The place looks warm and welcoming. It is like a house in an old movie.
Jimmy Stewart might live here. You know at a glance that a loving
family resides within, decent people with much to share, much to give.
He cannot remember anything in the block, least of all the house in
which he apparently spent his childhood and adolescence. It might as
well be the residence of utter strangers in a town which he has never
seen until this very day.
He is infuriated by the extent to which he has been brainwashed and
relieved of precious memories. The lost years haunt him. The total
separation from those he loves is so cruel and devastating that he finds
himself on the verge of tears.
However, he suppresses his anger and grief. He cannot afford to be
emotional while his situation remains precarious.
The only thing he does recognize in the neighborhood is a van parked
across the street from his parents’ house. He has never seen … ..
this particular van, but he knows the type. The sight of it alarms him.
It is a recreational vehicle. Candy-apple red. An extended wheel base
provides a roomier interior. Oval camper dome on the roof.
. Large mud flaps with chrome letters, FUN TRUCK. The rear bumper is
papered with overlapping rectangular, round, and triangular stickers
memorializing visits to Yosemite National Park, Yellowstone, the an nul
Calgary Rodeo, Las Vegas, Boulder Dam, and other tourist attractions.
Decorative, parallel green and black stripes undulate along the side,
interrupted by a pair of mirrored view windows.
Perhaps the van is only what it appears to be, but at first sight he’s
convinced it’s a surveillance post. For one thing, it seems too
aggressi2Jely recreational, flamboyant. With his training in
surveillance techniques, he knows that sometimes such vans seek to
declare their harmlessness by calling attention to themselves, because
potential subjects of surveillance expect a stakeout vehicle to be
discreet and would never imagine they were being watched from, say, a
circus wagon. Then there’s the matter of the mirrored windows on the
side, which allow the people within to see without being seen, providing
privacy that any vacationer might prefer but that is also ideal for
undercover operatives.
He does not slow as he approaches his parents’ house, and he
strives to show no interest in either the residence or the candy-apple
red van. Scratching his forehead with his right hand, he also manages
to cover his face as he passes those reflective view windows.
. The occupants of the van, if any, must be employed by the , unknown
people who manipulated him so ruthlessly until Kansas , City. They are
a link to his mysterious superiors. He is as interested in them as in
re-establishing contact with his beloved mother and father.
Two blocks later, he turns right at the corner and heads back toward a
shopping area near the center of town, where earlier he passed a
sporting-goods store. Lacking a firearm and, in any event, unable to
buy one with a silencer, he needs to obtain a couple of simple weapons.
Hewalks to the door of the house in front of which both vehicles are
parked. The flowers are not meant for anyone at this address. He hopes
no one is home. If someone answers the door, he will pretend to
discover that he has the wrong house, so he can return to the street
with the arrangement still held in front of him.
He is in luck. No one responds to the doorbell. He rings it several
times and, through body language, exhibits impatience.
He turns away from the door. He follows the front walk to the street.
Looking through the spray of flowers and greenery that he holds in front
of himself, he sees this side of the red van also sports two mirrored
windows on the rear compartment. Considering how deserted and quiet the
street is, he knows they are watching him, for want of anything better
to do.
That’s okay. He’s just a florist’s frustrated deliveryman. They will
see no reason to fear him. Better that they watch him, dismiss him, and
turn their attention again to the white clapboard house.