“When I saw him last, a few hundred miles per hour. But my guess is that it’s all a matter of training. There’s no reason those who have learned to really harness the field shouldn’t be able to achieve jet speeds. Or greater. And each of us could pilot a private space yacht, which we could power to near light speed. We could reach beyond our planetary cradle in a big way. Finally mange to avoid having all of the species’ eggs in one planetary basket.”
Alyssa’s head was spinning. In addition to what Craft had said, the many billions spent on clean energy research and the study of global warming could be used for other pursuits. In fact, she realized, with unlimited energy, humans could create any climate they wanted. Air-conditioning a single room on a scorching hot day took considerable power. So air-conditioning the Sahara desert to a comfortable seventy-five degrees would take energy that was unimaginable. On the other hand, if a cubic centimeter of vacuum had enough energy to boil away all of the world’s oceans, this was not at all beyond the realm of possibility.
Energy did indeed mean wealth. And made all things possible. “We could make a paradise on Earth,” whispered Alyssa. “Even if only a fraction of the population could tap into the field.”
“And if everyone could . . . . Imagine what this would be like. And we’d all be invulnerable.”
“True,” said Alyssa. “Of course, we’d still eventually die from heart failure, cancer, and the like.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Craft. “Since I’ve trained myself to channel the field, I haven’t been sick a single day. My trick right knee hasn’t troubled me in years. You know better than anyone that the scientific establishment is finally recognizing the true power of the mind to heal the body.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well what if having a subconscious that can tap unlimited energy is all the mind needs to amplify the placebo effect a thousand-fold? What if tapping the field gives our subconscious the power it needs to heal the body completely?”
Craft shifted his gaze from the road and stared at Alyssa meaningfully. “We’d need to do many more tests, but my gut tells me this could extend life.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe indefinitely.”
PART TWO
“Our incomplete knowledge of physical reality enriches our human experiences by maintaining its novelty, its unanticipated outcomes, its newness. It allows us each to live our lives as a great adventure. What sense of satisfaction would a scientist derive from inquiry if the laws of physics were all clearly revealed as part of the act of creation. What joy would there be in searching for buried treasure if you knew all along where you hid it? It’s the mystery that underwrites the joy of discovery.”
—Bernard Haisch, The God Theory
“If you were God, could you possibly dream up any more educational, contrasted, thrilling, beautiful, tantalizing world than Earth? If you think you could, do you imagine you would be outdoing Earth if you designed a world free of germs, diseases, poisons, pains, malice, explosives, and conflicts so its people could relax and enjoy it? Would you, in other words, try to make the world nice and safe—or would you let it be provocative, dangerous, and exciting?”
—Guy Murchie, The Seven Mysteries of Life: An Exploration of Science and Philosophy
“The origin of the universe is the exact opposite of random. Our lives are the exact opposite of pointless. It is not matter that creates an illusion of consciousness, but consciousness that creates an illusion of matter.
—Bernard Haisch, The God Theory
30
Santosh Patel couldn’t believe his luck. When Craft had driven north to nearby Cincinnati and then immediately west into Indiana, his hopes had risen. But now, an hour later, he was certain. They were going to Bloomington, after all.
Perfect!
Patel had taken a virtual drive of the entire route via computer, and had found the ideal spot for his needs. While he and the rest of the team raced ahead to this staging area, he had Hank Ridley hang back and continue following Craft, just in case. And they could use Ridley’s car to transport Aronson once they had her.
Ten minutes later, Ridley reported Craft had stopped for gas, giving them even more of a lead, and more time for preparation. Patel couldn’t have asked for anything more.
***
Alyssa still felt a little weak. And while the pain medication had kicked in, she was reeling from what she had learned from Bren. She was sure this would be the case for some time to come. It wasn’t as if this was something one could wrap their mind around, no matter how long they had been exposed to it.
She stared out of the window at the beauty around her and pondered the possibilities that Brennan Craft had brought to life. She had grown up in Southern California, and while it was hard to complain about palm trees and perfect weather, a smattering of palm trees couldn’t hold a candle to the magnificent woodlands she had been living in for the past two years.
No matter how many times she was immersed in the spectacular forests of Indiana, they never lost their power to captivate her. Always majestic and serene. Teeming with life and vibrancy. A lush green haven from the artificial rush of civilization. A shaded wonderland of beauty whose cool, crisp air was infused with the pure oxygen released by each and every tree.
Some people loved the cities, with their culture, art, and endless opportunities for interesting social interaction. Some like the country; it’s simplicity and wide open spaces. But Alyssa Aronson only truly felt at peace when she was surrounded by the mightiest of earth’s living things. And with the possible exception of the Sequoia Forrest in Northern California, teeming with trees that made the tallest, thickest specimens anywhere else look like adorable little babies, no place was more majestic than the Hoosier National Forest, two hundred thousand acres of soaring central hardwood trees, primarily oak and hickory.
Alyssa decided she was as happy as she’d been in some time. The drive to Bloomington on narrow, two lane roads—one lane in each direction—was as scenic as any drive could be. She was well fed and well caffeinated, and she was with a man she admired and liked.
Best second date ever, she thought at one point, although she decided it might be a stretch to call it a date, even if Craft had taken her to breakfast. But at the same time, it was so much more than a date.
Her conversation with Craft never stalled, even after more than an hour in the car, nor did Craft’s warmth or sense of humor. Elovic’s description of this man had been deeply troubling to her, because it had badly shaken her faith in her own instincts. She couldn’t believe Craft had fooled her so completely, or that she could have been so very wrong about him.
But she hadn’t been. Her instincts had been flawless.
As she thought about this, she recalled something else she had wanted to cover with her new traveling companion. “Almost forgot,” she said. “One last thing the major told me. He said it looked as though you were studying political and military choke points all around the world. He took that as yet another sign you were delusional. Is this true?”
“Is what true?” asked Craft, one side of his mouth curling up into a crooked smile. “That I studied political systems? Or that I’m delusional?”
“We already know you’re delusional,” said Alyssa playfully. “Anyone who accomplished what you did would have to be. But did you really research, you know, world domination?”
Craft nodded. “I did. To my great surprise, my bluff has continued to keep Al Yad in check. Not entirely, since he has still amassed quite a following and considerable power. But at least with respect to the devastating use of his abilities. But just in case he decided to use his power with pinpoint accuracy so as not to draw my attention, I wanted to get a sense of what moves he might make on the global stage. And monitor them.”
“Makes perfect sense,” said Alyssa. “I have to admit, after my meeting with Major Elovic, I would have bet my life there was no possible way you could explain everything I knew about you and your activities in a rational, logical way.”
&
nbsp; Craft laughed. “There isn’t,” he said. “Since when is using your mind to tap energy that flashes into existence for less than a trillionth of a second, without knowing how you do it, rational?”
“You’ve got me there,” said Alyssa, deciding in that instant she was as content as she had ever been.
They emerged from the woods to find a long stretch of corn, dozens and dozens of football fields worth, on Alyssa’s side of the car, while Craft’s side looked out onto an endless expanse of eerie windmills.
Alyssa preferred the woods but found the cornfields awe-inspiring in their own way. The sheer scope of row after perfect row of proud green stalks, reaching skyward like perfectly aligned spears, protecting their nutritional gifts within a swaddling of green leaves, was breathtaking. She couldn’t even begin to guess how many millions of ears each field produced.
The wind farms, on the other hand, were an eyesore. A blight on the earth. And they were becoming ever more plentiful in Indiana, as each turbine generated, not just energy, but irresistible tax incentives from the federal government.
The scale of the wind farms was daunting. Each turbine was a high-tech metal monstrosity weighing more than a hundred tons, with cylindrical bases the size of a large living room rising thirty stories into the sky. Near the top of these structures, three blades, each a hundred feet long, and weighing fifteen thousand pounds, swept a vertical area of almost an acre. And each turbine was anchored in over a million pounds of concrete and rebar.
There were hundreds of them, as far as the eye could see, each costing more than three million dollars. They were creepy in the extreme. Something about these towering sculptures was otherworldly and eerie. Unsettling. War of The Worlds Tripods come to life.
Craft was eying these monstrosities with an expression between awe and horror himself, and Alyssa realized one of the best things about Craft’s discovery is that it would eliminate the need for these eyesores once and for all.
***
Santosh Patel was on his stomach peering around the base of the tapered conical skyscraper that was a modern industrial wind turbine. His sniper rifle was set in its tripod and he was ready for the op to begin.
On the other side of the cylindrical base, Bruno Haas was waiting with machine guns, filled with blanks, and dozens of flashbang grenades. Their cars were behind the base of the turbine, which was large enough to conceal them from the road fifty yards away. And Ahn had been in position for some time now as well.
“Craft is five miles out,” said the voice of Hank Ridley in Patel’s ear. “There is one car between me and him, about a quarter mile behind him. There isn’t anyone behind me for as far as I can see.”
Craft was driving at about forty miles per hour, so he was now approximately seven minutes distant. Patel checked his watch. “Ridley, catch up to the car ahead of you before he gets any closer to Craft. Blow out his back tire. And make sure your gun is silenced.”
“Roger that,” said Ridley.
“Volkov,” said Patel. “Do your thing. Then get in your car and head this way.”
Volkov acknowledge the command a mile to the west. He had chosen a mid-sized tree that was leaning toward the road, and at Patel’s mark he started the chainsaw and leveled the tree in less than a minute. It toppled across the road with a satisfying thud, blocking both lanes, and there was no easy way around it.
Once Hank Ridley had disabled the car nearest to Craft’s, the kill zone would be isolated for more than enough time, ensuring passing vehicles didn’t become collateral damage, or worse, somehow interfere with the op.
Volkov killed the chainsaw and put it in a storage compartment in the back of his gray Ram pickup, whose front was muscular enough to resemble a mini Mack truck. He pressed gently down on the gas pedal, waiting for word from Patel to ensure his timing was precise.
31
Alyssa tore her eyes from the repugnant wind turbines and turned to a more pleasing view, the cornfield on her side of the car, seemingly close enough to touch. The corn, about eight feet in height, was packed in such dense and precise rows that if she viewed them from the proper angle, they created a strobe-like effect as the SUV flashed by.
Craft glanced at her and smiled. “Now that,” he said in an exaggerated manner, “is a lot of corn. Amazing how these plants can turn dirt and sunlight into something so tasty.”
“Indiana grows a lot of popcorn,” said Alyssa. “I wonder if this variety—”
There was a sharp and startling crack from the direction of the wind turbines, like a giant whip being snapped, and a simultaneous boom sound that shook the entire SUV. The vehicle instantly lurched to the left, jamming Alyssa into her belt.
The front left tire had exploded into shrapnel!
Had the explosive crack been a gunshot?
Craft fought to hold the steering wheel straight and began to brake as smoothly as he could, somehow managing to maintain control, a cowboy wrestling a panicked steer to the ground.
The car came to a stop, and Craft opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as another crack rang out and a hole appeared in the driver’s side window, even with Craft’s temple. Alyssa gasped from the shock, and her mouth remained open from the realization that if this were any other man, she would be wearing his brains right now. His shield must have vaporized the approaching bullet with superhuman speed and efficiency.
Before Alyssa could process anything else about what was happening, a series of explosions rocked the car.
They were deafening and bright as the sun.
“Stun grenades!” shouted Craft above the din.
Had the grenades been any closer, Alyssa was sure they would have been temporarily deafened and blinded. As it was, the explosions kicked up so much smoke it became impossible to see in the direction of the wind turbines, where it seemed like an army was stationed. Machine gun fire could now be heard, also coming from this direction.
“Go!” screamed Craft, having now fully recovered from the shock of the attack. “Hide in the corn! I’ll take care of them!”
Alyssa hesitated, still partially paralyzed.
“Go!” shrieked Craft even louder.
Alyssa pushed her door open and bolted the short distance into the cornfield, her heart racing fast enough to keep pace with the staccato blasts of the machine guns behind her.
When she had put five or six rows of cornstalks between her and the road, she turned to look for Craft.
“Freeze!” bellowed a tall Asian man to her left, emerging from a row of corn. He had a gun extended and was on her in seconds, shoving his weapon into her side.
“Let’s go,” he said, spinning her around and pushing her deeper into the jungle of leafy green stalks.
But before she had completed the pivot, she had caught one last glimpse of Brennan Craft along a line of sight between two perfectly aligned rows of corn. He was striding purposefully over the brown dirt plain, toward the mammoth turbines and the assault force hidden behind them, his back to the road.
And just behind him, impossible to hear given the steady barrage of machine gun fire and explosions, was an imposing wall of steel that was the front end of a Ram pickup truck, bearing down on him at a speed of more than sixty miles per hour.
And it was accelerating.
***
Santosh Patel maintained his usual laser sharp focus and intensity, but inside he was ecstatic. The plan was working masterfully. The SUV had come to a stop within five yards of his estimate. Alyssa Aronson had bolted into the cornfield, away from the fake gunfire and flashbangs, exactly as planned, and at the precise location they had expected. He knew that he would hear from Ahn any second that he had the girl, after which they could get the hell out of there and collect their winnings.
The only thing that troubled him was the continued existence of Brennan Craft.
The man should be dead. Patel was an expert marksman. From a mere fifty yards, and with little wind, he could have hit Craft’s head if aborigines had shr
unken it to the size of a baseball. There was no chance he had missed.
Yet Brennan Craft didn’t seem to have any extra holes in his head as he marched off the road and approached their position, not making any attempt to take cover. Either he knew they had been using blanks after Patel’s first shot, or he just didn’t care.
Patel saw Volkov’s pickup barreling toward Craft like a guided missile. His timing on this had been perfect as well. Craft’s body would either be hurtled thirty feet forward by the impact, or he would be slammed against the hard ground and crushed into pulp under the tires. Both Patel and Haas stopped firing their machine guns at the same time so they could hear the impact.
But they heard nothing.
One instant many thousands of pounds of truck was accelerating into Craft. And the next . . . it was through him, as though the truck were made of butter and he was a lava-hot blade. Craft’s forward progress wasn’t altered a hair. He seemed to be an ephemeral ghost operating in a different dimension than the truck.
But while Craft had been unaffected, the same couldn’t be said for the truck. A two to three foot wedge had been cut cleanly through the entire vehicle, lengthwise, parting it like the Red Sea. It continued accelerating as though it hadn’t hit Craft at all, not slowed or deflected in the slightest. It traveled forward for several seconds, two halves without a middle, as though the laws of physics refused to comprehend that the truck’s left and right sides were no longer connected.
Finally the halves of the car lost their balance and crashed to the ground, skidding and rolling repeatedly.
Dmitri Volkov was thrown from the car in the first moment after the impact.
Or what remained of him was. A third of his body, lengthwise, had been removed with surgical precision. As though a giant guillotine had dropped from the sky, splitting him like bamboo from head to toe.
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