Dream War

by Stephen Prosapio

  In the center of the far wall, two black leather dentist-chair-looking seats reclined so that a person could be seated and connected to the sensors that covered the entire wall behind the bizarre-looking recliners. Oxygen masks connected to the two chairs.

  “What is all this?” Drew asked.

  “I’m only at liberty to give you so many details, but this is equipment the government developed for dream-link technology.”

  “Dream-link technology?” Drew felt like a parrot.

  “Yeah, it was developed back in the eighties to link to other people’s dreams. The government discovered that people emitted a unique dream-print that could not only be read, but connected to. Since then, we’ve evolved, and come up with ways to establish that connection without this equipment.”

  “You can look directly into my dreams?” Nadia asked.

  “With one of those medallions and extensive practice, we can not only look at them, but we can project ourselves into the dreams of others.”

  “Are you pulling on our legs?” Nadia pressed.

  “No, this is serious,” Lopez said. “With an intense focus, like meditation, I can go into a trans-like state. From there I can focus on a person’s dreaming brain waves, their REM dream-print, and link my mind to theirs.”

  For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

  “So, what is this equipment used for now?” Nadia asked.

  “To connect directly to the Spatium Quartus. Without it, while I can link to someone’s brainwaves who has been taken to the Spatium Quartus and rescue them, it limits my powers there. It dilutes them. When that person is transported back, I automatically exit the Spatium Quartus as well.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Drew asked.

  “Not if you want to save more than one person without having to take the drugs necessary to transport.”

  “You have to take drugs to go to the Spatium Quartus? What kind?” Drew asked.

  “We’ll get to that,” Lopez assured him, “but first I need to get forgiveness for something I did without permission.”

  He reached for his pack of cigarettes, but then, as though for their sake, denied himself.

  “Here, look at these,” he said, watching their expressions as he pointed to a row of color monitors which, surrounded by black and whites, stood out like a prime-time show among infomercials.

  After a moment, Nadia gasped. “Oh, my God. Drew, that’s our place!”

  He could see the free-standing wrought iron lamp, the cheap entertainment center, and his tattered couch that Nadia had earmarked for imminent banishment. One screen displayed much of their bedroom. The angle pointed from the far side of the room towards the doorway, displaying a clear view of their bed. The final monitor showed a panoramic shot of Alexis’s small bed.

  “How long have you—” Nadia blurted, her eyes welling up with tears. Her face scrunched. She exuded an animalistic intensity as if she was prepared to lunge at Lopez’s throat like a mother lion protecting her cub from a hyena.

  His hands flew up in a gentle surrender. “Easy. Easy. I did this after you left this afternoon. I hoped whoever is targeting you would come today while you were out, so I could trap them. But…”

  His hands turned over displaying two empty palms. There was clear disappointment on his face.

  “How do you know no one came while you were picking us up?” Nadia asked. Her voice sounded both frightened and hopeful.

  “Basically, I equipped the door and entry points with sensors, and put a couple motion detectors inside your condo.”

  Drew considered inquiring how Lopez had gotten into his place, but over the past few minutes it had become crystal clear that Lopez was no two-bit private eye.

  “So how much can you share with us about your background?” he asked.

  “When I got out of the Marines in ‘81…” Lopez did a double-take at one of the monitors behind them. He appeared more confused than alarmed. “Were you folks expecting someone?”

  Drew and Nadia’s heads swiveled to follow Lopez’s gaze. The video stream of their shared hallway showed the image of a man knocking at their door. Like kids expecting the unbelievable at a magic show, they held their breath as Lopez zoomed the camera to focus on the face of Alfonso Simone.

  - Chapter Eighteen -

  Two days prior to Night of Nights – Carlsbad, California

  Tapusscar’s plane touched down at 6:46 PM. McClellan-Palomar, the single-runway airport, served those traveling to Los Angeles, Las Vegas, or Phoenix from Carlsbad, Vista, Oceanside, or other surrounding North County San Diego communities.

  He stepped out of the plane onto the concrete path that led to the small airport terminal building, where his local contact, known as “The Tracker,” waited. Tapusscar suspected that this wouldn’t be a pleasant meeting, given his failure in Naples to secure the medallion. However, nothing would compare to the retribution he had already endured from Luzveyn Dred.

  A short man no more than twenty-five years old, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, approached from the brick and glass structure. It became obvious why Tapusscar was needed to recover the medallion. The little, rat-like figure looked like he couldn’t even lift a fly swatter.

  “Hello. I’m Stanley.” The tiny man extended his hand as if unsure of the social protocol in a situation such as this. “I take it that your flight went…” He trailed off leaving his question ambiguous but assumed.

  Tapusscar grunted. “The trip was uneventful.” He gathered his bags. “I need a shower. Then I’ll begin my work.”

  *

  *

  *

  Kat had tailed Stanley to the airport and waited in her white Toyota Celica while he grabbed whatever package had been flown in. Like a mouse with a crumb of bread, the man typically scuttled back to his car with a small box wrapped in brown paper. Sometimes, he’d struggle to port back a larger box and stash it in the backseat of his black Lexus. They almost all contained medallions.

  Disembarked travelers paraded through the cramped parking lot toward their cars. Some of them met families and relayed stories of their journeys using excited hand gestures. Many had traveled alone and rushed to their cars, their minds obviously focused solely on their destinations.

  These surveillance missions, although part of Kat’s job, bored her. She’d rather be off fighting criminals, or rescuing innocents from the hellacious creatures of the Spatium Quartus. Still, it turned her on when, a few months earlier, they’d started swiping Stanley’s medallions en route to his contacts in Italy. At first, Lopez had shipped them to Langley, but Kat didn’t trust Graham Mikura, a.k.a. Big Brother Bureaucrat, the newest Deputy Director with whom she and Lopez were collaborating. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been the man to force her father, Bernard Hyde, into involuntary retirement. Graham just didn’t have the passion for dream linking, nor the necessary experience with Luzveyn Dred or the S.Q. She wished that, once shipped to Langley for research, the medallions underwent extensive testing that would somehow benefit all humankind. However, despite Lopez’s early protestations to the contrary, she thought it more likely that the medallions had been packed in a crate and stored away in a giant warehouse somewhere, just like they did to the Ark of the Covenant at the end of “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

  Either way, that BS ended quickly. She’d convinced Lopez to begin giving the snatched medallions, along with instruction to wear them as they sleep, to people they rescued in the S.Q. Sometimes, it seemed to have the impact of spit in the ocean, but saving one soul at a time from Dred, was better than giving them to Big Brother Bureaucrat.

  At first, after spotting Stanley approach his vehicle from the airport terminal, Kat wondered if the hulking form accompanying him was an illusion—then, the face of the gigantic man came into focus, and Kat wished he was only an illusion. The pair, resembling modern-day Steinbeck characters, advanced to the sedan, Stanley motioning to the backseat. The behemoth tossed two bags into the back. One appear
ed stuffed with clothing; the other looked as though it contained equipment of some sort—maybe weapons.

  Kat felt under the seat for her snub-nosed .38. Dad had always taught, better to be safe than a cadaver.

  As the little man waited behind the wheel, the giant squeezed himself into the passenger’s seat. The dark car pulled away, Stanley unaware or unconcerned that his passenger had not yet fastened his seatbelt.

  Unfortunately, trailing someone so oblivious had made Kat lazy.

  *****

  The Lexus cut to the curb on Coast Highway in front of the La Quinta Inn. The motel was next door to a strip club the locals had dubbed “The Purple Church.” At one time, violet neon lights had shone down on the outside of the white brick building from under a mauve canopy. Now, the place was more upscale – the canopy was black. Girls in white robes leaned against the railing outside, smoking and flirting with potential customers.

  Kat kept driving past the club, the hotel, and the Lexus. At the next intersection, she turned down a side street and looped around the block so that she could park a safe distance away from the cheap motel and Stanley’s car. Even from her distant vantage point, Kat could see that Stanley fidgeted impatiently. She assumed the giant was checking into the hotel, but something didn’t seem right.

  Why is he so jumpy?

  The first evidence that her instincts were right, came when her passenger-side window shattered. It was an ambush.

  She heard rumblings in broken English. “Stop. Don’t move!” His face appeared behind a 9 mm pistol he rammed through the window.

  Kat slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Everything moved in slow motion. The Celica lurched forward, snagging his wrist in the metal frame. Bones snapped. The gun fired.

  She dragged him, his body thudding against the back of the car. Trying to swerve out into traffic, she clipped an oversized sedan. He was shaken loose.

  Kat sped south on Coast Highway. It was several blocks before she noticed, just twelve inches from her forehead, the bullet hole in her front windshield.

  *

  *

  *

  In the relative darkness of the surveillance room, Drew stared at the image of Alfonso Simone on the video screen.

  “That’s the old man I told you about from Italy,” he said to Lopez.

  “The one that lied about being a detective?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lopez grabbed a brown bomber jacket and a pair of handcuffs from a hook near the door.

  “Drew, you come with me.”

  “Out there? To talk to—”

  “Yes, act natural, pretend like we were just headed out, and get me close to him, but you stay the hell clear.” Lopez pointed at Nadia. “No matter what, you stay inside this condo with Alexis.”

  The three of them hurried out to the front room. The TV, documenting a Scooby Doo escape from monsters, added an inane soundtrack to the situation. But there was nothing funny about seeing Alexis, head on a pillow, asleep on the sofa.

  “Shit! She can’t have been out long,” Lopez said motioning to Nadia. “Wake her up and put one of those medallions in her hand, now!”

  Drew dug into his pocket, pulled out a medallion and pressed it into Alexis’s palm.

  Protect the little girl.

  He so clearly imagined the priest’s words that Drew nearly scanned the room for him.

  “Drew, let’s go,” Lopez said putting on his leather jacket.

  “Now? While…” He looked at Alexis.

  “We’ll be back in a minute. Act cool. It’ll be fine.” Lopez opened the door and strode in bouncy, carefree steps into the hallway.

  Drew followed.

  “Yeah, so first, we pick up some food,” Lopez said casually, “then we can head over to the ballgame. What do ya wanna eat, Drew?”

  His back to them, Alfonso appeared to be headed toward the stairwell at the far end of the corridor. Upon the mention of Drew’s name, he stopped and turned around.

  Almost forgetting to answer the question, Drew blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Pizza!”

  The old man was squinting and took a few steps in their direction. “Mr. Faulkner?”

  “Alfonso?” Drew called out, attempting to feign surprise.

  Lopez subtly positioned himself a step ahead of him as they approached.

  “Yes,” Alfonso said, glancing toward Lopez before again making eye-contact with Drew. “Mr. Faulkner, I need to warn you—”

  Lopez pounced.

  Drew must have blinked more than once, because his neighbor now stood behind Alfonso. Lopez had pulled a gun from his jacket and was pointing it at the old man’s head.

  “Are you alone?” he asked Alfonso.

  “What?”

  “Did you come here alone?”

  “Yes, I’m alone, but—”

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Lopez growled. “Drew,” he continued, but in a softer tone, “put these on him.”

  Drew heard the clinking of handcuffs, but couldn’t seem to look away from the gun.

  “Drew!”

  He awkwardly managed the task, securing both hands behind the man’s back.

  “March!” Lopez ordered pushing Alfonso’s shoulder.

  They hurried back to the condo and rushed into the front room. Nadia stood over Alexis shaking her by the shoulder. The little girl flopped back and forth on the sofa like a cloth doll. Drew started to join Nadia’s attempts to rouse the unconscious girl when Lopez barked an order that stopped him.

  “Drew! Get over here!”

  He’d pushed Alfonso into a corner of the room. Keeping the gun pointed at his prisoner, Lopez thrust it in Drew’s hand.

  “Just keep it pointed at him,” Lopez said, starting to pat down Alfonso. Under the old man’s brown tweed jacket, he discovered a holstered revolver.

  “Ehh, .38 special?” He put the weapon in his front pocket.

  “Who the—”

  “I told you to keep your mouth shut. I’ve gotta help the little girl,” Lopez said, “then we’ll talk.” He moved toward the couch, but before he reached Alexis, she stirred.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Nadia stared, eyes watering, mouth agape.

  “Uh huh,” she said, burying her face in Nadia’s bosom. The medallion fell from her hand and plopped onto the carpet.

  Lopez stared at her a moment, then bent and picked up the medallion. He turned it over a few times it in his hand while pursing his lips. Taking a deep breath, he reached under his collar and pulled a chain from around his neck, connected to yet another silver medallion.

  “Alexis, this is for you.”

  She looked up, and he dangled the medallion in front of her. “I want you to wear this from now on, especially when you go to sleep,” Lopez said. “It’s for good luck.” He winked.

  “Will it make them stop?” She gazed at it wide-eyed.

  “Yes it will.”

  Alexis appeared spellbound. She looked up at Lopez. “Are they just bad dreams?”

  He smiled weakly. “They’re all just dreams,” he said.

  Drew swore he saw a spark of recognition in Alexis’s eyes before she buried her head in Nadia’s chest.

  “How are we doing over there, Drew?” Lopez voice filled the room with a gruff confidence.

  “We’re all right, I guess.”

  Lopez darted over, shielding Alfonso from Alexis’s line of sight, and prodded him down the short hallway into the next room.

  “C’mon, Drew, let’s see who our visitor is,” Lopez said.

  Once inside the surveillance center, Lopez’s hospitality disappeared. He pushed Alfonso to a chair. “Who the hell are you?”

  The old man’s face was drained of color; his eyes betrayed the emotions of a man beaten, and confused, but calm, almost resigned to whatever awaited. Drew wanted to put Lopez’s gun down somewhere; it didn’t feel right in his hands. He knew it was a Glock, but this was different from holding one at a shooting range.

  “Drew and Na
dia have seen my credentials,” he said. “They know perfectly well who I am.”

  “They tell me you have more faces than Lon Chaney and Jim Carey combined.”

  Alfonso gritted his teeth and forced out a shallow breath. “I’ve already apologized for my initial deception. Why did you send a medallion with them to Naples?”

  Lopez opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. His eyes betrayed confusion, but quickly returned to their razor-sharp focus.

  “You’re in no position to be asking me questions.”

  “So, now I’m a hosta—”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “To warn them,” Alfonso said with a sigh, “and hopefully to protect them.”

  “Protect them from what?”

  “You seem like a bright individual. What do you think?”

  “You ask me another question, old man and I’ll…”

  Drew’s stomach felt as though filled with curdled milk. It was either puke or take the bull’s horn and get some answers.

  “I want both of you to tell me just what the hell is going on.” The words flowed in a low growl exactly as he had planned.

  Neither Lopez nor Alfonso made eye contact with Drew. No one blinked.

  “Fine, I’ll give you folks the benefit of the doubt.” Alfonso’s voice sounded tentative and vulnerable. “I’ll tell you what I know if I have your word that you’ll do likewise.”

  Lopez shrugged, and then quickly dipped his head once.

  Drew handed Lopez his gun.

  “I’ll start from the beginning,” Alfonso said. “In December of 1981, I was put in charge of a high-profile case. A group of Italian terrorists called the Brigate Rosse, or ‘Red Brigades,’ kidnapped a United States General who’d been living in Verona.”

  “You were in charge of the Dozier operation?” Lopez asked, his voice brimming with indignation.

  “Yes, you recall that incident?” Alfonso appeared puzzled.

  “Yeah, I remember it.” Lopez crossed his arms. His expression signaled that additional information would not be forthcoming. “Go ahead.”

  Alfonso shifted in his seat and explained that, after the general’s rescue, many of the captured terrorists had informed on others in the organization.