PSI/Net

by Rob MacGregor

  "Not this lifetime, Max. Not with you monitoring me." Calloway walked past Maxwell, tapped on the door to the other room, and opened it.

  Camila looked up from a table where she was sitting with several others. "Well, are you ready?"

  "I want to talk to Doc. Give me five minutes with her."

  Camila glanced at her watch, then nodded toward Tyler, who led Calloway out of the room. As they headed down the hall, he told Tyler that he needed a tape recorder because Doc wasn't going to monitor him in a crowded room.

  "I can do better than that. I'll set up a remote mike in the room so we can listen from the other room." Tyler rapped on the door and looked around restlessly as they waited.

  "I hope she's not asleep," Calloway said.

  The door opened. Doc peered out, then smiled when she saw Calloway. "Come in. You just missed the doctor."

  Tyler said he'd wait in the hall and Calloway stepped inside. Doc's short hair was mussed, but she looked better than the night before when he'd walked her out of the hotel.

  "Do you know who's here?" Doc asked.

  "Maxwell. I talked to him."

  "He pushed me right over the edge. I had to get out of there. I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," Calloway assured her. "What did the doctor say?"

  She shrugged. "He said I should have some tests. All the stuff I've already done. They never found anything to account for what happens to me."

  He told her about his conversation with Maxwell. Doc scowled. "He changed his story. When I asked him about the drug the day he approached me at the bookstore, he denied it completely."

  "I think he's scrambling. He knows we're on to him. Do you feel up to monitoring me?"

  She rubbed her arms and took a step back. Her words ran together. "I can't, Trent. Not with Maxwell and the rest of them looking on. No thank you. I just can't do it. I'm sorry."

  "It'll be just you and me, right here." He explained his plan. She thought a moment. "I'll do it as long as no one else is in the room."

  "Great. I'll get things rolling."

  A few minutes later, they were wired and ready to start.

  "I don't want to use your numbers this time, Trent," Doc began. "If you see the event again, that could be construed as simply your memory of the earlier remote viewing experience. It also doesn't add anything new. So I'm going to try another approach."

  "Go ahead. Surprise me."

  He took several deep breaths and slowly sank down into his zone. No music accompanied him. He let his thoughts drop away and focused on his breathing.

  "I'm going to begin talking and I want you to just follow my voice awhile. With each word you will go deeper into that place where remote viewing works for you. Keep in mind, Trent, that from what we know, remote viewers just keep getting better and better. Beginners describe form, shape, color, and maybe texture, but experienced viewers, like yourself, are capable of much more. You can describe feelings, the function of objects, and obtain meaning from a situation. If you have to, you know that you can go inside your subject and pick up his thoughts and maybe even nudge him to do something."

  The idea of going into another person again and affecting the person's behavior disturbed him, but he let it pass. He drifted deeper, only half listening to Doc's idle patter. Like old times, he thought.

  "Okay, Trent, let's go to a person instead of a place," she continued. "Find the person named Matthew, the one you mentioned the last time. You might have caught a fleeting glimpse of him before. Now you will see him much more clearly. You will know who he is, what he is doing, and where he is going."

  Images were already appearing to him. When Doc finally stopped talking, he began describing them. "I see a very rugged landscape. No trees, just rocks. Like the moon. I'm seeing the landscape moving past me. I see it through Matthew's eyes."

  "Can you see Matthew?"

  Calloway was surprised to find himself peering through the windshield of a vehicle at a driver. "He's young, still a teenager. I can tell that he's vulnerable, under the influence of others. His mind is pliable, but there is a part of him that stands back and quietly examines everything."

  "Can you tell me what kind of vehicle he's driving?" Doc asked. He shook his head. "I don't know. It might be a pickup."

  "For the time being, let's not worry about the vehicle. Where is Matthew headed?"

  Calloway remained silent for several seconds. "I'm not sure. It's confusing. I see a huge white thing, a creature. It looks like a dinosaur. I also see a large man, as big or bigger than the dinosaur, and I see a building nearby."

  "Don't try to analyze too much, Trent," she said in a soft voice. "Just describe what you see."

  Doc's comment annoyed him. He knew that he could describe scenes in detail without being distracted or confused by analytical overlays. "I'm seeing something that resembles a dinosaur. I didn't say it was one."

  "Let's go on. What's Matthew doing there?"

  Calloway closed his eyes again, returning to his target. "He's concerned about something in the building. He has some connection with this place. He might work there."

  "Go inside the building and describe what you see," Maxwell said. It took a minute for Calloway to refocus. "I see a room with lots of small objects on shelves and a counter."

  "Move back now out of the building and look down on the entire scene. Sketch what you see."

  He opened his eyes and began drawing on his pad. He felt like he was working again on a target supplied by the CIA. Just like the old days. The images remained clear in his mind. First, he drew a two-dimensional rectangle that he interpreted as a parking lot. Next to it he quickly sketched the tall man and also two poles with a rectangle on it. . . a billboard. He outlined the dinosaur nearby and then drew the building.

  Behind the building, he added a path. Along the path, he scrawled images of people. But they were like the dinosaur—immobile and merely lifeless images. Like statues, he thought. He drew a black hole at the end of the trail to represent an underground entrance. To one side, he sketched a rough schematic of what he saw underground.

  "There are some sort of tunnels and caverns here. I see walkways and frost on the walls. It's like a big refrigerator. It's cold and icy. People wear coats in here."

  "Who goes in there?"

  "Visitors. But. . . I sense people with guns, too. They go into the off-limits area."

  "Who are they?

  Calloway took a couple of breaths as he tried to reach deep into the caverns. "Militia. That's the word I get. The kid has something to do with them."

  He remained aware of being both at the target and in the room.

  But suddenly, he felt another presence, as if someone had joined him and Doc. Disturbed, he pulled back from the target. He felt the intruder close by, seemingly sharing his body. Then his hand started rapidly scrawling words across the bottom of the page. He neither looked at nor sensed what he was writing.

  A loud rap at the door interrupted him. His pen jumped from the page and the sense of the other disappeared. The door opened and Tyler stepped inside. "Sorry to disturb you," he said in an excited voice. "But I've got to tell you, I know where that place is."

  Calloway opened his eyes.

  "I've been there," Tyler continued. "That's the Shoshone Ice Caves near Shoshone, Idaho. I grew up in Boise. There's a big white dinosaur and a big Indian—Chief Somebody—in front of the place."

  Calloway rubbed his face as he returned fully to the room.

  "Let's stop right here," Doc said and turned to Tyler. "Now you've got something to go on. The kid has some connection to the place and a connection to a militia group."

  Camila followed Tyler into the room. "That was impressive, Trent. Have you ever toured those caves?"

  "Nope. Didn't even know they existed."

  She nodded. "You know, I never saw you do it. Not once." "You still haven't. You heard me do it."

  "You're right. Well, I've got to go, but I'd like you and Doc to stay right here in th
is suite for at least one night at Uncle Sam's expense, including meals. We may need a follow-up."

  "That's fine with me, especially the meals." Calloway turned to Doc, who nodded in agreement.

  She left and Tyler collected the two cordless remote mikes that he'd clipped onto their collars and packed away the electronic gizmos into a black metal box. Calloway could tell that Tyler was still mulling over what had just happened. "Ice. You were right. I did know something about it. On the other hand, it didn't have a damn thing to do with ice fishing."

  "I guess I was the one fishing. Let's hope we hooked into a big one."

  "Yeah, let's hope."

  "Was Maxwell in the other room?" Calloway asked.

  Tyler nodded. "He stayed to interpret what was going on in here, but frankly I'm still confused."

  "Why?" Calloway asked.

  "Because it shouldn't be possible."

  "But it is," Doc said.

  "Okay, think of it this way," Calloway said. "This ability seems to go against the laws of nature. But some scientists involved in quantum physics now talk about what they call the non-local mind. It's a part of us that's not limited to our physical bodies, that's connected with everything in the universe."

  "How come I'm not aware of my non-local mind?" Tyler asked.

  "Good question." Calloway gathered his thoughts. "Normally, our minds are busy with a lot of noisy distractions, a continual chatter. But remote viewers have found that by relaxing, quieting their minds, and focusing, they can become aware of the non-local mind and perceive in ways that extend beyond ordinary perception."

  Tyler frowned, nodded. "I get it. Sort of."

  "That was very good," Doc said after Tyler left. "I remember you were one of the best instructors of the new people joining Eagle's Nest."

  "That was a while back. I had to dig for it."

  Then he remembered the presence of the other, and that he'd been scribbling something when Tyler had barged in. He picked up the notebook.

  "What the hell?"

  "What is it?" Doc asked.

  He handed the notepad to Doc. "I had no idea what I was writing at the time."

  Doc read it aloud: "Calloway—your non-local mind is going to explode if you don't stop sticking it where it doesn't belong."

  Chapter Eleven

  Matt held his long, muscular arms out like an airplane and weaved back and forth as he ran across the parking lot. The wind caressed his face and ruffled his thick, sandy hair. He looked up at the statue of Chief Wasakie, who guarded the lot, and yelled up to him. "Good-bye, Chief! I just quit! I ain't guidin' no more tours. I'm a free bird!"

  He continued on, arms extended, turning, pivoting until he landed at the door of the camper. "We are outa... here!"

  His voice dropped on the last word. He stared through the open window to the empty passenger seat. His arms collapsed, lifeless at his side. He felt as if the plane had just crashed. He'd been gone no longer than ten minutes. Maybe she'd changed her mind, just walked away, and caught a ride back to town.

  He heard a tap on the rear window of the cab and saw Jill, all freckles and flowing red hair, stick her tongue out at him and make a face. Her shoulders were bare, her T-shirt gone. Then she turned and pressed her butt against the window. No jeans, no panties.

  "Christ!"

  He laughed and ran around the back of the camper, opened the lift gate and climbed in. He already felt himself getting hard. Jill lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the bulge in his pants as he wriggled out of his jeans.

  She reached up for him and he climbed onto her, kissing and groping. She felt so damned good. It always happened so fast. He felt her hips grinding against him, driving him crazy. Sometimes he didn't even make it inside her. He could only imagine what it would be like if he could hold himself back. His body shuddered and he collapsed, gulping for air.

  "You're like a bunny rabbit, Matt," Jill whispered in his ear. "You gotta slow down. When we're married, no one's gonna care. We'll have lots of time and we'll be in our own bed."

  "That'll be great. A real bed."

  Matt tried to stretch his arms overhead, but banged a hand against the front wall of the eight-year-old camper. He sat up, shook his hand, then pulled on his clothes. "We better get on the road. We've got a lot of driving ahead of us."

  More than she realized. He wasn't looking forward to telling her the truth. The longer he held off, the better.

  Jill picked up her T-shirt, then reached under the bed. He felt a ripple of panic. "Here, let me help you."

  He dropped down and peered under the bed. He saw her jeans and panties and Jill's hand patting the floor just inches from the backpack containing the bomb. He grabbed her clothes just in time and handed them to her.

  He watched in fascination as she performed a reverse strip. He'd never seen her get dressed, at least not in the light. He noticed how she stepped into her panties, pulled them into place, and the way she wriggled into her jeans and pulled up the zipper. He liked the way she looked in jeans with nothing on top. She reminded him of pictures of models.

  "Matt?"

  "Yeah."

  "I was wondering where we're going to stay tonight."

  "I don't know. Depends how far we get," he answered.

  "No, that's not what I mean. Are we going to sleep back here at a roadside rest?"

  "Or a campground," he said. "That's what I was thinking."

  "I like your camper and all, but it would be fun and really sexy to get a motel room tonight. You know, we could stay up late watching TV and messing around."

  He shrugged. "I suppose we could try."

  "Try? What do you mean, try? Do you think we're too young to get a room on our own?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "But you were thinking it."

  "No, I was thinking that they always ask for credit cards and I don't have one."

  "I've got one," she answered with a smile. "We'll use mine." "I thought your dad gave it to you for Las Vegas."

  "He did. But it works outside of Las Vegas, too, you know. You said that we might be gone for up to two weeks. So we'll need the card."

  "I guess. I've got cash, too, from your dad. A wedding present. We'll be all right." Her father had given him an envelope containing three thousand dollars in hundreds, more money than Matt had ever seen at one time. He'd stuffed the envelope under the front seat.

  "He gave you cash?" She shook her head. "I don't get it. Two days ago, he was really mad at me, at you, too, especially you for getting me pregnant. Then he gives me a credit card and you cash."

  "I guess he got over it. He was kind of stern with me, but he gave us his blessings." And a bomb to deliver, he thought.

  "Two weeks on the Strip in Las Vegas is a long time. Were you thinking of going somewhere else, too?"

  The question surprised him. "Why do you ask? Did your father say something to you?"

  "Matt Hennig, you're hiding something from me. Now tell me what it is. How are we going to be married if you're already keeping secrets?"

  He started to deny that he was keeping a secret from her, but stopped. "Jill, your father and I are involved in the Idaho Supreme Militia, which is affiliated with Freedom Nation."

  "So what?"

  "So there are going to be times when I can't tell you everything we do."

  "That's bullshit!"

  "No, it's not," he replied, firmly. "We're patriots of the new order and we're getting closer to making a new country out here."

  She didn't say anything for several seconds. "Sometimes I think it's all just a game that men like to play, a way to get away from their wives and kids for a while. But other times, when I hear Dad talking, I realize there's more to it, that you guys are serious."

  "We are serious and there is something that I've got to do on this trip. I was gonna tell you tonight, but I guess now is as good as later."

  "No, wait. Let's start driving, Matt. I've got the feeling that I'm not going to like what you've got to say.
But if we're on our way to Las Vegas to get married, it won't be so bad."

  They climbed out the back, got into the truck, and left Chief Wasakie, the white dinosaur, and the ice caves behind. He turned onto Highway 75 and accelerated.

  "What did Mr. Cavanaugh say about you quitting?"

  "The old geezer said we should stay here and get married in the caves. He said he'd even give me more hours—thirty-two a week."

  "Get married in that underground icebox?" She laughed. "No way. Las Vegas, here we come!"

  "I told Mr. Cavanaugh that I'd come back after our trip and tell him about it, but I don't think I will."

  "Why not?"

  "By then he might've found out that we used the caves last night without telling him. He'll be mad about that because when he told me about that other entrance to the closed section, I said I wouldn't tell anyone about it. I didn't keep my word."

  "Are you gonna miss your job?"

  "Not really. It wasn't much of a job. It was like walking around in a big refrigerator all day and saying the same things over and over to different people. About the only thing interesting about it was trying to guess what question they would ask first."

  "Like what?"

  "They mostly wanted to know who discovered the caves. They always ask that one just before I get around to telling them."

  "So who did discover them?" Jill asked.

  "I don't need to answer that question anymore. But for old times, I'll tell you and that'll be the end of it."

  "Good. Who was it?"

  "Chief Wasakie."

  "Does he count?"

  "That's another question I hear a lot. I guess people don't think Indians count."

  Jill looked over at him curiously. "What do ya tell 'em?"

  He shrugged. "I say we gotta big statue of the chief out front. So he must count for something."

  She patted him on the shoulder. "Now you don't have to ever talk about it again. So what's this thing you gotta do now? Does it have anything to do with the new job you're getting?"

  "Sort of. I don't know much about the job yet. But I know that working for Freedom Nation will be a helluva lot better than being a tour guide back there." After a moment, he added, "I'll know more after we get back."