by Steven James
“The government.” Xavier nods as if that explains everything. “Just like Star Gate.”
“What, you mean the TV show?”
He waves his hand dismissively. “No. It has nothing to do with that or the movie. Star Gate was a CIA program back in the nineties. They were studying psychics to try and use remote viewing—basically, observing something without being physically present.”
“Clairvoyance.”
“Right. They were hoping it would help with intelligence gathering.”
“Which, obviously, it would have.” Normally I’m doubtful about Xavier’s government conspiracy theories, but in this case, considering everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours, I’m a lot more willing to listen. “Go on.”
“They also tried to use psychics to manipulate objects—telekinesis—so you could conceivably cause a Russian nuclear reactor to overheat, or a torpedo to explode while it was still in the firing tube of a sub. That sort of thing.”
Telekinesis is one of the most common tricks of television “psychics,” and one of the easiest ones to replicate—bending spoons, making objects float or vanish, affecting the performance of machines—I’d been doing this stuff since I was a teenager. But those were all illusions, and what Xavier was talking about here was on a whole different level. “So did the CIA have any success?”
“The short answer is no.” He seems to balance that mentally, reevaluate it. “There were mixed results in the remote viewing arena, but that’s about it. Anyway, they dropped the program. The Air Force and DoD dabbled in similar research over the years, but nothing really came of it.”
Knowing Xavier and his predilection for conspiracy theories, if there was anything at all to this research, he would’ve been all over it.
I reflect on what he said. “Okay, but that was a couple decades ago. Now, with Tanbyrn’s research, with recent discoveries in neurophysiology and neurobiology, the nature of consciousness, this deeper understanding of quantum entanglement—”
“The Pentagon has picked it up again—that’s what you’re thinking?”
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
Everything I’ve done exposing fake psychics seems to argue against what we’re talking about here. Telekinesis, clairvoyance, altering someone’s heart rate by your thoughts. The idea of directing negative energy toward someone to harm him in some way, or even kill him—it was just too much. Reminded me of River Tam in Firefly: “I can kill you with my brain.” This couldn’t possibly be the right track.
“No, Xav. To kill someone by your thoughts? That’s crazy.”
If it were possible, why not just do that with Tanbyrn? Why hire an assassin to take him out?
“But,” Xavier replies, “there are stories of shamans, witch doctors, voodoo priestesses doing that—cursing people—stories that’ve been around for centuries.”
“That’s just folklore. Like the legends about the fakirs in India levitating or being buried alive for years on end, and so on. You know as well as I do that every trick in the book can be replicated without any supernatural explanation. You helped design half the effects in my last stage show.”
Xavier taps his lip, deep in thought. “‘But to emulate is not to disprove.’ A wise person once told me that.”
“I appreciate the compliment but—”
“He also told me that replication is not refutation, that just because you can find the counterfeit of something doesn’t mean there isn’t the real thing. Just because there’s counterfeit currency doesn’t mean there isn’t actual currency out there somewhere.”
“Xavier, I—”
“It could be that science is just now discovering what people of faith have always known—that our thoughts and expectations about reality affect its outcome in real, tangible ways. That’s what quantum physics is all about, right? The role of consciousness in collapsing quantum wave functions, that without an observer, reality never manifests itself?”
“You read Tanbyrn’s books too?”
“Skimmed a few chapters while you were at the center. Think about it: nearly every religion believes in the power of thoughts and prayers, curses and blessings. They’re a huge deal in the Judeo-Christian tradition, especially the Old Testament. And then of course you have the New Testament where Jesus was clairvoyant, telepathic, and telekinetic.”
I stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
Xavier ticks the reasons off on his fingers as he lists them: “Clairvoyance—he saw Nathanael under a fig tree when he wasn’t present. Telepathy—he read the thoughts of the Pharisees. Telekinesis—turning water into wine, having Peter catch a fish to pay the temple tax and the fish has a coin in its mouth . . .”
“Oh, so you’re saying that Jesus either made the coin appear there or somehow made the fish swallow it and then swim into Peter’s net.”
“Right.” Next finger. “And as far as prayers and curses—his prayers drove demons out of people, healed them, even raised people from the dead.”
“He didn’t curse anybody.”
“He cursed a fig tree and made it wither.”
I’m not sure if Xavier just made that up or not.
He looks triumphant at his list, however, it’s easy enough to rebut what he said. “Okay, suppose for a moment that those stories are true, not just folklore. If Jesus was who he claimed to be, if he was God, then those were just miracles.”
“Just miracles? What do you mean just miracles?”
“I mean, he was God. He could do anything.”
“No, he couldn’t.”
I look at him skeptically. “Jesus couldn’t do anything.”
“The Bible says he couldn’t do any great miracles in his hometown because of the people’s lack of faith. It doesn’t say he wouldn’t do them, it says he couldn’t.”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t imagine that’s in the Bible.”
“Look it up. The power of God himself was strangled by the lack of belief.”
“That’s a little extreme, I’d say.”
“Besides, he told his followers that nothing is impossible if you have enough faith, that they would do even greater things than he did if they believed: that if they had enough faith, they could tell a mountain to stand up and move across the street.”
“How—how do you know all this, anyway?”
“Sunday school. I was a very attentive child. And I’ve done a little research over the years. Some people think Jesus was from another planet. Or another dimension. Could have been a time traveler. It’s not really clear.”
“Aha.” Now that sounds more like Xavier.
I’m not exactly sure where all of this leaves us. The inexplicable test results from the study earlier today come to mind—my thoughts actually causing Charlene’s heart rate to change. Maybe there is something to this idea that thoughts alter reality, but I still feel really uncomfortable going there. “Xav, regardless of the power of curses or blessings or prayers or faith or miracles or focused thoughts or chi or any of those things to alter reality, there’s one tangible step we can take to verify if any of this relates to Project Alpha.”
“What’s that?”
“Find out what Dr. Tanbyrn’s diagrams and algorithms mean. And figure out a way to access his iPad.” I stand, open the door. “Come on. Let’s find Charlene. Last I heard she was down the hall getting stitches.”
Stitches
Riah was watching the wasp build a nest around the helpless cockroach when the twins entered the office.
“Oriana called us,” Daniel told her and Cyrus. “She’s running a little late but should be here in the next twenty minutes or so.”
So, Williamson’s first name is Oriana. But who is she?
“We’ll wait for her before starting the video,” Daniel said to Cyrus, then: “But more importantly, did you hear about Dr. Tanbyrn?”
Riah immediately recognized the name; after all, she’d spent the day studying his research findings.
“There was a fire at the center. He’s in the hospital.”
Cyrus looked puzzled. “In the hospital?”
“He was almost killed in the fire. Apparently, the arsonist who started the fire is dead.”
“Really?”
Darren answered for his brother, “The news report wasn’t really clear if he died in the fire or if he died when he was fleeing and the authorities tried to apprehend him.”
Cyrus was quiet for a long moment. “Well, let’s hope Dr. Tanbyrn pulls through.”
Darren set a tablet computer on the edge of the desk. Scrolled to an online news feed. “I’ll keep an eye on the story. Dr. Tanbyrn’s condition will no doubt be of concern to Oriana.”
“No doubt.” Cyrus reached for the intercom button on his desk phone next to his open laptop. “I’ll have Caitlyn bring us some coffee. While we wait.”
It takes a few minutes, but finally Xavier and I find Charlene in an exam room two doors down an adjacent hallway. There’s a fresh bandage on her arm.
“How many stitches did you need?” I ask her.
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen.” Xavier nods. “Nice. We’re talking some quality scar material there.”
“I don’t want a scar, Xav.”
“Hey, they make great conversation starters. I’ve got one here on my knee from—”
“How’s it feeling?” I cut in, directing my question at Charlene. It’s really not a good idea to get Xavier started on scar stories.
“Local anesthetic. I can’t really feel it at all.”
“Glad to hear that.”
We move on to the reason we came, and she listens reflectively as I tell her what Xavier and I have been debating. When I finish, she gets right to the point: “If your thoughts could be fatal to someone else, it would be almost like having the ability to spread a thought-borne virus. How on earth could anyone fight against that?”
“Magneto,” Xavier mutters. “His helmet blocks Professor X’s telepathy from working. We could use a couple of those.”
The irony that Xavier’s first name is Professor X’s last name isn’t lost on me.
“Too bad they’re not real,” Charlene responds.
“You never know.”
Actually, knowing Xavier’s friends, I wouldn’t have been surprised if some of them were working on something like that as we speak.
A thought-borne virus.
An apt way to describe what we’re talking about. Frightening. I tell Charlene, “We came in here so we could take another look at the pages from Tanbyrn’s files. See if we can find a way into that iPad.”
As she’s pulling out Tanbyrn’s notes and iPad, the door beside me opens and a severe-looking nurse emerges, straddling the door frame. “There you are.” She levels her gaze at me as if she’s sighting down the barrel of a gun. “They’re waiting for you in the X-ray room.”
Charlene looks at me concernedly. “X-ray?”
“Just to check on something.” I’d kept the rib injury to myself, but now I gently tap my side. “Might be a cracked rib.”
“You broke a rib?” she gasps.
“Cracked it, maybe. Just a little. I’m not sure if it’s—”
“Jevin, why didn’t you say anything!”
A guy’s gotta at least try to be heroic.
“Um, no reason. Exactly.”
She looks at me reprovingly. “That rib better not be broken or I’m going to have to hurt you.”
“I’m not sure that’s really going to—”
The nurse clears her throat.
I signal to her that I’ll be with her in a moment, but say to Charlene, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. See if Fionna can help you get into that iPad. And Xavier, this guy Banner killed at least one person today. I want to find out what’s at the bottom of all this. Call your friends and have them pull up everything they can on Star Gate and Project Alpha. Any other telepathic research the military might be doing. I want the best conspiracy theorist minds out there on this thing.”
He smiles. “Groovy.”
As I leave, I notice I have six text messages from my producer at Entertainment Film Network telling me to call her.
Well, I guess someone’s been watching the news.
But this doesn’t feel like the right time to talk with her. I need to sort through some things first, decide exactly where we are on this project. Pocketing the phone, I follow the rather stout nurse to the X-ray room.
Cyrus Arlington knew that if that idiot Banner had been careless, there was the possibility that the police would be able to tie him to the fire. To the attempt on Tanbyrn’s life.
He’d never given Banner his name, had used only a prepaid cell phone that no one would be able to trace, had paid him the down payment of $12,500 in unmarked, nonsequential bills. But still . . .
As he waited for Oriana to arrive and drank the coffee that Caitlyn had brought in, Cyrus thought of what he would tell the police if they ever came knocking at his door.
While his jewel wasp finished encasing her roach.
Oriana
I’m lying on my side on the X-ray table finishing the second of four X-rays of my ribs when my phone rings. The technicians had asked me to leave it on a counter inside the protected area where they were working, but even from here I recognize the ringtone.
Fionna.
Well, that was quick.
I excuse myself, and the frizzy-haired woman working the X-ray machine declares in no uncertain terms that she needs two more slides before I can go anywhere.
“No problem.” I slip past her into the hall and answer my phone. A bit chilly without my shirt on.
“Nothing yet on Akinsanya or Tanbyrn’s iPad,” Fionna tells me. “It would be a lot easier if I had it in hand. But I do have something for you. Guess who your arsonist has been calling?”
“Who?”
“The CEO of RixoTray Pharmaceuticals.”
“What?”
“It was with an unregistered prepaid cell, but I was able to backtrace the call and follow the GPS location to—”
“Wait a minute. If it was unregistered, how did you backtrace it?”
“Through AT&T’s tech center.”
“You hacked into their—”
“Not exactly. They hired me to do that last quarter. I kept my notes. Anyway, the GPS location for a previous call matches his residential address, and the most recent call just happens to line up with his office at RixoTray’s corporate headquarters.”
“Nice work.”
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
Actually, it was.
“Also, that passcode, the one you found in Banner’s pocket, well, it’s not just a password to the Lawson Center’s RixoTray files, it’s the one to a certain person’s computer.”
“You’re not saying it’s the same guy? The CEO?”
“Yup. Dr. Cyrus Arlington.”
Okay, now that’s interesting.
How would Banner have gotten Arlington’s personal password?
“So, Fionna, this is all illegal, of course? Everything you just did?”
“Well, RixoTray did hire me to try getting past their firewalls and hacking into their system. I guess I’m just good at my job.”
That works for me.
“Anyway, I pulled up Arlington’s computer screen. There’s an image, the beginning of a video. It’s paused. It has something to do with—”
“Let me guess.” I think of our earlier conversation, anticipate what she’s going to say: “Kabul. The bombing that was averted.”
“Right.” Fionna sounds disappointed. “Of course, I can’t be positive, but it looks like it, yes. How did you guess that, by the way?”
“What you told me earlier; I’m starting to think like you. Listen, can you send me a copy of that image?”
“Better than that. I’m going to send you a link to the screen. If he starts the video, you’ll be able to
watch it right along with him.”
“You deserve a raise, Fionna.”
“I could use one. Donnie needs braces.”
We hang up, and against the firm objections of the X-ray technician, I grab my shirt and leave to find Xavier and Charlene.
The X-rays can wait. Right now it’s movie time.
Riah heard the door open.
A woman entered, brisk and businesslike. Hair short, an Ellen DeGeneres boy cut. She was slightly built, just over five feet tall, but carried a commanding presence that drew the immediate attention of everyone in the room.
She nodded toward the twins, greeted Cyrus, then directed her gaze at Riah. “You must be Colette.”
Riah was a keen enough observer of human behavior to realize that there were certain societal protocols on how to address people, how to treat them. It didn’t mean that she necessarily understood why those conventions were in place, but it was immediately obvious that this woman did not follow them.
“Dr. Riah Colette, yes,” she told her. “I’m the head researcher on this project.” She decided to try something. “You don’t have to call me Dr. Colette, though. I’m fine with Riah.”
A small fire appeared in the woman’s eyes, and Riah could tell she was not used to being spoken to so directly. The response intrigued her. Oriana might be an interesting person to observe. To test.
“I am Undersecretary of Defense Oriana Williamson. And that’s what you will call me.”
Undersecretary of Defense? Riah wasn’t sure how high exactly that went up in the Pentagon’s command chain, but she knew it had to be close to the top.
Fascinating.
Undersecretary Williamson, who was currently dressed in civilian clothes, looked away from Riah toward Cyrus. “I don’t care if she’s been vetted. I told you it was too late to bring anyone else in on this. I do not like—”
“I’m not just being brought in on this,” Riah corrected her. “I mentioned a moment ago that I’m the head of the project at the R&D facility. I’m the one developing the neural decoding—”