Psychic Warrior

by Bob Mayer

  Dalton was concerned with something else. "Do you think this Chyort is the successor to the generator?"

  “Yes, "Jackson said.

  "So the Chyort is an avatar, just like us?"

  "Like us," Jackson acknowledged, "but more powerful. They've done something different than Psychic Warrior."

  "What the hell is going on?" Dalton wondered. "This doesn't make much sense. If all this is true, and you met the Chyort in the railyard, then the GRU should know that the Mafia plans to take down the nuke train. But those guys in there acted like they didn't have a clue."

  "Maybe the information is compartmentalized?" Jackson suggested.

  "That was the head of the GRU in there. If he doesn't know, who does? Hell, Chyort, whoever the hell he is, should be stopping this."

  "Let's get home, "Jackson said. "I'm tired and this doesn't change anything In fact, it makes it all the more critical that we stop the nuke hijacking now that we know that the Mafia will have a means of projecting those warheads anywhere on the globe."

  *****

  "One billion dollars. U.S. currency, of course." Oma lit a foul-smelling Russian cigarette and watched the two men across the expanse of her desk. There was no response on their part to her quoted price or the odor she blew across the desk.

  "I will be most reasonable about payment," Oma said. "One hundred million due in the next twenty-four hours to insure targeting. The balance to be paid on completion of the task."

  "For one nuclear bomb?" the head of the delegation asked.

  "For one nuclear bomb placed anywhere you want it on the face of the planet and detonated there, Mr. Abd al-Bari," Oma clarified. "You want the bomb inside of Israel's secret nuclear weapon storage facility in the Negev Desert? I will put it there and detonate it." Oma's steel teeth shone as she smiled. "The world will think it an accident. The Israelis will have to go public and admit what they have so fervently denied for so long. Their nuclear arsenal will be destroyed. The military forces based nearby will also be destroyed. A rather spectacular coup, and there is no way they can trace it to you."

  "No one can get inside Negev," the younger of the two men protested, before he was shushed by Abd al-Bari.

  "I can put the weapon anywhere you want and detonate it," Oma repeated. "That is why the price is set as it is."

  "Still rather high for one weapon," Abd al-Bari said.

  "How much do you spend on your military each year?" Oma didn't wait for an answer. "Buy a few less fighter jets and you won't even tweak your budget."

  "The money is not the critical factor," Abd al-Bari said. "I want to know how you can do this."

  "That’s not part of the deal," Oma said.

  Abd al-Bari laughed. "Then there is no deal." He stood. "I have listened to many fools make many outrageous promises over the years. I do not need to waste any more time."

  Oma spread her hands out on her desktop. "You fail to understand the true nature of what we are discussing. I am trying to be courteous. To give you something for your money."

  "I don’t need to listen to your blustering." Abd al-Bari turned for the door.

  "I understand you enjoy gambling," Oma said.

  Abd al-Bari paused.

  "According to my sources, you play the cards," Oma continued. "That means you understand the difference between a bluff and someone holding a strong hand."

  "I’m very good at everything I do," al-Bari said.

  "If you have the imagination, I would suggest you turn this all around and picture my deal for one billion dollars per bomb as a winning hand." Oma smiled once more. "I do not wish to offend you, but please, understand that I can put those nuclear bombs anywhere, including the center of your largest oil field. There are some who would pay the money I am asking for that to happen. Of course, I have not contacted them yet. If I am bluffing, then no harm done if you walk out that door. But if I truly hold the cards I am telling you I hold-"

  Abd al-Bari's skin flushed a shade darker. "Do not threaten me."

  "I’m trying to be reasonable," Oma said. "I would like to continue to be reasonable. But I thought it best that all the possibilities be put on the table, so to speak, so that we have complete understanding."

  Abd al-Bari said, "And if you fail? If you do not do what you say you can after I have paid you the money you ask for down payment?"

  Oma spread her hands wide, taking in her office and the building. "Then you know where to find me and you can play your winning hand. I understand you have those in your organization who are most willing to die for your cause. I have no doubt that if you wanted me dead, one of those people would find a way to accomplish that."

  "I have to confer with others," Abd al-Bari said.

  "Please do." Oma's voice chilled the room. "But I need an answer in twenty-four hours."

  Chapter Eighteen

  A dreary rain was falling, turning the ground around the railhead into mud. Colonel Verochka, head of nuclear security for the GRU, watched from the interior of the BMD armored vehicle through a bulletproof portal on the side. Led by two T-72 tanks, four BMDs rolled through the mud, their treads giving firm traction. The armored personnel carriers were followed by two more T-72s. Overhead, above the sound of the rain falling on the metal and the roars of the armored vehicles, Verochka could hear the sound of helicopter blades. She knew that four MI-28 Havoc gunships, the most advanced helicopter in the Russian inventory, were flying cover.

  The four BMDs slid next to a heavily armored railcar hooked to two oil-burning engines. As dozens of infantrymen, weapons at the ready, spread out around the train, the back doors on the lead BMD swung open. Two men carried a plastic container out, up a concrete ramp and in through the heavy metal doors on the side of the car. Four more bombs were off-loaded, then the next BMD moved up and the process was repeated.

  Colonel Verochka waited until all twenty warheads were loaded and the train was secured. Then she ordered the driver of the BMD to head to the nearby airfield. She sat down in one of the web chairs along the inner wall of the APC. A metal briefcase was on her knees. A steel chain ran from the case to a titanium cuff around her left wrist.

  Overhead, two of the Havocs flew cover as they approached the airfield.

  *****

  "Damn those Russian sons of bitches!" Raisor exclaimed. "We thought they might have had something to do with the Thresher going down!"

  "We?" Dalton was bone-tired, and there was less than four hours before they had to go. But Raisor had demanded a complete report on what they had discovered on their reconnaissance mission. "You weren't even born when the Thresher sunk."

  "The CIA suspected Soviet involvement in the sinking at the time," Raisor amended.

  "That really doesn't matter right now," Dalton said. "The important thing is we now know there's more to this theft of nuclear weapons than it appeared. If these Mafia people have the phased-displacement generator, and they have Vasilev, and the programming code, and they can get the bombs, we've got a big problem on our hands."

  "They still need remote viewers to aim the weapon," Jackson noted.

  "If they're gathering all the other pieces," Dalton said, "I'm sure they have a handle on that too."

  Raisor checked the digital clock overhanging the room. "We don't have much time."

  "If you can get an idea where Vasilev is or what happened to this generator," Dalton said to Raisor, "it would help."

  “Just concern yourself with your mission," Raisor said.

  "I'm trying to do that," Dalton said, "but nobody seems to have a clue what’s really happening."

  "We know the warheads are going to get stolen in four hours," Raisor said. "That's all we need to know."

  "Dr. Hammond," Dalton said, giving up on the CIA man.

  Hammond had a cup of coffee in her hand. “Yes?"

  Dalton noted that the hand holding the cup was shaking very slightly. "What if you wanted to destroy an avatar? How would you do it?"

  "On the virtual plane or in t
he real?" Hammond asked.

  "Either one."

  Hammond took a deep drink from her mug, then put it down. "I've thought about it and I've had Sybyl put some time into it. But I really can't tell you. The key thing to remember is that the avatar is a projection. Even when it coalesces into the real world and transfers power into matter, it’s still a projection. So what you want to know is sort of like asking how one would destroy an image on screen in a movie."

  "Where is the essence of me then, when I'm on the other side?" Dalton asked.

  Hammond looked at him quizzically for a few seconds, then realized what he meant. "We have to assume that despite traveling on the virtual plane, the essence of who you are remains with the body."

  "I don't buy that," Dalton said. "When I've been out there, I've been out there."

  "You're asking where the mind exists," Hammond said, "and that's something that's more philosophical than-"

  Dalton cut her off. "I'm asking where the soul exists," he said, slamming his fist into his own chest. Then he pointed at his head. "This only takes you so far, then something else takes over. I want to know if we're putting that something else out there."

  "I don't know," Hammond said. "I don't think so, but . . ."

  "What do we do if we come up against an enemy avatar during our mission."

  "What enemy avatar?" Raisor asked. He gave a hard look to Jackson. "Has she been filling your head about her devil?"

  "It's a possibility," Dalton said. "General Bolodenka said that S-D eight, which deals with the same thing you at Bright Gate deal with, has come up with a new-generation weapon, something beyond the phased-displacement generator. I think they’ve developed a similar ability to Psychic Warrior, and I think we need to be as prepared as we can be for the possibility we might run into that something."

  "I don't know what to tell you," Hammond said. "We really have no experience in this area."

  A thought occurred to Dalton. "What if something happens to Sybyl while we're out in the virtual plane?"

  "We have a backup computer that we can put on-line," Hammond said.

  "And while you're waiting to go on-line, what happens to us?" Dalton demanded.

  "The switchover is automatic."

  "But if there is a time gap?"

  Hammond put her hands in the air, more from frustration than anything else. "I don't know."

  "Why are you so worried?" Raisor asked.

  "Because we think this Russian avatar, Chyort, knows about the nuke takedown. And we might trip over each other trying to stop it."

  "If your goals are the same, then there shouldn't be a problem," Raisor said.

  "But if they aren't?" Dalton didn't wait for an answer. "Remember, this Chyort probably works for the agency that killed every man on board the Thresher. Even if our goals are the same, we're still on opposite sides, as you pointed out to me when you justified not giving the Russians your intelligence about the takedown."

  "Why not focus on your mission, Sergeant Major?" Raisor suggested.

  "What about the first Psychic Warrior team?" Dalton asked. "Are they dead?"

  Silence filled the room. Finally Raisor stood up. "Come with me, Sergeant Major. I want to show you something."

  "Agent Raisor-" Hammond began, but the look he gave her froze the next words in her mouth.

  Dalton followed as Raisor headed to the side of the control room, to a door that Dalton had never seen opened yet. Raisor punched in a code on the small pad next to it and the metal slid to the side.

  "Come on," Raisor said, waving Dalton in.

  The door slid shut behind them. The room was almost a duplicate of the control room, full of ten tubes. And inside nine of them were bodies, floating in the green fluid. Six men, three women.

  "That's the first Psychic Warrior team," Raisor said. "My team."

  "Are they alive?" Dalton could see small placards on the front of each tube listing the name of the occupant.

  "The bodies are," Raisor said. "The minds, or soul, or whatever the hell you want to call the essence of a person, that we don't know about. Hammond thinks they're dead. The government thinks they're dead. We were supposed to pull the plug on the bodies a week and a half ago."

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “They’re my team.”

  "What happened to them?"

  "We were betrayed," Raisor said. "I've seen your classified file, Dalton. You fought in Afghanistan, were captured and held prisoner. You know about being betrayed, don't you? About being given a mission and then having the plug pulled? Well, that's what happened here, literally. They were on a mission and my superior had Sybyl shut down while they were still out I was in DC, playing politics with the Select Committee on Intelligence, trying to keep our funding flowing. And I came back to this."

  "Why did they do that?"

  "That's a complicated story which you don't have the clearance for," Raisor said.

  Dalton had seen it before: personnel abandoned because some bureaucrat or politician thousands of miles away and safe behind their desk made a decision. In Vietnam they'd sent teams of indigenous infiltrators into the north, and when Nixon had halted the bombing campaign, all air traffic over the north was grounded, including the resupply and exfiltration flight for those men. They all died. And life in Washington went on. The Marines in Beirut who'd been placed in an untenable position with unclear guidance. And thus they died. Delta Force in Mogadishu. The SEALs in Panama.

  Dalton stopped in front of one of the tubes. A dark- haired woman floated inside, fluid slowly flowing through the tubes. The name on the placard was Kathryn Raisor. Dalton turned toward the CIA man. "Is this your wife?"

  "My sister." Raisor held up his left hand, displaying a ring on his pinkie. "This is her ring from the Air Force Academy. She went from the Air Force to the NSA. We were both pegged for this program because we maxed out the psych tests when they were screening for personnel for this program. We were good psychic ability candidates. It must be genetic, don't you think? Hammond and the other brains think so." Raisor was standing next to his sister's tube, looking up at her, his voice low, as if he were in a trance. "Oh yes, that's what they think."

  "Hammond did this?" Dalton demanded.

  Raisor shook his head. "Her predecessor." The cold smile crept around his lips. "Her predecessor is no longer with us."

  "Who ordered the shut down?"

  "That's my concern," Raisor said.

  "It's mine too," Dalton said. "It’ll be my team in the tubes next. I want to know if the son of a bitch who did this to your team can do this to mine."

  "The source of that decision is not wired into the chain of command for this mission," Raisor said.

  "So this is why we were brought in?"

  "Replaceable parts in the big machine," Raisor said. He looked at his watch. "I suggest you get some rest. We go over very shortly."

  As Dalton walked out of the room, the last thing he saw was Raisor silhouetted against the glow from his sister's tube.

  *****

  "Who is that?" Opa asked.

  The sound of General Rurik's summons echoed across the glade, into the woods and the fields beyond.

  Feteror was seated with his back to one of the trees. He reluctantly stood. "I have to go on a mission," he said.

  Opa reached out a wrinkled hand and placed it on Feteror's shoulder. "I enjoyed talking with you."

  Feteror nodded, not sure what to say.

  "Will you be back?"

  Feteror paused. "I don’t know." He looked at the glade and the area surrounding them. He could hear birds chirping in the trees, the sound of the water rushing by. He could even smell the odor of manure coming from the nearby fields. It felt more real than anything he'd experienced in many, many years, but he knew it wasn't.

  "I have to go."

  "Arkady-" Opa paused.

  "Yes, Opa?"

  "There are good things in the world." Opa spread his hands, taking in the glade. "This is a good place
."

  "This is not real," Feteror said. He paused, almost adding that the old man he was talking to wasn’t real either.

  "Are you here?" Opa asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If you are here, then this is real," Opa said. "You don't believe me. You don't believe that I am here, either, do you?"

  Feteror felt the tug of the plan he had worked so hard to put into effect pulling at him.

  "Hatred is not the way," Opa said. "I fought for years and I know that."

  "Do you know what they did to me?" Feteror didn't wait for an answer. "They cut away my body and kept me in darkness. They took away everything!"

  Opa shook his head sadly, his thick gray beard brushing against his aged chest. "They took much, but not everything, Arkady. Some things you've given away and you can get them back." He reached up with his hand and placed it on Feteror's chest. "You're missing something there. You can get it back."

  Feteror shrugged the hand off. "I will make them pay."

  Feteror dissolved from Opa's view.

  The old man stood alone in the glade. He looked up into the blue sky, a tear slowly making its way down his leathery cheek.

  *****

  Feteror accessed his outside links, forcing himself to block out the image of his grandfather, and focusing on what was to come.

  "Yes?" He could see General Rurik standing at the master console. He was pleased the see the wild look in the other man's eyes. He had hoped the pig cared for his family.

  "I have a mission of the highest priority for you," Rurik said.

  Feteror waited.

  "There are two tasks." Rurik paused, collecting himself, then continued. "The steel cylinder you saw being taken from October Revolution Island. You must find it." He paused.

  "And the second task?" Feteror pressed.

  Rurik's hands came down on the edge of the table in front of him, the whites of the knuckles clear to Feteror's cameras. "My wife and children have been abducted. I want you to find them."