Camila recalled what had drawn them into the forest in the first place, something she'd forgotten all about. Maya had told her about the fairy lights that she had seen on summer nights. Then one night they'd seen them, a swirling glow of light that literally lit up the forest. The fairy light, of course, had a logical explanation. On closer inspections, the moving specks of light turned out to be swarms of mating lightning bugs.
Camila suddenly felt as though she were being watched and wished Maya were with her now. A silly thought. She hadn't seen the woman since college days. She'd married and moved to Oklahoma. But the boldness and curiosity of those two teenaged girls steeled her nerves.
Keep going. A little farther.
She imagined that at the next turn a fallen tree would block the trail and that would mark the end of her hike. But nothing impeded her, and she continued farther and farther into the forest.
She stopped. Something had changed. At first, she couldn't pinpoint it. Then she realized she no longer heard the frogs. Time to go back. God, she must've walked nearly a mile along the winding trail. Then she noticed an opening just ahead where the forest gave way to a field. Her legs carried her forward and she felt the density and darkness of the tall, huddled trees lift away as she entered a grassy clearing.
The sun had disappeared behind the mountains. Dusk settled across the landscape. She inhaled the fragrant air. She would like to come here at midday, maybe for a picnic, she thought. Maybe with Calloway. Jesus, what a thought. What was wrong with her? Calloway was merely an echo from the past, her old life. Still, there was something appealing to that life, at least the early part of it before it had turned sour like a carton of milk ignored in back of the refrigerator. She had to admit that in spite of the frenzy and swirl of activities around her day after day, she was lonely. A long-term relationship sounded appealing right now. But with Calloway again? Face it, she told herself. She had traveled a million miles since the breakup. Miles that she would never retrace.
She stopped, looked around. Again, she felt as if she weren't alone. Silly thought, she told herself. She walked on. But the oppressive sense of being watched intensified. She looked slowly around her again, turning in a circle. She felt the hair on her arms standing on end as gooseflesh erupted. Then she raised her gaze, inch by inch, until she saw it. A bright, oval light moved quietly above the forest on the far side of the clearing.
It moved closer and became distinct in shape, a metallic disk-like object that glimmered with a burnt reddish hue in the last rays of sunlight. It hovered above the field, three or four hundred feet overhead. She noticed its grid-like underside. No sound emanated from the vessel. Wasn't that what the alien abductees said about their captor's crafts? She remembered hearing something to that effect during the last couple of days. It must be a joke, an experimental vessel, someone capitalizing on the president's problems. Certainly it wasn't remote viewers. She was wide-awake, not like the president in his bed. No way could they create anything this real.
Of course, there was one other alternative, that Calloway had been wrong about the remote viewers, that it was the real thing, that the craft contained aliens, the very same creatures that had contacted the president. Maybe they were aware of her and had followed her here. Calm down, she told herself. Don't let your imagination run wild. Stay with the rational, the logical, the most likely. It was just a silly hoax, she told herself. What was she afraid of—the boogie man from outer space? Whoever was up there most likely didn't know she was down here.
Yet, in spite of her efforts to calm herself, she felt her body shaking. She wanted to turn and run, but she was too frightened. She couldn't move. Finally, she forced herself to back away toward the forest. One step back, then another and another. She kept her gaze on the craft. She couldn't rid herself of the idea that there were aliens inside and they were watching her.
As soon as she reached the trees, she would dash for it. She would set a new world record for the mile. Ten more yards. Almost there. She started to turn toward the trail when a thin beam of blue light penetrated the dusk and struck her in the forehead. Instantaneously, she saw herself from a distance connected to the ship by the thread of light. She felt pressure against her forehead, throbbing, but not painful, just uncomfortable. Her heart pounded. She couldn't run, couldn't move. Then it all faded.
She felt the damp grass and pushed herself up. She looked around confused for a moment, then recalled the walk and the incident. She gazed up and spotted a moving dot of light like a distant airplane. It shrank and disappeared.
She touched her forehead, recalling the beam of light. She stood up, brushed herself off. The time. Still dusk. . . or was it dawn? She glanced at her watch. Seven-twenty-two P.M., she told herself. Evening. She tried to recall when she'd left the room. Just after the six o'clock news. That seemed about right.
She moved toward the trees. Dim, shadowy. She didn't want to go in there. She wasn't even sure of the direction back to the compound. Then she saw the trail and hurried ahead. She started to trot, anxious to get back to the room, but soon slowed to a fast walk.
Had others seen the object in the sky? Should she report it right away? Better to remain quiet, she thought, at least for a while, and see what happened. Besides, what would she report, that she'd seen a UFO and it had beamed a light at her? No, definitely not. She wasn't going to exasperate the situation.
Yet, she should talk to someone about it. Maybe Waters. He would want to control it. Keep it under wraps. He might even send her away on an assignment or an unwanted vacation. She saw lights from the stable. Closer now. Maybe she could confide in Powers. But Sally didn't want any real aliens around. She wished Powers had gone with her on the walk. Then she would understand.
She reached the room, tried the door. It opened. A single light burned between the two beds. No sign of Powers. Maybe she'd gone to alert the Secret Service about her disappearance. If that was the case, then she should report what happened. Maybe others had reported it already. She moved into the room and saw the note on her bed.
Camila—Celebrity sighting at the cocktail party. Bruce Willis is here! You coming?
She recalled that Kyle Leslie was hosting a cocktail party on the president's last night. No thanks. She didn't feel like mingling or drinking or eating. She felt empty, confused, tired. She sat down on the bed and started laughing. No one missed her. She could've gone to the moon and back and no one would've known.
She felt a faint tingling. Something passed through her like a warm breeze.
In the near future, people will travel to the moon, to other planets, and elsewhere. But not in spaceships. They will project a nonphysical part of themselves to their destination.
Where did that come from? She felt a wave of panic. Someone was inside her head.
In the future, we will connect with the president through you. You are our conduit.
What? No, this wasn't happening to her.
The choice is yours. We can recede. You will be left alone. We will approach again at another time.
Who are you?
Watchers.
A chill ran through her and panic bubbled up into her throat. She rubbed her arms and blurted aloud. "Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. I don't want this. I don't want this."
Call Calloway.
Yes. The one person she knew who could understand, and maybe even make sense of what was happening to her. She reached for the phone and flipped through her address book.
She punched the number. Waited. A man answered. She identified herself and asked for Calloway.
Please be there.
A couple of agonizing moments passed. "A minute please," the voice said in a faint Spanish accent.
Thank God.
"Camila?"
"I'm so glad you're there. I went for a walk," she blurted and told him what happened, exactly as she recalled it.
"Okay, calm down," Calloway said when she finished. "You've got to understand what's going on. These are not alie
ns. These are remote viewers working with Gordon Maxwell. They are getting in your head now just like they did to the president. Don't trust any thoughts that seem like they're coming from outside of you. That's the important thing."
"But Trent. I saw the disk. It was there."
"You thought you saw it. Did anyone else see it?" he asked.
"I don't know. I haven't seen anyone. They're all at a party looking at a star—not a UFO."
''What?''
"Never mind."
"Okay. Here's what I want you to do. Relax yourself, take several deep breaths, and imagine an invisible wall around you that will keep out any invasive thoughts."
"Will that work?"
She heard another voice in the background and Calloway excused himself. He came back a few seconds later. "Camila, what I suggested can help. I don't want to scare you, but it might not be enough."
"What do you mean? Do you think they might come back?"
She listened as he told her about how Agent Fielding had seen knives and nearly shot Perez. "I know this sounds crazy, but we're protected here now by an electromagnetic field. They can't penetrate it. It might be a good idea if you come over here. I don't think you should be anywhere near the president tonight."
"You're scaring me, Trent."
"I'm sorry, but I'm concerned about you."
"Okay. I'll see if I can get a car."
"Good. Head to Crested Butte and give me a call on the way. I'll give you directions."
She hung up. Definitely a crazy idea. But what else was she going to do? She certainly didn't feel like going to a party.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Maxwell looked around the dining room and bar for Marlys. But she'd left and he could hardly blame her. She'd been waiting on tables all day expecting to go out with him. Then he'd just abandoned her before dinner in favor of Ritter. Not a good move for the relationship, a repeat of the old pattern, his passion for his work threatening to destroy his hopes for a stable relationship. He'd have to make it up to her. But he'd had no choice, not with Ritter collapsing as if he'd left his body in mid-stride.
He started back to Ritter's room, but instead sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer. He took out his cell phone and rang up Marlys. "Are you there? It's me. Pick up. Sorry about dinner. Can I make it up to you?" She didn't answer. "Okay, I'll try later."
He sipped his beer and puzzled over the barrier of static that had interrupted Ritter and the others. Just a few seconds longer and Fielding would've blown them all away—Calloway, Doc, Perez. Bang, bang, bang. But Perez took his paranoia seriously. He'd raised a wall of static that had blocked Ritter and the others. Now Maxwell knew what had happened earlier when Ritter had complained about static. At least this time, Ritter had quickly dissociated with the target.
Years ago, he and Perez and a couple of others had experimented with electromagnetic fields. Activating such fields at a target site could cause minor confusion on the part of distant viewers. But when the task involved entering the mind of a target and affecting his actions, EMF disrupted the connection, destroyed any chance of entering and manipulating the target's conscious thoughts. Unless...
He snapped his fingers. He'd overlooked the obvious solution. He quickly finished his beer and headed back upstairs. He found Ritter seated in the same chair busily scrawling on a notepad.
"Steve, can you contact the others? I think I know what we need to do."
He put down the pen, then dropped the pad on the floor. He gazed blankly ahead. After half a minute, he spoke in a monotone. "We're waiting."
"Okay. Find Lewis Fielding again. Can you tell if he is still underground with Perez?"
"He's driving away from Perez's place. He's upset by what happened." Ritter responded so quickly that Maxwell wondered if he knew what he'd been about to ask.
"Good. Very good. I need all of you to press hard. You've got to get into Fielding and make him go back. He needs to get inside the house again."
A couple of minutes passed and Maxwell started to wonder if Fielding had pushed them away this time.
"He turned around," Ritter said in a weary voice. "It was harder than before. He's aware of us, but he forgot about something. So he had a reason to go back. We hooked into that and it worked."
"This time we've got to go a step further. Once they let him back in the house, Fielding will be out of reach, out of our immediate influence. So you've got to program him to do our work. He's got to go into that house committed to killing all of them. Can you do that? Can you push that far?"
Ritter laughed, his fatigue vanished. The challenge apparently energized him. "We can. Of course we can. But he might shoot himself when he's done. His mind will be about as useful as a bowl of clumpy oatmeal."
"I think the general will appreciate that," Maxwell said.
Ritter turned quiet.
Maxwell leaned forward in his chair, reached down, and picked up the notebook that Ritter had been scrawling on. He saw a crude drawing of a disk with a beam of light shooting down from it and at the head of a woman. He wondered what it meant.
Vehicle entering properly. Vehicle approaching residence.
Calloway looked up at the now familiar sound of the recorded voice. A red light flashed on the wall and Perez turned on the monitor. A dark-colored Yukon eased up to the building. The driver's door opened and Calloway recognized Nick Tyler. Then Camila stepped out of the passenger side.
"I'll go let them in," Calloway said. "It's Camila and a Secret Service agent."
Perez turned off the monitor. "Great. Mi casa es su casa," he said, glumly. "Yes, go get them."
"Cheer up," Doc said. "Before you know it, you'll have your house back to yourself and you'll probably miss all the activity."
"Maybe so. But maybe no. I like my privacy."
Calloway couldn't help laughing to himself at the irony as he stepped into the elevator. So much for Perez's seclusion. First, he and Doc had arrived, then they brought in an FBI agent, and now comes a Secret Service agent and the president's press secretary. But he sympathized with Perez. He completed understood his desire for privacy and looked forward to returning to his old life. But at the moment, he wondered if that would ever be possible.
It was supposed to be an underground house, but it looked like a garage to Camila. "Well, we're not in Washington, anymore, Nick."
Tyler looked toward Crested Butte Mountain, its peak bathed in moonlight. "It would be a nice view if he had some windows."
Camila had told Tyler what little she knew about Perez and warned him to expect an eccentric multimillionaire. He'd seemed particularly interested in the fact that Perez supposedly had remote viewed his winning lottery numbers.
"Let's go knock. I hope they can hear us down there." Just then she heard the sound of an engine and turned.
"Looks like we've got company," Tyler said as a dark blue Taurus approached. "Let me check it out."
The window rolled down and she saw a black man behind the wheel. He held up an ID just as she recognized Agent Fielding. "He's okay, Nick. He was at the ranch this afternoon."
"Hello, Ms. Hidalgo," Fielding said as he stepped out of the car. She extended her hand and he shook it. "I guess I'm as surprised to see you two as you are to see me."
Camila let go of his grip as quickly as she could. She'd felt a chill as if icy fingers had squeezed her stomach and at the same time a feeling of dread had closed around her heart. She took a step back, quelling an urge to run, to get away as quickly as she could. What was wrong with her, anyhow? She'd never reacted that way before, even when encountering someone she didn't like.
To her relief, a door opened and Calloway stepped out. He flashed a smile at her, but the smile vanished as he saw Fielding. "You're back. What happened?"
Fielding turned up his hands. "I got halfway to town when I realized that I'd forgotten to interview Ms. Boyle and Mr. Perez. I thought I better get it done tonight."
"Okay. Fine with me. I don't think they will min
d, but I guess you better ask." Calloway waved a hand toward Tyler. "Good to see you again, Nick. C'mon join the party."
"Yeah, my second one tonight."
Camila had asked Tyler to find her a car. He'd done so, and when he'd volunteered to drive, she'd readily agreed.
"You okay?" Calloway asked in a voice just above a whisper as they headed toward the door.
"I think so." She wanted to tell him not to say anything about her experience in front of either Tyler or Fielding, but there was no opportunity.
She felt a combination of exhilaration and wonder as well as fear and confusion in the aftermath of the incident. She also sensed a nearly imperceptible change that had something to do with that beam of light that had struck her forehead. As soon as they returned to Washington, she would get a full checkup.
En route, she had jokingly asked Tyler if anyone had reported any unusual flying objects over the ranch. "No UFOs to speak of," he'd replied in a tone that neither suggested humor nor sarcasm. If no one had mentioned it, she wouldn't either.
Calloway opened the door and led the way through the garage to a sturdy oversized steel door. "This place is like a fortress, Trent," Camila said.
"You haven't seen anything yet."
The evening was turning into a party, but a peculiar one that lacked a festive mood. Beneath the smiles, Calloway sensed wariness and tension as if everyone expected something unpleasant to unfold. He felt vaguely confused about exactly what everyone was doing here and wondered if it was related to the EMF. He could only imagine how Perez felt.
After Calloway introduced everyone, Perez took him aside. "Why did you let Fielding back in here?" he asked through gritted teeth. "He could've been exposed to them again."
"But he's in here now. We're protected," Calloway protested. "Before, yes. Now, I do not know."
Doc moved over to him. "Too many people," she said, nervously. "I'm going to go disappear in the media room."
"Okay. But Fielding wants to talk to you."
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