Old
Age
By Ernest Shields
Chapter 13
It took a full day for Ivan to recover. He couldn't seem to reason properly,
it was like being on an immense plain with only one point of reference.
His thoughts kept going back to the blank spot that now lay in his mind;
Ron Harris. Ronald David Harris, twenty-four years old,--- young, bright,
a whole lifetime ahead of him,--- had it not been for Fennman! Ivan recognized
the voice of Ron's killer; Erik Lance,--- Fennman's front man at the Institute.
Lance's accent was impossible to miss.
Even after he was functioning again, Ivan still felt stunned. Ron's death
was possibly the worst thing he ever experienced, but it was Jason who
suffered the most. Jason thought of Ron as his protégé, they
were friends who developed a closeness only men who work in law enforcement
feel. At first Jason wept, then he wanted to get his hands on Lance, even
if it meant going to the Institute alone, but of course, that was impossible,
the place was buttoned up tighter than Fort Knox.
Ivan started the cascade, (the big flush as it would soon to be known)
and then they began staking out the Institute looking for Erik Lance since
only he knew where to find Ron's body. Ivan read anyone who entered
or left the facility but all he learned was most employees didn't leave.
They were housed there, out of sight behind tall shrubbery and taller fences,
completely cut off from the rest of humanity. Jason figured security at the
Institute was perhaps tighter than at the White House. The only people, who
came and went on a daily basis, drove delivery vans, or were ground maintenance
personnel, none of whom were allowed inside the buildings.
While Ivan read those in vehicles heading up the drive, Jason sat watching
the gates and listened to news reports on an all news station out of DC.
The cascade started. There were a few rumblings all ready, “Congressman
resigns,--- details at the top of the hour” type announcements, then a real
news flash; a ranking cabinet member confessed to taking bribes and he did
so while making a press corps address. Pandora's box finally opened and the
contents were spilling out all over Washington.
“The remorse is working, but this isn't.” Ivan said as he watched yet
another delivery truck turn up the drive to the Institute, “The same crews
go back and forth. I need someone with inside access.”
Jason rubbed his jaw,
“You could try zapping the gate cameras,” he said “They'll probably send
someone out to repair them.”
Ivan spotted three articulated units between the inner and outer gates.
“All at the same time?”
“Better not. Try one, that might be enough.”
As it turned out it was more than enough. Ivan concentrated, and the
camera exploded like a 4th of July rocket. Shrapnel pounded into the concrete,
rattling the chain link fence, nearby trees shook, and both men jumped.
“What the hell,--- ?”
“Oh shit! It was booby-trapped; heat sensitive! Fennman must've read the
confidential reports I worked up on you. Christ, look at that. The other
two cameras have turned and are now panning the drive. You'd better
fry them, too, Ivan, and lets get the hell out of here.”
Two more explosions rocked the gates, collapsing them and with the squeal
of tires the sports utility blended with the traffic on the feeder road and
disappeared.
“You've tripped his 'early warning device!' Man-o-Man, those were like
big fragmentation grenades. Had you been at the gate, or even close to it,
those babies would have cooked your goose! We've got to get rid of this truck.
If it isn't all ready on camera, someone is bound to remember it.”
Ivan passed the memory on to the other three men. << We'll
ditch the truck and be home as quickly as possible. I think it's best not
to park near the Institute for the next few hours, but we can cruise the
nearby roads and keep track of what's happening. >>
That same afternoon the shit hit the fan. All regular broadcasts got knocked
off the air by the unfolding saga in Washington. Congressmen, Senators, Presidential
advisers, the movers and shakers of Capital Hill were coming forward in
droves to confess their sins, and name names! Some of whom even Ivan didn't
know. Fennman was mentioned by numerous individuals, but it was Senator Davis
who struck the death knell for the Institute on Aging when he told of Fennman
providing transplant organs, and then added Fennman was also known as the
infamous Penn, the man Chester Latham once claimed was behind his attempted
kidnapping and the murder of a U. of M. student for body parts.
“We have to get back to the Institute!” Ivan exclaimed. ”This is
coming apart so fast both Fennman and Lance might get away.”
They were only minutes from the facility, luckily. It was chaos. The chainlink
gates were completely down and being run over as people streamed out by car
and on foot. The police hadn't arrived yet, no one directed the traffic.
It looked more like rats abandoning ship than it did a strategic withdrawal.
Ivan read those who streamed past and discovered several important facts;
A: Fennman had been living in an apartment at the Institute for the past
two years, and B: He was still inside, shredding documents. Also inside was
the head of security, John Eritine and a few others.
“Good enough,” Jason responded when he heard the news, “but where is Erik
Lance?”
“That's odd, that name doesn't come up in any of the memories I've read
so far. Well, we all know what the bastard looks like. Keep your eyes peeled,
we shouldn't have any trouble spotting him. He stands out like a snow drift
in July.”
The crowd thinned to a dribble and still no cops, finally two cars came
through the gate opening at a fast clip, the first driven by a dark haired
man of medium build.
“THAT'S HIM!” Ivan exclaimed.
“Who?”
“Lance! Only his name's not Lance, it's John Eritine!”
Ivan scanned the man. Fennman was in the second car. Ivan scanned him
as well, but closed down on Eritine making him come to a stop. The second
car suddenly sped up, careening past and hitting the access road with its
tires smoking. It was out of sight in seconds.
“Fennman,” Ivan commented, “but he's mine now, he can't hide any longer.”
Jason was out of the van even before Fennman passed. He had only one thing
in mind; Erik Lance or Eritine, or whatever the fuck his name was. He jerked
open the car door dragging the unresisting man to his feet.
"You dirty rotten Motherfucker!” he growled as he punched the man square
in the nose. Blood flew and so did the dark wig disguising Eritine's white
hair.
Finally the cops arrived along with a contingent of FBI agents. Eritine
talked a steady stream. In a matter of hours forensics experts came and
began a systematic unearthing of the truth behind the Institute on Aging.
Three days later, Ron's funeral went almost unnoticed in the tide of larger
events. The whole country was in shock. People still came forward with tales
of personal dishonor but many who did were simply volunteers. The country
seemed caught up in a sudden rush to truthfulness. To Ivan, it was eerie,
but not nearly as eerie as seeing into Fennman's mind. The man was a psychopath
more ruthless than anyone Ivan ever read. It made Ivan's skin crawl, what's
more, there was no way to cascade Fennman's conscience; he had none!
“So how is our Mr. Penn doing?” Chat asked.
“Living high on a log,--- a log cabin that is. He hired a bush pilot to
fly him in and he plans on staying the winter. It would probably be a great
hideout if I hadn't read him. He's right here.” Ivan marked the place on
the map.
“Ontario?”
“Yep, in the Northwest part of the Province, miles from the nearest settlement.
We can have him picked up anytime. Damn, I'm glad this is over. In case you
haven't noticed I've been living on pain killers lately.”
“I've noticed. Are you ready for your transfusion now?”
“As ready as I'll ever be. I'm really going to miss the communion, the
closeness we all share, but I sure as hell won't miss the pain. I have to
tell you though, I think I will miss not growing old. I really envy you.”
“For God's sake, why? Those last years before I started getting younger
were rough as hell, not anything I'd wish on my worst enemy.”
“Yes, but don't you see, it was those rough times that made you what you
are. You're wise in ways I've never been. I've always had it easy, and
now I don't even have to worry about growing old.”
Chet Laughed, “It's not suffering that makes a man smarter, it's just
that time brings us a little bit of wisdom. You know the old saying, “Too
soon old, too late smart”? Well there's a lot of truth in that. Some people
never smarten up no matter how long they live, but I can tell you one thing
for sure,--- there isn't one old man or woman who wouldn't give their left
tit to be young again; to try it one more time and see if they couldn't avoid
all those stupid mistakes they made. We just need time, that's all there
is to gaining wisdom.”
Chet stuck both pinkies in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle,
“Gather around, Guys! Ivan the Terrible is about to take the plunge. Vun
more time the Vampirre strikes!” he said, rolling his R's, Bela Lagosi style.”Which
one is going to be the lucky donor?”
“Now who do you think?” Bart smiled as he rolled up his sleeve.
”If you don't feel heat, Babe, then we'll switch to Chet."
<< In case we can't talk this way again, just let me say I love you
with all my heart. >>
<< I know, but don't stop saying it. >>
A few minutes later,
“Wow, that does feel weird; reminds me of that stuff my dad used to use
when he pulled a muscle; hot and cold at the same time,--- this is more hot
than cold though. Now my head feels hot, too. Oh, Christ, I knew it, I'm
going to lose my ESP.”
<< Good-bye Bart, Chet, Jason, Sven,--- I'll really miss not being
able to talk to you any time I want. >>
A tear found its way down Ivan's tired face.
“We'll miss it, too,” Chet answered aloud, “But remember we can get cell
phones, not as good, but we'll get by. Don't fight it, try to relax, let
what's happening, happen. Would you like to sleep until it's over?”
“I think so. A shot of morphine or a double one of Demerol,--- hell,---
give me both. I don't want to be awake when it goes.”
Copyright 2004 ~ Ian De Shils (Ernest Shields)