PSI/Net

by Rob MacGregor

  During her short stint as press spokesman, Dustin had never made such a request. He complained about leaks when the information was damaging to the administration, but now she realized he played the same game as other leakers.

  "What would you like me to say?"

  He thought a moment. "Let's just make it one reporter. What about Greer?"

  "Barry Greer? Okay."

  "CNN will get it out fast. Let it slip that Dustin actually communicated with aliens and that their message is one of peace." He watched her closely as she wrestled with the revelation.

  She'd gotten used to him speaking about himself in third person, but she knew he usually did it when he wanted to distance himself from an issue. "Sir, I don't understand. You want me to go against our own position? Won't that just further exasperate the situation?"

  Dustin seemed unperturbed. "Officially, we stick with the metaphor story, at least for now. At the same time, we must also tell the world that there is something very important going on, and that we are not being threatened."

  She considered her options. "Do you want me to inform Todd or Harvey before I make the call?"

  "No, they don't need to know the source of the leak." He considered the matter another moment. "Actually, I'll talk to them. Otherwise, they'll suspect each other."

  She wanted to tell the president that he was making a mistake. Instead she asked if she could wait until morning. After a night's sleep, he might change his mind.

  "No, I've thought this over carefully. I want this out tonight."

  "Yes, sir."

  He stood up and she did the same. "Call Trent first. Get him working on that bomb."

  She started to leave when Dustin called after her. "Camila, do you believe in alien life?"

  She dropped her hand from the doorknob. "In theory, sir, I do. I believe it's possible, even probable. But I'd prefer if they'd stay home in their own worlds."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because they don't seem to know how to make proper introductions."

  Dustin smiled. "So you believe they are here."

  She hesitated. "I can't say for sure. David, could I ask you a question?"

  "Of course. What is it?"

  "Did you really encounter these aliens?"

  He walked over toward her. "Without a doubt, Camila. And I believe they'll be back. Maybe even tonight or tomorrow. I feel they're coming back before I return to the White House. There's something decisive coming."

  "Do they look human, like the woman you described to us?"

  "I don't think she was human, not totally. She was just one of three distinct species that I've encountered—the human-like ones, the thin little Grays, and others that looked like oversized teddy bears, but without any hair."

  "I find this all very overwhelming."

  He touched her on the back. "I understand. It is overwhelming, amazing, and transforming."

  She left the room and all that was amazing and transforming vanished, replaced by a feeling of being burdened, confused, and depressed. If she'd known that within two weeks of taking on her new job she would be confronted with both aliens and a potential nuclear holocaust, she might've resigned and taken a long vacation somewhere far, far away.

  That vacation might not be far off. After Waters found out about her leak and that she told Dustin about Calloway's bomb, she might very well be cleaning out her office in the West Wing when they returned to the White House.

  She walked back to the room she was sharing with Sally Powers. She was relieved that the speechwriter wasn't in the room. She picked up the phone to call Calloway. On top of everything else, she felt torn between her old feelings of distrust and a renewed interest in him. She punched the number. A woman with a Scandinavian accent answered and said she'd get Calloway. Where the hell was he staying, anyhow, in a bed and breakfast?

  "Hello, Camila?"

  "Hi, Trent. Sorry to bother you, but your name came up in my meeting and I ended up telling David everything, all about the bomb."

  Calloway sounded surprised. "You mean no one had told the president about it?"

  "With everything else going on, it didn't seem like a good idea. There wasn't really time."

  "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Calloway replied. "No one there seems to take the threat very seriously."

  "Well, he knows now, and he wants you to look again to see if you can locate it. He believes in you. He still remembers that underground base you saw him visiting."

  "Your request comes a tad late, Camila," he replied. "We already did it. Three of us here worked on it."

  "Three? Where are you?"

  He explained briefly about Perez and his underground home.

  "So what happened?"

  "We located it in a sewer pipe behind a small building outside a Holiday Inn in Salt Lake City."

  "That's pretty damn specific, Trent. There can't be too many Holiday Inns in Salt Lake City."

  "I called Agent Fielding and told him about it."

  She could tell by the confident tone in his voice that he was holding something back. "And?"

  "Glad you asked. I got a call back about ten minutes ago. They found it right where we said it would be."

  "That's great, Trent." She felt not only relieved, but glad that Calloway had proven himself. "The president is going to be very pleased."

  "Good. Too bad Fielding doesn't feel that way."

  She frowned. "Why do you say that?"

  "The guy's suspicious. He acts like I planted the damn thing there myself. He wants to question me tomorrow, but Eduardo doesn't want an FBI agent here. He's sort of a hermit. So I'm going to meet Fielding in town."

  "I'll speak up for you, Trent. You can count on that. I'm sure that Fielding is just doing his job. But you deserve some recognition, too. Maybe dinner at the White House, and I think you should definitely be paid for your services."

  "I'd settle for lunch with you sometime when you have time." She laughed, nervously. "That's a deal. I better go. Thanks again, and it was good seeing you."

  "Yeah, same here."

  She was about to hang up when a thought occurred to her. "Trent, about what you said before, you know, about the president's situation. Who are these psychics you think are behind it?"

  "Ex-government remote viewers working with Gordon Maxwell."

  "That's a strong accusation. Why would Maxwell create aliens in the president's head?"

  "It's not about politics. He would do it just to prove that he could and to see how much he could affect the future through a mind-control experiment. But he also might be working for George Wiley."

  "I can't believe he spoke to the governors," she said.

  "It does seem odd that he got that far. But maybe his psychic pals had something to do with that."

  "You mean they could actually push someone like the governor of Colorado to select Maxwell as a luncheon speaker?"

  "Back four years ago, I would say it might be possible. Now, definitely. They can do it."

  "I'm sorry, but I still have a hard time believing this stuff is possible."

  "Me, too," he responded.

  "Trent, what do you think about remote viewing the president's aliens?"

  "I was wondering if you were going to ask. I would be interested in seeing what turns up."

  "I'll talk to David about it. After he hears about your success finding the bomb, he might be open to it. Let's tentatively plan for something around lunchtime tomorrow."

  Calloway hesitated. "That's when I'm supposed to talk to Fielding."

  She thought a moment. "I'll tell you what. I'll call Fielding. He can interview you right here later in the afternoon after you're done with the president's request. How would that be?"

  "Great."

  "Trent, one more thing. I'd appreciate it if you would keep this quiet. Just tell Doc and Eduardo that you're coming here for lunch with me and for the interview with Fielding."

  Calloway hesitated. "That's a problem. I'd like to bring Doc
along to monitor me. I need her help."

  "Don't say anything to her yet. I'll call you later."

  She hung up, feeling hopeful for the first time since Dustin made his comments on the aliens. But her levity was short-lived. She needed to leak a story to Barry Greer, a story that she didn't believe.

  MONDAY

  Chapter Twenty

  His preference would've been to bring Doc along to monitor him. But Camila had told him that the president's chief of staff had insisted that he come alone. That, of course, was fine with Perez, who wouldn't have gone even if he'd received an engraved invitation signed by the president. Calloway worried, though, that without Doc his abilities might be considerably weaker.

  Now, as he neared the ranch between Crested Butte and Gunnison, he thought about asking Camila to monitor him. He'd never made such a request while they were together, because he didn't want to bring his work home and she was busy with her own career. Besides, Maxwell had always insisted that the spouses not be told anything about their targets. Looking back now, he realized that he should've tried some experiments with her, if only to let her observe how he worked and what he did.

  Perez had generously offered him use of his Range Rover and Calloway had taken up the offer. He didn't mind traveling in comfort to his meeting with the president, not at all. He liked the new-car smell of the vehicle and the soft leather seats. He thought about his battered pickup back in Buff, ten years old, a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer, and in need of new tires. He and Perez had followed far different paths after Eagle's Nest. Oddly enough, they had come together again and he felt he knew him better now than he had in the years they'd worked together.

  He turned on the radio and let the receiver automatically roam the channels. When he heard a news report beginning, he locked in the station. The first story dealt with Dustin and the aliens. An anonymous source close to the president supposedly had confided to CNN that Dustin firmly believed that he had been contacted by aliens and that their intentions were benevolent. Meanwhile, Chief of Staff Todd Waters, responding to the story, called the revelation baseless and said that the president "had simply intended to show that in spite of our differences in race, nationality, and beliefs, we were all more alike than different."

  Sounded like a confused situation, Calloway thought. If Waters was telling the truth, then why would Dustin want him to remote view a metaphor?

  "Just off the wire, we have a story from Salt Lake City where the FBI reports that a disarmed backpack nuclear bomb was discovered in the parking lot of a Holiday Inn." Calloway turned up the volume. "Information remains sketchy at this time, but apparently investigators are looking into a possible link with the radical Freedom Nation organization. An FBI source said that the bomb had apparently entered the country from Russia by way of Canada, but emphasized that it lacked plutonium and could not have been detonated. More on that story as information becomes available."

  He reached into the glove compartment, took out the cell phone, and called Perez. "Hey, that bomb was disarmed. What do you think that means?"

  "I don't like it," Perez answered after a few moments. "Something's wrong."

  "We'll talk about it later." Calloway started to put the cell phone away, when it occurred to him that he hadn't talked to Ed Miller since he'd left Bluff. He thought a moment, recalled the number, dialed it. He got Miller's recording.

  "Ed, I'm in Crested Butte. I think I'm going to be here a couple more days. I hope that's not a big problem for you. I'll tell you about it later." Then again, maybe he wouldn't tell him anything.

  He followed Camila's directions and had no trouble finding the ranch. When he saw the entrance surrounded by media vehicles and reporters, he knew he'd arrived. As he slowly moved toward the gate, reporters closed in on the vehicle, trying to see who was inside. Some of them trailed behind, jotting down the license plate number.

  "Oh, great. Just great." Perez no doubt would have a fit if he knew reporters were taking down his license plate, and he'd go ballistic if even one of them showed up at his door.

  A state trooper walked up to his window. He told him his name and showed his driver's license. The trooper, apparently expecting him, opened the gate. He drove to the parking area and was surprised when Agent Tyler walked up to the Range Rover and opened the door for him. The agent glanced inside, then closed the door.

  "Good morning, Mr. Calloway. Nice to see you again."

  Tyler sounded businesslike and it quickly became clear that he wasn't here to chat. "Sorry, but I need to quickly scan you." He ran a handheld metal detector over his body, then motioned for Calloway to follow him. He led the way into the house to a formal sitting room to one side of the entryway.

  "Ms. Hidalgo will be right with you." Tyler looked down as if he were examining his shiny, wing-tipped shoes, then raised his gaze to Calloway. "By the way, congrats on the bomb. Very impressive."

  With that, he left the room.

  Camila had told him the luncheon would be casual, to wear anything he liked. Sarah had laundered and pressed his clothes for him, but he still felt out of place in jeans and an open-collared shirt. He felt more like he was waiting for a root canal in a dentist office than a casual lunch.

  "Trent, sorry to keep you waiting."

  He stood up as Camila entered the room. She wore jeans that hugged her slender hips and a sweater. He embraced her lightly. "Good to see you again."

  "There's been a little change in plans. The president is going to be busy this afternoon. So we were wondering if you could do the remote viewing right away before lunch."

  He shrugged. "I suppose."

  "David would appreciate it." She smiled. "We'll have lunch afterwards."

  "So I get my wish, after all."

  "Trent, I would've gone to lunch with you anytime, if you would've asked. You didn't need to prove anything to me."

  "I guess I never really thought we'd cross paths again, and I didn't see any point in revisiting the past."

  "Do you think it's different now, that fate has brought us together or something?"

  He laughed. "I don't know about fate, but here we are. Purpose has brought us together. I needed to do something and I knew you could help."

  "And vice versa. You're here because I thought you could help me, the president, and the country."

  "So it's a utilitarian relationship. Is that it?"

  "Except it's one-sided," she responded. "We're utilizing you."

  "Well, I'd like to utilize you," he answered.

  Her voice turned wary. "Oh, what do you mean by that?"

  "I need a monitor, someone to guide me since Doc's not here. Will you do it?"

  She hesitated. "What would I do?"

  "Not much. I just need direction, help in staying focused. That's all. It's easy."

  She shrugged. "Okay. I'll try. But before we go into the library I want to go over the ground rules."

  "Which are?"

  "That this session is private and confidential, that you will not talk about it, that you 'will not even admit to remote viewing for the president."

  "I've got no problem with that."

  She handed him a long envelope. "I'd like you to read over this statement to that effect and sign it. Your check is also enclosed. I hope you find it acceptable."

  "Jeez, I didn't know this was going to turn into Mission Impossible." He sat down again, opened the envelope, and read the brief statement that reiterated what Camila had just told him. He noted that he was being paid for a "special consultation not to exceed two hours."

  He raised his gaze over the document. "Can I ask you a couple of question before I sign this?"

  "Go ahead."

  "I guess I should've thought of this last night, but you caught me off-guard. Can I assume that, in spite of the metaphor explanation, that the president does indeed believe that he is being visited?"

  She considered the question a moment. "You can assume that."

  "Second question. I
f I pick up on another source, besides aliens, do I tell the president?"

  "Of course. He can handle it. It's better to get it out, to clear the air. Besides, to my way of thinking, a human source might be the best option. At least it's something we can get a better grasp on."

  He understood what she meant. If there were aliens in the White House, that was a problem. But if the president is hallucinating them, then he was the problem. But outside intervention—even a psychic one—would at least provide an explanation that avoided all the pitfalls and baggage of the alien phenomenon.

  She glanced at her watch. "We better get going. Any other questions?"

  He took a felt tip pen from his pocket and quickly scrawled his signature on the bottom of the contract. He handed it back to her, then looked at the check.

  If he were a whistler, he would've whistled softly at the five grand he was being paid. "Not bad for a couple of hours' work."

  "David believes you're worth it."

  "Very flattering."

  They walked out a side door, through a patio, and along a walkway to another building. They entered a large room that looked like a combination of a library and meeting room. Soft music played from hidden speakers. A reclining chair had been placed in the center of the room and several chairs faced it.

  "Looks like I'm going to have an audience," Calloway commented.

  Before she could answer, the door opened and two men entered. Camila introduced him to the president's chief of staff and his national security advisor. Waters, a pudgy man, wore a sport coat and an open-collar shirt, no doubt his idea of casual dress. Howell wore khakis and a baggy sweatshirt with the words "GUESS WHO" on the front.

  Both of them seemed ill at ease in his presence, and uncertain what to say. "We hope you understand the need for confidentiality in this matter," Waters said.

  "I signed the agreement," he answered, matter-of-factly.

  "I'll tell you, Mr. Calloway, I'm a skeptic." Howell smiled, jammed his hands into pockets. "But I've always had an interest in these matters. Could you tell me something about my future while we're waiting for the president? I'm just curious."