Eyes of an Eagle a Novel of Gravity Controlled Read online

  My uncle never talked till after the supplies were unloaded and stored away. One of the first things he did was open a can of coffee. He set it brewing in a pot on the old rusty barrel stove he had in the shack. When we finished, he poured me a cup of the scalding hot brew. I had the only cup in the place. Ben poured his own coffee in an old Campbell's soup can. I couldn't help but notice he had a whole rabbit, fur and all, simmering in a pot next to the coffee. I knew I wouldn't be staying for supper.

  As we drank, I felt eyes upon me. I started to search the shack. I found the watching eyes. In the corner under an old wood crate, a mouse sat watching me. His little paws groomed his whiskers. His eyes never left my face.

  A whisper came from my uncle. “You know, Dan. It was my third time as point man before they started watching me."

  “Point Man?"

  “When our squad went on patrol, there had to be a man out front. He was the eyes of the squad. If the point man wasn't good, he would get either himself or the squad killed. He had to see the enemy before they saw him. He had to evade the booby traps and mark them for the rest of the squad to avoid.

  “The first time I worked the point I nearly got everyone killed in an ambush, but I learned. I liked the point. It was just me and the jungle. It was my third time at point. I was maybe a hundred meters ahead of the rest of the squad. I noticed that the birds had stopped making a ruckus when I walked past. They would watch me pass. Later when the squad followed, they complained but with me they just watched.

  “It happened during my second tour ... During that patrol, I walked out of the jungle and started across a rice paddy. I felt eyes. The eyes came from my left. I turned and looked back at the edge of the jungle. Finally, I saw the eyes. A VC sniper was watching the paddy. I locked onto his eyes. We must have stared at each other for ten minutes. I could hear the squad coming out of the jungle behind me. The sniper just backed away into the trees.

  “The only one of the squad who ever learned about the watching was the sergeant. He was a Nisei from San Francisco. He saw the birds watching me at point halfway through my last tour. He called the birds, Yosei, Japanese fairies. I still remember him whispering, “ Don't tell the rest ofthe squad.” A mortar round got the sarge a week later. Blew him in half."

  Old Ben took another swallow of coffee. That was the longest he had ever spoken to me at one time. He looked so sad sipping the coffee. The mouse still watched.

  Ben got up and rummaged around under the pile of old clothes and tree boughs he called his bed. I always considered it more of a nest than a bed. He came back with a leather sheathed knife. He handed it to me. “This is your Great Grandfather Ilmari's puukko. He brought it with him when he emigrated from Finland. He gave it to me when I was ten. He said that I would need to know how to use a knife. He was right... "

  He drank another swallow of coffee. I could see the pain of old memories in his face. With eyes filled with sadness, he said, “It is yours now."

  The old leather sheath was scuffed and blackened with age. The varnish on the wood hilt was worn off in places. I pulled the knife from the sheath. In my hand the old knife felt lighter than the knives I had in my kitchen although the blade was nearly twice as thick. The clip blade was a dark rippled gray—the color high-grade hand-forged carbon steel fades to with age. The edge was honed bright. I turned the blade up. The sharpened edge disappeared. I knew if I just touched the blade with my thumb blood would flow. I turned.

  The mouse still watched.

  Chapter 2

  Waiting

  The Chameleon had decided on a community. As far as he could tell, it was the richest and strongest in the whole area. His next decision would be where to infiltrate. The economic heart had a large turnover of individuals. A new face would easily be lost in the crowds. But the economic center also had greater security. The outlying area had less new people moving in but also much less security. Where would be the best place to infiltrate?

  Females seemed to have nearly as much access to sensitive materials with less security questions. Males had the most access. Gays were in the minority but would they have the benefit of both the sexes? Which would help the group the most, greater access or less questions?

  The Chameleon had time. He waited and watched.

  * * * *

  When I got home, Move-over was on the computer again. I could feel his eyes on my back as I proofread portions of a college algebra textbook. For some reason, I couldn't concentrate on the reading. I kept remembering back to when I was little. It was summer. I recalled seeing a Disney type Davy Crockett movie or show; I don't remember which. In the show, Davy was in some contest where he threw a knife and an axe at a target. I had an old pocketknife and was trying to throw it at a tree. Dad came up to me.

  “Son. You are using the wrong kind of knife for throwing."

  He went into the house and came back with an old straight-backed paring knife. We threw the knife for what seemed like hours. He stuck it in the tree every time he threw. At the end, I got it to stick in the tree three times in a row. I vaguely remember keeping up the practice for the rest of the summer but I could only clearly remember that first time with Dad. It was one of the few times we were alone and not arguing.

  I got the puukko. In the backyard, the stump of the tree I used for practice so many years ago stood by the foundations of the old burned barn. The first throw—the knife bounced off the stump. The second stuck. I threw again and again. The blade was starting to sink a half-inch into the wood, three quarters, a full inch.

  I suddenly felt eyes. I turned and looked. A crow sat on a fence post his black eye watching. The crow had only one good eye; the other was frosted over. I yelled. He didn't budge but two more crows flew in to join him on the fence line. I notice my arm was sore and I was drenched in sweat. I went inside wondering about Ben, the knife and those watching animals.

  As I was making supper, Move-over showed up. For the first time in days, eyes watching me did not

  give me the willies. Move-over always watched me whenever food was involved. The only movement out of the cat as he watched was the twitching of his tail. It started to snap back and forth when I dished out the food on my plate. As I sat down to eat, the cat gave a mournful yowl. When I didn't acknowledge him, he climbed up on my lap and went to sleep. For some reason, cats feel that they can absorb food directly from someone's stomach if they are lying on it during eating. I don't know. They may be right. With Move-over on my lap, I never feel quite as full after a meal.

  The familiarity of the animal's actions had finally permitted me to forget about being watched. I was able to finish my work for the week with only the continual problem of Net accessing on my Internet computer.

  * * * *

  Tabitha loved her morning runs. The autumn and spring air was the best. She liked running at home better than when she was at college. The air at school had a tinge of automobile fumes, which clogged her sinuses and at times made her eyes water. This was her fifth year at school trying to get a four-year college degree. Two things were keeping her in school for so long. Her track scholarship was forcing her to keep her spring and fall classes light. Also, the recent budget cuts required that some courses were offered every other year. Even some full-time students had to work five and six years for a standard four-year degree.

  This fall none of the courses she needed for her Bachelor of Arts in electrical engineering were being offered. She decided to stay home for the semester and work at her family's business. Most of her track events were in the spring so even without fall classes her scholarship would stay intact. She loved working at the family video store during the summer and semester breaks. It was an easy job. She could watch videos or do her homework with only an occasional disturbance during most of the day. Problems only occurred during the after work or beginning of the weekend rush.

  Over the summer and into the fall she had gotten to know most of the regulars. She liked all except for a couple of drunks who would stop
in between bars and one mean woman who complained about everything. Sure some of them were troublemakers, like the group of high school boys who would hang out out-front after school or the couple going through a divorce. But basically she considered them okay.

  She liked to classify the people that came into the store, the retired, the teachers, the students, the workers, the homemakers, and the others. This was Thursday. She wondered if the new man was coming into the store. He was too young to be retired. He didn't work regular hours. He drove a clean pickup and was always dressed well so he wasn't a farmer or someone who worked in the woods. He was articulate. He loved to take his time examining the tapes reading the back of the cases carefully. He didn't match up with her classifications, which made her all the more curious.

  Tabitha did her after run stretch and showered. She picked up her backpack filled with schoolbooks and supplies and walked the six blocks to the video store. Her brother had opened the store earlier and had a music video blaring from the screen over the counter. Tabitha turned the volume down on her hearing aids and took over the front counter. She got a paperback to read while her brother finished re-stocking the overnight returns. He would leave when he finished and she would then replace the music video with the Alfred Hitchcock movie she started yesterday.

  * * * *

  Maybe it was the staring, maybe it was the extra hours I took to finish the algebra textbook, but for the first time in months I thought about Hanna. We had been living together for five years and dating the previous two. I broke it off with her just a few months before I left Chicago for home. Hanna was a lovely girl, friendly, astute, self-assured, and loving. She had one problem, sex.

  Hanna grew up in a family as the little princess. She believed the fairy tales about the princess in danger saved by the prince who took care of her forever more. The books she liked. The movies she watched. The family she was from. They were all the same. The woman was a prize that was taken care of. And the man had better appreciate the prize! Hanna in bed was passive. She was the prize that had to be honored, cherished, and served. Afterwards, she insisted on gratitude. Throughout the day, she would insist that she be honored for giving you the prize of her body the night before. She believed that anything that happened was subservient to her great gift of sex. It was frustrating having an argument with her and having her say, “Why are you complaining? You had sex last night."

  I started to tell her she had a Prince Charming syndrome. She became mad at my complaining and started to withhold sex. When we did have sex, she would stop after she was satisfied leaving me even more frustrated. The next day she still insisted that I thank her for her gift the night before.

  When I left Chicago, we had not made love for four months. For some reason, she still felt we were together. She still considered herself a prize that I had to honor. As I left her, I could see in her face that she still didn't understand how I could let her go.

  The eleven months I had been home had been filled with work. The only friends still living around the farm were my parents’ friends. Once in a while, they would try to fix me up with a niece or another relative but I still had memories of Hanna so nothing interested me until this fall.

  I had gone to town to rent a video for the night. The local TV is sometime pretty bad. During the play-off season, all you might find are local high school and college games. When the local grocery store was out of tapes I was interested in, I went to the video rental store in town. Behind the counter was a cute girl. I asked her where the new releases were. When she answered, I did a double take. Her words were slightly slurred and the vowels were not quite right. I then saw the small hearing aid in her ear. I realized she had to be partially deaf. Not wanting to embarrass her, I went straight to the tapes.

  I hadn't gotten out much so I took my time reading the backs of the tapes—trying to find a video that I hadn't heard of before, which still looked interesting. The girl came up behind me asking if she could help. Startled, I jumped and knocked a dozen video boxes off the shelf. As we put the boxes back on the shelves, I noticed that she had a hearing aid in her other ear and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. They were so sparkly that I never noticed their color that day. I was so flustered after the accident that I picked up the first tape on the shelf and tried to checkout without further embarrassment.

  As I gave the girl the two dollars and change for the video, I saw the college textbook on the counter. I had proofread the text three years earlier. Trying to redeem my deflated ego, I asked if she was taking classes for engineering or electronics. I never forgot how her eyes locked onto my face in a penetrating stare.

  “Both. How did you know?” she demanded.

  Flustered again I fumbled out the words, “Laplacian transforms ... Aren't they used in engineering and electronics?” I pointed to the text, which had the words Laplace and transforms prominently displayed. I escaped the store as fast as I could.

  It took me three weeks to get the nerve to go back to the store. Luckily a young man was behind the counter. As I checked out the tapes, I heard the bell on the front door ring. Turning, I saw the girl jog in with a sweat stained athletic shorts and top on. She was built! I could see the bundles of muscles ripple as she moved.

  The boy said, “Tabby, could you come in an hour early this evening? I've got a date." “Okay Joey but you owe me one already. How about trading my Friday shift? I don't like the weekend rush."

  “Fine. But if I do trade, you will have to come in two hours early today."

  “Deal?"

  “Deal."

  She turned and saw me staring. She seemed to know what I was looking at. She gave me a silent smile. Turning, she jogged out of the store. Totally embarrassed, I left the store as fast as I could. After that day, I would stop at the video store on Thursdays just to see her. I had learned my lessons from the first two times that I met her. I let her lead the conversations and only opened my mouth the minimum. She was in her twenties. I was in my thirties. I wanted to ask her out but I knew this being a small town the gossip would be hard to take. Instead, we talked about movies and her college classes for fifteen, twenty minutes every time I came in. That was enough for me after my problems with Hanna, girls were unfathomable.

  Today I had to see Tabitha just to get Hanna out of my mind.

  Chapter 3

  Testing

  Move-over watched as I got the pickup keys and billfold from my dresser. He gave a yowl as he turned his back. His tail held high, he turned strutting to the front of the house. I knew, when I pulled out of the yard, he would be in the front window watching.

  The reason why I was going to town was to see a pretty girl. A couple years back I was proofreading an article by a feminist psychologist about men and girl watching. She ranted and raved about how bad men were and used a mumbo jumbo of big terms to support her ideas. The article was printed. After all, it was just a filler editorial. I knew then what was wrong with her ideas. As I was just a proofreader at that time, no one would listen to me. A basic biological drive of all species is to procreate. It is the only way a species will survive. Its importance, at least in men, is that for an instant of time only one thing is in your mind, the beauty of a woman—i.e. How capable is her potential to reproduce? Whenever a man sees a woman for the first time, he biologically has to classify her with the unconscious programming in his brain on her fertility. Old women trigger one set of responses, young girls another. The biological response flushes the clutter of thoughts about work, relationships, or watching eyes from the mind for the few seconds you first see the pretty girl. When the clutter comes back, the short break makes it manageable again. Like all things that create brief interludes of happiness, some become addicted. I might be. I don't know. All I do know is that after this last week I need my mind cleaned by a pretty girl. I need an emotional fix caused by the male physiology.

  I entered the store with the accompanying clang of the entrance bell. She looked up from the TV playing over the counter and
smiled. I nodded and went to the back of the store. The smile worked. I forgot the eyes watching me. I took my time checking the video boxes. I wanted the emotional fix to last as long as possible. I knelt to examine the boxes of a selection of ‘B’ movies that were kept near the floor. The doorbell clanged and something changed in the store.

  A voice said, “All clear. Only the dummy bitch behind the counter."

  After a period of silence, another voice said, “Listen Bitch. You just stand still or I'll cut you."

  Staying down next to the floor, I eased around the video shelves until I could see the front desk. Two punks with knives were at the counter. One was at the front of the desk waving a switchblade in the air in

  front of Tabitha's face. The second kid was standing next to Tabitha rummaging in the cash register, a knife blade and bills oozing out of his fists.

  The punk in front of the counter said, “The Bitch ain't bad. Let's take her with us."

  The one behind the counter answered, “Hell. Robbery is one thing. Snatching a bitch?"

  “Sure why not. You've heard her talk. She's a dummy. We just say she wanted it."

  The second kid looked her over and slowly a sick grin came to his face. He jabbed Tabitha in the back and shoved her out from behind the counter. From the flinch of pain on Tabitha's face, I knew he had cut her with the knife. The punks started to snicker and give each other congratulatory shoves. Tabitha had walked one step away from the kids while they were busy flattering themselves. I knew I had to do something. From the back of the store, I started to sprint at the boys. Two steps away from them I threw myself into the back of their legs. We all came down in a tangle. I yelled, “Run!” just before my head slammed into the floor.

  The next thing I knew I was laying on the floor with groans coming from either side of me. I looked up. Tabitha stood there with the knives in her hand. For an instant, I held my breath. She was beautiful. Face carved in stone. Her hair swept back. A Valkyrie come to life. I turned to the boys next to me on the floor. Both were curled into fetal positions with the hands between their legs withering in pain. The one on my right seemed to be bleeding from the ears.