by Brandt Legg
There was a woman sitting next to me. It only took a second to recognize her as Spencer. The chauffeur addressed me as Mr. Hibbs. I was William B. Hibbs, the man who had the mausoleum built!
Soon we walked into a spacious library located in a separate building from the main house. Two men were waiting for us. The first I recognized as my father, but in this lifetime he was younger than me. His name was Cavanaugh. We had been together in a prior Outview at the Pyramid of Kukulkan at Chichen Itza, where we recovered the gold box just before an unknown assailant slit my throat. Because I was Hibbs and my father/Cavanaugh was the same person in both Outviews, it was obvious that my soul was incarnated as two people during the same time period. That would have seemed impossible to me a few months earlier but then so would almost every aspect of my current life.
The other guy was an incarnation of Lee Duncan. Both he and my father/Cavanaugh appeared to be working for Hibbs/me. The woman/Spencer and the two men were probably in their mid-thirties while Hibbs was over forty. They spoke in the hushed tones of conspirators even there, in Hibbs’ private library.
“It’s been nearly four years since our man was murdered on the Yucatan,” Lee said. “Yet the Jadeo is still safe.” He was talking about the gold box from Dad’s desk that I, as Nate, now possessed. That meant my father/Cavanaugh had gotten it out of Mexico after my death.
“I met with President Roosevelt yesterday at the dedication of the new Masonic Temple. I’m quite high and respected in these circles,” Hibbs said, with a quick smile.
“Yes, dear, we know,” the woman replied, absently pulling one of her blond hairs from my dark suit. “But you must remember, it wasn’t just some stooge they killed in Mexico. It was you.”
“That part is still too fantastic for me to believe,” Hibbs said. “As you know, I became convinced of the corruption and dangers their group posed when they assassinated President McKinley within days of me advising him against supporting the banking reforms. We were friends.”
“Friends? You were poker buddies,” the woman said.
“It was more than that, but no matter. Now there’s talk of instituting a federal income tax and turning our monetary system over to a private central bank. Could our leaders be so incredibly foolish to allow this?”
“It’s only the beginning,” the woman said.
Cavanaugh, who had been silent until now, spoke. “We’re not here to debate what the Masons or any other group is or is not going to do to this country. We’re simply here to maintain our oath and keep the Jadeo safe.”
“Yes,” Hibbs said. “It’s time to move it far away from Washington.”
“We agreed it should remain in the country,” Lee said.
Everyone nodded.
“To the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. It remains the least infiltrated and corrupt territory in the land.” Hibbs’ choice of hiding place for the gold box was most likely responsible for me being born and raised in Oregon. My father would have to retrieve it in yet another lifetime and make sure I would find it.
“We’ll leave tonight,” Cavanaugh said.
Hibbs led the group to a bookshelf that, after a few maneuverings, opened smoothly to a lit staircase. We descended the spiral steps, and reached a long curving tunnel approximately six feet wide and eight feet high. The space was furnished with rich carpet, crystal wall sconces, carved mahogany dressers flanked by Chippendale chairs and mirrors in gilt frames above each dresser. Hibbs stopped at the second one. Without being asked, my father and Lee lifted the heavy frame off the gray stonewall. Cavanaugh carefully worked a seam between two stones, and after a minute pulled the stone out of its socket. Hibbs smiled at the tiny safe door before dialing a combination. “Your birthday,” he said to his mistress, as he dialed the first number. His wife and daughter were at his home in the city. “The day we first met,” as he stopped on the second. “The day our son was born,” he said as the final click released the lock. Although the door was small, the safe opened to a larger compartment that housed stacks of large envelopes. He withdrew a black cloth bag and from it produced the gold box, the Jadeo.
“These other papers,” Hibbs motioned toward the safe, “although irrelevant compared with the importance of the Jadeo, would normally carry enough significance to murder and die for. Their contents and the implications could impact millions.”
“I hope you can remember Billy’s statement for a very long time,” the woman said, staring at Lee.
He nodded.
I was searching Hibbs’ memory for what exactly the documents contained when Booker’s driver shook me violently, the mantra began in my head, “I’m Nathan Ryder, I’m sixteen... ”
“Nate, are you okay?” he asked, pulling me from the floor.
“Yeah, I think.” I was still adjusting to not being Hibbs and trying to comprehend the consequences from what he/I did more than a hundred years earlier.
“Booker told us not to stay in one place more than fifteen minutes. We’ve been here almost half an hour. We’re leaving.” The sunlight strained my eyes as he ushered me back outside.
“Hey, you’re from this area, right?” I asked, as we were turning back onto New Hampshire Avenue.
“Yes, fourth-generation Washingtonian.”
“Ever hear of Graydon Manor? It belonged to the same Hibbs buried in the mausoleum.”
“No, but I’ll bet Google has.” Seconds later his iPhone showed him search results of Hibbs and Graydon. It was located in Leesburg, Virginia, and was now a children’s rehabilitation center.
“How long would it take us to get there?” I asked.
“Just over an hour, depending on traffic, but there’s no time to get there and back before your big meeting.”
I wasn’t ready for the big meeting. I knew I could die and that I probably would. Then it occurred to me, the answers might only be found in death.
23
Booker’s driver dropped me at the parking lot and drove off. None of us were interested in him being arrested or his identity being known and linked back to Booker. He wasn’t followed. Homeland Security had closed Roosevelt Island for the afternoon. The eighty-eight acre island, located in the Potomac River between Virginia and Washington, DC, would be the site of the secret meeting between Luther Storch, head of the CIA’s most covert division, Lightyear, and the nation’s most wanted terrorist, Nathan Ryder.
The location suited me because, except for a small memorial park, the island had been maintained in its wild form as a bird sanctuary and was nothing but trees. The Nacotchtank Indians who once inhabited it were said to have used the island for rituals, but sometime in the 1930s, after a long series of owners and claims, it was donated as a monument to the twenty-sixth president. Was it just a coincidence that I’d just experienced an Outiew where I, in another life, was friends with Teddy Roosevelt? Not likely, just as it was not likely that I wasn’t walking into a trap.
Two agents approached, one already talking on his radio. The escort lasted until the narrow footbridge, which crossed the swift-running Potomac River. Extra hearing and vision allowed me to see and hear everything. After Outin and Cervantes, my powers were at their peak. If they were going to kill me, it wouldn’t be easy. I could torch this little island with a blink of my eyes, or engulf it in a hurricane. I could levitate and Skyclimb and rip giant trees from the ground without breaking a sweat. It all seemed a dream but not believing meant it was all a nightmare.
A new pair of agents, more heavily armed, were waiting at the other side of the bridge. They checked for wires and concealed weapons. After a short walk, we reached the center of the island near a giant monument to Teddy Roosevelt. I thought of the Hibbs Outview again. What was the connection? My escorts moved away as a man emerged from behind the marble pedestal that supported the bronze stature.
Luther Storch was not the ogre I’d been expecting. He looked like a movie star and was intensely charming. “Well, Nathan Ryder. My God, I’ve actually been nervous about meeting you.
A legend so young... thank you for coming.”
His warmth seemed genuine. As he pulled off his sunglasses I almost expected serpent eyes, but he looked like a guy from a toothpaste ad. How could he have ordered so many deaths, ruined lives, and inspired a movement against him? All my powers were fully at my disposal for the first time since I left Cervantes, and their energy pulsed through me. There was no heat warning of danger. Storch’s friendly greeting left me confused, and all my rehearsed preparations were forgotten.
“No need to pretend you like me, Storch. I’ve been dodging your bullets too long to believe it.”
“Nate, no that’s not exactly... can I call you Nate?”
“I don’t care what you call me. And I don’t want to hear excuses about why you killed my father and aunt.”
“Please Nate, hear me out. Fitts was out of control. He was not acting on my orders. He was rogue and had an agenda of his own. The Chinese were paying him—”
“Wait, you expect me to believe Fitts was a double agent?”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t been trying to kill me since he died?”
“No. No. My goodness, we don’t do that sort of thing. That’s all in the movies. I understand you watch a lot of movies. Me too.”
I stared at Storch trying to see past this façade, wanting to read him with Vising but knew if I tried, they’d shoot me thirty times before even getting my arms around him. Instead I searched his eyes but didn’t recognize his soul from any Outviews. Risking this meeting had been a waste. Why would Spencer not have known that? Too late; he was talking again.
“There have been many misunderstandings, Nate. We aren’t some evil organization trying to destroy you. I don’t know who you’ve been listening to, but this has all gotten out of hand.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, that part is true. We may be doing things you don’t agree with, but evil? Ha! Evil isn’t a real thing. Evil is like beauty, it’s in the eye of the beholder.”
“Storch, I’m not buying this. You seem to have a convenient answer for all the horrible things that have happened, but I know better and it’s not working... just tell me why you wanted me here.”
He smiled, then pursed his lips. And there was something familiar in his expression. Maybe I did know him, but there was a shield blocking full recognition, like his eyes were masked. He turned away and looked up at Roosevelt. “We do what we want, but we’d like your help. Nate, I’m trying to appeal to you as an adult. I’m trying to save your life... and a lot of others’. Join us.”
“I’d rather die.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And be sure, it’s not just you who will die.”
“Oh, I know that. I know what you’re capable of.”
“Do you, Nate? Do you really? Because there is more at stake here than you could imagine. And I’m furiously exhausted by the trouble you’ve been causing.”
“You’re exhausted? Have you been running for your life? Has your life been ruined?”
“I have pressures you can’t begin to understand... but none of that matters. We can help each other. Your gifts are exactly the kind of talents the agency needs. You can stop running; you can begin a richly rewarding career.”
“You want me dead.”
“No, we want your help. In only a few months your powers have advanced beyond what it has taken some of our people years to achieve. Do you realize what these powers can mean for our country, the war on terror, mankind?”
“I know what they mean to someone like you who controls and manipulates people with the powers. You tell them they’re doing good things, and you pay them well, give them health insurance and paid vacations, perks and toys. They sell themselves out and everyone else on the planet for trinkets and cash.”
“What are you, some kind of communist?”
“I’m just saying, if the psychics you have working for Lightyear knew what you were really doing and knew the truth about me and what’s happened, then you would be the one running.”
“So, what’s your answer?” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“My answer? If you’re asking me to come and work for you at Lightyear... “
He nodded.
“My answer is, go screw yourself.”
He sighed and shook his head. “If you insist on fighting us, it’s not just you who will lose. Your family and friends may die.” His threat shook me.
“I’m begging you to leave them alone,” I said, trying not to let my voice tremble.
“Nate, I’m going to be honest. You’re not just a small problem for me. Either you get on board, or I’ll do worse than have you killed.”
“What is—”
“You can’t be allowed to be a martyr.”
“I won’t help you.”
“What if I said, I’ll blow up a mall, or an airplane... and blame it on you?”
“Talk to an evil man long enough, and his mask comes off.”
“I’m not evil, Nate. You just don’t understand the importance of what we’re doing.”
“Important enough to kill innocent people?”
“Don’t be naïve. People are expendable—do you know how many are born every day? We’re sure as hell not running out of them.”
“You’re insane.”
“Really? But I’m going to walk off this island and continue with my work, and you’re not. It’s a shame, Nate, we could have used your talents. Say hello to your father.”
The sniper’s bullet hit just as I began my Skyclimb. More shots came as I went higher and dozens ripped into the trees from multiple angles as I reached the upper branches of a hundred-year-old oak. I leapt from tree to tree as the tiny island filled with soldiers. Choppers appeared. It was the redwoods all over again. I had learned from that lesson and began shooting fires.
I sensed there was a portal nearby. Closing my eyes and clearing my mind, I somersaulted into the air. Instead of plunging a hundred feet to the ground, my body was pulled diagonally into a strange translucent portal. I was invisible to them, yet I could see everything happening at once and instantaneously be at any spot on the island. But the portal seemed to offer no escape; it was completely self-contained. Still, it bought me the minutes I needed to heal my bullet wound. Fires were raging all over the island as hundreds of agents scoured the woods. The portal protected me from the smoke but while I was trying to form a plan, it began to disintegrate. They spotted me near the southern edge where the trees met the Potomac River. Their bullets miraculously missed as I ran straight into the river, but instead of sinking, I was running on top of the water. I was close to making it to the trees and high bank on the Virginia side when one of the ever-present news helicopters, always circling the nation’s capital, began filming as boats and military choppers closed in on me.
24
I made it to shore and scrambled up a hiking trail under Key Bridge—a momentary respite from the helicopters. There was no time to tend to my many wounds; agents were close behind. Emerging from cover, I summoned my failing strength and Skyclimbed through the thin stretch of trees between the GW Parkway and the Potomac, then maneuvered to the road. Spotting a red pickup towing a large RV traveling at fifty mph, I increased my speed and made a decent landing on the roof of the trailer. The hard part was swinging down, opening the door and throwing myself inside. I was bleeding too much and wasn’t sure they had spotted me. I made Lusans and assessed the damage. Miraculously, there were just four bullet wounds and only one serious. After a few minutes, the bleeding was under control and since the pickup hadn’t stopped, it was possible my escape worked.
I switched the flat screen on to a cable news channel that showed footage of me “walking on water” and dodging heavy government gunfire. There was also an inset of my Ashland High School yearbook photo with a caption, “Golden Gate Terrorist Loose in Washington.” At least the media thought I’d escaped, but Lightyear might send a missile into this poor person’s RV at an
y second. The next image that flashed on the screen was CIA headquarters; according to the map, I was heading straight for it. Defensive preparations were being made.
Commentators were already debating how I managed to escape by walking on water. The anchorwoman actually asked if I was the Antichrist. I changed channels and saw a government expert saying that it was too soon to analyze my stunt, but it was possible I had access to a special combat suit being developed by the Chinese. That would also explain how I started all the fires simultaneously, but he cautioned, some types of pyrotechnics might have been planted on the island in advance by my network of terrorists. How did they get this garbage up so fast? I hoped Spencer was watching and the girls weren’t.
How long would it take Storch to find me? Kellaring was not an option because I needed Lusans. It was time to move again. The truck slowed and took an exit at Chain Bridge Road. I was surprised to see an actual sign for CIA Headquarters. Someone in that building was using psychic powers to find me. Many others were probably using satellites and surveillance cameras. I found some clothes, a little loose but better than my blood-stained shreds. The TV said roadblocks were going up at key locations and to expect long delays at all area airports, train and bus stations, and ports. In an unprecedented effort to bring me in, local police departments were visiting hospitals and even doctors’ offices.