Clifford D. Simak - Highway To Eternity.pdf - Clifford D.Simak - chomaroma

New York

Ihe cable reached Boone in Singapore:

NEED A MAN WHO CAN STEP AROUND A CORNER. CORCORAN.

He caught the next plane out.

Corcoran's driver was waiting for him as he came

through Customs at Kennedy. The man took Boone's bag

and led the way to the limousine.

It had been raining, but the rain had stopped. Boone

settled back comfortably on the well-upholstered seat,

watching the scene unwind through the windows. How

long had it been, he asked himself, since he had been in

Manhattan? Ten years, perhaps more than ten.

By the time they reached Corcoran's apartment build-

2 CLIFFORD D. SIMAK

ing, it had begun raining again. The driver gathered

Boone's bags, held an umbrella for him, and ushered him

to a private elevator to the penthouse. Corcoran was wait-

ing in the library. He rose from a chair in the comer and

came across the heavy carpeting with hand outstretched

and a look of relief on his face.

"Thanks for coming, Tom. Had a good flight?"

"Good enough," Boone told him. "I slept on the last

leg."

Corcoran nodded. "I remember you could always sleep

on planes. What are you drinking these days?"

"Scotch with a splash of soda." Boone sank into the

indicated chair and waited until the drink was handed him.

He took a long pull of it, glancing about at the appoint-

ments of the room. "You seem to be doing well these

days,Jay."

"Quite well. I have wealthy clients who pay for what

they get. And operatives all over the world. If a diplomat

sneezes in Bogota, I hear of it within hours. What's doing

in Singapore?"

"Nothing. Just a layover between jobs. I can afford to

be selective about the stories I take to cover these days.

Not like it was when we used to see each other."

"How long ago was it?" asked Corcoran. "When we

first met, I mean."

"It must be fifteen years or more. That unpleasantness

in the East. You came in with the tanks."

"That's it. We got there too late. It was a massacre.

Bodies all piled up and no sign of anyone alive." Corcoran

grimaced at the memory. "Then suddenly, there you

were, unruffled, standing among the dead. You wore that

jacket with all the pockets for your notebooks, recorder,

tapes, camera, and films. You carried so much stuff you

seemed to bulge. And you told me you'd just stepped

around a comer."

Boone nodded. "Death was half a second away. So I

stepped around a corner. When I stepped back, there you

were. But don't ask me to explain. I couldn't tell you then

and I can't tell you now. The only answer is one I don't

like—that I'm some kind of a freak."

HIGHWAY OF ETERNITY 3

"Let's say a mutant. Have you tried it since?"

"I've never tried it. But it's happened twice more—

once in China and again in South Africa. When I did it,

it seemed natural—the kind of thing any man might do.

And now, what about you?"

"You heard what happened to me?"

"Some," Boone answered. "You were a spy—CIA

and all that. You were trapped, but you got word back,

and a fighter snatched you up. A daredevil landing out of

a grade-B movie. The plane was shot to hell and gone,

yet it made it back ..."

"That's right," said Corcoran. "Then it crashed. The

whole back of my head was smashed in, and I was so

close to dead it didn't matter. But I had information that

was vital, so they performed miracles saving my life

. . . Anyhow, they had to do some strange things in fixing

my head. Apparently some of the wiring in my brain got

crossed or something. I see things differently now some-

times—things others don't or can't. And I think in quirky

ways. I tie little items of information together in a sort of

sneaky deduction that defies straight-line thinking. I know

things with no reasonable way to know them. I've made

it pay, too."

"Fine. And does that have anything to do with your

calling me here from Singapore?" Boone asked.

Corcoran leaned back and took a sip of the drink he'd

mixed for himself, considering. Finally he nodded. "It has

to do with one of my clients. He came to me about six

years ago. Said his name was Andrew Martin. Maybe it

was."

Martin had come in, aloof and cold, and wouldn't shake

hands. He refused absolutely to answer any questions.

Then, when Corcoran moved to show him out politely,

Martin reached into his breast pocket, took out an en-

velope, and pushed it across the desk. Inside were one

hundred thousand-dollar bills.

"That's just a retainer," he stated. "For any work you

do, I'll pay double your usual rates."

What he wanted were rumors from all over the world.

Not the usual political things, but unusual or outrageous

4 CLIFFORD D. SIMAK

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