Fear of Heights

Chapter 1

The light drizzle had made the railings slippery.

Shouldn't be up here anyway, he thought. Not without something better than street shoes. Probably catch a hell of a cold if I don't slip and kill myself first. Helder hugged the side of the building as he inched along the ledge toward the window. The stone offered better footing than the roof tiles had, but it was still dicey.

The drizzle had picked up; it was now a steady rain. Warm summer rains were the norm in the South Atlantic states. Staying ahead of his pursuers had become more difficult.

I've got to think more about where I'm going than just staying ahead, he muttered to himself. He turned to look back across the rooftops, searching for silhouettes, saw nothing and began to move, crabwise, over the peak, where he stopped to survey his position.

A nearby roof tile shattered and he heard the small tearing sound a lead slug makes when it comes too close.

Silencers, he cursed. Whoever they are, they're not just security guards. A second shot bit into the brick at his side and he was temporarily blinded by the spray of mortar. Another tile shattered, this one under his right foot. He began to slide spasmodically across the incline of the roof, clutching at the slick tile. The mortar was washing from his eyes. Fear and pain mixed, blurring his vision. The sliding stopped as his feet came to rest on the edge of the lead gutter running along the roof.

A light flashed onto the roof, and several more tiles shattered under a fresh volley from the shadows across the peak. The gutter began to strain and groan under his weight. He edged toward the corner of the roof that stood between himself and the snipers. The gutter supports snapped like taffy stretched thin and then pulled hard, and his feet lost their support. He reached blindly for the tiles and caught the fat part of his palm on a bracket. The rusty metal ripped his flesh with a white hot stab of pain. He hung by his impaled hand, feet dangling over the edge, the tendons and bone slowly tearing, consciousness slipping away.

= = = = = = = =

Sweat poured from Jacob Helder’s body as he lay on the sanitarium grass with his face buried in his arms. His whole body trembled as he struggled to his feet. Swaying, he turned toward the building and the retreating patch of sunlight. He stumbled several feet before noticing that his clothes were rumpled and damp from the moist ground and his sweat. His shirt was soaked. Stopping in front of the nearest window, Helder repaired himself as best he could, using the glass as a mirror. He turned and leaned against the warm brick. The clouds against the bright blue sky over the Oakwood Sanitarium were touched with the gold of the sun as he shook his head to clear the vision of rain and slippery tiles.

A door opened and a dark face appeared.

Helder?

Nothing, Gerry, he rasped. I didn't fall off of anything.

The man, big, hard, and black as caviar, grinned, Bugger off, Helder, and waved his middle finger. Time for you to leave. Get your arse out 'a here. The door closed again.

Helder began slow steps across the paving of the courtyard and through one half of the double doors at the side of the building. The trainer was long gone by the time he had crossed the gym floor to the doors on the opposite side.

That son of a bitch, he thought. He's half the reason I can leave and I still hate his guts. Always a little faster, a little stronger, and bit quicker. I could beat him once in a while, but I never knew if I could do it again. He sighed as he left the building. Maybe the next guy he gets to put back together will whip his ass — but I doubt it. Helder nodded at two men jogging toward him in the morning sun. He crossed the wide, grassy mall in front of the residence. The man leaving the lobby held the door for him. He nodded his thanks.

While the rest of 'The Farm,' as it was euphemistically referred to by its staff, was open to the trainer, this building was not. Bodies outside, skulls inside. He smiled at his little joke. He really hadn't had much reason to smile over the last few months. His therapy had kept him very busy, just as it was intended to. He was given time to think only what the psychiatrists wanted him to think and do only what the trainer wanted him to do.

Accumulate up to forty-five intelligence agents, military operatives and other assorted government spooks together in a rehab facility and you've got instant suspicion. Not only that, you really didn't want to get too attached to someone who was likely to just disappear for years, or maybe forever.

Helder took the stairs to his room, ignoring the elevators. He still wasn't in top shape, but something of his old condition was returning. The building was quiet; most of the 'guests' were out sweating before breakfast. His shoes squeaked on the tile floor as he walked quickly to his room. He was packing up and getting out.

Nice day to leave this place. But then, any day after six months cooped up here would be a good day to leave. He turned from the window and went back to packing after changing his sweaty shirt for a fresh one. The soft-sided case was bulging by the time all his belongings had been transferred from the shelves, drawers and closets of this place he had called home for the past half year. Moving the huge zipper around its track became a chore as he had to push down numerous interfering articles to clear the meshing teeth.

Placing the bag on the floor near the wall, he sat down in the room's only chair and gazed out the large window, his eyes shifting over the now familiar view — roughly textured oaks, soft green pine boughs, and a confusion of brown sprinkled with red that was the brush at the edge of the huge lawn. These red berries brought the inevitable noisy jays. Funny how you can get attached to such an impersonal thing as a bird, he thought. Never touching, never communicating, only watching. Over the months he had felt a growing kinship and warmth for the bold birds that flocked to the rich feeding at the clearing's edge. He had become quite familiar with the habits of the jay, a familiarity gained through long hours at the window or out on the lawn near the edge of the cleared area.

There were the usual territorial squabbles as the birds worked at picking the hard berries from their thorny branches. Sharp beaks and flashing wings created a flurry of activity over the bushes. I'm sure I can't move that fast anymore. He shifted his lean frame in the chair to avoid the pressure of an almost-protruding spring. It will take months to get back in shape again. A mental survey of his large-boned, 180-pound frame revealed all parts healthy but not hard — a touch of softness remained. That would have to change if he was to regain his former abilities. You don't survive if you don't take care of yourself, he thought. Like a blade grown dull in the back of the drawer. A few weeks of handball will take care of that. He looked at his hands — the scars were there, but he knew his mind and body would respond quickly to the rapid movement on the court. The doctors had done a remarkable job of repairing the damage. Only a trace of numbness remained in his hand.

The knob of the door and his head turned as one. Mrs. Sykes, the floor nurse, came into the room. She always entered without knocking — today would be a good time to tell her about it. Before the thought could become words, the nurse spoke in her starchy white voice.

Well, we're about to lose you, I see. You've been coming along so well. Dr. Pope wants to let you go it alone. It's about time I'd say. You need to get out and make your own way again. She swished and crackled about the room, the sunlight glaring off her sterile white uniform. Is this it? All your belongings here? Wouldn't want you to have to come back for a toothbrush. She chuckled briefly, and then was all business again. Well, let's get you out into the sunshine, shall we?

Why was it, he thought, that all nurses spoke in the plural form when referring to themselves or to their patients? Almost like one big unhealthy family. Picking up his suitcase, he obediently followed Mrs. Sykes down the hall, watching her ample buttocks move underneath the crisp white fabric. The analogy is wrong, he thought, those dogs weren't fighting under the blanket; they were . . .

The sound of the elevator broke his train of thought. He had fallen behind and Mrs. Sykes was waiting somewhat impatiently for him, fingers wedged into the pneumatic bumpers of the door. Come along, Mr. Helder, we don't want to tie up this car. He quickened obediently and stepped into the brushed steel box. The mechanism closed its mouth and swallowed; the elevator descended.

The doors opened on the familiar gray tile-and-marble columns leading to the visitors' lounge. Despite the sterile cleanliness, the sunlight streaming through the windows made the lounge a nice place to sit and chat, to check on the progress of a patient after a conference with the doctors. Not that anyone came to visit, he thought. He moved toward the 'cashier' sign behind the three foot deep counter that extended some twenty feet across the back of the lobby.

Mr. Helder is checking out, Margaret. Will you see to his records and the final release? She extended her hand and said, It's been a pleasure to know you, Mr. Helder. I certainly hope you get along well outside. You do seem to have such potential. Her hand was cool and strong in his. He mumbled something in return as she strode purposefully away toward the bank of elevators. A real rock, thought Helder as he turned to confront Margaret and the paperwork.

I see that all the charges have been paid, Mr. Helder. You only have to sign here, she said, pointing to an 'X' on the forms . . . and here . . . more 'X's. As he signed on the designated lines, she chatted on. It's so good to see a nice person like you leave in such fine condition. So often people never get back to where they can leave. He finished with the papers and pushed them, with the pen on top, back across the cold marble slab of the counter. He turned and walked slowly to the waiting area. The sun was streaming through the windows into the small area in front of one of the couches. He sat down in the sun, soaking in its warmth. His mind drifted back to the day six months ago when he had first seen the lobby. He was sick then, and in need of help. But there were competent people here, and they had helped him greatly. Most of it he had done himself, though. The doctors had agreed on that; he had brought himself back.

Mr. Helder. Mr. Helder, . . . Margaret broke his train of thought: Do you want a taxi, or is someone coming for you? She hovered solicitously at the edge of sunlight.

No, nobody's coming, he thought. Oh, thanks. You could call me a cab if you would.

No trouble, Mr. Helder. Where are you going?

The airport, Margaret. Thank you.

I'll call them right now, Mr. Helder. You just sit there in that nice warm sun. It'll do you good. She bustled back behind the counter. He could almost hear the call as it went out to the nearest cab.

Another nut to pick up at the funny farm? . . .

Yes, Margaret was saying to the phone. Oakwood Sanitarium. On Oakwood Drive, just off the freeway. Take the county road 146 exit and follow the signs. She paused, Yes, thank you. She replaced the receiver. Mr. Helder, the cab won't be here for at least half an hour. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?

No, thanks, Margaret. I'll be fine. I think I'll take a walk out back. That's where I'll be when the cab comes.

Fine, Mr. Helder. I'll look for you outside if the taxi arrives early. Oh, Margret pushed a business-sized heavy manila envelope across the counter towards him, This came for you yesterday, just after we sent your bill for payment. She returned to her work with his file after giving him a warm smile. Helder didn’t look at the package as he tucked it into his inside suit coat pocket. He walked through the double glass doors and down the steps along the front of the long red brick building, its paned windows covered in heavy mesh.

That certainly ought to keep the world out, he thought as he rounded the end of the six-story structure. As soon as he entered the yard the jays caught his eye, with their flurried activity over the berries in the shrubs surrounding the area. Slowly he walked toward them, being careful not to disrupt their business of survival. Survival. I envy anything that can derive so much enjoyment from so basic a need as feeding. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed anything that much. He smiled to himself. I need a good woman. Now he would have to relearn all the proper responses. That would be the best part of his rehabilitation.

Keeping in the sun, he sat down on the thick grass and then lay down to feel the earth pressing on his body. A good feeling. And where could I possibly go from here but up. His eyes wandered over the clouds, recognizing shapes hidden in the white masses. Scanning the sky, his mind drifted while his eyes locked onto the harsh, skeletal outlines of the ironwork fire escape.

Images of rain-slick tile and black iron railings flashed across his mind again as his gaze traveled over the building’s roof and gutters. His wrist and hand, now healed, throbbed with pain. Helder shook his head and looked out over the lawn, gently sloping toward the horizon. He kept his head turned away from the building.

Several moments later, he heard the crunch of gravel under tires as the taxi stopped in front of the building. Things to do. Time to go, he muttered to himself, and walked unsteadily to the entrance to retrieve his baggage. Margaret had anticipated him, and the driver was already placing his things in the trunk.

You the fare? the driver asked nervously.

Right. Going to the airport.

O.K., Mac. Get in. He eyed his fare suspiciously, as if expecting Helder to be stranger than the usual passenger. He got into the driver's seat and began writing on his route sheet. Helder opened the back door of the cab, got into the featureless vehicle and settled into the sticky vinyl.

They pulled away from the buildings and onto the long approaching road that led through the heavily wooded area toward the freeway. The driver said nothing the whole trip, but kept eying his passenger in the rear view mirror. Helder did nothing to alarm the driver, knowing he was expecting the worst. Instead, Helder used the time to get a firm hold of his nerves, which were still taut from the memory of that rooftop. Looking at his hand, he could clearly see the scar where the shredded flesh had been stitched and healed.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the air terminal, under the sign that read, 'Domestic Flights.'

Well, Buddy, that's $21.50.

Helder counted out $25 and handed it to the driver.

Thanks, Buddy. The driver turned to leave.

Helder took his elbow and said softly, Watch out for the spiders on the way out. I think they may be waiting for me.

The driver's eyes widened as he backed cautiously toward the cab.

Sure, sure. Thanks, Buddy. He bumped into the open door.

You take care, now. Helder grinned.

The driver pulled the door shut and hastily pulled into traffic, causing much honking and screeching of tires.

Smiling to himself, Helder picked up the bags and walked into the terminal. He strode across the wide expanse of terrazzo to the clerk.

Yes, sir. What can I do for you today?

I'd like a one-way ticket to Washington, D.C. National Airport.

First class?

No, coach will do fine. Helder offered his credit card and the clerk went through the elaborate ritual of asking a machine whether the plane was full, printing the ticket, stamping it, and the finale, an impressive stapling of baggage tickets to the boarding envelope. The clerk asked his seat preference and Helder looked at the chart — A wide-body plane. Good.

I'll take one in the middle — away from the windows, please.

The clerk stared at him. Is there something wrong, sir?

Why?

Well, you really want to get away from the windows?

You bet your ass . . . Ahh, yes, I do. Helder calmed down.

Well, there; how about a seat in the rear middle, where there are no windows at all?

Great, a broad smile crossed Helder’s face. Just great.

Fine, sir. The clerk gave Helder a squinty-eyed look. The blue concourse, gate 34B, sir. Have a nice trip.

Thanks. Helder picked up his briefcase and began the walk to the gate. He stopped and bought a magazine on the way and slowly approached the proper boarding area. The inspection machines didn't like his pocketful of change and the guard seemed to be interested in each coin. He removed his shoes and watch, placed them in a tray, and shuffled through the archway of the body scanner. Finally through the checkpoint, he walked to gate 34B and found a chair with a view of the TV, to watch the news. What seemed to be a long time later, the attendant began the boarding process.

If I could get a hold of the guy who designs these goddamned seats on airplanes, he’d walk bent over for the rest of his life. Helder squirmed in the seat, in the middle, in the rear of the craft. Finally, he managed to settle himself with the aid of a pillow behind his aching back. He had just dozed off when the flight attendants began preparations for landing.

Another rule of the air traveler — go to sleep on a plane and someone will wake you up. It could be that sour-looking woman sitting next to you who picks just that time to use the restroom. Lunch may arrive or, in this case, it might be time to land. Fuzzy-minded from half sleep, Helder cinched up his seat belt, along with his mind.

Chapter 2

Landing was smooth and uneventful. Amid the groans, muttered curses, and delighted cries of discovery at the baggage claim area, Helder located his single bag and moved outside into the bright sunshine. It was going to be a typical summer day in the District — hot and sticky, with temperature and humidity both in the 90's.

Helder was just another business traveler trying to extract a cab from the churning, swirling mass of steel, chrome and glass passing slowly in front of National Airport. At six feet tall and 180 pounds, he may have looked a bit trimmer than the average executive; His gray eyes may have been just a little harder, his reflexes a trifle quicker, but nothing marked him as different from the majority of thirty-ish men seen at airports these days. Helder sighed his thanks as the cool of the taxi interior relieved the discomfort of the soggy air.

The ride to the office at 16th and K showed few changes in the city since his last stay