The Windchime Legacy

by A. W. Mykel

  He caught her once after that, trying to go into the basement. But the old door was locked, and he now had all of the keys. He playfully got it across that she wasn’t to try to see the work until it was finished. She didn’t know how really serious he was about never letting her see the story those words told.

  But it was done, finally. He now had to make up his mind once and for all about Honeycut and whether to trust him.

  “Aren’t you convinced, yet?” Elizabeth Ryerson asked Honeycut. “He’s been writing for almost five days straight. Any bets on what it’s about?” she asked caustically.

  Honeycut was silent, thinking.

  “Do you still think he’s going to give you that journal?”

  “He hasn’t tried to leave,” Honeycut said.

  “He knows about the ground sensors. He was close enough to touch one of them. He knows about the security team posted at the road, too. You’ve got to start thinking realistically in this matter, Irv. Pilgrim is a dangerous man who knows too much.”

  “He doesn’t know what’s in the journal, yet.”

  “I’ll give you that much. But he knows something very important is contained in it. He’ll try to find out, you know he will if he gets the chance. And, when he does, he’ll become very, very dangerous. Remember, he doesn’t have the implant any longer,” Elizabeth reminded him.

  “In a week he’ll have one. I still think that his willingness to be implanted again and receive the eye gives testimony to his sincerity,” Honeycut insisted.

  “He’s buying time, until he can figure a way out safely for himself and that girl. He’ll move, and soon. And, if he makes it, we’re in trouble,” she warned.

  Honeycut silently went over the evidence again. Elizabeth had, indeed, raised valid points of contention, points that he had rejected from the beginning.

  They had the whole journal in their possession now from Priest’s books. Only a well-hidden, partial transcript existed, which in all likelihood might never be found.

  “I know how we can test your theory,” Elizabeth said, wanting it resolved.

  Honeycut looked up, waiting.

  “Let’s bring Pilgrim into Sigma. He’ll have to come in anyway in a few days, to have a final eye examination before we give him his new one. Let’s bring him in and do that now. At the same time, we can send Rainmaker out to check what he’s written. If it’s safe, we’ll proceed according to your plan, and I’ll be convinced that you’re right. He would have to be an utter fool to allow himself to be implanted if he weren’t as entirely loyal as you believe he is,” she proposed.

  “And if you’re right?” Honeycut asked.

  “Then Rainmaker waits for him and finishes him when he returns,” Elizabeth said. “Right there, on the spot.”

  Honeycut thought for many long moments. He still felt it imperative to get the partial transcript back, to remove all chances of accidental discovery.

  “I’ll agree, but with one modification, to account for the unexpected. Either way, it should work to your pleasure.”

  Now Elizabeth was thinking.

  “I don’t like the look in your eye, Irv. But I’ll agree to it, if it will finally put an end to this whole mess.”

  “It will, I can assure you.”

  Justin was wary about being called into Sigma so suddenly. Before being picked up, he hid the written account in the desk and locked it. He took the key with him. The cellar door was locked, again, and he made sure that he had every key in the house with him.

  Barbara watched with worried eyes as Justin got into the car. She wanted desperately for him to come back as soon as possible. Lately, it seemed that every time he left her, he was almost killed. She could hardly stand to lose him again. She looked forward only to the time when they could settle down together, as private people in their own private world.

  Barbara tacked a note to the door for Justin, telling him she was going shopping and would be back in about two hours.

  As the Corvette moved away, the Impala pulled down the private road to the house.

  Rainmaker picked his way into the house. Moments later he had the cellar door open and was descending the stairs.

  “Well, that should just about do it. Everything is perfect,” Dr. Amos Kent said, completing his examination. “The eye itself will undergo one final test in two days, then next Monday we should be ready for you.”

  “How does that sound?” Honeycut asked.

  “Great. When do I get to hear again on the right side?” Justin asked.

  “On the same day,” Kent said. “That’s a very quick procedure much like your original implanting. But, in this case, your new implant will do all of the hearing. There’s no therapy involved, other than pitch evaluations to determine the actual frequency range you will be able to perceive. Okay, we’re finished.”

  Justin thanked him and shook his hand.

  Honeycut walked with Justin to the security position from which he would be escorted back to the limousine. He was pleased at the interest Justin had shown in his new eye during the examination.

  The small, three-wheeled vehicle pulled away carrying Justin. Honeycut had turned to walk to the control room, when he saw Elizabeth heading toward him.

  She was smiling, like a cat who had just eaten the pet bird.

  As he was driven back, Justin noticed that the security team stationed at the main road was gone. Maybe his act during the examination had convinced them that he was on the level.

  He still had five days in which to make his move for freedom, if he was going to. He would make the decision within the next two.

  He was dropped off in front of the house and watched as the limousine disappeared down the road.

  When he got to the door, he found Barbara’s note.

  He walked into the house, passed through the living room, dining room, into the kitchen, and saw the cellar door open. He froze.

  Slowly, he began back-stepping. In the dining room, he turned—and stopped.

  Rainmaker was standing there with a big smile on his face.

  In his left hand, he held the thick packet of notes that Justin had written. In his right, he held a gun.

  “This way,” Rainmaker said, motioning Justin into the living room. “Move slowly.”

  Justin limpingly complied, his face controlled, calm.

  “Over there,” Rainmaker said, pointing to the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

  Justin moved around him slowly.

  Rainmaker now stood with his back to the door, about four feet from Justin.

  Justin looked at the piece Rainmaker had aimed at him. It was the Mauser HSc—his Mauser. Rainmaker saw the recognition.

  “Adds a bit of irony this way. Thought you might like to see exactly what it’s like to get some of what you’ve been giving,” he said.

  Justin looked unimpressed.

  “You’ve been a bad boy, Pilgrim,” Rainmaker said, holding up the handwritten account. “A very, very bad boy.”

  “They made a big mistake sending only you,” Justin said, with a menacing smile, as if he knew something that Rainmaker didn’t.

  Rainmaker felt suddenly discomfited by it. Here he was, holding every advantage, and Pilgrim still seemed to have an upper hand. The smile dropped from his face.

  “No, Pilgrim. You’re the one who made the big mistake today. You’re not so tough, after all.”

  At that moment, the door behind Rainmaker opened. Barbara came walking in.

  “Would you believe I was in the checkout line and—” The words choked off when she saw the gun in Rainmaker’s hand.

  Startled by the sudden voice behind him, Rainmaker began an automatic half turn of the head. He caught his error, but the swishing sound of the cane already filled the air.

  It hit viciously in the center of his forehead. Rainmaker went down from the blow. Before the realization of what had happened could enter his mind, the cane cracked down savagely again, against his right temple.

  In
an instant the familiar Mauser was in Justin’s hand. He was in control again, possessing the power.

  Barbara stood, hands to her face, mouth agape.

  “Get out to the car,” Justin said. “We’re not welcome here anymore.”

  She just stood there in shock, unable to move.

  “Was the security team at the main road?” he asked her.

  She shook her head weakly.

  “Move. Out to the car. Now!”

  She went in a daze through the door.

  Justin moved quickly to the bedroom and picked up the blue flight bag. There was no sign of a limp in his movement.

  He came back into the living room, picked up the notes, and stuffed them into the flight bag. He picked up the cane and walked back to the body.

  Then he bent down, straddling Rainmaker’s unconscious form. He put the Mauser well into the mouth and pulled the trigger.

  “Second big mistake, Smiley,” he began. “Shoot, don’t talk.”

  He turned to the door and saw Barbara staring in horror at what he had just done.

  He grabbed her firmly by the arm and pushed her out of the house.

  They got into the Corvette. Justin tore off down the narrow road, wheels spinning.

  The security team was not in position. He gunned it for everything it was worth. All decisions had been made for him. It was time to go.

  “Always plan for the unexpected,” Honeycut said to a panic-stricken Elizabeth Ryerson, with obvious concern on his own face.

  “And what was it all for?” Elizabeth said acidly. “A journal that would have significance to only a handful of people in the whole world? We couldn’t have been hurt by it anymore. But now we’re on the edge of trouble, because he’ll know exactly what it means. And he’s a breath away from being lost to us,” she said.

  “We’re in control,” Honeycut insisted. “He’s going for the journal now. It’ll be all over soon, just like I said it would.” There was a little sadness in his tone. He was disappointed that it hadn’t worked out with Justin. He had liked him very much. Too much.

  Barbara had been painfully silent since leaving the house. She hadn’t even looked into Justin’s face. She just kept her eyes focused on her lap.

  He reached across the console and touched her hand. There was no acknowledgment of the gesture.

  “Spill it,” he said, taking his hand away.

  For the first time since leaving, she looked at him. “You just killed that man back there. Like it was nothing, Justin. You just killed him,” she said, with an almost painful lack of comprehension.

  “He had come to kill us,” Justin said flatly. “We’d both be dead now if I hadn’t.”

  “Why?” she quizzed.

  Justin didn’t answer.

  She looked out to the road in front of them. “Before the incident in Dieppe, had you ever killed a man?” she asked.

  He remained silent.

  “Answer me, damn you!” she yelled.

  “That’s not important,” he replied.

  “Oh, yes, it is,” she snapped, turning fully toward him in her seat. “Did you ever kill a man before Dieppe?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” he said without looking at her.

  “Oh, Justin,” she said, dropping her face into her hands, weeping.

  Justin drove on silently.

  She wiped the tears away with the palms of her hands and looked at him again. “How many men before Dieppe?”

  He shook his head and looked at her sternly. “Jesus Christ, what the hell does it matter? Do you know what’s happening to us? People are trying to kill us. I’m trying to keep us alive. I’m concerned with what’s up there, ahead of us,” he said pointing at the open road.

  “How many men?” she repeated.

  “What in the hell is so important—”

  “I want to know!” she interrupted loudly.

  He looked straight ahead, his jaws clenched tightly, the eye in a tight squint.

  “How many?”

  “Do you think I run around putting notches in the handle of my gun to keep count? I try not to remember,” he said in an annoyed tone.

  “More than five?” she probed.

  He shook his head in disbelief again. “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “More than ten?”

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, yes! Are you through now?” he fumed. “What the hell does it all matter? I’m still me. I’m the same guy you loved this morning, remember?”

  “Part of you is,” she said in a whisper.

  He leveled an angry stare at her. She had never seen such a look in his face before. She remained silent for hours after that.

  Justin’s mind clicked away busily as he drove. He welcomed the silence, the chance to think clearly without interruptions. He decided that the safest way back was to drive. This way he could maintain some measure of control. In a plane they’d be helpless, as Centaur had been.

  It was a long drive back to New York, a lot of country to lose themselves in. But first he had to get rid of the car, which had been provided by the agency and probably had homing devices and bugs in it. That would be a simple matter.

  At three in the morning they stopped at a small all-night diner for some food.

  Justin ate hungrily at his eggs, potatoes, and sausages. Barbara hadn’t touched hers.

  Justin sat where he could see the car, to be alerted to anyone approaching it.

  “Justin, I…I love you,” she said, reaching across the table to take one of his hands.

  He smiled and looked at her.

  “I’m sorry I behaved the way that I did,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he comforted. “Try to eat your food. We won’t be making many stops.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, starting to take her first bites of the cold eggs.

  “Home.”

  “Why are they doing this?”

  “I’ve got something they want, or at least they think I have it,” he said.

  “Well, do you?”

  “Yes and no. Some of it I do, the rest I think I can find,” he answered.

  “What is it?”

  He looked up from his plate. “I’m not going to tell you that. What you don’t know might keep you alive,” he said.

  “Why don’t you just give it back to them? Maybe they’d leave us alone,” she said, almost pleading.

  “It’s past that, now. They’ll never leave us alone. I know too much,” he told her.

  “I wish I knew what was going on,” she sighed.

  “Believe me, the less you know, the better off you’ll be.”

  They finished eating, Justin consuming the scraps that Barbara had left. He also bought some rolls and cigars, the latter to help him stay awake as he drove. They walked out to the car.

  Justin tensed as an Impala crept by. An old man and woman were inside. A wave of relief swept through him.

  “What’s wrong?” Barbara asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just paranoid when it comes to Impalas.”

  “I do love you, Justin,” she said, holding his arm with both hands.

  He put the arm around her and squeezed her tightly.

  “What’s ahead for us?” she asked.

  “A lot of moving,” he answered, as they walked out into the parking lot. “A lot of moving and looking back.”

  Nobody really noticed as they entered a different car than they had come in. The hood was up for only a minute or so. Then they were off, in their newly stolen Camaro.

  A little while later, before the sunlight began to filter through the night sky, Justin stopped the car one more time. In another ten minutes he had provided them with different license plates, from a closely matching car. The stolen car’s plates were left on the other car. Its owner probably wouldn’t notice the difference for days or weeks.

  Then they were off again, heading home. Home. They’d never be able to call any place home again.


  “Will they ever stop coming after us?” Barbara asked.

  “No.”

  A painful, depressed look settled onto her face. So suddenly their happiness together had changed to this.

  Later that morning, after the sun had risen, the Camaro pulled into a gas station.

  “We’re going to have to gas up,” he said. “We’re safe using these credit cards I have for a while, yet. It doesn’t matter if they know where we’ve been at this stage. It’s a week from now that I’m worried about.”

  “I’ve got credit cards,” she said.

  “They’ll find us just as easily with those. We need cash. I’ve got about eighty dollars left. How about you?” he asked.

  “I’ve got plenty.” She smiled. “I took three thousand dollars out of savings before coming out to join you. I only used about a hundred of it,” she said.

  “That’s good. That’ll help for a while. We can figure something out later,” he said.

  “Justin, I know that you want me to know as little as possible, but could you just tell me who it is that we’re running away from? Is it really the government?”

  Justin thought for a moment. “No, it’s not the government,” he answered.

  “They’ll kill us, won’t they?” she asked.

  “Only if we give them the chance. It won’t be as easy as they think,” he said, a plan already beginning to take shape in his head.

  Barbara leaned against the console and held his arm. “It is right, what we’re doing, isn’t it, Justin?” she asked.

  “More than you know,” he said softly.

  The Camaro pulled into the parking lot of the Arcola Motel in Saddle Brook, New Jersey. They had made it back safely, having made stops only for gas and food.

  Barbara had spelled Justin at the wheel several times, so that he could sleep. They had made excellent time in the nonstop run. Justin figured that they would have one or two days’ advantage yet, before having to move again.

  He went into the small office and made arrangements for an efficiency unit, so that they could reduce the risk of detection, by preparing their own meals right there in the room.