Driven (14 page)

G
avin stood with Katz in the hospital hallway by a window overlooking the parking lot. The nearest ear belonged to the police
guard outside Karianne’s room, a hundred feet away.

“What’s going on, Doc? We’re wasting our time. I know you went through the trouble of bringing Uncle Hiram here, but how’s
this helping us get the killer? All this business about raiding ancient tribes and living who knows where, who knows when,
is a fantasy I can’t appreciate right now. Can’t you jog her memory into today’s reality without her slipping into this wild
dream she keeps getting stuck in?”

Katz laughed condescendingly. “I have to admit, this is not my specialty, but anyone who studies past lives would trade all
they have for an hour with her.”

“Past lives, Katz?”

“Exactly!”

“As in reincarnation?”

“Of course.”

“Sorry, I don’t buy it.” Gavin was starting to wish he’d never agreed to this hypnotism stuff. He’d already been iffy about
it, but talk of past lives was far beyond anything he was willing to put faith into. He didn’t pretend to be a theologian,
but he did know enough about God and the Bible to know everyone got one chance at this world and when they left it they were
going to one of two places. There were no second chances.

“Well what other explanation could there possibly be?” Katz
replied. “Her recollection of ancient history is nothing short of phenomenal. And I have never heard of anyone traveling back
even a fraction as far. And she does it with ease. Like it was yesterday. No, like it was today—
now.
To say she has an old soul is the grossest of understatements. Who knows how far back she can remember? And the idea of
two
souls meeting each other in other lifetimes and somehow recognizing each other… If I could only hypnotize Krogan to confirm
these meetings,” he said thoughtfully. Gavin realized he wasn’t joking. He was in his own world.

“Have you gone mad? How far back can you remember? Krogan is a
killer
and he’s alive and on the loose, in the here and now. Can you remember what you’re supposed to be doing here? What you’re
paid to be doing here?”

“Pierce!” Katz pleaded. “Just think of what we’ve stumbled upon. She could unlock mysteries historians and scientists have
pondered for centuries. She said she was in Yecko by the river that dies. For the last five thousand years at least, those
places have gone by the name of Jericho and the Dead Sea. Jericho is the oldest city on earth and she was there before it
was called Jericho—before people rode horses.”

“How do you get Jericho out of Yecko?” Gavin said. He didn’t want to know any more about this crazy dream, or whatever it
was, than he already did, but if he listened he might find something that could bring Katz back to earth.

“Look, Pierce. The letter J doesn’t exist in the Hebrew language. Hundreds of years ago Martin Luther translated a ton of
biblical information into German for his church and we got that consonant through him. In German a J has a Y sound, so all
Ys became Js. By the time it got to us, Yerushalayim had become Jerusalem, Yeshua became Jesus and Yericho became Jericho.
But what was Yericho before that? Yecko?”

Gavin was already sorry he’d asked.

“Good grief! She was part of a tribe of hunters and gatherers speaking an ancient form of Hebrew,” Katz cried with raised
voice and animated hands. “You could speak Hebrew fluently and barely make out what she was saying. Her dialect could be where
the Hebrew language was born. Pre-Tower of Babel. Predeluge, if you can believe it. In fact, she might be able to tell us
if the Great Flood was localized or literally covered the entire earth, which is a question that has plagued theologians since
the beginning of… theology. I’ll bring her back to her original lifetime and—”

“Katz,” Gavin yelled. “I’m a cop! I’ve got no time for this reincarnation garbage! And anyway, I simply don’t believe in it.”

“Oh, so that’s it. I should have known. You don’t want me to step on your religious beliefs, whatever they are.”

“Look, pal, I’m not the one you’re supposed to be analyzing. Besides, I might be a little rough around the edges, but I know
where to draw the line.”

“And I’m a psychologist. Her past affects her present and future. The reasons for her present behavior could be locked up
in her past.”

“But you’re not just talking about her past; you’re going after something you’re saying she did thousands of years ago.”

“Exactly. Don’t you find that to be amazing?”

“Too amazing. I just want to know what she did the day before yesterday.”

“Can’t you understand this could be the find of a lifetime?”

“No, I can’t. I can’t allow myself to understand that. There’s no time to. Not when someone else’s lifetime is about to be
cut short.”

Katz quickly turned and stamped out ten frustrated paces, then stopped and turned again, looking at Gavin with that basset-hound
face. He sighed and looked at the ground, silent for a long moment. Then, “You’re right, of course,” he said solemnly. “It’s
just that—”

“Look, Doc. Let’s go back in there and find our killer. After
that, I don’t care what you do. Write a book about it. Do some TV and radio. Become famous. Win the freakin’ Nobel Peace Prize.
But first, let’s get this psycho before he creates any more past lives out of present lives—innocent present lives.”

Gavin was getting a headache. He was starting to wonder if his psychologist needed a psychologist.

“Gavin. Dr. Katz,” called a female voice.

Gavin turned to see Amy in the hall by the bedroom door. She was waving them over. When Gavin got to her she pointed him inside.
Karianne was sobbing and Dr. Fagan was trying to console her.

“What is it, my dear?” Katz asked after pushing his way between Gavin and Amy.

“Your suggestion that she would feel rested and unafraid doesn’t appear to be holding very well,” Fagan snapped sarcastically.

“What’s happening to me, Dr. Katz? Why did I see those places? Why do I speak those languages and understand them? What is
all this violence and killing? Why was I in a plane aiming for a boat? I wanted to fly into it… destroy it.”

Gavin looked at Amy, who looked back with wide eyes. Wonderful, he thought. Katz will probably convince Karianne she’s a terrorist
or a kamikaze pilot.

Katz motioned for Fagan to step aside, then stood over Kari-anne, holding her hand. “You don’t have to be afraid, my dear.
Those are memories from another time; they can’t hurt you here. They only reveal the past.”

“Who’s past? Not mine.”

“Not your past in this life. Those were other lives—different lives. You are connected now only by your memory of them. But
I repeat: they cannot hurt you. They are gone,” he said in that mesmerizing kind of way, attempting to pacify her.

Gavin opened his mouth to say that was perhaps Katz’s explanation,
but not necessarily the correct one. But Karianne was beyond listening.

“No!” she cried, shaking her head back and forth. “I could never have done those things. I don’t believe you. This is my life.
Those were other lives, not mine.”

Katz closed his eyes for a moment, apparently trying to hold on to his own composure. “Karianne, listen to me. We’re not going
to go there. We’re going to stay in your time. If you slip into another time or another place you’re not familiar with, we’ll
stop and come back. It’s very important you tell us about the Krogan of
this
time. Is that all right with you?”

Karianne closed her eyes, frowned, and nodded her approval. In spite of himself, Gavin was moved. Up until now he had only
thought of her as a means to an end and would just as well have had her locked up for being in the same car as the killer.
His heart was changing. She was obviously in extreme emotional pain, yet she was pressing on. She wanted the killer caught.
And she seemed willing to go through whatever it took to accomplish that.

Katz put her through a few breathing techniques to help defuse the stress and then proceeded to put her under again. Getting
hypnotized was becoming so natural to her that Katz dispensed with the metronome, using a shiny gold pen instead. Other shortcuts
were also obvious. The transitional period, where Katz had previously tiptoed into her subconscious with a laundry list of
personal questions, was replaced by a few token suggestions. And he no longer asked her to keep her hand raised, apparently
confident of her ability to remain hypnotized once under.

“Now I want you to go back just five years, no more, to Kari-anne Stordal’s first accident in Norway,” Katz said.

The rapid eye movement began. She squirmed a little and then wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold.

“Are you there?” Katz asked.

“Yes?”

“Is Krogan with you?”

“Yes, but he’s leaving.”

“Leaving the car?”

“Yes.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Yes. Badly hurt.”

“Why is he in Norway?”

“He’s found a home there.”

Gavin frowned. The guy was from Norway?

“Can you see the other car? The one you hit?”

“Yes.”

“Did you just happen to hit this particular car because it was there, or did you have a reason?”

“Krogan wanted.”

“Why?”

“Retaliate. Hurt enemy.
Shadahd.
”

“People were killed in that crash. Was that what Krogan wanted?”

“Stop enemy.”

“Was the enemy stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Do you know where Krogan lived in Norway?”

“Never know. Krogan always finds me.”

“How? How does he find you?”

“Krogan sees. Krogan wants. Krogan finds.”

“When did Krogan come to New York?”

“Sixteen sixty-four.”

Katz’s eyes widened. He looked at his fingers and counted them one at a time, apparently calculating something. “Wasn’t New
York called New Amsterdam then?”

“It was New Amsterdam before we got there and took it from them,” she laughed.

“We? You were English?”

Gavin could see he was about to lose the psychologist again. He caught Katz’s attention with a wave, then sternly shook his
head. Katz nodded reluctantly.

“When did Krogan come to New York since the Norway crash?” Katz asked, rephrasing the question.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Gavin’s beeper vibrated in his front pocket. He pulled it out and held it toward the light coming over his shoulder through
the window. He didn’t recognize the number, but it ended with a 911.

D
o we have a bad connection or is it my pronunciation, Pierce? For the third time: Krogan called me and I’m going to meet him
this afternoon,” Gasman said from his cell phone in the luxury lounge of Executive Airways. Plush royal-blue carpeting covered
every inch of the floor and ran halfway up the sides of the chrome-and-glass reception desk. Through the window that ran the
length of the lounge he could see the sleek white jet with a violet tail that would take him to Albany. He had never been
on a Learjet before, but he knew under the circumstances his boss would agree to the
extra expense. He crushed his cigarette in the fine sand of an ashtray and watched the fuel truck drive away from the plane.

“Where?” Gavin demanded. “Tell me where or I’ll lock you up.”

Gasman laughed. “For what?”

“For your own protection,” Gavin yelled. “If you don’t tell me where the meeting is I swear I’ll strangle you.”

Gasman checked his fingernails and smiled. “No way, Pierce. As you so often tell me, that’s confidential. If he spots anyone
he even thinks is a cop, the meeting is off. He might be crazy, but he’s not stupid.”

“You’re stupid. Do I have to remind you who this is you’re going to meet? He kills for fun. What’s going to keep him from
killing you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve taken measures. Besides, we’re meeting in a public place.”

“He loves public places. That’s his arena. He kills in public all the time. I’m telling you, Gasman. Don’t do it.”

“Sorry, Pierce. It won’t work. Everybody has rules. Cops have rules. Athletes have rules. Reporters have rules. If you want
the high ground, you’ve got to go and take it. The ground doesn’t get any higher than this. It’s Mount freakin’ Everest. It’s
the biggest story of my life.”

“You won’t have a life, you idiot. You’ll be the story. Why can’t you see that?”

“You’re just trying to scare me. The truth is you don’t trust me. You don’t think I can handle it. That’s where you’re wrong,
Pierce.”

“Don’t be a fool, Gasman. I’ve already promised you first shot at whatever happens. At least tell me where so I can keep an
eye on you.”

“Forget it, Pierce. Even if I changed my mind, which I’m not, there’s not enough time. The meeting isn’t local,” he said looking
at his watch. “My flight is leaving any minute now.”

“
Your flight?
Where are you meeting him? In the airport?” Gavin was frantic now. “Does he know what flight you’ll be on?”

“Relax, Detective. We’re not talking major airline here. I’ve got a private charter. And if it’ll make you feel any better,
I’ve already asked them about the possibility of a bomb and they said the only one who could have possibly planted any explosives
on this baby in the last three days would have to be the pilot himself. And I’ve seen him. He doesn’t look at all like our
boy Krogan.”

“If it’s not a public flight, how would he know what plane to bomb?”

“Because he arranged the charter. He has a lot more at risk here than I do, you know.”

“
Krogan arranged it?
” Gavin wanted to go through the phone and wring Gasman’s neck.

“Now there you go again, repeating what I say. Look, Pierce, he’s just being careful. He wants to know what flight I’m on
so he can make sure there are no tricks. He has to make sure I’m alone. He needs to know he can trust me. He
wants
to trust me. If he wants trust, I’ll give him trust. If he wants understanding, I’ll give him understanding. If he wants
to be heard, I’ll let him speak.”

“He wants your life.”

“If he wants my life so badly there’re plenty of easier ways he could have taken it. I don’t wear a bulletproof vest or drive
with three-inch-thick glass. I spoke to him this morning from a pay phone. I was a perfect target. If he wanted me, he could
have had me then.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t have been as much fun for him.”

“Maybe you want the first shot at him. Maybe you’re jealous,” Gasman said.

“Open your eyes, Gasman. This isn’t a contest.”

“Oh, no? Tell me you don’t want Krogan’s face in your gun sights. This guy’s killed your grandfather and your friend and put
your partner in the hospital. Tell me you can’t feel his neck in your hands.”

Gavin paused. “Look, I admit I want to take this guy off the planet more than anyone could. And if you quote me on that, we’re
through. But you’ve got to believe me when I say that has nothing to do with it. I don’t know much, but I do know ‘understanding’
is not high on his list. Destruction is.”

“Touching, Pierce, but there’s a pretty redhead in a blue suit that wants to escort me to the jet. I’ll call you after the
meeting. Wish me luck.”

“Wait!” Gavin yelled, to no avail.

Gasman put his phone away, picked up his attaché, and followed the woman out of the lounge and onto the macadam where the
jet awaited him. He now wished he’d never called Pierce. What had it accomplished except make him feel nervous?

The redhead stopped at the bottom of the airplane steps. “Thank you for choosing Executive,” she said with a broad smile.
“Rachel, your flight attendant, is on board and Captain Mills and his copilot will be here in a minute.”

Gasman smiled nervously and thanked her as he took his first step up. His feet felt as heavy as lead and his knees felt like
rubber. Look what he’s done to me, he thought. I should never have called him. He had almost asked the redhead again about
a bomb, but knew her answer would be the same. She had used the word “impossible.” He repeated the word to himself a few times,
then managed the rest of the stairway.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gasman. My name is Rachel,” said a petite blonde, extending her hand. “Is there anything I can get for
you? A drink, maybe?”

Before Gasman stepped inside, his gaze quickly darted around the inside of the aircraft’s mid-cabin before finally coming
to rest on Rachel’s cheery face. “Yeah, uh, scotch on the rocks,” he said,
wondering where he would plant a bomb if he were Krogan. He had never felt claustrophobic before now. But the ceiling was
so low he couldn’t even stand upright without the top of his curly hair brushing the ceiling. If a bomb did explode, he would
stand as much chance as a spider in a gun barrel.

“Johnny Walker Black all right, sir?” Rachel asked.

“Black? Sure. Forget the cubes and make it a double.”

“No problem. Coming right up, Mr. Gasman. Find the seat of your choice and make yourself comfortable, sir.”

Gasman surveyed the puffy, white-leather seats. Turning toward the cabin, he saw the one he wanted. It was just behind the
divider that separated him from the pilot. As he walked toward the seat he nervously twitched a bit lower at each ceiling
light. All this luxury and expense and he suddenly decided he would rather be on a 747. Something that had more air in it
to breathe.

Before he sat down he peeked into the cabin. The controls looked overwhelmingly complicated and vast. He had never understood
how pilots could fiddle with all these dials and lights and still watch where they were going. There was just so much that
could go wrong. He peered through the front window. He could see the runway they were going to take off from. To his left
was the fuel truck making its way to another plane. He tried to see what the driver looked like, but the angle was wrong.
He felt a chill as he imagined the truck colliding with the jet—talk about explosive. He would definitely have to keep watch
for that. The rest of the airstrip was clear. To his right, running the length of the airfield’s border, was a chain-link
fence. It appeared to be at least ten feet high, judging from the yellow utility truck parked on the other side of it.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a deep voice from behind.

Gasman turned quickly, startled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Captain Mills and this is my copilot, Bill Nolan,” the owner of the voice said, extending
his
hand. Gavin shook it and then the copilot’s hand as well. They both appeared very confident and neither of them looked like
Krogan.

“We’ll be leaving momentarily. If we could just squeeze by?”

“Oh, sure. I’m sorry,” Gasman said.

“Not at all,” the captain said as Gasman dropped into his seat.

“Your drink, sir,” Rachel said.

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” he said, taking the drink from her hand before she could set it down.

“You’re quite welcome, sir. If you’d like another, just let me know. I’ll be right behind you. And if you would please buckle
your seat belt?” she asked sweetly.

Gasman smiled. She sure is pretty, he thought, trying to get his mind off Krogan. He gulped down half of his drink and winced
as a shiver went down his spine. As smooth as the twelve-year-old scotch was, the eighty-six-proof alcohol content was hard
for his body to ignore. He held the tumbler with both hands to try to keep it from shaking. The tiny ripples on the whiskey’s
surface were proof he needed more help, so he drained the glass in hope of steadier nerves. He should never have called Pierce.

The engines started smoothly and hummed quietly without any trace of vibration.

“Okay, Mr. Gasman,” said Captain Mills over the intercom. “We’re about to take off. If you’ve never had the pleasure, you’ll
find this little sweetheart is as strong as a lion but as graceful as a swan.”

The engines increased slightly in volume and Gasman suddenly realized they were moving. Looking out his circular side window,
he could see the fuel truck was occupied elsewhere. He let out a sigh and settled the back of his neck into the soft white
leather of the chair’s headrest, closing his eyes. What news reporter had ever had an exclusive interview with a criminal
as sought after as this one? None. He was on his way to the story of his life. He would be
the envy of his profession and overnight would become the most recognized man in his field. Maybe it was the change of thoughts,
maybe it was the Johnny Walker, but he was starting to feel better.

The jet made a couple of small turns and then stopped at the beginning of the runway. Gasman listened to the radio chat between
the pilot and the tower. As soon as he heard them say all was clear for takeoff the engines began to increase their whine
as the pilot powered up. Here we go, he thought.

The jet accelerated forward in steady increase of thrust and speed. It was exhilarating. Gasman leaned toward the window and
could see the ground racing by. Forget the 747, this was amazing.

“What is that?” Mills yelled.

What is what? Gasman thought. He leaned forward, trying to see into the cabin, but his seat belt stopped him.

“Tower, tower, emergency. We have a vehicle crossing the runway. Acknowledge,” Mills yelled.

Gasman’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He unbuckled his belt, grabbed a chrome bar in front of him, and pulled himself
up, struggling against the jet’s acceleration. He ignored Rachel’s plea for him to please sit back down.

“Affirmative, Dan. We see it. Can you throttle down?”

“Negative. Our velocity is too high. What the— It’s heading for us. I repeat, the vehicle has turned and is heading at us.
I’ll have to add thrust and lift her up before we hit it,” Mills yelled frantically.

Gasman saw it. The lighting truck from the other side of the fence. Somehow it had gotten past the barrier and was on the
runway. His chest suddenly ached in terror. Krogan! “Pull up! Pull up!” he screamed.

“I am. We’re going to make it,” Mills yelled. “Our engines will probably set that truck on fire, but we’ll make it. Sit down!”

Mills’s words resonated loudly through Gasman’s mind. “We’ll make it… we’ll make it… we’ll make it,” he said, hammering
the air with his tightly clenched fist in emphasis. He felt suddenly heavier, like he would in an express elevator beginning
its assent. He held the chrome bar tightly and bent his knees under the additional force, realizing he needed to sit back
down. The instant he began to turn, however, as the nose of the jet rose, he saw through the speeding truck’s windshield a
man with blond hair. He hoped Mills was right. He hoped the engines burned the truck to the ground. That it would turn both
the truck and Krogan into a smoldering pile of ash. “You stupid fool,” he yelled with a laugh of triumph. “Not
this
time.”

“Oh, God! The boom is raising, Dan. He’s raising the boom,” the copilot shouted. “Left! Go left!”

“Not enough altitude,” Mills yelled back.

Still, he tried, veering to left what little he could before, in the blink of an eye, the extended bucket passed by the windshield
and smashed into the right wing. The force of the impact ripped Gasman’s hand from the chrome bar. He bounced off a seat and
slammed face first onto the floor. The collision took his breath away and sent a sharp, searing pain into his abdomen. He
tried to scream, but couldn’t. Everything seemed to be moving slower than it should, as his brain rushed to take in all it
could. The round side window displayed alternating flashes of ground and sky; the jet was helplessly spinning through the
air and would certainly crash any second. Crash and explode in flames, just like every other jet crash he had ever covered.
He was going to die. He came off the floor and in the instant before he heard the brain-deafening crunch from his head hitting
the ceiling, he saw Rachel’s horrified face. She was still buckled in her seat.

Suddenly, oddly, he no longer felt any pain. He was no longer afraid. In fact, he became more and more detached from the scene
until finally he was outside the aircraft, looking in at his own body, strangely twisted and limp, ricocheting about the mid-cabin.