Chapter 11
Walter Fennman awoke drenched in sweat. Fumbling for the bottle of antacid tablets on his nightstand he chewed down two of the cherry flavored pills, then two more - his stomach was churning again, this time almost to the point of puking. For the last year he had suffered from a singular recurring nightmare. Decoviak! The man had searched him out and was stealing his will away - turning him into a mindless robot. It was always the same - Decoviak's face emerging from the mist of a fog shrouded city-street, then the slow agonizing torture of knowing that his mind was fading. Shaken, Fennman sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. The reassuring texture of the carpet underfoot helped dispel the nightmare. The lights were dimmed, but never out. He hadn't slept in a darkened since the dreams began.
Fennman's fears were compounded by the fact that no one had uncovered a single lead to the three men's whereabouts. It left him afraid of every new face that he encountered - especially new faces that turned up at the Institute. He insisted on being briefed about the hiring of each new employee, even grounds keepers he might never come in contact with. All employees that lived outside the confines of the Institute were now scrutinized by camera as they passed through the gauntlet of new gates, and every employee, regardless of status was scanned by retinal viewer before allowed to enter any building in the complex. As much as possible, all outside contact was limited to camera or phone. That went for security staff as well, none were exposed to random scrutiny - no one walked the perimeter, the fence was protected by sensors with multiple redundancy. He had taken every precaution and still the nightmare invaded his sleep. Latham, Decoviak and Ludlow. The three men haunted him, but he knew precisely where the danger lay - Decoviak. The other two were medical wonders, possible the mostly valuable discoveries since the world began and they remained hidden by Decoviak's mind blanking power. If he were dead the other two would be easy to find. The number of agents involved practically assured their capture.
Unable to sleep, Fennman arose and wandered into the apartment's small kitchen. There he set up the coffee maker, then decided on a shower - it was almost 5 AM anyway. In two hours he was scheduled for a phone conference with John Eritine, his head of security. Like all of Fennman's agents, Eritine went through frequent and rigorous testing in search of the slightest hint that he might have been 'washed' or compromised. Yesterday had been Eritine's monthly ordeal. Today John would be hard pressed to stay focused and on track and tomorrow too for that matter. The drugs took at least 48 hours to dissipate. The testing ruined Eritine's effectiveness for three days month, but it was the only safe way.
Fennman now had thirty agents in the field and as each returned from assignment he or she was subjected to the same tests as Eritine and the other employees at the Institute. The Carson Center in Arlington had been specifically designed for this purpose. So far, nothing - not a blip, not a single instance of outside tampering to his people, and although his employees minds appeared untouched Fennman stilled worried. He couldn't demand the same tests of the CIA or the FBI. Who knew how far Decoviak had penetrated those two organizations. Of course the FBI was pretty much out of the loop now anyway. All they were willing to do was pass on surveillance information on possible terrorists- a lot of help that was. He had originally painted Decoviak as a terrorist, but it no longer shook trees at the FBI. The fiasco in Arizona had caused so much grief that the Bureau were no longer amenable to his requests for manpower. Not even Senator Davis, using all his sway on the appropriations committee could bring them back on line. Once burned, twice shy - about the only contact left between the Institute and Bureau was with a liaison team, Turner and Harris, and Fennman couldn't be sure that those two hadn't already been compromised. He hated having those men coming to the Institute. He had never spoke to them personally, the idea of two untested agents snooping around set his nerves on edge. Outside of his own people, Fennman had not met with anyone face to face in 6 months and he intended to keep it like that. Still he wished to God there was some way he could force testing on both the Agency and the Bureau. He would feel a lot safer. . .
John Eritine had a difficult time keeping track of what Fennman was talking about. The testing and the drugs had left feeling like shit. It was getting so he dreaded the thought of that fucking monthly examination and yet he couldn't do anything about it, not even complain to Fennman. The man was crazy, a regular loony-tune, hiding out in that little apartment like some latter day Howard Hughes and all because he was scared of one man. Shit, no one had heard of Decoviak in years, not since Oklahoma City. Ludlow walked out of the county jail, all the Mexican bank accounts got cleaned out and the 3 men vanished. Hell, the they could be anywhere - Europe, the Far East, Australia. As sure as water runs down hill, those men had gone to earth and it appeared as though they had found somewhere damn remote to do it.
Why Fennman was so fucking paranoid about three guys on the run, made no sense to Eritine. Scared shitless that his old agents were compromised, Fennman had gotten rid of every one. Some he fired, others he moved to jobs where they no longer had contact with the Institute, and those few who knew too much, the ones he couldn't simply ditch, Fennman eliminated. Eritine himself had taken out Katz. One could almost say that doing Katz was how John qualified as the new head of security. Of course, that was back before all this testing bullshit started . . .
Even zapped as he was, Eritine caught at least part of Fennman's tirade: He was demanding that the FBI liaison team be kept away from the Institute. "Meet them somewhere else, hire a hotel room or office space. I don't want them here anymore."
The man is getting nuttier everyday, Eritine thought, but he was careful not to voice that opinion. Crazy or not, Fennman was one dangerous Motherfucker.
The five drove to Mirida, caught the first available flight to Mexico City and there waited several hours for the non-stop to New York City. They didn't tarry in the Big Apple, instead they rented a large, comfortable SUV from Hertz and headed for Virginia. Since Ron Harris' assignment to the liaison team, Ivan had been checking him daily, trying desperately to get a lead on Fennman. In fact Harris' present assignment had been Ivan's doing. The trip to Washington had proved fruitful at least in one respect, Ivan now had a handle on FBI assignments, not that it helped much, except in the one instance of the liaison team.
One thing Ivan did learn was that Fennman was currently in Virginia, Alexandria to be exact, Fennman's representative had inadvertently exposed that, but where in Alexandria was anyone's guess. Ivan carefully seeded Ron's mind into looking for clues, especially on those occasions when he and Turner visited the Institute. Unhappily, nothing leading to Fennman turned up. Erik Lance, Fennman's front man at the Institute, hovered over the two FBI men from the time they arrived until he escorted them back through the gate. Ron had little chance to snoop.
The men rented the only furnished place they could find, a two bedroom townhouse in an upper class neighborhood. The rooms were tiny and Chet was completely stunned by the cost.
"We could live at Casa Del Sol for a year for what this cracker box costs a month!" He exclaimed.
Jason laughed, "Remember the old real estate clich‚: Location, location, location? Well, if the Casa were sitting on this spot, we might be able to afford Maria's cottage, but I wouldn't lay odds on it."
They settled in the best they could. Ivan looked tired and they were all hungry; carry out seemed the best option at the moment. With a KFC and a Chinese place within a mile of the townhouse, cooking could be held to a minimum, just drinks and the kind of stuff that goes from the freezer to the microwave. That night they dined from a double bucket of chicken, several quarts of mashed potatoes with gravy, hot rolls and coleslaw and while it was a long way from the spicier flavors they were used to, no one complained.
The next morning Ivan had another bout of pain, not quite as severe as the one in Mexico, but bad enough. It was time to see a doctor. It took awhile finding a physician with an appointment opening. Ivan wasn't particular who he saw, any doctor that had hospital affiliation and who could write a prescription would do and Dr. Cole proved to be more than adequate. Ivan searched the man's memories, finding which pain drugs were the most effective and which caused the least disorientation. Cole wrote out the prescriptions and forgot all about Ivan. He wouldn't remember even seeing this odd patient, unless Ivan, needing the good doctor's aid for some reason, spoke a certain phrase to him. Ivan now had his doctor, one who would, if need be, make house calls although why he would be willing to do such a thing would always remain a mystery to Doctor Cole.
From the moment they arrived in Virginia, Ivan spent nearly all his time reading those people who knew Fennman personally. With a little nudge he was able to get these acquaintances to think about Fennman. Senator Davis, for one was more than a little irked at the man. At a recent appropriations hearing, Fennman had failed to appear, instead he sent a flunky to face the committee. Davis was barely able to get the Institute's funding passed - Fennman certainly had a lot of gaul, he thought, leaving him out on a limb like that. . .
Ivan left Davis and moved on. Checking on Harris he discovered that the up coming liaison meeting had been switched from the Institute to an office in downtown Washington.
"It's weird, Guys," Ivan said, "I've checked everyone I read at Davis's fund raiser last August. At least twenty people there knew Fennman personally, yet no one has seen him in months."
"Maybe he's not here after all." Chet commented.
"Oh, he's still here!" Jason replied, "Remember what Ron saw?" Jason was talking about the slight slip that Erik Lance had made the last time Ron was in his office. One of the medical staff rushed in and handed a paper to Lance saying that Doctor Fennman wanted these results as soon as possible. Lance arose, walked to the fax machine, inserted the paper and punched in a number. From where Ron sat, he couldn't see the entire LED readout, but he did see the prefix and that prefix was local.
"I agree." Ivan said. "He's here and Erik Lance knows where. What I have to do is read Lance. I've nudged Ron and several others to make inquiries on the man but he seems to be a cipher. Ron couldn't even turn up a phone number or an address on the guy. Maybe he lives at the Institute. I think we're in luck though. Ron just got notice that his next meeting with Lance will be held in Washington. At last, a chance to get a handle on Fennman. It's about time, wouldn't you say?"
It was on aThursday ten days later when the meeting took place. The sky was overcast and rain threatened. Chet pulled the SUV into the office building parking lot on 22nd St. while they waited for Ron and Turner to arrive for their 2:30 appointment with Lance. Ivan checked on Harris and saw that the agents were only minutes away.
"OK, Sven and I are going to head for the lobby. I want to be on the 5th floor, right near that office when Ron arrives - maybe I can catch sight of Lance from the hallway - I would rather he not notice me at all, but if I can't get a look at him that way, I barge into the office 'by mistake'."
"Why even worry about that guy," Chet asked, "You can just blank his mind, make him forget he ever saw you."
"Yeah, I could, but think about Ann Arbor and Doc Conner. I made him forgetful too and Fennman's team of shrinks restored his memory in a week. I'd rather do this so that Lance has nothing to remember, just in case. . ."
Ivan missed seeing Lance from the hallway, Harris and Turner were met by a secretary who ushered the two into an inner office. Ivan was frustrated. Through Ron's eyes he again viewed Erik Lance's bland countanance . The man was colorless, ash blond hair and eyebrows. Lashes so white they seemed nonexistant and eyes the color of over bleached denim. As if this wasn't enough, the fellow's skin carried the unhealthy palor of a dungeon dweller. The guy's teeth had more color than his face, in comparison they appeared almost yellow. Lance was a chain smoker and he had a Brooklyn accent that grated on Ivan's nerves even though it came filtered through Ron's conciousness.
The meeting haden't even started when Ivan's plan went awry. A pain so horrible he though he had been stabbed, shot through his back, putting an end to any thought of barging onto Lance's office. He collapsed in pure agony, unable to do anything but roll on the floor. Sven realizing what was happening, quickly scooped Ivan up and carried him back to the elevator. The pain just wouldn't quit, it was excruciating, never in his life had he experienced anything like it. Sven was talking to his, but he couldn't make out what he was saying - the pain - the pain - it overrode everything, even his ESP. Ivan clenched his jaw trying to keep from crying out - it seemed like he couldn't breath. A pressure in his head made his eyes feel like they were going to explode -every point of light had a halo around and then mercifully the elevator faded to gray.
Ivan awoke to findDoctor Cole hovering over him. An IV slowly dripped and he realized that he was back in the townhouse. Mentally, he reached for the Bart, Chet, Jason and Sven. They were all here, sitting in the next room, fretting. Chet was saying that they should have started the transfusion and worried about the consequences later. Bart and Sven agreed, but Jason insisted on waiting until Ivan could decide.
<Guess I screwed up, huh Chet?>
"He's awake!" Chet cried, leaping up and heading for the bedroom.The others followed and crowded into the small room.
"How are you feeling?" Bart asked, worry painted plainly on his face, "Any more pain?"
"No, but my head is buzzing a bit - narcotics?"
"Yeah, morophine. Look, Ivan, Doctor Cole say's the cancer is spreading like wildfire - Just by pressing on your abdomin and he can now feel lumps." <You've got to have the transfusion!>
"Doctor, how long have I got? I want the truth."
"A few weeks, maybe less. Without a biopsy, I can't determine which type of cancer you have, but it is obviously very fast moving. There's been a major enlargement to your liver since I checked you 2 weeks ago."
<Well, that cooks our goose, doesn't it.> Ivan projected to the others. <Fennman keeps on truckin' and we have to go into hiding!>
Ivan read Doctor Cole and saw that there was little more he could do at present, so he made a few changes in the doctor's memory.
Cole packed his bag, rolled down his sleaves and put his jacket on. It wasn't apendicitis after all, merely a case of acute indigestion. The fellow should have just gone to the emergency room. . .
"Thank you, Doctor. I really appreciate you coming to my aid like this." Ivan saw that Cole had planned on taking his wife out for a surprise dinner that evening. There was still time, it was early yet, only around 5:00 PM Cole had made the emergency call directly from his office. Flashing the information to Bart, he watched as Bart pulled out his wallet and extracted some bills.
"Yes, thank you, Doctor," Bart added, "We don't know what we would have done without you. I'll be around tomorrow to pay the bill, but in the mean time, please accept this token of our appreciation - do something nice for yourself - perhaps take your wife out to dinner." He said as he slipped the bills into the breast pocket of the doctor's coat.
Cole smiled. He wasn't in the habit of taking tips, but the young man was so sincere that couldn't refuse. It wasn't until the drive home that he pulled out the money and was shocked to find 4 crisp, one hundred dollar bills. He shook his head. Now, THAT was an expensive case of indigestion! Maybe I should do house calls more often, he thought.
"Well, it looks like we won't be making people forget about us. It was a good plan, Jason and if it wasn't for this damn cancer, we'd probably have Fennman located by now."
"You keep thinking the transfusion will destroy your ESP, but that is only an assumption." Bart said. "Look, in the shape you're in, there's nothing more you can do here. Let's do the transfusion and see what happens. If you loose it, we'll just keep on moving. There's one thing for sure - we'll all outlive Fennman, all we have to do is stay out of sight."
"There is one other option." Jason commented, "Since we don't have time to search for Fennman, Ivan might be able to flush him out."
"How?" they all wanted to know.
"Ivan, remember what you told us about making people remorsful over past sins?"
"Sure, with most folks it's fairly simple. A little nudge, that starts them thinking about their misdeeds, then a little extra push and it starts cascading. Suddenly they feel the need to confess to anyone who will listen. Just like Juan Sanchez."
"Exactly. Now what if you did the same thing to all the people you've read here in Washington - not just Senator Davis and that whole bunch, but eveyone in the government that you've read."
"But most of those people have nothing to do with Fennman!" Ivan protested.
"Some do. Anyway, for this to work, we can't simply pick out known Fennman cohorts. There are hunderds more within the Beltway supporting Fennman whether they know it or not. What we need is a regular flood of people coming forward - enough to distabilize the Institute. Remember, in order for Fennman to stay in business, his backers are calling in favors all the time. Someone votes 'yes' on an Insitute funding proposal and in turn gets a vote for his own personal pork barrel. It's the way Washington works - what we need to do is throw a monkey wrench into those works."
Ivan blanched, "Do you know what that would do to the country? Good Lord, I've read half of congress and most of the senate, to say nothing of all the those agency people. There are no squeeky clean politicians here, all have been stained in one way or another - it sort of goes with being in politics. Hell, there are enough skeletons in the halls of congress to sink the whole ship of state. Jason, it might bring down the government."
"I have a bit more faith in the American people than that." Jason replied, "Yeah, there'll be a shake up, but belive me, the union will hold together. Besides, rooting some crooks out of Washington can't be all bad."
"But it's not just crooks who'll suffer! I can't make anyone selectivly remorseful, once started, the cascade reaches every part of the personality - every blessed thing will come out - infidelities - cribbing on some test in college - little peccadilloes that has nothing to do with a man's ability or fitness for a job. Shit, the media would have a field day."
"It's the only alternative I can come up with. It's pretty obvious that you don't have the time or stamina for anything else. It's either this, or take the transfusion and hope that you're wrong about what it may do to you. . ."
Chapter 12
As far as John Eritine was concerned it was just another wasted afternoon. He did enjoy getting away from the Institute for awhile, but that bit of freedom meant he would have to work harder at producing a report for Fennman that exactly matched the conversation with the two FBI agents. The tape quality was lousy - Fennman was a stickler for details and he was not going to be happy. Eritine felt FBI liaison was a waste of time. He had yet to learn anything from those reports that wasn't already covered in CIA briefings. Well, his was not to wonder why. . .
He called Fennmann. This would probably be another phone confrence - some days the old man wouldn't allow anyone into the inner sanctum, not even John.
"Anything new?" Fennman asked.
"No, the same old thing - reports on a group of suspected Arab terrorist who might be trying to enter the country, another on some skinheads in Texas and a neo-nazi bunch up in Montana. We could have got that news by watching CBS. Anyway, it was all covered in the CIA report last week."
"I've been trying to listen to that tape. What the hell happened?"
"Sorry Boss, it was a rush job and Peterson didn't do a sound test. I've straightened it out, the next one will be as clear as those made here at the Institute."
"It better be!" Fennman warned. "Replace Peterson, I don't want this kind of screw up again."
"Yes sir. I've already assigned Bennet to the job. I'm just starting on the report. Do you want me to bring it around when it's finished?"
"Tomorrow is soon enough. One thing though, which man was it that told about seeing naked women fighting in the street?"
"Oh, that was Harris. Turner said something about going to a professional women's wrestling match and Harris came up with a story about 2 women tearing each other's cloths off and going at it on a city street. He said the fight ended up right out in middle of traffic." Erintine , "Turner didn't believe him. Apparently the two have been playing a little 'one upsmanship' in the story telling department."
"When and where did this supposed fight take place?"
"Harris didn't specify when, Sir, but he did mentioned Oklahoma."
"Oklahoma!" Fennman yelled, "Jesus Christ, Eritine, didn't that ring a bell with you? You've read all the theroies on Decoviak. Most of them point to an ability to make people see what's not there. I want you to check on Harris and find out if he was involved in the attempt to capture Decoviak, either in Arizona or Oklahoma City. Damn it, man, we could have one of his spies practically in our midst. Check out Turner as well. I want to know where those men were assigned before coming here."
Eritine said, "Yes Sir." and got off the line as quickly as possible. Fennman was practically frothing at the mouth. John was nervous. The smallest error by anyone in security and the shit seemed to stick to him personally, and when the stink gets too much, he thought, Fennman will be out looking for a new head of security. The man shuddered - a not so idle thought crossed his mind. . . 'I wonder if Katz had premonitions about being replaced.'
By noon the next day, Eritine had the information Fennman wanted. Harris had indeed been in on the failed attempt to corner Decoviak.
"And Turner?" Fennman asked.
"No sir, he hasn't had an assignment outside the Beltway for the last decade, he's a desk jocky."
"You sure?"
"Yes Sir."
"John, I want Harris at the Carson center ASAP."
"But, Boss, the FBI would never authorize the testing one of their men!"
"Did I ask you to get pemission?"
"No Sir. . ."
"Then just do it and make sure he doesn't realize where he is at or how he got there, understand?"
On the evening the day after the meeting with Erik Lance, Ron was in his small apartment in Bethesda. He had changed out of his normal business suit into jeans and sweat shirt and was just deciding if he should order a pizza or heat up a TV dinner when the door bell rang. Not expecting anyone, Ron answered it, hoping it might be one of the girls from from across the hall, the redhead in particular, but as he opened the door he was struck in the face by a pungent, choking cloud of gas. Blinded, Ron staggered back. He never saw his assailent - just the floor as it suddenly rose up to meet him.
"I'm not happy at the thought of destroying so many careers. Wouldn't the plan work if I picked out just a few of the worst cases?" Ivan complained.
"We've been over this a hundred times, " Jason replied. "We can't know how many unsuspecting people are actually supporting Fennman. It's going to take a major shakeup to get to him - and that means everyone."
The discussion halted when Bart pushed through the door carrying a tray loaded down with dishes,
"Soups's on," he called cheerfully, "Also, Chet's meat loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy and string beans, plus Sven's dessert. Feeling well enought to eat?"
"I thought we were going to have carry out again? Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Yes I am hungry and it smells wonderful."
"Good." Bart replied as he sat the tray down. "There's food is on the table, Jason - you'd better hurry. Those two," he indicated the next room with a jerk of his head, "Are feeding their faces like there's no tomorrow."
"Go eat, JT, "Ivan urged, "I know you're right, it's just that I needed to work through it in my mind. We'll talk about it later."
<Jason is right, Love, there's nothing else you can do. Fennman has to be taken down, otherwise there will always be someone dogging us.>
<Ironic, isn't it that our safety depends on destroying a number of basically good people over little shit that happened in their past. It doesn't sit well with me, Bart.>
< Ever consider that you might be overstating the situation? The media will have so many major scandals to report, they may never get around to the small stuff. Anyway, I want you to forget all that now and eat your lunch - while it's hot.>
Ivan smiled, "Yes Mother." He replied, aloud.
After lunch, Ivan decided he wanted to get up for awhile.
"Leave the hep lock in, just unhook the IV. I want to walk around without dragging that hat rack along." He said, pointing a thumb at drip stand.
"You sure?" Bart asked.
"Yep, unhook me and let me stretch my legs. I'd like some fresh air too - maybe we can go out for dinner this evening or to a mall - I hate being cooped up in this apartment day after day."
Bart helped Ivan dress. A long sleeved shirt covered the needle in his arm nicely. He suprised the others by coming out of the bedroom fully clothed and wearing a lightweight jacket,
"Bart and I are going for a little walk, just around the complex - we won't be long. When we get back, I'm going to read all the contacts one last time and if nothing new is on the horizon, then I'll start implementing Jason's idea. Any objections?"
<Not from me!> Chet responded.
Sven commented
Jason looked relieved.
Bart held open the outer door then took his life partner's arm and steadied him until his old stride came back. Between them communion flowed, no need to ask Bart for his opinion - it was imprinted perfectly in Ivan's heart and mind.
"We have a problem, Boss. The team at Carson allowed Harris to wake up for a few minutes - he can probably identify half of them."
"I heard - you know what has to be done." Fennman answered.
"Yes sir, only how? He's healthy, could be worth a lot if you want him typed."
"We don't have time for that!" Fennman shouted, "Didn't you read the report? They found at least a dozen instances where Harris's memories had been tampered with - some of them recently. Get rid of him!"
A grueling day for Ivan. After the brief airing, he settled down to sifting once more through the minds he had read in August. The task of searching those minds caused no strain, but the sheer number of them combined with the dichotomy of thought processes that politicians seem to have, soon tired Ivan. He kept at it until Bart called a dinner break,
"You're working too hard," Bart complained, "No more tonight!"
"There are only a few left - I'll finish up after supper. Tomorrow I start the cascade and it's going to be ugly. An atom bomb might do less damage to Washington."
The fine Italian meal relieved at least some of Ivan's weariness. The five sat around a table at a small place called Gino's, just gabbing and relaxing until nearly 9 o'clock. Mostly Ivan was weary at finding no alternative to starting the cascade. Like a gambler he was hoping that one more coin in the slot - one more hand of cards would change his luck, but nothing did. Since afternoon he had worked his way from the center of corruption - Davis and his cohorts, down the peripherals. It was now pushing midnight. The only ones left were Turner and Harris - about as far from the center of things as one could get.
Turner was watching TV - the late show - the same show Chet and Jason were watching in the next room. Ivan played a bit, jumping from one internal view to another and discovered that that Turner's TV received a different feed than the one Chet and Jason were watching. A slight, almost inperceptable delay had the TV in the next room lagging behind the one Turner was watching. Ivan did the scan on Turner and found nothing of interest. He then switched to Harris and got a blank.
<Jason, I think Ron Harris is drunk, or high! All I'm getting from him are vague, rather nightmarish images.>
<I don't think Ronny drinks much and I know he wouldn't use drugs. Are you sure he's not hospitalized?>
<Well, I can't be sure> Ivan projected as he arose and wandered into the living room, "But I don't think so." He added verbally. "He's not completely out. It's like his mind isn't connected to his body - he doesn't seem to see or feel anything, but there's a radio playing nearby I can hear it plainly."
Muting the TV, Chet asked, "What's up?"
"I can't rouse Harris - it's like he's. . . Wait a minute . . . Say . . . He's in a car and it just turned onto a rough road - pot holes, lots of them, jarring the hell out of him. At least the bouncing is making him more alert, only I still can't see anything. What the hell is going on?"
<Try projecting. If he's drunk, he won't be spooked by it, and he might just answer.>
Ivan tried, only it would have been easier threading a marshmallow through the eye of a needle. Harris's mind seemed light years beyond reach. Ivan felt the car shudder to a halt, heard a door open and slam, and a moment later another door open. Someone grabbed Harris and pulled him from the car where he limply collapsed to the ground - Ron's hands seemed to be tied together like a convienient towing point. The man, (Ivan assumed it was a man), began dragging Harris, Ivan could feel sharp stones gouging Ron's back. At last awareness began to seep into Harris. He struggled, weakly, ineffectively and the dragging continued unabated on for a few more yards before the man dropped Ron's tied hands. Ivan heard a metalic 'click' - and then a voice,
"Sorry, Kid, just following orders."
A sudden realization washed over Ivan. He tried to disengage only it was too late. When the bullet crashed through Ron's brain, Ivan had a seizure, he fell, kicking and thrashing on the living room floor, his convulsions exactly mimicking Ron Harris's death spasms.