Sigma One

by Hutchison, William

  During the interview, Burt told him as much as he could remember, and what he couldn't, Debbie filled in. When they were through answering Bailey's questions, Burt and Debbie left.

  The article came out on the second page of the SLO (short for San Louis Obispo) Gazette the very next day. It didn't make the first page as Bailey had promised. The surfer's car accident did! The article wasn't very long either, although Burt and Debbie had to spend nearly an hour and a half with him-- most of that time spent answering questions about the experiment.

  No, instead the editor had chopped the article to bits and all the time Burt spent describing the benefits to be derived from his success at thought programming went for naught. At the end of the article, only a brief mention of his work was made which frosted him for wasting his time. What appeared is shown below:

  "COLLEGE STUDENT NARROWLY ESCAPES DEATH"

  Nineteen year-old Cal Poly student, Mr. Burt Grayson, narrowly escaped death when he suffered a mild heart attack on October 28, 1990 at the Cal Poly student cafeteria at noon. Mr. Grayson survived this incident due to the heroic efforts of local paramedics, Angel Munoz and Roddy Simpson who managed to get Mr. Grayson to the hospital in record time in spite of a major traffic accident that had 101 tie up in both directions for hours (see first page for details). After a brief stay in the hospital under the expert care of Dr. Gene Splevin, resident heart specialist, Mr. Grayson was pronounced in good health and released on Halloween. Mr. Grayson, a computer science major at Cal Poly, was apparently under a great deal of stress due to finals and because of the long hours he had been putting in on his class science project. Grayson described his project as "trying to create a new input device for personal computers." He calls the process thought programming and said details of the experiment will be released when he finalizes his results after Thanksgiving.

  CHAPTER 15

  Amanda Yates had been working in the SIGMA ONE research department for nearly a week when she ran across the obscure article in the San Louis Obispo Gazette. During that stint in her new position she had spent nearly twelve hours a day in front of a computer screen and microfiche reader trying to find any reference she could relating to telekinetics, computers, new input devices for them, hypnosis, parapsychology, essentially anything that remotely related to SIGMA ONE. It was her assignment to find a suitable, and hopefully more stable, replacement for Dr. Jackowitz, aka O’Shaunnesey. At the time she finished scanning the article it was already eight-thirty at night and she was very tired from the long hours she had already put in that week. Had it not been for her dedication to SIGMA ONE and especially to Pat, she wouldn't have been there that late. Had it not been for the fact that she had once had a cousin that lived in Santa Maria, a neighboring town to San Louis Obispo, she wouldn't have even noticed the article, let alone read it. As it happens though, she was dedicated, and she did both notice and read the story.

  She wasn't certain the article meant anything significant, even with its reference to thought programming, but it was the only thing she had found all day that was even slightly related to her assignment and might give her the excuse she needed for a trip down the hall to report her findings and to see Pat.

  She scanned the article again and rationalized that such a story did warrant the visit and quickly made a copy, after which she flicked off the machine and got up from her desk and stretched. Noting her blouse and skirt were wrinkled, Amanda tried to brush most of the larger wrinkles out with her hand before fixing her makeup. The wrinkles were stubborn, but finally gave in and once she was satisfied she looked presentable, Amanda coyly unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse and sprayed on some expensive perfume named Poison and left, article in hand.

  When she arrived at Pat's office, he looked up from the paperwork which was spread out covering his desk and smiled. He was happy to see her and immediately noticed her open blouse, causing him to put his pencil down and stare, momentarily forgetting his work entirely.

  "You're here awfully late, Amanda," he said getting up and greeting her with a friendly hug. Over the past two weeks, he had begun to think of her almost constantly and she, him, although neither had stepped over the invisible line of friendship. An occasional hug or peck on the cheek was all that Pat would allow himself, fearful of where additional shows of affection might lead.

  She returned the hug and smiled. "Pat, I found this article and thought it might be the answer we've been looking for, but I'm not quite sure." She handed the article to him. "See what you think."

  Pat took it without saying anything in reply and began to read it. When he was finished, he put the article on the desk and stood there holding his chin in his hand while she waited. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached out his hand for her. There was something stronger than friendship in the way he looked at her. Amanda took his hand and he led her to the couch, sitting down first and pulling her to his lap.

  "It's a long shot, sweetie, but this may be just what we've waited for. Ever since I had you cleared for the research department, I knew that my instincts would pay off. It looks like you may have found us a replacement for O’Shaunnesey, and none too soon, I might add. Time's running out fast. Thanks, Amanda," he said whispering into her ear and then began to nibble on her neck.

  He knew he had made the right decision when he promoted her. He knew she was capable of great things for SIGMA ONE and here was the proof: the article which described how some country bumpkin student achieved in a less-than stellar college what he and his organization had strived so long to accomplish in a well-funded lab but could not. And here was Amanda in his arms, the one who found the article which maybe, just maybe, might yield another O’Shaunnesey and make SIGMA ONE a reality. He was ecstatic.

  Amanda felt the blood rush to her face. She felt flushed and hot. His touch was so tender. She had waited for this moment for weeks, ever since the night at the Marriott. She knew she shouldn't be feeling the way she was. Pat was married. Pat had a family. Pat was two decades older than she. Pat was her boss.

  Throwing logic to the wind, leaving it for another time, another place, she responded to his touches and kissed him deeply on the mouth. Their tongues danced. Their eyes closed. They rushed headlong to taste the forbidden fruit both of them had wanted so long to taste.

  Amanda grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, closing her hand over his as she did. She wanted him, and she wanted him to know she wanted him.

  The moment Pat felt his hand touch her breast, he cupped gently at first and then he kneaded it slowly. She was wearing a bra, but the gossamer material couldn't hide her passion, in fact it accentuated it, leaving little to the imagination that she was excited.

  But suddenly Pat withdrew his hand.

  "What's wrong?" Amanda said, her voice raspy, panting.

  Pat didn't reply, instead he abruptly pushed her off his lap and stood. She could see he was aroused, but instead of reaching for his belt to remove his pants as she thought he was going to do, he turned his back to her and put his hands to his sides and clenched his fists.

  "I can't, Amanda," he whispered. His voice was barely audible. "I can't," he repeated. "You'd better leave."

  "What do you mean leave, Pat?" Amanda beseeched as she stood up and went to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't understand him.

  Pat shrugged her off. "Go, I said!" His voice was harsh and the words lanced her to the bone when she heard them.

  "I can't go! I love you, "she cried. "I love you!"

  Pat remained with his back to her and spoke. "You can't mean that! Don't say it. Just go!" He didn't want to hear what she had to say. He liked it better not knowing how she felt--that way he could avoid some of the guilt that had caused him to respond the way he had. Now that he knew, his guilt grew twofold. First he was guilty for hurting her, second he was guilty for loving her and causing her to fall in love with him.

  She could see tears in the corners of his eyes as she mov
ed around to face him and make him change his mind.

  He didn't want to face her. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders and warned her off. "Go! Just get out of here, Amanda! Just leave!" While he was speaking, he repeatedly shook her.

  Amanda didn't listen. She didn't want to hear what he was saying. She moved closer trying to reach her arms around his neck, trying to bring him close to her, trying to make their bodies melt into one. She needed him and a moment ago, he acted like he needed her. He was just frightened, that's all, she rationalized. Nothing more. If she could make him overcome his fears, everything would be fine. She pressed forward to him, and while moving, reached for the buttons of her blouse and ripped it open exposing her upright breasts straining against the lacy binding.

  "I need you, Pat. I want you. It's okay. I know you're married. I know I can't have you forever, but I want you now. I need you now, Pat. Don't deny me! Don't deny me!" When she was finished pleading, she stepped back and began to sob. When he didn't respond she felt ashamed and embarrassed, but most of all she felt hurt.

  Pat couldn't stand it any longer. She looked beautiful. But he had obligations. This wasn't in the plan. This wouldn't work. It wasn't right. What about Sarah? What about Alice? He didn't have any answers.

  She pressed closer.

  He resisted.

  She pressed again.

  Finally, he reached up and grabbed her wrists hard, pinning them to her sides. In a flash, he released her, and before she could react, he slapped her hard across the face to make her listen.

  "I can't Amanda! Not with you!" He said these words as the sting of the slap lightninged through her soul.

  Stunned and hurt, she withdrew in shock. Then the dam burst and she turned her head in shame and ran out the door leaving a small trail of tears spattered on the floor.

  Pat stood there unmoving as he watched her leave. He felt he had done the right thing. He felt it yet he felt empty inside having done it. He felt hurt. He felt guilty for hitting her. He felt guilty for loving her and forever letting things get as far as they did. He had a home and a family. He also had a feeling he couldn't hide from: he loved Amanda, partly for offering some hope to save the project, partly because she made him feel young again. She made him feel alive again.

  He began to question himself. What had he done? What had he allowed himself to get into? What had he been thinking, or not thinking about when he asked her to join him on the couch? He had wanted her! That's what! But he had also lied to himself while they were seated there, saying to himself that an affair with her wouldn't matter, not in the long run. Fortunately, his love for Sarah and Alice won out, this time anyway. And no matter how much he wanted Amanda physically, he knew he couldn't allow himself to succumb to his needs. No matter how much he tried to rationalize that an affair wouldn't matter and convince himself to get up and run after her, he knew he couldn't. His guilt wouldn't let him live afterwards. No matter how much he might have hurt her, he had to do what he did. He had to make her leave.

  The vault door shut with a loud metallic clank. She was gone. And he was alone with his guilt. The only solace he could find was the article which lay on the floor in front of him. He stooped down and re read it quickly again "thought programming.."---San Louis Obispo..." As he continued to read, he quickly formulated a plan which might allow him to regain an even keel, a plan which might allow him to put this incident behind him. He would have to send Amanda away. He would have to send her to Ca1ifornia to investigate this Mr. Burt Grayson, to find out what he had done with his "thought programming experiment." He had no other choice. With her nearby, the temptation would be too great and he didn't know how many more encounters with her he would be able to resist. It was the only way. She had to be sent away. He needed time alone.

  CHAPTER 16

  The next day, Burt, Debbie and her parents drove north on 101 five miles to Cayucos, a small coastal community that hadn't lost sight of its roots in the wild west, still maintaining many of the old wooden buildings and wooden sidewalks built in the early 1900's and still following the same unhurried pace today that it did over eighty years ago.

  Simultaneously as Debbie's stepfather pulled their car off the freeway and headed back underneath the overpass toward the town, Pat Huxley, back in Washington, was on the phone calling United Airlines and reserving a round trip ticket for Amanda to fly to the West Coast.

  As Burt and Debbie sat down for brunch at the Old Cayucos Tavern, a converted western saloon which combined a dental office, pharmacy, Doc's dance hall and real estate office all rolled into one building owned by a prominent Los Angeles dentist who bought it as a convenient tax write-off to justify his Cessna Skyhawk, Pat was making another phone call to Amanda to tell her the flight would leave in two hours.

  That same day, only moments later in another part of the capital, General Kurt Lassiter left his three room suite in the Watergate Hotel which fronted the Potomac. As he stepped into the street from the lobby, the doorman looked curiously at his garb. Kurt was dressed in jogging gear instead of his military uniform, an uncommon sight at three in afternoon. Kurt was leaving the hotel to meet with Sergeant Rory Hatchett, head of the Washington District Office of Special Investigation. Rory was forty-eight years old and up for retirement in just two years. This was to be his last assignment. Rory, twice a purple heart winner in Viet Nam was a man's man: six feet three inches tall, two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle. His friends called him the Hatchettman," a nickname he earned in Nam when he single-handedly annihilated twelve North Vietnamese soldiers with a machete after they overran his ground radar position at the height of the Tet Offensive. Rory was unmarried, but not by choice. He loved women, but women were scared of his size, and of his temper. He was a loner, and a killer, and this mean streak was the reason for him never being able to make it in a relationship for more than a one night stand.

  Rory's distinguished military career was unblemished up until he got back from Nam. Before returning stateside, he was the perfect soldier, but after the conflict was over for him and boredom with everyday peacetime duty started setting in, he started drinking heavily, and in a span of only eighteen months had received four citations from the local authorities for driving under the influence. These run ins with the law had all but stopped his chances for promotion and had landed him the job he currently held, a desk job which he hated, but which was all he could get as a result of his previous problems. Lassiter had secured the post for him after Rory got out of detox. He had known the sergeant from Nam and he owed him. While overseas, both had frequented the same bar in Bangkok, Thailand and on one occasion, Rory had saved Lassiter's bacon when the general had had too much to drink and in a stupid show of machismo, had challenged three marines twice his size to a fight. Had it not been for Rory offering his protection to him, Lassiter probably would have ended up missing in action after the marines got through with him. The general never forgot him for that and, as repayment, saved Rory from being booted out of the service and secured him his present job in Washington.

  Rory was hand-picked by Lassiter as the man he would use to kidnap Kamarov when the Russian arrived in the United States. The meeting they had planned was to be brief and to the point. Lassiter would pass Rory at the base of the Washington Monument when they both jogged in from different directions precisely at three-thirty in the afternoon. They would not speak at that time. They had communicated three days earlier before Lassiter had had his meeting with Radcliff and decided it would be too dangerous in case they were followed. Lassiter had planned the meeting carefully. No detail was too small to be left to chance. He was to jog in from the East; Rory, from the West. Lassiter was to pause only briefly at the base of the monument and lean down to tie his shoes at which time he would drop and subsequently leave his towel and then jog off. The towel contained the taped instructions outlining the security surrounding Kamarov's visit. Rory was to pick the towel up, memorize the contents of the tape, and then destroy it and wait until he wa
s contacted again two days before Kamarov arrived.

  Their meeting was skillfully outlined and almost perfectly executed, and agent Walker, assigned by Radcliff to follow Lassiter, might have missed the drop had he not been so well-trained.

  He had followed Lassiter all day, but unfortunately had lost sight of him momentarily when the general joined another group of joggers out for their own afternoon exercises. From his position in his car near the Washington Monument, Walker had had to wait for nearly three minutes until the general reappeared after having jogged around a clump of trees bordering the road. When he came back into view again, Walker was relieved. He had guessed right that the general would circle back instead of continuing straight ahead. Had Walker not been so fortunate or been more impatient like some of the younger agents might have been, he might have left, and in so doing, lost the general.

  Walker leaned back in his seat and continued his surveillance. From his vantage point, he had the general now in clear view. There wasn't a place he could go without Walker having the upper hand. And Walker knew it. He looked first at the general, and then to nearby passersby to see if any came close enough for there to be an exchange of information. That's when he saw him, another jogger approaching from the opposite direction. He reached and grabbed his binoculars and when the man came into focus, Walker grinned. "It's Rory Hatchett. I'll be damned," he said to himself.