Tension gathered in her limbs and she compressed her thighs harder on either side of Rowe, meeting every thrust with one of her own. She was vaguely aware of Rowe’s harsh breathing, her groans, her fierce concentration. Bearing down, anchoring herself, Phoebe couldn’t speak or think, her own abandoned cries lost in those of her lover. Sweat broke across her body as a hot, quivering pulse radiated from her clit to her womb and the first waves of orgasm carried her away.
A short while later, in a tangle of flesh and bedding, they stole sated kisses between panting gulps of air. Rowe’s breath cooled the damp on Phoebe’s cheeks. Her straight, sensual mouth was slightly parted. Phoebe traced its firm line with her index finger, then trawled a caressing path down the smooth, strong chin and tanned throat to her breasts. These were very different in shape from her own, compact and fleshy, taut against Rowe’s chest. The nipples were small and brown.
Phoebe wished they could spend all day in bed, so she could slowly savor her lover’s responsive body. She loved the way Rowe gave herself over to pleasure, gently guiding her so Phoebe never had any doubts about herself. Rowe had no problem expressing her needs and desires, and indulged Phoebe’s explorations and curiosity without reservation. Phoebe had never experienced that with any other lover. Rowe made her feel confident in herself as a partner in passion, not simply an object of desire.
With a sigh, she sank back into her pillows, overwhelmed with despair that they would have to be apart for the next few days.
“Baby?” Rowe turned to her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” A few blond spikes fell forward, wetly clinging to her brow.
Phoebe pushed them back. “I’ll let you know once I’ve tried walking.”
“Oh, God.”
Laughing, Phoebe took Rowe’s hand and kissed the palm. She felt exquisitely, blissfully happy despite the helicopter waiting in the meadow. “I’m yours,” she said. “And I like the way you show me that.”
Rowe regarded her gravely. “I’m yours, too, Phoebe.”
For a long moment they were silent, then Phoebe said, “We’re madly in love, aren’t we?”
“Yes.” Rowe’s voice was husky with emotion. “Madly.”
*
The walk to the chopper was one of the more bizarre experiences of Phoebe’s life. Weak with post-orgasmic lethargy, she tried to match the strides of her companions only to find her legs wobbled so much, she almost fell as she crossed the yard. With a concerned stare, Vernell took her arm and adjusted the length of his stride to hers.
A squad of heavily armed men closed into tight formation around them, and they set off along a track carved hastily in the snow. Phoebe could see nothing past the solid shapes that hemmed her in. The men all seemed huge. They were tall to begin with, and in their cold-weather clothing, they shuffled along like a herd of linebackers.
As they approached the helicopter, Vernell yelled “Duck!” above the noise of the rotors.
He boarded ahead of her and extended a hand to help her up through the wide door. Agent Perry followed immediately behind.
Vernell handed her a set of earphones, and after thankfully covering her ears, she followed his example, belting herself tightly into the hard troop seat as they waited for the men with machine guns to cram on board. The rotors made a deafening chopping sound until they took off, then the noise abated and they sailed smoothly through the sky as if drifting on the wind.
“Where are we going?” she asked, lifting one earpiece so she could hear his reply.
“We’re switching to a plane at Hanscom. That’s an air force base.”
“What kind of helicopter is this?” One of the trainees eyed her and Phoebe felt silly for asking.
“It’s a Black Hawk,” Vernell replied.
“Like the one in the film?”
“Yes.”
Vernell didn’t seem himself today, Phoebe decided. He was probably freezing, and it appeared that that this Marvin Perry person aggravated him. The cramped interior of the Black Hawk was ice cold. Even with heavy clothing on, she could barely feel her feet and hands. She would be glad when they swapped to a real plane.
“Actually, the one in the movie was an earlier model,” Agent Perry informed her in a patronizing tone. “This is a UH-60M. The refit model. Digital cockpit, increased range and lift capability, et cetera.”
“I see.” Phoebe tried to sound interested. “I always thought they were black. But they’re really a very dark khaki, aren’t they?”
This time a couple of the men smirked. They lowered their heads quickly. Apparently they weren’t supposed to be looking at her.
“Sometimes for night operations we paint them black,” Agent Perry said without expression.
Phoebe gazed out the open door at the winter landscape below and marveled, “You can see so much.”
“The Black Hawks have always had superior nap-of-the-earth flight capability.” Evidently, Marvin Perry was the kind of guy who couldn’t resist flaunting his knowledge. “And they’ve worked on vulnerability reduction with the refit.”
“Does that mean it’s harder for these to get shot down now?” Phoebe asked.
“Simplistically speaking, yes.” He warmed to his theme. “Mission safety is contingent on so many factors, but the digital avionics improve situational awareness. Coupled with survivability and deployability enhancements, a commander finds he has more options in battlespace.”
Phoebe fell short of an intelligent response. “I suppose that’s pretty important, since we’re invading countries these days.”
“For some of us, there have always been wars.” A harsh note entered his voice and he shot a sideways glance at Vernell, as if directing the comment to him. “We have to get an edge any way we can. It’s win or die.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A shapely auburn-haired woman in a cream business shirt and navy slacks sat down in the armchair nearest Phoebe’s. The lights dimmed, and the screen at the front of the room lit up with the images ingrained into memory on September 11. The first plane plowing into the World Trade Center, then the second. People surging through a haze of dust and debris, screaming and sobbing. The faces of emergency workers, heavy with defeat and exhaustion.
The woman pressed a remote control, freezing the image, and the lights came back on. Turning discreetly made-up hazel eyes on Phoebe, she said, “This is what we’re up against.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Eve Kent. I lost my brother that day.”
“Oh.” Phoebe shook hands with her. Already, she felt morally obliged, no doubt the response they were aiming for. “I’m very sorry.”
“Thank you.” Eve pushed her wavy auburn hair behind her ears in a gesture of eloquent weariness. “I dedicate every working day to him. That’s why I’m talking to you.”
“You want me to try and contact your brother?”
For a split second, hope registered in Eve’s face before a cooler emotion prevailed. “No. Nothing like that. But it’s thoughtful of you to offer.” She placed a hand over Phoebe’s and stared earnestly into her eyes. Everything about her manner said, Trust me. “You’re here because we believe you may be able to prevent another 9/11.”
“I wish that was true.” Phoebe wondered how she was supposed to convince these people that her gift didn’t come with multiple choice options. Obviously they thought she was holding out and were trying to soften their approach by sending in a woman with a sad story. Phoebe wasn’t stupid. She knew when she was being manipulated. “It’s like I told Agent Perry and those other men, I can’t choose what I dream.”
“But what if you could do something?” Eve coaxed softly. “You would want to, wouldn’t you?”
Phoebe felt trapped. How could any decent person say no to a question like that? Carefully, she said, “If I ever dream about terrorists, I’ll let you folks know right away.”
Eve nodded. Phoebe could almost hear her mind working. “I’m curious,” she said. “Do you and your sister notice any kind of telepathy? I know many twins d
o.”
Wondering where this was headed, Phoebe replied, “In some ways we do. We can sense things about one another. When I had my accident, Cara knew. She tried calling my cell phone about twenty seconds after it happened.”
“I had the same experience with my brother.” Eve lowered her voice to a near whisper. “We were fraternal twins. When he died, I just knew. People think you convince yourself of that afterward, and sometimes I wonder. But I felt like something had crushed my body. I couldn’t breathe. It was like dying.” Tears drowned her eyes, and she brushed them impatiently away, plainly uncomfortable to have revealed herself.
“Don’t listen to other people,” Phoebe said. “Part of you died with him. Of course you felt it.”
Eve visibly relaxed. “Yes. That’s exactly what it was. Part of me dying. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.”
“You still feel him sometimes, don’t you?”
Eve stared down at the beige carpet. Phoebe sensed she wanted to speak but couldn’t. It dawned on her then that they were being monitored. This was the CIA. There were probably cameras in the bathrooms. What was Vernell thinking, bringing her here? She stole a cautious glance at her companion and reminded herself that no matter how genuine Eve seemed, she was one of them. And right now they were being nice to her because they wanted something. What would happen if she said no?
Phoebe had tried to convince them they were barking up the wrong tree. This was not television. She was not superhuman. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t explain exactly how her powers worked. She fully expected that one day she would wake up and find the gift gone.
“I can tell you something about your brother,” she said, ignoring the fact that Eve had an agenda. She was still a human being and her pain was real. “When you feel him, he’s there. No question. If you speak to him, he’ll hear you.”
“Is it true? What they say about you?”
“That I’m crazy?”
“No.” Eve smiled. “That you’re the real deal.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And you can talk to dead people just like you and I are talking?”
“Kind of. Although they don’t always make sense.”
“Dr. Karnovich mentioned a woman you were able to summon intentionally. Iris.”
“Yes. She was one of Lester Cordwell’s victims. She led me to his house.”
“Have you had other experiences like that? Where you’ve been able to initiate a communication yourself?”
“No. Iris came because she’s my friend. And I think saving June Feldstein brought her some peace.”
Eve latched onto this like a limpet. “Imagine the peace you could offer victims of the attack. Think about the passengers on Flight 93. They fought back.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Phoebe, please. Give them the chance to do more…to have justice.”
It sounded great in theory, but somehow Phoebe could not imagine how she was supposed to achieve this lofty goal. And even supposing she could conjure up a dead victim, what did the CIA think this person could do for them?
She looked squarely at Eve. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“We think there’s another plot.”
Could one say Duh! to the CIA? “Well, I’m sure Osama bin Laden isn’t sitting around playing Scrabble.”
“There’s some chatter that’s raising flags. I can’t go into any detail, but let’s say we’ve had information from very credible sources. We’re wondering if we can authenticate this information by using your er…contacts.”
Phoebe almost laughed. “You want me to ask dead people to go find Osama and see what he’s up to?”
Eve drew a sharp breath. “Could you do that?”
“If I could, I would. But it’s not that simple. The thing is, the people I talk to seek me out, and they all have something at stake. There’s a personal connection. For example, some of them lead me to their bodies, so that their loved ones can have closure. Even if I could contact some of the people who were on that flight, they may not feel any urge to help.”
“If that’s the case, we’ll accept it,” Eve said. “But are you willing to give it a try?”
Phoebe sighed. Did she have a choice?
*
“What do you mean, they have Phoebe?” Cara cradled the phone against her shoulder as she dressed.
“Pack up and get out of there, now.” Vernell’s tone was unequivocal.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Just do it.”
“Okay, already.” Cara dragged her suitcase out and dumped it on the bed. “Are you going to tell me how the fuck you got my sister into this mess?”
“It was out of my hands, Cara. The director decided we would be up to our neck in shit if the Company found out about Phoebe and we hadn’t offered to share.”
“Jesus.”
“We’re not having this conversation, either. And don’t use your cell phone to call me. We can only use landlines.”
“Are you telling me they’re listening in?” Cara needed coffee. She couldn’t get her head around what she was hearing. The CIA had Phoebe and weren’t letting her go home. They were spying on Vernell, and Cara was about to get a knock on the door. What planet was this?
“Do not go home,” Vernell said emphatically. “Draw out a couple of thousand bucks in cash from the ATM. Drive to the airport and hand in your rental car. Take a shuttle to Anaheim. I’ve made a reservation for you at the Econo Lodge at the Disneyland Maingate under the name Diane Harris. Pay cash for your room and deposit. I’ll phone you there tonight.”
Cara pulled on a turtleneck and jeans, blown away that Vernell had just laid out a plan for her to disappear. “I don’t get it. Why do they want me?”
“So far, they’re not buying that only one of you is psychic. They have you pegged as a backup.”
“Oh right. These are the same geniuses who said Saddam Hussein had a nuclear arsenal?”
“Actually, most of our friends in Langley weren’t convinced of that. But the truth was inconvenient for the Pentagon at that time.”
“And now your pals think my sister is going to make them look good by tracking down terrorists? Did you tell them that’s ridiculous?”
“To be fair, we can’t be certain that it is. We’re only starting to find out what Phoebe is capable of.”
Shoving clothing into the case, Cara said, “You know something. That’s not really the point. If my sister doesn’t want to do this, no one can force her to.”
“On the contrary,” Vernell said silkily. “The CIA can detain Phoebe indefinitely if they think she’s not cooperating.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Patriot Act. If the Company decides to play hardball, they could classify Phoebe as a material witness to an ongoing terrorism plot. They could lock her up in a military prison and throw away the key. That’s why you need to be on the outside.”
Fear cramped Cara’s gut. This couldn’t be happening. “My sister doesn’t know the first thing about terrorists.”
“Unfortunately, the Company can pretend to believe otherwise, and that’s all it takes.”
“You can’t be serious. This is America. The government can’t just detain a citizen on some phony charge because it suits them!”
“That’s not strictly true,” Vernell said wearily. “Understand something, Cara. All we have to do is label someone as an enemy combatant and we can detain them indefinitely. It makes no difference whether the basis is true or false. They have no access to legal counsel and no right to a hearing.”
Cara’s head spun. She had heard about the sweeping powers of the Patriot Act, but she had assumed the usual checks and balances must apply. “I thought Congress was planning to amend the Patriot Act so this kind of police-state stuff can’t happen,” she said.
“Actually, if Congress passes Patriot Two, we’ll have even wider powers,” Vernell replied. “For example, your sister could be stripped of her citizenshi
p without recourse.”
Struggling to take in the enormity of the situation, Cara carried the phone around the apartment as she gathered up the last of her possessions. “How do we get her out of this?” she asked shakily.
“I’ve told her to cooperate. And I’ve told them she can’t perform under stress. So right now, she’s getting kid-glove treatment. That could change any time if they think she’s withholding.”
Cara slumped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “You promised nothing like this was going to happen.”
“Back then I didn’t know what Phoebe could do. I thought we could keep her under wraps.”
“If this goes bad, I’m taking it straight to the media.”
“And the White House will kill the story,” Vernell said in his calm, lucid way. “In the interests of national security.”
“I see.” Cara got back onto her feet and closed the suitcase. Her whole body shook with rage. “So what you’re telling me is we now live in a fascist state but we just haven’t woken up to the fact yet?”
“That’s maybe a little strong.”
“Oh, really? I’m checking into a cheap hotel under a fake name so I can’t be hauled off by a government agency on some bogus pretext. But you’re telling me my constitutional rights are still intact?”
Vernell didn’t respond. “Diane Harris,” he reminded her, and hung up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rowe jerked upright and groped for the lamp next to her bed, certain she’d heard something break. The sound came from downstairs. As she hit the switch, the bulb blew. Cursing, she slid out from beneath the warm covers and groped her way to the light switch near the door. When nothing happened, she jiggled it up and down a few times and muttered some foul language. Perfect. Yet another home improvement to add to her expensive list. Rewiring the house.
She stumbled to her dresser and opened the top drawer, feeling around for her flashlight. The dogs were awake now and Jessie instantly rushed to the door, whining softly.
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