Mr. Sandman: A Thrilling Novel

by Lyle Howard

  Pike winced. “Did you see that guy with the sunglasses? Something strange about him.”

  Merchant reached down and flipped a switch and pointed his thumb at Pike. “I stopped asking questions years ago.”

  Pike held his headset microphone in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

  The voice came through both pilot’s earphones. “Why the change in route?”

  Pike rolled the sticky Double Bubble into his right cheek and tried to enunciate each word as if the gum wasn’t really clogging his mouth. “We’re trying to keep the ride as smooth as possible, Captain. Jacksonville Center just warned us of bad weather over the Bahamas Islands and we thought it better to steer clear.”

  In the cabin of the remodeled military transport, Carpen­ter bent over and gazed out through the window. Below him, the white and blue shoreline where Jacksonville Beach met the Atlantic Ocean slid silently into the hazy distance. “How far inland will we be traveling?”

  Pike’s voice sounded young and hesitant. “Fifty or sixty miles, Captain. We’ll be passing due east of Orlando in about fifteen minutes, and then we’ll continue south, passing west of Miami and begin making our approach into Homestead AFB from the west in about forty-five minutes, coming in over the Everglades.”

  Carpenter checked his watch. “That’ll be fine, Pike. Just notify me if there are going to be any other unexpected deviations, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carpenter hung up the receiver and turned to Xavier, who was relaxing comfortably with his seatback reclined. “Forty-five more minutes.”

  Xavier grinned like a shark, but didn’t verbally acknowl­edge the information.

  Carpenter walked into the galley and poured himself a tall glass of orange juice. “Can I get you something, Doctor?”

  No answer. Carpenter peeked around the bulkhead. “I said, ‘can I get you something, Doctor?’”

  Xavier speechlessly shook his head. Carpenter put the carton of juice back into the refrigerator and grumbled to himself. “Nice talking to you, Doc. Damned egghead hasn’t said two words to me the whole flight.”

  Carpenter took his juice and sipped it as he sat down across the aisle from Xavier. The captain rolled the glass between his fingers and studied the pulp as it floated to the top of the orange liquid. “You know, Doctor,” he said, staring up at the ceiling of the cabin, “this whole excursion would be a hell of a lot easier if we had some sort of plan.”

  Xavier pressed a recessed button on the inside arm of his seat and sat forward. “We have a plan.”

  “We do?”

  “Of course.”

  Carpenter took a long swallow from his glass. “Then would you mind letting me in on it?”

  Xavier’s expression was one of casual ambivalence. “The wheels are already in motion.”

  Carpenter emptied the last drops of juice from the glass and set it down on the seat next to him. He hated anyone who spoke in cryptic vernacular like that. All of his experience in the military had taught him a valuable lesson. Whenever some self-important idiot started pontificating, it usually meant that they didn’t know their ass from their elbow. “Would you mind clarifying what you mean by, ‘the wheels are already in motion?’”

  Xavier’s head rolled slowly to face Carpenter. The cap­tain could see his own infuriated reflection in the lenses of the young doctor’s sunglasses. “You will be informed on a need-to-know basis.”

  The muscles in Carpenter’s neck tensed. More incompre­hensible garbage! It wasn’t by cringing at the feet of his superiors that had kept Carpenter a captain all of these years. “I think I deserve to know what you’re getting me into here, Doctor.”

  Xavier’s head rolled back to its original position. “When the time is right … you’ll be told.”

  Carpenter bit on his lower lip. He really didn’t give a damn if it was transmission fluid that was pumping through Xavier’s veins. If the good doctor thought it made him special, he was wrong. With one punch to this pompous buffoon’s windpipe, he knew he could take him out, lizard blood or no lizard blood. “So, why all the sudden secrecy?”

  Xavier stifled a yawn. “Cutter has escaped before … we don’t want a reoccurrence.”

  Carpenter pressed his palm against the fabric of his uniform just below his left armpit and could feel his service revolver in its holster against his body. It was the only thing that seemed to be comforting him about this flight. “So, I guess I’m supposed to track Cutter down and … just escort him back to you? I have a feeling that won’t be such an easy chore. I don’t think he’s going to come along of his own volition.”

  Xavier remained expressionless. “No need to worry about that.”

  Carpenter shook his head. “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “You won’t have to bring him in.”

  “You mean, you have him already?”

  Xavier let a slight grin crease his lips. “Not yet … but he will be coming to us. I assure you.”

  Carpenter’s eardrums popped as the cabin pressure ad­justed. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me correctly, Captain.”

  “How were you able to manage that?”

  Xavier drew in a composed sigh. “On a need-to-know basis, Captain. On a need-to-know basis.”

  This was no use, Carpenter thought. Getting some straight answers from Xavier would be like trying to draw blood from a rock. He leaned over to his left and glanced out the window at the wispy white clouds that floated gracefully under the wing. He had never gone on an assignment so unprepared. It felt strange. It felt precarious.

  Carpenter hesitated for a long moment and then turned back to look at Xavier’s profile. “Can I ask you another question, Doctor?”

  Xavier’s head swiveled to face him and, for the first time, Carpenter noticed what looked to be a patch of extra flesh just above the Doctor’s collar. The flap of skin hung loosely from Xavier’s neck, like a piece that had started to peel off. “You ask a lot of questions, Captain. It depends on what you want to know.”

  “I was just wondering what you really needed Lance Cutter for.”

  Xavier’s lips went taught. “I’ve explained that to you already, Captain. He is one of a kind. An invaluable resource pulses through his veins.”

  Carpenter studied the smoothness of Xavier’s features from across the aisle. “I understand that, but I was just wondering why you never chose to experiment on yourself. Don’t you have pretty much the same genetic make-up as Cutter?”

  Xavier turned his face away and stared straight ahead. “I don’t know that.”

  “You mean you don’t have all of Cutter’s capabilities?”

  “We do not know what skills or abilities comprise Lance Cutter’s constitution and that is why I want him.”

  Carpenter was quick to catch the doctor’s choice of pronouns. “To compare?”

  “To study.”

  “So what extraordinary abilities are you gifted with?” Xavier was visibly shocked by Carpenter’s brazen inquest.

  “I don’t believe that is any of your business, Captain.”

  “I was just wondering why, if you were so developed yourself, you even needed Cutter? If you left him alone, he’d probably spend the rest of his life wondering why he was different. He’d be curious, but he’d be content. It’s obvious that he’s been trying to stay out of the limelight and lead a fairly normal life.”

  “That’s only because he thinks the government believes he’s dead.”

  “So why resurrect him?”

  “For science.”

  Carpenter turned away and looked back out the window. He had seen this movie before, different place, different time. Whenever human beings chose to camouflage their own greed or avarice, they conveniently slipped an epithet on their ambition. Everything was always done in the name of some­thing … science, justice, freedom. “You never answered my question,” he said as he watched a ribbon of highway pass beneath the
plane.

  “I thought my explanation was quite clear.”

  A few miles to the east, the clouds were reflecting off Lake Okeechobee. Carpenter thought it would be a nice place to be drift fishing. “You didn’t tell me why you never chose to experiment on yourself.”

  Xavier instinctively rubbed his forearms together feeling the soreness of old puncture wounds. “I never said I didn’t experiment on myself.”

  Carpenter lifted the armrest between his seat and the one next to him, and proceeded to stretch out. “And?”

  “What do you want, parlor tricks? I get the distinct impression that you will only be satisfied until you see me bend a steel bar with my fingers, or levitate out of this seat.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me.”

  “It is none of your concern.”

  “Like hell it isn’t! What happens if your blood contains some new antibody that might ward off infection, or cure AIDS? Don’t you think that should be my concern? Don’t you think it’s everyone’s concern?”

  “You’re being quite melodramatic and quite disrespect­ful, Captain.”

  “Am I? Since when do I have to show deference to a doctor with no military rank?”

  “If that’s the way you want it, Captain. I thought we might work together as friends.”

  Carpenter sat up and leaned across the aisle. His growing hostility toward the doctor rose through his soul like water soaking up into a root. “What is with you? How can you sit there so arrogantly? You may be different … but believe me, you’re not superior!”

  Xavier shook his head. “I can assure you, Captain, that there’s no cure for AIDS pumping through my arteries. Nor the cure for the common cold. And as far as my father’s meager notes have described, Lance Cutter is quite different than myself. Unfortunately, I know as little about him as you do. And neither of us will know more until we can run tests on him. Now, do not make me begin regretting my selection of you for this assignment. Please … no more questions.”

  “That’s it?” Xavier was silent. “You’re just going to drop in out of the blue, and shatter everything that this man has tried to establish for himself? Didn’t you read the newspaper? Didn’t you read what he did?” Carpenter was so angry, he was almost spitting venom. “Whatever makes Cutter unique, he’s using it to help his community and his fellow man. Don’t you understand that, or are courage and heroism too concrete a concept for you?”

  “Captain Carpenter….”

  Carpenter knew that the only thing that was keeping him from drawing his weapon and ending this conversation was the possible depressurization of the cabin caused by a stray round. His fingers squeezed the armrests of his seat until his knuckles turned white. “Have you ever fought in a war, Doctor?”

  Xavier shook his head. “I don’t think….”

  Carpenter sneered. “I thought so. All you stuffed shirts are alike. Your only notion of a hero is a foot-long ham sandwich. Excuse me … that’s wrong … you eating ham would be redundant.”

  The C-130E shuddered and Pike’s voice came over the intercom. “Please fasten your seatbelts, gentlemen. We’ve been trying to avoid it, but we’re still going to experience a bit of turbulence anyway.”

  Xavier cinched the belt around his waist. “What makes you hate me the way you do, Captain?”

  Carpenter left his belt undone. “Heroes are hard to come by in my book, Doctor. Two days ago, you didn’t even know that Lance Cutter was alive. You were content with your research and whatever else you did to keep busy. Now, because of one man’s act of valor, you’re going to tear his life apart. I don’t hate you, Doctor. I hate what you stand for.”

  The plane bumped and pitched as strong winds buffeted the wings.

  Xavier pressed his sunglasses to his face. “Well, I sup­pose we’re all entitled to our opinions, Captain.”

  Carpenter couldn’t debate the truth any longer; there was no purpose. Individuals with Xavier’s intractable outlook could never be persuaded. Reclining in his seat, he mentally made a promise to himself that, as soon as this was all over, he’d retire and come back to that magnificent-looking lake as a civilian and try his hand at drift fishing. He realized it would take a long time to absolve himself for taking part in this conspiracy, but he was only fifty-two, and he still had a lifetime to reconcile his conscience.

  Across the aisle, Antoine Xavier stared with vacant eyes at the bulkhead in front of him. He was also making a pledge to himself … that as soon as Lance Cutter was eliminated, Captain Carpenter and his unpleasant attitude would be next.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Julie Chapman rolled over onto her side and silently began speculating about the man sleeping peacefully beside her. Lance had promised her last night that they would talk more in the morning. Well, the dawn was finally here, and now she wondered what he would have to say to her. She studied his closed eyelids and marveled at the astonishing eyes that fluttered restlessly behind them.

  She had always known in her heart that there was some­thing extraordinary about Lance Cutter, but nothing could have prepared her for what he had revealed to her last night.

  As she continued to watch him slumber, she let her mind drift back thirteen hours, to when the two of them stood on the back porch at sunset, their after-dinner espressos cooling under the steady breeze of an overhead paddle fan.

  There hadn’t been much conversation over the previous night’s dinner, and Lance just toyed with his grilled salmon most of the time, moving it around the plate with his fork. She could sense that he had something to tell her, but he was having a hard time finding the words. She didn’t want to force him, all the while pretending that she had the patience of a saint.

  Thinking back on it, she still wasn’t sure if he had said anything before he stood up and turned away from her. There was an agonizing moment when she thought he was going to open the screen door and just leave. When he finally turned around to confront her, she didn’t know how, but she man­aged to keep her panic in check. Feigning bravery, she stood up and cupped his face softly in her trembling hands and, for the first time, stared deep into those exotic crimson eyes. Nothing was said at the time; no explanations were afforded. When she opened her mouth to inquire, he had silenced her question with a kiss.

  As the first rays of the weekend sun streamed beneath the blinds and into the darkened bedroom, Julie’s mind was still a swirling vortex of anxieties. Her first concern, for some odd reason, had centered around death. It was a natural supposi­tion, wasn’t it? That whenever someone is born with a physical peculiarity, it’s typical to assume that they will live a shorter life? No matter how many times Lance assured her that he was in perfect health, she knew she would still fret over him like an overindulgent mother.

  Her first recommendation that he quit the department and seek a more sedentary line of work had Lance ending the conversation brusquely. There was more to this man’s dilemma than just a strange pair of eyes. Something else seemed to be tormenting him. She let him pull away and watched him as he paced back and forth inside the screened patio like a caged animal.

  According to Lance, at the heart of his predicament was his newfound fame. Instead of basking in the limelight of his media exposure, he was unsettled by it.

  “I’ve lived my entire life trying to remain anonymous,” he had told her. “All I ever wanted was to do my job well, pick up my pay check every other week, and live a normal life … that’s all I’ve ever asked.”

  Julie remembered feeling an icy hand run its fingers down her spine. There was such a sense of foreboding in his voice that it made it tough to sound reassuring. “No one has to know, Lance.”

  He never turned to look at her. His eyes were transfixed on the horizon as the sun turned the sky the color of fire. “Someone already knows.”

  She remembered crossing her arms on her chest to warm herself, but the shiver ran through her like an electrical shock. “You just feel this?”

  Lance’s eyes darted along the s
kyline much the same way a wary tomcat senses the approach of an unseen adversary. “I know this.”

  “Well, what are you going to do?”

  Lance’s lips turned downward. “I can’t run anymore.”

  Julie walked up behind him and placed her arms lovingly around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

  Lance reached down and wrapped his hands around hers as a cricket somewhere in the backyard beckoned the onset of night. “Whatever happens to me, Jules…”

  Julie held him close. “Shhh … nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  Lance turned to face her and let his girlfriend stare deep into his unmasked eyes. He studied her face for some sort of reaction … repulsion … trepidation … but there was none. To Julie, his eyes were hypnotic, like two red-hot coals glowing in the fading sunlight. “My eyes don’t frighten you?”

  Julie smiled. “These luminous gems aren’t something to be feared, they were godsends, like you, put on this earth to inspire hope.”

  “Maybe we should go inside and have some dessert,” he whispered into the nape of her neck.

  “I haven’t anything sweet,” she softly moaned. He pulled his face away and smirked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Their lovemaking had been gentle yet in the end, un­bridled. They had made love before, but always in the dark. Now, she knew his reasons. There had always been an invisible barrier between them, preventing them from ex­pressing their full emotions. But last night, it began to crumble. She always thought Lance had feared intimacy, but in truth, what he dreaded was discovery. With that behind them, maybe now they could get on with their lives together. That is, unless Lance had any other secrets.

  Lance’s eyes blinked open. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

  Julie smiled. “Not long.”

  Lance adjusted his head on the pillow, searching for the cool spot. “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  He closed one of his vermilion eyes skeptically. “How early?”