a safety patrol preventing kids from crossing the street. “He doesn’t like touching.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She backed up, seemingly afraid Dan might erupt. Of course he wouldn’t be violent. She was stupid. Like Lisette: hot, not smart. He glanced at the door to the study. All he wanted was Marci and Adam. They knew him. Get these other people out.

  He headed for the door.

  Chapter 19

  Sam stood and walked between Dan and the door. “I need you, buddy. I’m not blaming you. Neither one of us thinks you did anything. It will only take a few days in Milwaukee and then you’ll be back here. I promise.”

  Studying the door, Dan rubbed his forehead with the fingertips of his left hand, and gripped and opened his right. “I wrote some programs for Ambrosia. But it was for weed and vermin control. That’s it.”

  “Vermin control?” Rachel’s voice had a hint of recognition.

  He felt his eyes widen and glanced at her, trying to avoid looking into her cool eyes. “What?” He scratched his chest. Hard. She blamed him for the problem with the mice. That was it. He was leaving.

  Sam frowned at her, a frown that said he wanted her to stop talking. Stop talking, now. Dan noticed an asymmetry of Sam’s eyebrows. Was the left one singed at the edges?

  Rachel walked to the window and sighed.

  Dan pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side, glaring at Sam. “What else? Tell me now or I’m leaving.”

  “Okay. Tell him,” Sam said.

  She continued to stare out the window and spoke. “We think there are,” and she paused as if searching for the right word, “other problems with DNA mutations from my company. About sixteen years ago some viral combinations caused a mutation in,” she paused again, “mammals. We isolated those cultures and destroyed all of them. At least we thought we got them all. But now, lab mice in Milwaukee seem to have the same mutation. It’s possible someone stole a few viral cultures.”

  She turned and faced him. “We think your work with nano-bacteria coding and programs may be the key to stopping the mutations.”

  “Pretty vague. Exactly what kind of mutations are you talking about? I mean, Ambrosia is paying pretty well, and they’re saying they’ll need me for the foreseeable future.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sam said. “You’d rather make money than help your country?”

  Dan studied the snow outside. So white. Absolutely devoid of color. “The last time I came to the aid of my country, I killed my son.” All the pastel colors and numbers that had been floating in his mind were gone. Now only white noise.

  “You don’t know that. I could have done it. Any of the other soldiers could have—”

  Dan stood and walked to the door.

  Sam went after him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Danny Boy. I need you. We need you. The USA needs you.”

  Dan did not flinch at Sam’s touch. Sam was okay. He was a good guy.

  He turned to Sam. “Tell me exactly, exactly what I’m expected to do or I’m going back to play with Adam.”

 
“Okay. But please, sit back down. I could use some Scotch, too.”

  “I don’t keep any of that around anymore.”

  “Right. I forgot.” Sam put his hand out toward the easy chair, beckoning Dan to sit. Dan walked back and sat.

  “A terrorist named Jabril El Fahd got infected with a mutant virus and he became something like a werewolf, only worse. He’s been scientifically studied in cold storage for the last fifteen-plus years, but yesterday he got away.”

  Dan frowned at Sam. “A werewolf? Huh.” He pulled out his smartphone and engaged the Internet, looking up the phase of the moon. “No full moon for another two weeks, so he’s probably not dangerous. Besides, I’m not Van Helsing. Not good with animals, either.” He rolled his eyes at Sam. “How much Scotch have you had today? And how did you burn your eyebrow?”

  “Look, I know this is hard to swallow. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would be laughing too. But he has already killed several people.” He touched the singed eyebrow with two fingertips. “And he—”

  Rachel interrupted, giving Sam a stern look. “Forget Jabril. He’s not our problem. He’ll be taken care of. Our concern is the mice in Milwaukee. They’re attacking people. My boss and Homeland Security are worried this is the same mutation. All we need to do is go to Milwaukee, capture a few mice, analyze them and the GMO foods. Your help with the nano-programming will take a day or two, max. Then, you’re back here with your grandson.”

  Dan had seen files on an Army project with mutations, similar to the X-Men. He had passed it off then. Now . . . ? The prime numbers began percolating in his head again, pastels so vivid he wanted to close his eyes and feel the colors. His breathing became more rapid. His mouth started twitching from side to side. He closed his eyes and the numbers brightened, and this time began assembling in ever-larger prime numbers a pyramid on its head. There was no stopping it. He had to explore this with Sam. It was too cool.