The clothing bag was heavy. I unzipped it on the bed. Inside I found three dark suits. Helga grumbled we were not able to get them tailored. The St. John, Armani, and Versace suits all radiated power.
“Whoa. A Washington power suit for Dr. West’s funeral? I thought I was to look like a high school girl with no psychic gifts.”
“No, you are to seem that way to anyone who tries to enter your mind. On the outside, you are to look like who you are: the leader of the Sunrise movement. What you wear is a form of communication. You are the power. Do not apologize for it—embrace it. Express your confidence, intelligence, and control. It is always important to keep your clothing consistent with your message.”
Helga had no time for me to waste. She started taking the clothing off hangers and unzipping the skirts. She twisted my hair into a bun and I began trying on the suits. I had no mirror but it was clear Helga was going to decide for me. She settled on the Armani. In the bottom of the bag were two boxes. I saw why the bag was so heavy. There was a pair of boots and a pair of flats.
“Put on the boots first. Then we will try the flats. You will see why.” Helga nodded to herself. After I had the boots on, she commanded me to walk out to the galley where Reid and Mr. Parks were having lunch. They stopped eating and stared at me. I felt awkward. Helga was right behind me. “Turn around once please,” she ordered. “OK. Now the other shoes.”
I went back to the room and unzipped the boots. I slipped into the ballet flats and walked back out.
“You see, Yoshi?” she asked Mr. Parks. “Once more, the boots please, Whitney.” I disappeared and came back in the boots.
“Definitely the boots,” Reid said. He had forgotten his sandwich and seemed to be devouring me with his eyes.
“Stuart is going to kill me. But I have to agree. Helga, you tell him this was your idea,” Mr. Parks said, referring to my father.
“He knows I am the wardrobe engineer on this assignment. You have nothing to worry about. The boots give her height and military style. The cut of the suit is sharp and feminine. It is the blending of everything we want to achieve. It will cast all doubts aside. Go ahead and change, Whitney. Then we have to go over the cultural etiquette of your role. There will be people coming from all over the world; you need to know how to greet each one.”
I felt myself turn pale. It was going to be bad enough attending the funeral. What was she talking about greeting people?
Helga went over expectations for the next day. Dr. West had requested his friend Dr. Stephen Cohen and me to represent the family in the receiving line. We would be standing to the right of the casket. After people went by to pay their respects, I would be tasked with thanking them for coming before they sat back in their pews. Reid would stand beside me as my escort. I was glad I was positive Dr. West was not dead. Otherwise, this would have been unbearable.
“We want people to connect to you, Whitney. But on your terms. Disarm them with charm, grace, and dignity. The more personalized your greeting, the better.” Helga began to brief me. “I know you will not be able to remember everyone. When you get into trouble, I will be thinking of the person and the appropriate greeting for each person who is about to shake your hand. Try to refrain from tapping into my mind though as much as possible. The more you keep the third eye closed, the better.”
Helga had come prepared. She had hundreds of photographs with relevant blurbs attached of those expected to attend. My memory for social dynamics was excellent as long as no numbers were involved. After reviewing the large stack, I felt as if I had met each person.
"These are the people we know will be there. Some have not decided yet so there could be some surprises. Whatever happens, keep your mind in a fixed warrior mindset," Helga said.
"Warrior mindset?" I asked.
"Yes. Tomorrow, you go into battle. You will be reviewing your troops while deceiving the enemy at the same time. Do not underestimate the importance of what you need to accomplish. The strategy of the Cold War is containment. We are all living under the threat of world annihilation through the use of nuclear weapons. The only thing keeping the precarious balance of this situation is that the Soviet Union and the United States are mutually assured of their destruction if the containment is broken. Right now, the entire world is the battlefield and the sign of an overt fight must never happen. If it does, the dogs of war will slip and we will not get them back again. That is why we cannot tilt the scales. No one must figure out how to utilize pure energy. The result of that kind of power will slide us right into nuclear holocaust.”
“Is someone about to upset this delicate balance?” I asked, trying to get to the center issue. What was all this talk about pure energy again?
“Yes. That is what we are afraid is going to happen now that there has been some turnover in the top tier of the CIA.”
“You mean by using Clarion for pure energy—did Mr. Parks say it was somehow the most powerful energy source on the planet?” I asked. Helga was alphabetizing the files and tapping them loudly on the table to get them in order.
“Yes. Clarion was originally founded to undo nuclear installations and to maintain world peace. Reginald, Yoshi, your dad, myself—all of us who have survived war and knew its horrors and suffering believed in this project. But, like everything that is truly powerful, those who are incapable of thinking of the greater good and only of their own selfish greed twisted Clarion’s purpose and motivation. Reginald was the first to figure it out and began to dismantle the data and to delete the files. He took the career ramifications of being relegated to a private practice, and your father, well, he took the personal ones. Your father had to pretend to denounce his closest friends so he could stay on the inside for your protection and our information.
“We have all had to make sacrifices. No doubt you have heard before that freedom is not free? There are many Americans out there who are heavily indebted to those who are paying the price of our freedom. Instead of thanking a solider, they buy themselves a milkshake or a new television. President Kennedy got it right when he said, ask not what your country can do for you, but what can you do for your country? Why have Americans stopped asking that?”
Helga had a way of reducing my personal panic into rubble. I had not had to survive a concentration camp, hack through the jungle of Vietnam, or live under the ruthless dictatorship of Chairman Mao Tse-tung. Doing my part to the best of my ability seemed minor in comparison. I realized she had left the room before fully answering my question about pure energy.
Four hours later, we stopped to have dinner. Helga had already made it, knowing we would have so much to go over this afternoon.
“Happy birthday, Whitney. For you, I made coq au vin, scalloped potatoes, and green beans with shallots,” she said with a warm smile. She patted my shoulder affectionately.
“I think this is the most elaborate birthday dinner I have ever had. Usually we just go to Luigi’s for Italian,” I said with a smile. I thought about the melted candle in the Chianti bottle on the table and the thick pieces of lasagna.
Helga brought over cups of sparkling grape juice. “We must have a toast! It is a special occasion!”
Everyone sat at the table. Mr. Parks raised his glass. “To long life and happiness.”
Helga raised her glass and said, “To peace and to love.”
Reid followed and said, “To life’s happy moments.”
“To answering the call,” I said. I drank my bubbly drink and sighed. I missed my dad, and having him absent from my birthday dinner was my final reminder that everything had changed. I thought about tomorrow and wondered if I would be able to talk to my dad at the cathedral.
Dinner was delicious. I started to feel tired by the time Helga brought out a strawberry cake for dessert. The light sponge cake was layered with fresh berries, whipped cream, and vanilla bean custard.
“This cake reminded me of you, Whitney,” Helga said with a smile. “It’s sweet and tart at the same time. There are lots of layers
but worth the effort.”
I took a bite and said, “Thank you, Helga. It tastes as good as it looks.” I felt like I was eating it in slow motion. I wanted to prop my head up on the table but that would be rude.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.” Mr. Parks pulled a card out of his tracksuit pocket.
It was from Dr. West. The card said “Happy 16th Birthday” on the front and inside it said, “At my eternal rest you will hear the call to begin your quest.”
“What is he talking about?” I asked. My speech almost sounded garbled. My brain made the connection but now it was too late. I only felt like this when I had taken my Scopolamine medicine. Through the increasing haze of my mind, I knew Helga had drugged me.
The next morning, Helga came into the room and started talking loudly. “No use being angry at me, Whitney. I had to do it so you would get a good night’s sleep. We can’t afford for you to be tired and I didn’t want anything keeping you awake.”
My eyes blinked open. “How did you get it?” I watched Helga pulling out a suit for Reid. She wrapped a tie around the hanger. Reid put a pillow over his head and groaned as he realized she was not leaving. We were waking up.
“After I immigrated to the U.S., Reginald gave me Scopolamine as a last resort to find something that would help me sleep. That is how he knew to try it on you. Although I had left Transnistria, it had not left me. I was plagued with terrible nightmares, and just like when I was in the camp, I spent every night waiting for the sunrise. A new dawn is hope. That’s how the Sunrise movement got its name. No more time for explanations. You must get in the shower and Yoshi is waiting for Reid.”
Helga kept us moving on a fast-paced schedule. I was too busy following her orders to think about the morning ahead. Reid came out in a suit and set his black Gucci dress shoes on the couch. His tie was draped around his neck.
I grabbed Dr. West’s card off the kitchen table. “Can you read anything from this? What in the world is he talking about?”
Reid picked up the card and held it thoughtfully in his hand. “It looks like we are in for a long day today. All I can see is that I should drive you to Arlington National Cemetery. The message is for you. You’d better get dressed. We are meeting Dr. Cohen in forty minutes.”
Forty minutes before I had to be ready to greet hundreds of people in the Washington National Cathedral.
Outside, it was cool and cloudy. Helga had produced a tailored black coat with a banded collar and gold buttons down the front for me to wear over my suit. It billowed slightly behind me as Helga whisked me down the aisle in between the pews. She was moving too fast for me to focus on faces. I kept my eyes on the altar ahead of me. My mind was closed.
I was thinking about Helga’s comment before we had walked into the cathedral. She had said a prayer aloud and Reid asked her how she maintained faith after all she had lived through.
“President Reagan said, ‘The United States remains the last best hope for a mankind plagued by tyranny and deprivation. That we needed to be sure that those who come after us will say that in our time we did everything that could be done. We finished the race; we kept them free; we kept the faith.’ That speaks to me. I will do what I can and faith is a choice. I choose to never quit. I choose to keep the faith.”
Reid’s footsteps were close behind us. The service was about to start and we needed to get to the front pew. It had been a long time but I recognized Dr. Cohen sitting alone. I sat down next to him and the music started to play.
Reid held my hand throughout the service. He was helping to make sure my mind stayed closed but I was also glad for the extra feeling of support it provided. It was a warm and steadying feeling to know he was there. I felt as cold as the marble and stone surrounding us. I could not listen to the priest. I thought about my breathing and replenishing my chi. I was determined to be as strong as possible when I took my place next to the coffin draped in the American flag.
Helga handed me a tissue so I could pretend to dry my eyes. There must have been a particularly moving part in the eulogy. I could not focus on the words.
Then we rose for a final song and the priest asked the family to come to the coffin. The receiving line began and I shook hand after hand. I did not need Helga’s help until an attractive woman extended her hand and gave me an icy smile. I shook her hand but stared at her blankly. I didn’t recognize anyone from the photos who had a dark, pixie haircut and dark brown eyes. She was tall and slim and wore a red silk blouse under her dark charcoal suit. It seemed a little garish for a funeral.
I felt Reid come closer toward me. She must be dangerous, I thought. I wondered who she was but Helga was not paying attention. She was looking at the next couple of people in line and her mind was focusing on them instead.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Whitney Forbes all grown up. Pity Reginald wasn’t around longer to see it…considering you ruined his life.” Her voice was a quiet and sinister whisper. It was imbued with hate.
“I’m sorry, and you are?” I said acidly. I glared at her and my handshake got tighter as I fought the reflex to swipe her with my fingernails.
“Carson Noir, Director of the CIA. I’m your father’s boss. I see he has taught you how to give a firm handshake. I hope he has taught you how to respect CIA agreements as well.”
She moved on to shake Reid’s hand in order not to hold up the line. Behind her was a man who was sweating and obese. His hair and skin were pure white and he was wearing sunglasses. Another unfamiliar face and again Helga’s mind remained unavailable. He grabbed my extended hand. It was moist and crushing.
“Vlad Dune. This flag is a disgrace. Reginald West was not a patriot. What he did to the CIA database should have landed him in jail,” he hissed. I felt myself recoiling and pulling my hand away.
“Thanks for coming and sharing your charming personality,” I said. He was so repugnant that I only wanted him to get away from me. I wiped my hand on my coat, trying to dry it off before greeting the next person.
I looked up into the face of a dead ringer for Rolf from The Sound of Music. His eyes seemed to be looking at me with sincere appreciation. He let Vlad Dune get several feet away before whispering, “My thoughts exactly. I had heard you were smart but there was obviously a reason there was no picture in your file. Too many of us would have been trying to get you for an assignment.”
He winked at me as he shook my hand. He was certainly bold and confident. He moved onto Reid. “Wallace, my esteem for you just went up a couple of notches. I may have to relieve you of your post.”
Reid did not look amused. “Jurgen. Thanks for coming.” I saw Reid drag Jurgen’s arm down the line toward Dr. Cohen while pretending to shake it at the same time. Reid and Jurgen were about the same height but Reid was more muscular.
I focused on greeting the next person in line and then the dozens more after that. I was glad when the cathedral had finally emptied. I relaxed for the first time since I woke up that morning. Now we needed to get to Arlington National Cemetery and try to figure out Dr. West’s clue. I was distracted and didn’t notice Jurgen coming toward us until Reid stepped in front of me. He moved to close the distance between Jurgen and me.
“No, you’re fine, Wallace. It’s Whitney I want.” Jurgen moved past Reid and we were face to face. His blonde hair was cut close but it was not a crew cut. On a second look, he was better looking than Rolf—he was not as boyish in the face. No doubt about it, Jurgen was attractive.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Reid muttered. He grabbed onto my arm to usher me to the car. We had to get to the cemetery. Jurgen walked in step next to us, undeterred.
Chapter Eighteen: The Hunt
“Nice job today. Are you hanging in there?” Reid asked as he reversed the car. We got in line for the burial site motorcade. At least we were not terribly late.
“Yeah, I’m hanging,” I said with a smile. I rubbed my temples for a second. I was feeling drained from keeping my mind closed an
d trying to remember all those people. That reminded me, I was also annoyed with Helga for not helping me with Carson Noir.
“What do you know about Carson Noir? Why didn’t Helga put her or her detestable lackey Dune in my file?” I asked Reid as I relaxed against the headrest.
“I know something about Carson. Dr. West must have wanted me to have an advanced warning about her. The Navy Cross Medal was charged with a heated argument between Dr. West and Carson Noir. They were living together, I think, and she was cleaning out a dresser drawer and found the medal. She asked him about it, and while she was holding the medal they got into an argument.
“The argument started when Dr. West said he didn’t feel he deserved the medal—something about not being able to protect enough of his friends—and then Carson said she thought that was precisely why Clarion psychics should be put into combat. She said they should know how to avert danger and, if they didn’t, it was a case of the end justifying the means.
“Then Dr. West told Carson that he could not marry someone who devalued individuals as expendable. He accused her and that guy Dune of undermining the Thunderbird Program in Vietnam. This was when Dr. West said it didn’t take second sight for him to figure out they had no future together.
“She threw the medal at him and accused him of caring more for little Whitney Forbes than the greater good of the world. It was an extremely heated argument. It was not hard to read it from the medal and I get the feeling it was their last conversation.
“I know Dr. West wanted me to have the medal so I would be able to protect you from her. I spent most of my time at the cathedral keeping an eye out for her.” Reid’s hand rested on the wheel as he drove. I saw the French cuff of his shirtsleeve had Poseidon Program insignia cuff links.
“Why didn’t he want me to look out for her? It’s obvious that I’m the one she hates. I thought Carson Noir was a man…I certainly never thought that she would be someone that Dr. West used to be involved with.” We were already crossing the Arlington Memorial Bridge into Virginia. The river reflected the blustery day and my head felt as cloudy as the gray sky. I folded my arms over the row of gold buttons on my coat.
Sundial Page 23