Read Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective Online

Authors: Don Pendleton

Tags: #series, #paranormal, #psychic detective, #mystery series, #don pendleton, #occult, #fiction, #metaphysical fiction

Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective (7 page)

BOOK: Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective
3.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Twice in recent moments,
the "eye" thing had streaked my reflective processes. And I
thought, then, of the last thing said to me by Greg Souza, just as
the real nuttiness was beginning: just in case, eye on the sky.
Remember, eye on the sky."

Which, I had thought at the
moment, meant not a hell of a lot in this present arena. Every
observatory was an "eye on the sky" and every astronomer had one.
Unless, I was now thinking, "eye on the sky" was a code phrase for
some sort of operation involving the disappearance of Isaac
Donaldson, some sort of
intelligence
operation. There was no
mistaking the implication that Souza was providing a clue to his
own death or disappearance, should either occur—a pointer of some
kind toward those responsible.

Whatever, I could not help thinking that
this mountaintop, so perfect for an eye on the sky, was also a
perfect setting for skulduggery.

It is, as the crow flies, no more than
thirty miles from the sea, fifty miles from the heart of San Diego,
a hundred miles from the L.A. Civic Center—yet isolated in
primitive splendor, a remote island of almost pure nature arising
at the edge of the greatest population density west of New York
City.

I was enveloped in the feeling that only the
Maserati and I were afloat in this world, immersed in the dark
silence which was broken only by the hum of a well-timed engine and
the well-defined cone of light from the headlamps, an almost
vertigo-like feeling as I went on toward the unseen peak of the
mountain. But all of that changed in an instant; the roadway curved
and dipped, the horizon instantly elevated beyond screening trees
as I emerged from the shadowed terrain, and far ahead—maybe five
miles ahead—shining in the moonlight, the hand of man reappeared in
the form of a tremendous dome dominating the skyline. It could only
be, and it was, the 200-inch Hale telescope, gleaming white in the
light of the moon and strangely reminiscent of a Trojan helmet.

I am going to give you
here some facts I later looked up regarding this astonishing
structure. A telescope is sized by the diameter of its reflector;
200 inches or seventeen feet is the diameter of the tube itself,
which is also sixty feet long. The main mirror weighs fourteen
tons, the entire moveable assembly more than 500 tons, yet all
balanced and supported so smoothly that a 1/12-hp motor can turn
it. This entire apparatus is enclosed within the dome; the entire
"budding," then, moves along an east-west axis while the telescopic
barrel, inside the dome, moves on a north-south axis.

It is an impressive sight, especially in
that first glimpse and in context with the setting; I was certainly
impressed. I stopped the car again and sat there for several
seconds just sort of getting the lay of the land and the feel of
the moment. The shutters of the dome were closed. They are emplaced
vertically, of course, to accommodate the north-south alignment,
and are responsible for the Trojan helmet appearance. Closed
shutters meant, I presumed, no activity inside; and, indeed, at
that distance, I could discern no evidence of any activity whatever
on that peak.

I decided on a quiet arrival, making the
final approach without lights and at creep speed. The periphery was
fenced—chainlink topped with barbed wire—and appropriately
identified as Cal-Tech property. The place is open to the public
during the day but now the visitors' gate was closed and locked.
Another gate, obviously for staff use, was unlocked and partially
open—just wide enough for a car to pass—so I ventured on
inside.

Actually the big dome is one of five domes
at Palomar, ranging from an eighteen-inch up to the big one,
scattered about the mountaintop over a fairly wide area. I had no
idea how much area was actually involved nor how many buildings,
residences, etc., were there. So I was really on uncertain ground
and simply feeling my way along in the darkness, now and then in
open moonlight but mostly in deep shadows.

All that changed, though,
as suddenly and dramatically as that first glimpse of the big dome.
Suddenly there it was again, bathed by the moon—immense, in the
closeup, and even more impressive. And there was Jennifer's
borrowed silver sedan, parked beside it, and there was Jennifer,
herself, struggling in the grip of two determined men who were
dragging her toward another car—and, off to one side, there was my
old pal Greg Souza, just a casual observer.

I hit the ground with the Walther leading
the way, even before the thinking part of me could assimilate all
that, and I fired a shot "across the bow" to announce a new element
in the drama. Actually I sent the round into that other vehicle.
Both guys reacted to that by releasing Jennifer and clawing for
their own weapons.

So...shit. Right there in
the shadow of the eye on the universe, I had myself a gun
battle.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight: Incident at Palomar

 

No more than a dozen shots
were fired, in all—four of them mine. I was going not for a kill
but for a statement, that being: you can't have her all that easy,
guys. Keep in mind that I did not yet know the name of the game nor
even the identities of the players. Hell, these guys could be FBI,
local police, anything. So it's nice, at such a time, to be a
marksman. My general theory of firearms, in fact, is that anyone
who owns one should take the time to thoroughly understand
ballistics science and to master the art of sending a bullet to a
precise mark. So I am a marksman and I sent four to carefully
selected targets; the first, to capture attention; the others, to
encourage sane thought. I grazed both of those guys in nonvital
areas—an arm of one, a leg of another—deep enough to etch a pretty
good groove and produce some bleeding. Meanwhile, their return
fire was totally ineffective, mainly because they could not see me.
I was in dark shadow while they were brightly illuminated by the
headlights of their own car. So they got very sane, very quickly,
and got the hell out of there—a bullet-hole in their door and a lot
of pain behind the wheel, if the erratic course of that fleeing
vehicle was any measure. That reaction answered at least one
identity question as well. I have never known cops to run away from
a fight; they just hunker down and wait for help, if that is
needed.

Jennifer had run inside the building the
instant she was released. Souza was standing exactly where I had
first seen him, hands raised over his head and peering into the
darkness from which my first round had erupted. "I am not armed,"
he announced to the world at large in a calm voice.

I called back, "You should be, you
asshole."

The arms came down immediately and he
replied with obvious relief, "That you, Ash?"

I said, "Yeh," and joined him in the
moonlight.

"You should have iced those bastards," he
told me.

"Who are they?"

"Beats me. You're the one was throwing lead
at them. I figured you knew."

I told him, "This thing is getting crazy. Or
I guess you know that already. Nice work you did on Gavinsky."

He said, "Thanks"—then did a double take
with: "What's that nice work I did?"

"You didn't do it?"

"Damned if I know, Ash. What're we talking
about?"

"I went home," I explained. "Gavinsky was
still there. Well...his body was. Someone did his throat. Ear to
ear."

Souza winced, said, "No, don't credit me
with that. You're right, it's getting crazier. Look. We need to
talk."

"Right now," I replied, "I need some words
with Dr. Harrel."

"She ran inside."

I said, "Yeah, I noticed. What the hell are
you doing here, Greg?"

"Just came down to look it
over," he told me. "Been here a couple of hours. Surprised as hell
to see the girl come streaking in here. God, she looked wild. Saw
me and started running. Right into the arms of these other jerks. I
don't know what the hell..."

I was looking at her car, the way it was
parked beside the observatory. "She didn't come in the way I did,"
I observed.

"First time she did," Souza said
thoughtfully. "If you mean straight in from the front gate. But she
turned off and went over toward the offices. Didn't know it was
her, then, but she came back like shot out of hell, jumped out of
the car almost before it quit rolling. I thought—"

I interrupted with, "Later, Greg—stay right
here," and I went quickly inside to find the lady. She was probably
scared half to death, I was thinking, and needed to know that the
situation was in hand—for the moment, anyway.

But I did not find the lady inside there. I
found a guy in blue jeans and checkered shirt, tiny round
eyeglasses and bird's-nest beard—about my age, very nervous, wary
of me—emerging from an elevator which, I presumed, served as the
chief route to the interior of the massive structure.

He asked me, "Were those gunshots?"

I told him, "You bet they were. Where did
Jennifer go?"

He said, "Jennifer who?"

I said, "Jennifer Harrel. She was accosted
just outside by a couple of weirdos. She ran in here."

He said, "I don't know Jennifer Harrel,
except by reputation. I was up in the cage. If she came in
here...I don't know. Who are you?"

"Security," I lied. "She must be inside
somewhere."

The guy seemed to have bought the "security"
gag. His attitude became much more relaxed and a lot more helpful.
"If we start getting creeps up here..." He was holding the elevator
door open, ushering me inside.

"Why were you in the cage?" I asked him
conversationally. "I noticed the shutters are closed."

"Moonset pretty soon, now," he replied.
"We'll have a nice dark sky; I was just getting ready." He showed
me a

delighted, boyish grin. "I get ten minutes
of direct observation, from the cage." This, with all the
enthusiasm of a ten-year-old's announcement of a trip to the
circus.

"Not much of that, anymore," I ventured, not
knowing what the hell I was talking about.

"Well, it's pretty
inefficient, and there's just so much observing time to go around.
But I really love to touch the universe as directly as possible.
The control room is more comfortable, sure, but..."

A true astronomer, this
one, filled with the romance of it all; a poet in scientific garb.
The "cage," I recalled from something Jennifer had told me, is a
six-foot capsule near the upper end of the telescope in which the
astronomer "rides" and carries on his/her observations. It could
get very cold and intensely uncomfortable. At one time, here, it
was the only way. Now the whole thing was accomplished from the
comfort of armchairs in a heated, well-lit control room, with a
computer and video screens. But that "cage" had figured rather
prominently in the stirring little seduction story Jennifer shared
with me—love among the stars, okay.

But there was no "love" in there
tonight...just instrument panels and gadgets, video screens, a
couple of weary looking guys in blue jeans going through some
calculations on the computer. Jennifer was not in there.

"You might try the catwalk," the poet
suggested, indicating a door behind me.

I went out there—or in
there, whatever—and was immediately swallowed by an immensity of
steel girders and whatnot, the support structure for this mammoth
eye. There was not a sound or a movement out there beneath the
dome—but I thought I detected a door slightly ajar on the other
side. I went down there to check it out, discovered a door was
indeed ajar and that it led to the visitors' gallery. I went on
through, down a long, winding flight of stairs, and found myself
outside on the building's far side.

So, what the hell, I followed a sidewalk
around the building and rejoined Souza. He was seated in his car
with a door open, shivering slightly in the chill air, chatting
with a couple of guys who were seated in a car idling with lights
off beside his.

As I moved between the two
vehicles, Souza was quick to get the first word in—loudly. 'Tom
says Jennifer isn't on the schedule anytime this month. But she
could be visiting over at the monastery."

I indicated her abandoned vehicle with a
jerk of the head and replied, just as loudly, "Then why'd she leave
her car here? I'm sure I saw her go inside the Hale."

The man behind the wheel of that other
vehicle, an amiable guy of about forty, commented, with a grin,
"Dr. Harrel is a walker. If I see her, I'll tell her you're here.
Uh...our observation period is just beginning. Let's please observe
dark skies. No lights, please."

Souza grinned and tossed him a salute.
"Right. Thanks a million, Tom. Good viewing. What?—are you on the
Schmidt tonight?"

"Yes. We're photomapping for the Hubble
space program. God, I hope those crazy hunters don't come back.
I've already lost six hours this week to weather and equipment
glitches." He pulled slowly away, running without lights.

I went around and slid
onto the seat beside Souza. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Lucky strike, eh? He is working the Schmidt. They came up to check
out the gunfire. I told em—"

"What is the Schmidt?" I asked, without
really caring.

"I just picked that up," Souza replied
smugly. "I guess it's one of the other telescopes; 48-incher, I
think. The 'monastery' is where these guys stay while they're on
the mountain. Or they call it that. I told 'em—"

I said, "She ran out the other side and into
the night, Greg. How big is this place?"

"Big enough," he replied, "that you're not
going to find her if she doesn't want you to. What the hell is
going on? What're you guys doing up here tonight?"

BOOK: Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective
3.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Breaking Rank by Norm Stamper
Once in a Lifetime by Gwynne Forster
Murder Deja Vu by Iyer, Polly
Heart of Mine (Bandit Creek) by Beattie, Michelle
Deep in the Heart by Staci Stallings
SS General by Sven Hassel
A Billionaire BWWM Romance 5: The Other Man by Bwwm Romance Dot Com, J A Fielding
Toothy! by Alan MacDonald