The Eyes of Darkness by Dean Koontz

Posted by admin_akashic on Aug 7th, 2022 in Prophecy, Stories

Evidently sensing Vince’s onrushing blowup and aware that it wouldn’t help them accomplish their mission, Bob quickly said, “Listen, Stryker, we can’t answer most of your questions because we don’t know. Yes, we work for a government agency. Yes, it’s one you’ve never heard of and probably never will. But we don’t know why this Danny Evans kid is so important. We haven’t been told the details, not even half of them. And we don’t want to know all of it, either. You understand what I’m saying—the less a guy knows, the less he can be nailed for later. Christ, we’re not big shots in this outfit. We’re strictly hired help. They only tell us as much as we need to know. So will you cool it? Just come over here, sit down, let me inject you, give us a few answers, and we can all get on with our lives. We can’t just stand here forever.”

“If you’re working for a government intelligence agency, then go away and come back with the legal papers,” Elliot said. “Show me search warrants and subpoenas.”

“You know better than that,” Vince said harshly.

“The agency we work for doesn’t officially exist,” Bob said. “So how can an agency that doesn’t exist go to court for a subpoena? Get serious, Mr. Stryker.”

“If I do submit to the drug, what happens to me after you’ve got your answers?” Elliot asked.

“Nothing,” Vince said. “Nothing at all,” Bob said. “How can I be sure?”

At this indication of imminent surrender, the tall man relaxed slightly, although his lumpish face was still flushed with anger. “I told you. When we’ve got what we want, we’ll leave. We just have to find out exactly why the Evans woman wants the grave reopened. We have to know if someone’s ratted to her. If someone has, then we gotta spike his ass to a barn door. But we don’t have anything against you. Not personally, you know. After we find out what we want to know, we’ll leave.”

“And let me go to the police?” Elliot asked.

“Cops don’t scare us,” Vince said arrogantly. “Hell, you won’t be able to tell them who we were or where they can start looking for us. They won’t get anywhere. Nowhere. Zip. And if they do pick up our trail somehow, we can put pressure on them to drop it fast. This is national security business, pal, the biggest of the big time. The government is allowed to bend the rules if it wants. After all, it makes them.”

“That’s not quite the way they explained the system in law school,” Elliot said. “Yeah, well, that’s ivory tower stuff,” Bob said, nervously straightening his tie. “Right,” Vince said. “And this is real life. Now sit down at the table like a good boy.” “Please, Mr. Stryker,” Bob said.

“No.”

When they got their answers, they would kill him. If they had intended to let him live, they wouldn’t have used their real names in front of him. And they wouldn’t have wasted so much time coaxing him to cooperate; they would have used force without hesitation. They wanted to gain his cooperation without violence because they were reluctant to mark him; their intention was that his death should appear to be an accident or a suicide. The scenario* was obvious. Probably a suicide. While he was still under the influence of the drug, they might be able to make him write a suicide note and sign it in a legible, identifiable script. Then they would carry him out to the garage, prop him up in his little Mercedes, put the seat belt snugly around him, and start the engine without opening the garage door. He would be too drugged to move, and the carbon monoxide would do the rest. In a day or two someone would find him out there, his face blue-green-gray, his tongue dark and lolling, his eyes bulging in their sockets as he stared through the windshield as if on a drive to Hell. If there were no unusual marks on his body, no injuries incompatible with the coroner’s determination of suicide, the police would be quickly satisfied. “No,” he said again, louder this time. “If you bastards want me to sit down at that table, you’re going to have to drag me there.”