The man’s words were an elixir. Lou lifted his end of the litter just a little higher, and began losing himself in what they might do next, with or without a cell phone signal.

“Floyd?”

“Yassir?”

“You mentioned you had a field by your place where you grow things.”

“I did mention that, yes.”

“Well, tell me, does that field of yours have enough space in it to land a helicopter?”

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

On the heels of the Social Security Act, the work of Dr. Ray Lyman Wilbur and his Committee on the Costs of Medical Care lies in wait, readying to unleash a flurry of new legislation with a bite far bigger than its bark.

—LANCASTER R. HILL, Climbing the Mountain, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1941, P. 72

The pounding inside Special Agent Tim Vaill’s head showed no signs of letting up. If anything, it might have been getting worse. The rhythmic beating against his temples made him think of The Who’s Keith Moon, fanatically pounding away on his bass drum. Bam! Bam! Bam! Vaill squinted, trying to block out the light, but that only seemed to make his headache worse.

Where in the hell am I?

What happened to me?

Feeling dizzy now, Vaill struggled to get oriented. In fits and starts, like free-floating pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, his thoughts began drifting into place. He remembered falling—falling backward.

Where?

Stairs … he had fallen backward down a flight of stairs.

But why?

Had he been pushed? Bit by bit, his memory returned, bringing with it a different sort of pain, this one spiked with anger.

Burke. I was shot by fucking Alexander Burke.

That thought quickly led into another—an image vivid and powerful enough to tighten around his throat like a python.

Maria!

His heart stopped. Maria had been there right beside him. Vaill concentrated, trying to wrangle more pieces of those shrouded events from his aching and battered brain. He winced from the effort. Out of desperation, he bit down on his tongue, trying to redirect some discomfort from the amplified thumping in his skull. The spike in pain did little to jar loose his memory of her. No matter how hard he concentrated, he had no clue as to her fate. But somewhere at the edge of his awareness he sensed it was bad.

Vaill pawed the grit from his eyes and forced them open.

How long have I been asleep?

He took some time to assess his surroundings. He was lying on a comfortable bed.

What bed? Where?