Two men in business suits moved across the courtyard. Calloway recognized Agent Clarke accompanied by a black man in his thirties whose intense gaze focused on Calloway. They stopped a few feet away. Camila turned, "Can I help you?"
"This is Special Agent Lewis Fielding of the FBI," Clarke said, "Here to talk to Mr. Calloway."
Camila greeted Fielding, thanked him for coming, then excused herself. She told Calloway to let her know when he was leaving.
He shook Fielding's hand, smiled. "Nice to finally meet you in person."
An eerie feeling rippled through Calloway. Fielding reminded him of his old buddy, Bobby Aimes. Fielding was older, a few pounds heavier, but the way he smiled and a certain look in his eye brought back memories of Aimes. Good memories and bad ones.
Fielding joined him at the table. They talked for more than an hour covering the entire scenario of events from the six-digit number and lightning strike to the point where he and Doc and Perez had discovered the bomb.
At first, he focused on Wiley and the bomb and avoided any mention of Maxwell and the other remote viewers. But, as Fielding questioned him, he told him the rest of the story, everything except the connection with the president and the aliens. Finally, he told him about the firebombing of his trailer.
Fielding nodded. "I heard about that on my way over here. I'm glad I didn't have to break the news."
Fielding had done some research on remote viewing since they'd first talked, but he seemed to doubt parts of the story. "Maybe you did find the bomb with your mind. But this psychic hotline stuff, Maxwell and his remote viewers working for Wiley and killing my colleagues, I've got problems with that." He shook his head. "Those deaths were accidents. Same with the two kids."
Calloway nodded patiently. "I can understand your reservations. But believe me, they can kill."
Fielding didn't look convinced. "I need to talk to your friends, Doc and Eduardo, before I leave the area. How about if I follow you back?"
Not a good idea. "Let me talk to Perez first. I don't think he'd like it if I showed up with an FBI agent."
"What's he got to hide?"
"I told you, Lewis, he likes his privacy. That's why he lives underground. Give me a call in the morning. I'll work on him tonight."
Fielding handed him his card. "I'd appreciate it if you'd call me tonight."
They stood up and shook hands. He liked the man and knew the quandary he faced with the psychic-derived material. He probably dreaded the prospect of preparing a report on the meeting for his superiors. "By the way, what do you think it means that the bomb was unarmed?" Fielding asked.
"It worries me," Calloway answered. "My guess is that Wiley's got plutonium and he's going to try to use it. If you get a nuclear weapon from Russia, you probably get the whole package."
Before Fielding could respond, Clarke approached. He asked Calloway to wait for Camila, that she'd be right out. Then he and Fielding left. Camila showed up a couple of minutes later and they walked to the parking lot.
"I'm really sorry about your trailer," she said.
"Yeah, so am I."
They walked in silence until they reached the Range Rover. He could tell that she had something on her mind. "I know that David wants you to keep your conversation with him private," she began. "But I just hope that you were able to tell him something that will make him understand his experience in a new light."
He'd been wondering when she was going to mention the private talk and he admired her reserve. Without saying it directly, she was asking if he'd linked Dustin's experiences to psychic attacks. "I think I did do just that.''
"That's good." She smiled. "By the way, you really surprised Harvey Howell with that accurate description of his wife. And you don't know how much that comment about the green gown hit home. Someday I'll tell you about it."
"I don't know what happened, but I'll tell you this: that gown is linked to the same energy as the aliens. There was outside manipulation involved."
She looked stunned. "Oh, God. It fits, Trent."
He nodded. "I better get going. My host will think I'm being held captive."
He extended a hand. She tentatively took it, thanked him for coming. She let go of his hand, but he didn't turn away. She looked up, met his gaze, then reached out and hugged him. She felt great, like old times, like when things were good between them. He held her close, held her a little too long.
Finally, she pulled back, touched her index finger to his chest. "Watch it, Calloway. We're going to get ourselves in trouble if you start that stuff."
That kind of trouble sounded pretty good right now. He brushed his fingertips lightly along her jaw. "I'll see you."
Maxwell had been beside himself all day. Now, five hours after hearing the bad news, he still felt like a condemned man moments before the execution. He expected to see Wiley's thugs show up at the door at any moment.
He froze at the peal of the phone, then relaxed, realizing that it was Marlys's line, not his cell phone. He waited for the recorder to take the call. "Max, are you there?"
He snatched up the phone. "Hi, Maryls. Are you off now?"
"It's after six. I've been off since five-thirty. Are you coming over for dinner or not?"
"Yeah, I'm hungry. Give me ten minutes."
"Okay. I'll wait. How did your business go in Salt Lakes City?"
"Real good," he lied. "I finished my work and decided to drive all night so I could get back to see you tonight."
What else could he tell her, that he'd recovered a nuclear bomb, then had almost gotten blown away in a men's room by one of the most notorious men alive? That he was lucky he wasn't behind bars? Not likely. Nor could he tell her that he was worried that he would be shot the moment he stepped outside her door because he'd lost the nuke to the FBI. No, she wouldn't understand.
"I just wished you'd gotten back earlier while I was still awake."
"I'm here now."
"Good. I may keep you up all night. If you can stay up, Max!"
He laughed. "Just you wait. See you in a bit."
He hung up. His shoulders slumped. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he'd be working tonight, probably working all night. But at least he'd have dinner with her.
Even though Perez now lived far from the sea, he dined on fresh seafood several times a week. Sarah had driven to town earlier and picked up Perez's order and prepared the sumptuous meal, which included grilled salmon, boiled potatoes the size of golf balls, and steamed asparagus spears.
"You've been real quiet, Trent," Doc said, halfway through dinner. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about what happened at the ranch?"
"Actually, I was thinking about my conversation with Ed Miller, the outfitter I work for."
"Oh, no. He didn't fire you, did he?" she asked.
"No, something worse." He told them what happened in Bluff.
"Don't even think about going back there," Perez said. "Stay here until this is over. We're going to nail that bastard, Wiley, even if we have to drag the FBI to his hideout."
"That's right," Doc said. "We'll find him. Let's do it tonight."
He realized the situation presented the perfect opportunity for getting Fielding here. "I think you're right. But we need the authorities involved. I want Lewis Fielding here so he can see us work."
"What?" Perez blurted. "You want to bring that FBI agent here? No way. No federal agents on my property."
"Now you sound like one of Wiley's followers," Calloway said.
"No, I am not like them. I am my own country. I don't need their Freedom Nation. It would be worse than what we've got now. Far worse."
"Eduardo, don't be an idiot. Fielding is not going to destroy your privacy," Doc said. "We've already done that."
He shook his head. "I am not concerned about that. I am worried about what surrounds Agent Fielding, what energies he might bring in here. I don't want this place infected."
"What do you mean?" Calloway asked.
"I u
nderstand," Doc said, "you think he may have bad energy around him, because of the work he does."
"I don't think, I know."
Doc beamed. ''I've got the answer for that. After he leaves, we'll burn some sage. I brought some with me. We'll cleanse the place."
"Maybe that'll take care of some of the bad energy we've got around us, too," Calloway said, thinking of Maxwell and his network.
"This is nonsense," Perez said. "I do not want your G-man in my house."
Calloway threw up his hands. "Okay. Doc and I will go to Crested Butte and rent a room. We'll go after Wiley there."
"You can join us," Doc said, standing up from the table. "That is, if you dare come to the surface and leave your property."
Perez stared glumly at the two of them. He shook his head in disgust. "I do not want you two to leave. It is far too dangerous out there. Unfortunately, we need to stay together until this thing is resolved and I hope that is not too long."
Doc placed her hands on her hips. "Well?"
Perez shrugged. "Oh, shit. I suppose you can invite the G-man. But only him. No partners."
Calloway smiled. "Great. I'll call his pager right now." No sense waiting for Perez to change his mind.
He left the table and walked out into the main room under the enormous atrium and over to the phone at a corner table. When Fielding returned his call a couple of minutes later, Calloway told him what they planned to do. Fielding would have a chance not only to talk to Doc and Perez, but also to see them remote view Wiley's hideout.
"Give me the directions," Fielding said. "I'll be out within the hour."
Perez and Doc sipped coffee when Calloway returned. He sat down and poured himself a cup from a silver decanter. "All set. He's on his way."
"I can't wait to nail Wiley," Doc said. "And we'll take down Maxwell with him."
"They're a dangerous combination," Perez said.
More dangerous than either Doc or Perez realized, he thought. In spite of his pledge to Dustin, Calloway felt compelled now to tell them what had happened when he'd remote viewed for the president. They needed to know how far Maxwell had taken remote viewing.
"I've got to tell you about this afternoon."
"You went after Dustin's aliens," Perez said with a smile. "Did you think you could hide that from us? No way. But what happened?" He told them about the two short sessions.
Perez shook his head in disbelief. For a change, he seemed to question the extent that one's privacy could be invaded. "Do you really think they could create aliens and make him believe, make him tell the nation about it?"
"I know it sounds like a stretch, but I think they've developed that far," Calloway said.
"Maxwell is flexing his muscles," Doc added. "It makes him feel like a macho man."
Perez crossed his arms. "I still think it might be real aliens."
"Think about it, Eduardo," Doc said. "Trent may be right. Do you remember all those alien sessions we did? Sometimes Maxwell just created alien targets that weren't related to photos or anything, just to see what we would get. And we'd still come up with aliens."
"Right," Calloway interjected. "So let's take it a step further. If he could suggest that we see aliens and we did, a good remote viewer could put a target into anyone's head. Shit, I bet Ritter could put an alien in your head, too."
"Maybe you're right," Perez conceded. "So we have to expose Maxwell and pull the mask off these aliens."
Marlys hadn't bothered changing from her long, purple dress, and that was fine with Maxwell. When they were alone, he liked to run his fingertips lightly over the tops of her breasts exposed by the low-cut dress. He liked to think that he was doing what other men at the bar just imagined doing themselves.
He slid onto a barstool next to her. "Should we get a table?"
She greeted him with a hug and a peck on the lips. He felt the eyes of the other men at the bar judging him, maybe wishing they were in his place.
"How about a drink first?"
He shook his head. "No drinking for me tonight. I've got work to do upstairs."
"Tonight?" She frowned. "I thought we'd have the night together. Rent a movie or something."
"I wish we could do that. But I've got a pressing assignment." She frowned. "You didn't tell me. What kind of pressing assignment?"
"It's a confidential matter. The party involved doesn't want anyone to know that he's availing the service."
She stared at him as if she were looking through him. Then she smiled. "Mr. Mystery Man."
Maryls was hard to figure sometimes. When he expected that she would be upset, like now, she seemed to take the news in stride. "Will you wait up for me? We could have some late-night fun."
"Depends what time you get in. I don't stay up all night like you."
They got up and moved over to a table. "Say, I noticed I had one of your credit cards with me. I accidentally used it at a motel. I'll pay you back."
She looked suspiciously at the card. "How did you get it?"
"Remember when you insisted on paying for drinks that night? I ended up with your card."
"Oh, yeah." She opened her purse to put it away. He noticed a book sticking out. "What are you reading?"
She held it up. "Alien Agenda. It's about UFOs and abductions and all that. I'm fascinated by the president's admission that he's made contact. It's really incredible. Do you believe it? A lot of people think he's nuts, but I say it's true."
Maxwell sat back in his chair and smiled. He'd only known her six months and he found out new things about her all the time. So she was interested in aliens. "I think it's just a hoax of some sort. He probably thinks it'll make him more powerful if people think he's in contact with beings from another world."
"Really? That's what you think? I can't believe he would make it up."
He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being overly harsh with him. He's not my favorite person in the world."
He'd love to tell her that not only was it a hoax, but that he had perpetrated it, that he could actually manipulate the way the president of the United States sees and acts. Of course, if she knew that, she might get suspicious about her own relationship with him.
He would never tell her that Ritter had "looked in" on her one night and nudged the new waitress to take an interest in Maxwell.
The next evening, Maxwell dined at the hotel and sat at one of Marlys's tables. When he told her that he was a regular here, she'd chatted amiably with him throughout the meal. Later, he'd asked to buy her a drink after she got off work, and she'd readily agreed.
He realized Marlys was talking to him. "Sorry. What did you say?"
"I knew you weren't listening to me. I said why don't you ask Ritter to look into President Dustin's future and see what happens. I really can't think of anything more important."
"That would certainly be interesting, but this isn't a hobby. My guys get paid for what they do and I don't ask them to work for nothing."
"Yeah, but I would think you'd be curious."
He smiled. "Maybe we already know the answer."
"Then tell me. I want to know."
He leaned toward her, slipped a hand under the table, and rested it on her thigh. He whispered, "He's going to get invited for a little ride in a flying saucer. He'll buzz the Capitol Building a couple of times, then he'll fly off into space and never be seen or heard from again."
"What?" She pushed his hand away. "You're spoofing me. You're making that up."
He laughed. "Well, it's still a good idea, if you ask me."
She wasn't laughing though. She stared past him. He heard Ritter's annoying taps scraping the floor. He turned and saw a tall wraith-like figure moving their way. Ritter wore a robe and his street shoes and held his head between his hands. Maxwell stood up, moved over to him. "Steve, what's going on? What are you doing?"
"Lots of static. Too much static. It's strong, getting stronger. It's really bothering me."
"C'mon, let's get you upstairs."
; "The others," he moaned. "It's coming from them. They're joining together. They're going to destroy us. All of us."
He placed a hand on Ritter's shoulder. He felt the eyes of everyone in the place on him and Ritter. He turned to Marlys, who looked stricken. "Sorry about this."
"You're not going to eat dinner?" she called out. But he couldn't answer her. Not now. He quickly ushered Ritter away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Just as they stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, Ritter's legs gave way and he flopped to the carpeting. Maxwell dropped to one knee and awkwardly pulled him to his feet. Ritter wobbled like a marionette and babbled an unintelligible flurry of sounds. Maxwell wrapped an arm around his shoulder and dragged him the last fifty feet.
The door of Ritter's room hung open and Maxwell pushed his way inside with his load. He hauled Ritter across the room and dumped him onto a chair, where he collapsed, his head hanging to one side. "Steve, are you all right? Talk to me. What's going on?" No response.
Shit. Maybe he'd blown a fuse. Maxwell had always been concerned about something like that happening. He'd imagined his remote viewers all ending up in mental hospitals staring at the walls. But Ritter and the others had repeatedly exhibited an impressive mental resilience. They excelled in their work, if not their everyday lives.
"Steve, can you hear me?" Maxwell picked up his thin, limp arm and felt for Ritter's pulse. A long thread of spittle seeped from the corner of his mouth.
"We're all here now. We're ready to start," Ritter mumbled. "What did you say?"
Ritter slowly raised his head. He stared blankly ahead. "I said, we're all here now. They say I can speak for them."
Incredible, Maxwell thought. Ritter had entered a deep trance state, one in which his body was asleep, but his mind was alert, connected with the others. It had never happened this way before. Usually they worked together on conference calls, one or two others at a time, each one sinking into his zone, but keeping in contact by phone. But now Ritter implied that he was aware of all of them—Johnstone, Timmons, and Henderson.
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