Invitation: The Call, The Haunted, The Sentinels, The Girl
Page 2
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer but kept testing his leg. Finally, he rolled over onto his hands and knees.
“Professor, be careful, you’re hurt.”
“Nonsense.” With some effort he managed to stand.
The girl took his arm. “Please, Professor, we don’t know what’s—”
“I’m fine.” He shrugged her off. “Let go. I said I’m fine. I must have pulled something.” He began walking. “See, I’m fine now.”
I glanced at Cowboy, who avoided my gaze.
“So, how far to the nearest town?” the old man demanded.
“Nine, ten miles,” I said.
“Good. Then you will take us to your finest hotel—provided, of course, you are able to stay on the road without hitting anyone or anything else.”
I turned for the car. “Let’s go, Cowboy.”
“Don’t worry,” the old man said. “We’ll pay.”
“I’m not a taxi service.”
“Twenty-five dollars.”
I turned. “You think you can just buy me like some—”
“Fifty.”
“Seventy-five.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
I continued toward the car.
“Surely you don’t intend to leave us out here.”
“Enjoy the walk.”
“All right, all right,” he said. “Seventy-five.”
“Per person.”
“That’s robbery!”
“Take it or leave it.”
He stood, anything but happy.
I shrugged, knowing I had him. “That’s how us mental midgets do business.”
CHAPTER
3
Cowboy, because of his size, sat up front with me. The professor, because of his mouth, sat in the back with Andi.
But that didn’t stop Cowboy’s down-home charm. “So, how come you’re a professor and all, but you ain’t teaching at a college?”
Andi, who had the enthusiasm of a fourteen-year-old and energy to back it up, answered, “He’s on a national lecture tour. Lots of universities. Come next spring we’ve even been invited to the White House.”
Cowboy grinned. “You don’t say.”
“And before that we’re going to the Middle East and Europe. Maybe even the Vatican.”
“That sounds real nice. And what, exactly, do you all lecture on?”
The professor didn’t answer, which didn’t stop Cowboy. “S’cuse me, Professor, what did you say your lectures are about?”
More silence.
“Professor?”
Finally the old man said, “What’s your name, son?”
“Bjorn Christensen. They call me Tank for short.”
“Well, Tank-for-short, during this lovely tour of your desolate countryside, do you suppose for one minute we could enjoy some silence?”
I shot the man a look in the mirror.
Miss Congeniality answered. “The professor lectures on the toxicity of believing in God in a postmodern culture.”
Cowboy stayed quiet, which I got to admit was a bit of a relief. But it didn’t last long.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude or nothin’, but why do you want to go around telling people there ain’t a God?”
“I don’t tell them there isn’t a God. I tell them they’re intellectually stunted if they believe in one.”
Cowboy frowned. “But I believe in God.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do.”
I glanced back in the mirror. “So you’re an atheist,” I said.
“I’m a realist.”
“You tour the world to mess up people’s faith?”
“I tour the world as penance for the lives I’ve ruined.”
“He was a priest,” Andi explained. “A Jesuit.”
“That was a long, long time ago,” he said.
“But—” Cowboy turned back to him. “I’m confused.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“If you’re a priest, how come you don’t believe—”
“Stop the car!” Andi shouted. “Quick, stop the car!”
If it was the professor who yelled, I wouldn’t have bothered. But the girl I almost liked, in spite of her perkiness.
“What’s up?” I said as we slowed.
“There!” She pointed off to the right. “Over there.”
A hundred yards away, you could see pillars of rock shining in the moonlight. Like giant stalagmites. Some rose a hundred feet high. Around them were a bunch of buildings, a fancy school I had some history with.
“Those are the Trona Pinnacles,” Cowboy said. “Kinda famous around here.”
“There’s nine of them, right?” Andi asked.
“That’s what you see from the road,” I said, “but there’s plenty more”
“And this is September sixth.” She turned to the old man. “Nine, six, Professor.”
“Please, I am in no mood for your—”
“And what time did our plane leave?”
“Andi . . .”
“We were supposed to leave at eight o’clock.”
He sighed. “But because of mechanical difficulties we were delayed an hour.”
“Actually one hour and six minutes.”
“Andrea—”
“Putting our departure time at—”
“Ms. Goldstein—”
“9:06.”
He looked at me in the mirror. “She has a thing for numbers.”
“Not just numbers,” she said. “Patterns. Everything’s a pattern. The Fibonacci Numerical Series and the Golden Ratio, DNA, Scale Rotational Crystal Growth. Please stop the car.”
The professor sighed. “Better do as she says.”
I pulled to a stop in the school’s driveway, under its sign.
“What are those buildings?” Andi asked.
“Some hotshot prep school for geniuses.”
She squinted at the sign. “The Institute for Advanced Psychic Studies.”
“Like I said, it’s a—”
“That’s six words!” she cried.
“Andi—”
“And the date! Look at the date!”
Locals who never got over the Institute buying up the place used the sign for target practice. But you could still read the date it was built. At least part of it.
“—996!” Andi practically shouted.
“Excuse me?” I heard another voice, from outside. I glanced at my side mirror and saw some skinny teen walking toward us.
“Wonderful,” the professor sighed. “More local color.”
The kid came up to my open window. “Where have you been?” He had an accent like from India or something.
“I know you?” I asked.
“I am Sridhar. Sridhar Rajput.”
He stood a moment, then reached out to shake my hand. I didn’t feel inclined to take it. “What can I do for you, Sridhar Rajput?”
“It has been three hours.” His voice cracked. Sounded like nerves. “I have been waiting nearly three hours for you to come and address my concerns.”
“Waiting?”
“My dreams, they indicated you would be here at 11:00 p.m. and now it is nearly 2:00 a.m.”
CHAPTER
4
As we headed down the Institute’s drive, the kid dumped a truckload of info on us. Most of it I already knew, and I’ll tell you about it in a minute. Of course, the professor, in his usual charming manner, made it clear he didn’t buy any of it.
“So why are you coming with us?” I said. “If you think the place is a crock, you should have stayed in the car.”
“I have no inclination to sit alone in some godforsaken desert waiting to be mugged or run over again.”
Of course it was a lie. He was as curious as the rest of us.
The Institute had always been a mystery. Our private Area 51. It started back when some geologists tried digging a well into the earth’s mantle. They got nine miles down when the drill started to wobble, t
hen flew out of control. They said they’d hit a giant cavern and couldn’t go on. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. Whatever the reason, there was plenty of talk about smelling sulfur and hearing voices. Some claimed they heard animals howling. Others said people.
The point is, they shut down the place until another organization came along and bought it. They built the fancy boarding school. Once in a while we see a teacher or student from it, but for the most part they stick to themselves. They don’t bother us and we don’t bother them. No one gives them a thought, except for the rumors—everything from a vacation spot for extraterrestrials to an assembly plant of spare body parts for superheroes.
Truth is, like the sign says, it’s a place where they study psychic stuff. They fly kids in from all over the world who are supposed to be gifted. I don’t care how you cut it, for me that makes the place interesting. That’s why when some kid appears in the middle of the night begging us to follow him and check something out . . . well, here I am.
We were twenty yards from the main gate and guardhouse when I said, “You guys had to take lots of tests to get in?”
“Yes, we have had many examinations. Physical, psychological, intellectual. They even studied our DNA.”
I nodded. “To make sure you were worth the investment.”
“That is correct. But you must not feel bad. You came extremely close.”
“Say what?”
“You think I would not know? I did my homework, Brenda Barnick.”
I gave him a look. The Institute was the reason I dropped out of school and moved here in the first place. With the pictures and stuff I see, I figured I might get in. No such luck. But that was a long time ago.
“And you.” The kid turned to Cowboy.
“Me?”
“Did you ever wonder why a small community college would offer a football scholarship to a student three states away?”
Cowboy shrugged. “Some folks think I’m kinda good.”
“They wanted him nearby?” I asked. “They paid the college to bring him here?”
“So they could monitor him, correct.”
“We got a pretty good season so far,” Cowboy said.
Andi spoke up. “When you use the term they, who, exactly, do you mean?”
“Dr. Trenton, our director, calls them the Gate. Though I believe even he is not entirely sure who they are. We are merely their training camp. One of several. They are very secretive and”—he lowered his voice—“that is one of my many concerns.”
“Right,” she said. “You mentioned concerns.”
“Which is why you have come.”
We traded looks with each other.
“Please,” he said. “I am not complaining. It is a great privilege to attend here. My parents could not be more proud. And the placement they offer after graduation, you cannot imagine. Nevertheless . . . well, you shall see. My dreams said you would come to help me decide, and I trust my dreams.”
“Of course,” the professor said dryly, “that explains everything.”
“When did you first come here?” Cowboy asked.
“Our gifts surface during adolescence. Precognitive skills, psychokinesis, astral projection, telepathy—”
“And, in your case, dreaming,” Andi said.
“Yes. Originally it was lucid dreaming. But with my concentrated training it has grown much greater. And after the induction service tomorrow, it will become so great I shall be able to serve the nations.”
“Nations?” Andi said.
“One of last year’s students graduated in my same area of expertise. She now lives in Brussels and assists the European Banking Federation.”
“The Illuminati all filled up?” the professor asked.
Andi ignored him. “And you? Where will you go after graduation?”
He looked down. “That is why you are here. The ceremony will be tomorrow and—”
“Tomorrow?”
“—and I am not entirely sure of its safety. The Institute can be quite strict and demanding.”
“Which is why they allow you to wander off campus anytime you wish,” the professor said.
“Not exactly.” The kid lowered his head and pushed back the hair on the back of his neck. There, at the base of his skull, was a piece of metal the size of a dime. It glowed and pulsed a faint blue.
“Is that some sort of tracking device?” the professor said.
The kid nodded.
“They know you’re here?” Andi asked.
He smiled. “Yes and no. Come.” He motioned us to the guard shack. Once we got there, Sridhar opened the door and we stepped inside. The place looked like something out of a sci-fi film—rows of flashing lights, TV monitors, and other high-tech junk. Some Arnold Schwarzenegger-wannabe was asleep in front of the control board. The TV screen directly in front of him was playing a cheap porn flick. But he was sound asleep—head tilted back on the chair, headphones over his ears, snoring away.
“Security at its finest,” the professor said.
“Actually, I provided a little help.” The kid reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of some over-the-counter sleeping aid.
“You slipped him a sleeping pill?” I said.
“Actually, three. At his request.”
“Guys,” Cowboy said. “I really don’t think we should be here.”
I glanced over and saw him staring at the floor. “Why not?”
Without looking, he gestured to the porn flick.
“Does that embarrass you?” Andi asked.
“No, ma’am. But if it’s all the same with you”—he started toward the door—“I’ll just step outside ’til you’re all done here.” Before we could answer, he headed back out into the night.
Andi turned to the kid. “I’m still confused. Why would the guard ask you to put him to sleep?”
Sridhar pointed to a set of eight monitors to the right. Each had six photos of kids with a few statistics printed under them. I stepped closer to look. The photo of Sridhar was flashing red.
“That indicates I have stepped off the grounds,” he said.
“And?”
“Not only can I manipulate my own dreams, but I’ve learned to manipulate others’. Mr. Hanson—the guard—has agreed to let me leave the grounds if I provide him with enough . . . incentive.”
“Sleeping pills and a porn flick?” I said.
“I have directed his dreams to experience everything he hears in the movie.”
“As if he’s living it?”
“Precisely. In his dream, he is immersed in the movie as if he is there, as if it is really happening to him.”
“That’s sick,” Andi said.
I shrugged. “Sounds like a win-win to me. You get what you want and so does the Incredible Hulk here.”
“Except—” the kid hesitated. “He is never satisfied. Each time he insists upon more explicit material. It is becoming increasingly difficult to meet such demands.”
“Everyone has his weakness,” the professor said, moving to study the switches on the board.
The kid sighed. “Which we are carefully taught to exploit.” He hit a button on the panel. The iron gate in front began to open. “Come, we haven’t much time.”
“Before?”
“Dr. Trenton discovers you are here.”
“How will he know?” I nodded to the sleeping guard.
“The Travelers will awaken him.”
“Travelers?”
He didn’t answer, just motioned for us to follow. We stepped outside and joined Cowboy, who was humming, hands in his pockets, and gazing up at the stars. We headed toward the opening gate.
“That’s it for your security?” the professor said.
“Pardon me?”
“A fence, some security cameras, and a sleeping pervert? Out here in the middle of the desert I would have expected more.”
“As I said, we are merely a training facility. However, we do have one further line of defense.”
CHAPTER
5
The grounds were like I remembered. A couple of three-story buildings to our left, two more to our right, and a smaller round one straight ahead. The stone pillars rose between them. Some were as wide as thirty feet. Others ten. Some twenty feet tall. Others over a hundred.
It all felt very familiar and very strange. Stranger still was the kid stopping to put on a pair of John Lennon granny glasses.
He saw us looking at him and explained. “They reveal the location of the security field that is repositioned every week.”
“Security field?” Cowboy asked.
“It is an energy field that scans the brain waves of any intruder. It reads their greatest fears, then runs them through a central computer that amplifies them. They are then broadcast back into the brain many times stronger.”
“Of course,” the professor said. “One of those.”
“What I wish to show you is in the auditorium just ahead. But you must stay behind me and follow my route. You must not leave the path I follow.” He turned to the right and walked almost parallel to the fence.
Me and Andi traded looks, then followed. So did Cowboy.
Not our resident cynic.
Andi was the first to notice. “Professor?”
“You’re going to this building less than fifty feet in front of us, correct?”
“That is correct.”
“So why the circular route?”
“As I said, you must follow the prescribed path or you will—”
The professor snorted and started walking straight ahead.
“Professor, no!” Sridhar called. “You must not do that!”
“Watch me.”
“Professor—”
Nothing happened, at first. Two, three, four steps. Nothing. Then the old man slowed and looked down.
“Professor?”
He turned to us. “What’s going on?”
“Professor—”
“My mind . . . it’s—”
“Professor, you must step out of there. Step out of the field and follow—”
“It’s—” His face filled with concern. “I can’t . . . I’m . . . my thoughts, I can’t—” He grabbed his head. “What’s happening?”
Sridhar stepped around us and doubled back, careful to stay on the path.