Jamie watched Terry's big brother, who had slowed the pace of his approach, the swagger out of his step.
"What's happening with Kevin?" she asked. "Any more developments with him?"
"I don't know. He hasn't responded to my texts or emails the last couple of days, and his mom seems to be screening his calls."
Jamie nodded, wondering what news – good or bad – that foretold.
"I'm going back now," she said. "You tell your brother to stay away from me and my property. Tell him to watch himself. I won't stand by and let him control other people."
She noted a hint of a smile on Terry's face as he nodded. He looked relieved.
Jamie jogged away, and this time didn't resist her body's urge to free itself from gravity – springing into the air and flying back to her house, the wind whistling in her ears.
Chapter 7
"I HAVE AN ISSUE I need to talk to someone about," said Karen Clarkson, "and I'm not sure who, but I thought I'd try you."
UND President Perry Walters folded his hands and smiled across his desk at her. "I'm flattered, Karen. By all means, whatever the problem is, feel free to share. Are you and Chairman Yao butting heads again?"
Karen smiled at the popular and not always affectionate nickname for the outspoken Psychology Department head Sally Yao.
"No, it's not that. Nothing to do with the department or the school really. It's more of a national security matter, I believe. I know your son works for the Department of Homeland Security, and you're a scientist as well as an administrator."
Not to mention that he'd always had a crush on her and that she'd gently deferred his suggestions at seeing each other socially for the last two years. And right now he was imagining her naked. His imagination was flattering but sadly not all that accurate.
"A scientist before I discovered who I truly was." President Walters smiled as Karen blocked out images of her theoretical nakedness. "And yes, my son has chosen to apply his true scientific talents on behalf of our country." A note of disapproval vied with the pride in his voice. "So what's this issue you'd like to discuss? I'm intrigued."
"It has to do with an object that crashed into some land south of us. Jamie Shepherd's property. Or it was. I understand it's being or has been foreclosed on."
"Yes. I've heard about her. Taught at Grand Forks High? Sad story." He frowned. "What kind of object crashed on her property?"
"Something that appears artificial. Six feet long, cylindrical in shape. I haven't seen it, but my son described it to me."
"Hmmm. Sounds interesting. Mrs. Shepherd hasn't contacted the authorities or called in anyone with scientific credentials to look at it?"
Karen shook her head. "She and her father have just been sitting on it. Her dad apparently has or had some thoughts of financial gain. This is according to my son."
"Ah." Perry Walters nodded as if he was familiar with this kind of situation. "Well, I'm not sure exactly what government agency you would want to contact, but I'd suggest our local sheriff, for starters. He'd know whom to contact."
There was a hint of interest in the president's mind, but he remained more focused on Karen Clarkson and her possible availability. He was wondering if he'd come on too strong before or perhaps not strong enough. Karen tried as best as she could to push his feelings and thoughts to one side as she focused on her own mission.
"I'm guessing this might be a bit out of our sheriff's league, Dr. Walters."
"Perry. Please."
"This object seems to confer special abilities to people who've come in contact with it – and to people who in turn have had contact with them."
"Special abilities?" His voice fell just short of openly scoffing, but she heard him thinking that maybe his pretty psychology professor had sprung something in her brain.
"My son is apparently cured of autism since his exposure to the object. His best friend, Terry Mayes, has had a nearly full recovery from his rare bone disease, and Jamie Shepherd herself seems to be healed from Stage Four pancreatic cancer."
President Walters regarded her politely while thinking: Is she just making this stuff up or kidding with me? She's normally such a serious person.
"No," Karen answered his silent question, "I'm not."
"Not what?"
"My son personally witnessed Jamie Shepherd launch herself off the ground and into the upper atmosphere."
Walters stared at her for a long moment and then broke out laughing. "Karen...I'm not sure what the joke is here, but I have to commend you on delivering it with a straight face. You almost appear to be serious."
"I know," she said. "You're probably as skeptical about UFOs and the claims of fringe science as I am."
"As a scientist, I of course have an open mind. But I agree there's no solid evidence supporting UFOs or most of the far-fetched claims the internet cranks bombard us with on a daily basis. Such claims being almost certainly nonsense."
Walters leaned back from his desk with a beneficent smile. I wonder what this is all about? Maybe she's just looking for a chance to make contact with me again. Two single, eligible, successful people on campus...
"I'm flattered, Dr. Walters – Perry – but I'm sort of through with men for the time being. It's not personal, though – being honest - the age difference would concern me."
Perry Walters unclasped his hands and sat forward with a startled scowl. He rubbed the corners of his mouth.
"Did I say anything to suggest a proposal that we socialize?"
"Not out loud."
"Sorry."
Karen hadn't planned to reveal her dirty little secret – the advantages of keeping it secret were obvious while the disadvantages of letting people know were even clearer – but part of her did long to share what was happening, and she wasn't getting anywhere with this line of conversation. Even now Walters' thoughts were veering back to her breasts and the hidden space between her legs.
"They're not as large as you're imagining," she said. "My breasts, that is."
Perry Walters' face colored. He opened his mouth to protest, but her clear-eyed, knowing gaze stopped him. He closed his mouth and sat back, bracing his hands on the edge of his desk. Comprehension was dawning through a reluctant exercise of logic. She can read my thoughts?
"Yes," said Karen. She couldn't resist a slight smile at his mortified expression. "I can."
Holy mother of fuck. Walters stood up, backing away, not taking his eyes from her. His attempt to shield his thoughts was like someone trying to hold water in a bucket full of holes.
"I'm sorry," said Karen. "I should've told you sooner. And don't worry – I haven't discovered your deepest darkest secrets or anything –"
She caught a flash of him making out with an underage girl some years back. Spoke too soon, she thought grimly.
"Anyway, I thought you needed some convincing, since you don't seem to be taking me very seriously."
"I'm taking you very seriously now, Mrs. Clarkson."
"I know."
He had retreated to a far corner of the room. She was tempted to tell him his thoughts were safe there, but decided to keep that to herself for now.
"You're saying this device is responsible? For your telepathy and Jamie Shepherd's alleged super powers...and the healing?"
"Yes."
President Walters ran a hand through the strands of his severely thinning hair. "My God. This is incredible. Unbelievable. Give me a moment here."
Karen could no longer hear his thoughts, but she didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that the university president was genuinely shaken – either from the news of a possible alien artifact or the mind-reading or both.
"This is, needless to say, completely outside my bailiwick," he said. "I believe I will contact my son, after all. See what he thinks."
"Thank you. I would appreciate that."
"Any chance you can turn off your mind-reading powers with me?"
"Just stay where you are." Karen decided to have mercy on him. "I
can't hear your thoughts from there."
"Good to know." She could see his eyes calculating and memorizing the distance. "I'll call my son now. With any luck we'll get through and you can talk to him yourself."
ANOTHER FUN day at the Chemical/Biological Defense Division. Today, Zach Walters had the distinct displeasure of listening to a biology rep from Nobelle, Inc. – one of the many shadowy corporations that assisted the DHS – sort through his department's "statements of work" for "quality assurance." One of the many perks that made work at the DHS so entertaining.
Then came the unexpected and bizarre call from his father. "One of my professors has a story to tell you," he'd said before handing over a nervous-sounding woman named Karen Clarkson. He'd never heard his father speak of her before, but then he rarely spoke to his father about his associates at work, either.
Karen Clarkson did tell him a story – probably the last story he would've ever dreamed of hearing from an associate of his father's. His father was an old-school logical positivist whose standards for evidence were so strict there were times Zach wondered if he was one hundred percent certain he had a son. So when he vouched for the woman's statements – at least the miracle recoveries and her telepathic claim – he took that seriously enough to take some long overdue time off for an even longer overdue visit to his dad in the rural metropolis of Grand Forks, North Dakota.
Zach was met by his dad at the Grand Forks International Airport on a dark blustery day. They walked out to his car as thunderclouds chased each other in the sky overhead.
"Good flight?" President Walters asked.
"Yeah. Not bad. Except for the damn TSA, of course."
"Of course. Bloody meddlesome bureaucrats." His dad laughed. "So did you have time to formulate a plan on the way out?"
"The only approach that makes sense is to identify myself, say I've had a report about an object, and hope no one asks any pesky questions about my investigative authority – which, as you know, is zero."
"But they won't know that," Walters chuckled. "All they'll hear is 'Department of Homeland Security," and they'll be putty in your hands."
"I did have time to check the names you gave me. I wasn't able to confirm anything about Kevin Clarkson or his friend, Terry Mayes, but I did find some interesting tidbits about Jamie Shepherd and her father, Calvin Winters – not in DHS proprietary files but on Google. According to your local paper, Jamie made a "miraculous recovery" from terminal cancer. And get this: her dad, at the ripe age of 47, just secured a contract with the Minnesota Timberwolves."
"I would think an anomaly like that would surely catch the DHS' interest," said Walters with an dry smile. "But it is suggestive, isn't it?"
"Why don't we just start with interviewing Karen Clarkson and see how that goes?"
After dropping his luggage off at his dad's, they drove into campus where they were set to meet with Karen in Walters' office at noon, in about fifteen minutes. Zach spent most of those minutes considering what he'd do if this lead proved to be true. That was almost inconceivable. But if it was...they were all in for a major shit storm. Assuming his superiors even believed him.
Zach had never considered what it might be like to be in the presence of a genuine mind-reader until Karen Clarkson knocked and entered the room. A slim, tall figure with nice, regular features topped by a short mop of dishwater blond hair. Not bad, was his first thought.
"Thanks," she said.
As her words rattled through him, Zach's dad scurried out from behind the desk to a far corner of the room.
You really can hear what I'm thinking? Zach asked her mentally.
"Yes."
I'm thinking of a pink rabbit – but he was picturing her shapely legs peeking out from her mid-length skirt. Did she play tennis?
"Never with a pink rabbit," said Karen, smiling.
Recalling his father's comment about her powers waning over distance, Zach joined his father in the far corner of the room. Meeting a true telepathic was mind-blowing, but not in any wonderful way. Not with the mind-reader being an attractive female who heard every tawdry thought.
"I understand how it must feel like a terrible violation," said Karen. "If it's any consolation, I utterly detest it myself. It's ironic: I chose a profession that's all about getting into a person's head. Little did I realize how unpleasant that would actually be."
"In theory," said President Walters, "it could be a great boon to psychotherapy."
"If my patient didn't bolt after the few seconds. Or I didn't lose my mind."
They fell silent. Zach sent out some silent messages that Karen Clarkson thankfully didn't seem to hear.
"Anyhow, we seem to have skipped over the formal introductions – which are perhaps unnecessary in this case," said Walters. "This is my son, Zach, who works for Department of Homeland Security's Science and Technology Directorate in the Chemical/Biological Defense Division. Zach, this is one of our most talented psychology professors slash researchers, in my not so humble opinion."
"Nice to meet you," said Karen
"Ah, same here."
"Do you think the device could represent a biological threat?"
"That's an open question. Have you seen it now?"
"Only in my son's mind. It's black, shiny – kind of reminded me of a scuba tank, but larger."
Zach looked to his father. "I think maybe it's time I pay this Jamie Shepherd and her John Stockton dad a visit."
"Do you want to call her or just show up?"
"Show up. A little shock and awe might work to our advantage."
"I'd be careful about shocking her too much," said Karen.
KAREN CLARKSON'S warning stayed with him as he drove his dad's Lincoln SUV – his father's "winter car" – west out of town to Jamie Shepherd's rural property. Yet as cautious as he thought he ought to be, he was feeling mostly relieved to escape Karen Clarkson's thought-snatching. Now that had been scary.
The article he'd googled said she had been fighting foreclosure and that her property had been sold out from under her. She'd been unable to work after getting sick, and had lost her ability to pay her mortgage and her hospital bills, which her school health insurance plan had failed to fully cover after the first year. This followed in the wake of losing her husband and daughter in a car accident. Jesus. Some people had all the luck.
But then an object crashes on her land and she's not only healed of her cancer but turned into a god. If that was true, that had to qualify as the all-time extreme turn-around in luck.
The place was cool, Zach thought, as he rolled down the half-mile driveway past grassy fields, a workshop, and a broken-down barn. His cookie cutter house in D.C. seemed like a prison cell compared to this. Lately, he'd started feeling some of his parents' Midwest yearnings for open spaces. Jamie Shepherd had it in spades. He could see why she'd fought so hard to hold onto her land.
The driveway trailed off into what looked like a mass of dirt that had been recently poured over the area in front of the garage. He stopped short of it.
A rider mower rolled into view, driven by a lean, tanned woman with sun-streaked light brown hair, rumbling toward him as he climbed out. She stopped at the front edge of the lawn and shut off the engine.
"Can I help you?"
Zach was glad she couldn't read his mind, because after looking into her stark blue eyes set back in bronzed cheekbones atop a tall, long-legged body his thoughts had gone rogue again.
"I'm Zach Walters," he said, extending his hand. He had planned to announce his employer and title for intimidation effect, but her eyes changed all that. "My dad's the president over at UND."
"Oh. That Walters." Her face loosened a little. "I'm Jamie Shepherd."
She touched his hand with cautious deliberation. Or was he imagining that?
"What brings you here?" she asked.
"The object." He watched her eyes contract. "Karen Clarkson's son told her about it. She came to my father. My father came to me."
"Why you?"
"I work for the Department of Homeland Security. The Science and Technology Directorate."
Jamie stared at him, her body relaxing with comprehension even as defiance flared in her eyes.
"You know you can't sit on this forever," he said. "It had to come out sometime. It might as well be a nice guy like me."
"You're not here in an official capacity."
"No. I'm a scientist – biochemist - not a field agent. I'm only here because my dad called me."
She smiled a little. "Thanks for being honest."
Zach smiled and bided his time. It wasn't so hard being patient in this case. He thought of Melinda, his ex of seven months, who somewhat reminded him of this woman. But Jamie's face and eyes had a lived-in quality that Melinda, a model turned advertising executive, never had. Not older-looking; the face of someone who had gone through hell and made it back, he thought.
"I'll show you," she said. "We can drive most of the way."
He held open the door for her. She ducked into the car with a quiet thanks. They followed a dirt road past a utility building another hundred or so yards to the edge of a marsh.
Outside, Jamie led him through some chewed up muddy grass to a pair of tall trees. Some brush had been thrown over it, but patches of its cylindrical shape caught the sunlight in a dark, glowing embrace. Zach stooped down and brushed away the brush and cattails and ran his hand across the supernaturally smooth surface in what Jamie thought was the standard greeting ritual for this thing.
"This isn't where it came down, is it?" he asked.
"No. It was over by my target range. We moved it here for safekeeping."
Jack stood up and snapped photos with his cell phone of the object from various angles. "How much does it weigh, roughly?"
"A bit over two tons."
"I thought it seemed extremely dense."
"Any idea what it might be made of?"
Zach scratched his chin. "Not really. But then I'm not a materials scientist. The fact that it has no sign of damage after falling from space or a considerable height implies that it's damn tough."
They stood facing each other. Jamie brushed back a strand of hair from her eyes and smiled. Zach Walters fit the "tall, dark, and handsome" mold with his black, wavy hair and eyes that might've been light blue or grey. She guessed he was a few years older than her. Not at all what she would've expected from a DHS employee. But then he worked in their science division.
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