"Fine. Send him in. I'll be waiting."
Calloway moved over to Fielding, who was talking with Tyler. "So, do you want to interview Doc? Now's a good time."
Fielding frowned at Calloway as if he'd just been interrupted from something important. "Oh yeah, the interview."
"Jeez, the guy forgot what he'd remembered he'd forgotten," Calloway said as Fielding walked off toward the media room.
Tyler stared after the FBI agent. "You remember when you asked me about how I locate someone in a crowd who might be a threat to the president?"
"Yeah?"
He shook his head. "I don't know why, but that guy just gave me the same feeling I get when I'm suspicious about someone like that."
Fifteen minutes had passed since Ritter said Fielding had gotten back inside. Maxwell impatiently moved about the cramped room. "Steve, can you tell what's going on?"
"It's difficult, but we know that he hasn't killed anyone yet." "Why not? Isn't it working?"
"Too many people. More than he thought," Ritter said. "Two others showed up. He knows one of them. Somebody related to the president."
"Why didn't you say so before?"
"You didn't ask."
Great. What else didn't he know? "Can you push him? Can you force his hand?"
"We can try, but there's so much goddamn static."
"No excuses. Push hard. Push him over the edge."
Camila felt light-headed as if she'd drunk several glasses of wine, even though Perez hadn't even offered her water. Maybe it was the aftereffects of her encounter with the unknown. She wanted to talk to Calloway about it, but there were too many people around. Or, maybe it was just the effect of this incredibly wonderful and strange underground mansion.
"What do you think of my place?" Perez asked.
"Very impressive. When you see that little garage up there, you don't have any idea that there's something like this below the ground. I don't feel a bit claustrophobic, either."
"It's the atrium of course. Let me show you something." He took out a remote control device from his pocket, pointed it upward, and clicked. A faint humming sound emanated from above. "I just opened the steel plates that cover the skylight."
Camila caught her breath. "What's that?" A bright, oval-shaped object floated high above them.
Perez looked up. "That, Ms. Hidalgo, is the moon."
"Oh." She laughed nervously.
"I can close it, if you like."
"No. I like it open. As long as you think it's safe."
Perez considered her question. "You know, people think I am paranoid and Doc thinks I might be a coward living down here. But I am just being cautious. To answer your question, I think we are safe from any physical attack." He smiled confidently. "I have sensors and detectors to alert me of any intruders or even changes in weather conditions. I can close it again within seconds."
"You're well prepared, Mr. Perez. Trent told me about the electromagnetic field, too."
In spite of what Perez said, Camila couldn't help feeling that the danger might already be inside. She looked around. "Do you know where Agent Fielding went?"
"He's interviewing Doc in my home theater." His eyes narrowed as if something disturbed him. Then, he turned to her, smiled, and played host again. "It's a comfortable place. When they're done, I'll show it to you."
She nodded. Comfortable or not, she felt an overwhelming sensation that something horrible was about to descend upon them.
Calloway approached Camila as Perez moved off. He knew she was confused by her experience and had come here to talk about it as much as to seek sanctuary. "I want to hear more about what happened."
"I still find it hard to believe that what I experienced was implanted in my mind. I mean I wasn't in bed. Like I told you, I was out walking when I saw it. I was wide-awake."
"Maxwell and his remote viewers are way out of control. He has taken this practice to a new level, a very dangerous one."
A red light began blinking on the wall. She didn't know what it meant, but it went along with how she felt. "Trent, I've been getting the worst feeling that something horrible…”
Vehicle entering property. Vehicle approaching residence.
"Who the hell is coming now?" Perez said, raising his voice. "This is unbelievable."
His words were punctuated by the report of a gunshot from within the house. Calloway tensed at the sound. Doc, where was Doc? Tyler, the first to react, rushed forward, gun in hand. But Fielding stepped into a doorway and aimed his gun at the Secret Service agent.
Belatedly, Calloway realized he'd made a big mistake letting Fielding back inside, and he'd ignored Tyler's subtle warning. The FBI agent had been infected. Somehow, he had to make up for his blunder.
"Drop it right now or you're dead!" Fielding shouted.
Tyler hesitated, then laid his gun on the floor. Calloway stared at it. He could dive for the weapon, but he might never have a chance to fire.
"Everyone get in the middle of the room where I can see you," Fielding ordered.
"Do what he says," Tyler said in a low voice, stepping back. "Don't challenge him."
Calloway hesitated, then moved back with the others. He didn't agree with Tyler. Maxwell's gang had turned Fielding into a killing machine and unless they could stop him, they would all die.
Fielding aimed his weapon at Perez. "Turn the static off. I don't know what the fuck that means, but you better do it now, or you're dead."
Perez held up his hands. "Okay. Okay." Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the oblong, electromagnetic field regulator. "There, I turned it off."
Not much time now, Calloway thought. "Snap out of it, Fielding. You're an FBI agent. You're not a killer. They're controlling you."
Fielding smiled, aimed the gun at Calloway. He knew he was about to die. At that moment, Tyler stepped in front of him.
Fielding's smile faded. "What? You want it first? Okay."
A single shot struck Tyler in the forehead. He dropped to the floor in front of Calloway. Blood pooled around his head.
"Next!"
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Camila shouted. "You're out of your mind."
He aimed at Camila.
"No!" Calloway shouted, taking a step toward Fielding. "No! Don't shoot!"
"Okay. You want to be next!"
At that moment, Doc stumbled out of the room holding a hand to her chest. Blood spilled over her white blouse. She reached out toward Fielding, but crumpled to the floor.
Camila rushed toward Doc and Fielding swung the gun in her direction, aimed at her head. Calloway lunged forward, tackled Fielding, knocking his arm in the air just as the gun fired. They rolled over, struggled for the weapon. Calloway pinned his arms to the floor, his face just inches from Fielding's.
He felt the others, all of them inside the FBI agent, pressing around him. He saw their faces—Ritter, Henderson, Johnstone, Timmons—one after another superimposed on Fielding's features as he stared up at him.
Ritter: We're in, Trent!
Henderson: Gotcha now!
Johnstone: I see, I feel, I touch!
Timmons: Checking in!
Ritter: And you're checking out!
Startled, angered, frightened, Calloway shoved a hand under Fielding's jaw and squeezed his cheeks as if he were trying to rip off his face. With the other hand, he continued to struggle for control of the gun. Fielding groaned, shifted his weight, and suddenly with an unexpected burst of strength threw Calloway off him. But as Calloway rolled away, he reached for the gun. He twisted Fielding's hand and pried the weapon loose. He grabbed it, rolled over, and aimed it at Fielding, who had just gotten to his knees. Calloway grabbed Fielding by the collar and pressed the muzzle to his forehead.
"Shoot him if he moves!" Perez shouted from behind him. "I'll get some rope."
"Don't kill me, Trent. Please, Trent." Bobby Aimes stared up at Calloway.
Not Aimes, he told himself. Couldn't be Aimes. Yet, a part of
him wanted to believe a fantasy that Aimes never died, that he'd become an FBI agent.
Aimes flashed his goofy grin. "Your turn to die, Trent."
Calloway slowly pulled the gun away from Fielding, turned it toward his own head, pressed it to his temple. He couldn't stop himself and he knew he was about to fire. He tightened his finger around the trigger.
"No, Trent!" Camila shouted. "No! Don't do it!"
"Like scratching an itch, Trent. Squeeze."
At that moment, an explosion rocked the building. Glass shards showered down. Calloway dropped the gun. Slivers of glass struck his arms and back. A hand pulled on his arm. Movement swirled around him. He crawled away from Aimes. No, not Aimes. He glanced back and saw Fielding reaching for the gun.
Shots fired from above, the bullets just missing Fielding, who rolled over, aimed up into the atrium, and returned the fire. To Calloway's amazement, a half dozen men wearing camouflage uniforms and carrying automatic weapons rappelled the wall on long lines. Others, draped over the opening, fired down.
"Run!" Camila shouted. She pulled on his arm. Calloway lurched to his feet and they scampered toward the elevator.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The field is down," Ritter said. "What happened? What do you see?" Maxwell demanded.
Ritter didn't respond for nearly a minute. "It's confusing. I see long lines hanging down. Men with guns. Dressed in camouflage. Like military. Militia."
Wiley's men, Maxwell thought. They'd found the place and gotten inside. "Is George Wiley there? Can you find him among the soldiers?"
Ritter cocked his head to the side as if listening to a voice in his head. "He's nearby. But he's not at the target."
Maxwell was about to ask him to clarify the comment when Ritter bolted upright in his seat and twitched his shoulders from side to side as if someone had just jabbed a cattle prod into his back. "The target is dead," he blurted.
"What do you mean?"
"Fielding is dead."
"What about Calloway?"
"On the run, but not Doc."
"What happened?"
"Doc is out of the picture." He laughed. "She can't run. She's too busy bleeding."
"What else happened?"
"Lots of shooting."
"Where is Calloway and Perez?"
A sharp rap at the door interrupted Ritter's reply. Maxwell jerked around. Who the hell could that be? "Stay with the target. I'll take care of it."
Probably someone from the management complaining about Ritter's behavior. A payoff might be in order. He took out his wallet and found five one-hundred-dollar bills that he kept tucked away. He slipped them into his pants pocket. He straightened his back and opened the door ready to stare imperiously down at any hotel employee who might dare to disturb them.
His jaw dropped an inch. For a change, he didn't know what to say. He finally uttered a simple question. "What's going on?"
"Can we come inside?" Marlys asked. She didn't look a bit disturbed and that bothered Maxwell.
He stepped aside and she moved into the room, followed closely by George Wiley.
Calloway and Camila hurried out of the room as the flurry of gunshots rattled from above. With each step, he recovered more of his sense of self as the contact with the others—through Fielding—faded. The elevator door hissed open. They stepped inside, but just as the door slid closed, a hand reached in and opened it.
"Oh, no!" Camila cried out.
Calloway expected to see Fielding aiming and firing.
"Get out of there!" Perez barked. "Follow me. The elevator is not safe anymore."
They dashed through the kitchen and out a door that led up a stairway. "You see, they got to him," Perez exclaimed between gasps of air. "He was completely in their control and so were you for a while. But who are these other invaders? What is going on here?"
Calloway didn't know any more than Perez, but he guessed that Wiley's militia had just attacked the underground fortress, and the attackers had inadvertently saved his life.
They climbed one level and Perez opened the door. "This way."
Bending low, they rushed along the open walkway past the dangling lines. Shouts echoed from below. Perez turned into a room that was lined with shelves stocked with enough dry goods to last several years. He opened a door and stepped into a long, walk-in closet stacked with more boxes of canned goods. At the back of the closet, he reached up, touched something, and the wall turned on a central axis.
They moved into a tunnel with rough-cut stone walls. Perez found a flashlight and turned it on. "This comes out on the other side of the butte. I have a Jeep parked there."
"You thought of everything, Eduardo," Camila said.
"Did you think I would build a house with only one way out? No way."
Maxwell suddenly understood what Ritter meant when he'd said that Wiley was nearby, but not at the target. He held up a hand. "Let me bring Ritter back."
He walked over to his chair and sat down. "Okay, Steve. I want you to come fully back into the room."
"They're getting away," Ritter responded. His eyes were open and staring straight ahead. If he was aware of Wiley or Marlys, he didn't show it.
"Come back now."
"Let him finish," Wiley said, moving closer. "Who's getting away?"
Maxwell figured that Ritter would instantly snap out of his zone at the sound of another voice. But to his surprise, Ritter responded. "Calloway, Perez, and a woman."
"Who's the woman?" Wiley asked.
Ritter bent over and picked up his notebook. He pointed to the woman in the drawing. "That one."
Wiley took the notebook. "I don't understand."
Maxwell shrugged. "Who is she, Steve?"
"She works for the president."
"It must be Camila Hidalgo, Calloway's ex-wife." Maxwell looked at Wiley, then at Marlys, wondering again what they were doing together.
"What does this drawing mean?" Wiley asked.
"It's something she saw," Ritter answered, cryptically.
What the hell was he doing? Ritter wasn't supposed to work on his own, especially not on presidential targeting. But he didn't want to get into it now, especially in front of Wiley.
"Where are they now?" Maxwell asked, changing the subject. "Coming out of a tunnel, an escape route. It leads to the back side of the butte."
Wiley took out a cell phone and walked into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Maxwell turned to Marlys. "Where did he come from?"
"He came to the house looking for you." She sounded a bit too smug. "You never said you worked for him."
He tried to assess the damage. "Do you know who he is?"
She laughed. "Don't be an idiot, Max. Of course I do. People magazine called George Wiley the most dangerous man in America. He looks a little different than his pictures, but that's him."
"Well, I'm not one of his followers, if that's what you're wondering. I'm just someone he hired."
"I know all about it. You're a mercenary. You and your psychics are his extrasensory security team."
Maxwell tensed. She knew too much. Wiley must've been doing a lot of talking. The bastard.
"Right on the money," Wiley said, returning to the room. "They did get away."
He folded up his phone and put it in his pocket. He didn't seem particularly concerned. "But they're not going far. All the roads are blocked. The dogs will get them."
Maxwell barely heard what he'd said. He didn't like the way Wiley stood next to Marlys, how fit and good looking he appeared, how Marlys regarded him. Then Wiley slipped an arm around her shoulder and grinned at Maxwell. "Don't look so dumbfounded, Max. Did you think I wouldn't have someone checking on you?"
Maxwell couldn't believe it. He'd been set up.
"Sorry, Max," Marlys said, "but I'm with George and Freedom Nation all the way. Unlike you."
Maxwell leaped to his feet "You sonofabitch, Wiley. I stuck my neck out for you."
"You did it for money and power, noth
ing more," Wiley responded. "You're not committed, Max. You're unprincipled. You don't have any ideals. You're a user. You tried to use me just like you use your psychics."
"That's not true," he stammered. "I never used you. It's the other way around. That's the way it looks to me."
"I know what you've been doing," Wiley said. "So don't try to hide anything from me."
"I've never hid anything from you," he sputtered. "Except for the bomb, of course, and I contacted you right away."
"Max, cut it out," Marlys said. "George knows all about your secret alien work with the president and how you got the vice president's wife to threaten divorce, and how Dustin's national security advisor nearly went to a formal dinner in a dress," Marlys said.
"What are you talking about? You don't know anything about that. I've never mentioned any of that to you."
"I did." Ritter smiled inanely up at him.
Oh, shit. He'd kill the bastard. His ears burned, his nostrils flared.
"Steve was very cooperative," Marlys said. "If you remember correctly, Steve gave you the idea to put aliens in the president's head."
"You think of it as your project," Wiley said. "But guess what? The aliens were part of my plan. I saw that Dustin was vulnerable and Steve liked the idea."
"Liked it a lot," Ritter put in.
"And he said you would like it, too," Wiley added.
He didn't want to hear any more. They'd all turned on him. His anger surged and he lunged for Wiley, grabbed his throat, squeezed, jamming his thumb deep into his neck. He'd kill the fucker. They fell over backward, toppling over a chair, and Maxwell pinned Wiley's arms to the floor with his knees.
He squeezed harder. Wiley gagged, his eyes bulged. Marlys pounded on his back, tried to pull him off, but he was too strong. His rage had doubled, tripled his seething, adrenaline-fueled strength. He could lift a car from a body right now, or snap a neck like a twig.
"You're dead, George," he hissed between his clenched jaw.
No, you are!
Then he felt them. All of them inside his head—Ritter, Johnstone, Timmons, and Henderson. He could see their faces, feel them pushing on him. The pressure increased as if invisible thumbs were pressing hard against his temples.
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