Calloway felt as if Howell was treating him like a carnival sideshow. "I don't really do general readings. My work has been specifically directed at seeing distant targets. In other words, I would have a better chance at describing your wife and her surroundings than I could tell you about your future."
"You could call a psychic hotline later, Harvey," Camila suggested.
"What you do sounds verifiable," Waters said.
Howell ignored Camila. "I'll take you up on that one. What's my wife look like and where is she now?"
"Harvey, we're not here to be entertained," Camila interceded. Howell raised his hands. "Okay, never mind. I just think it would be interesting to test Mr. Calloway."
"He's been tested by the CIA," Waters said.
The door swung open. Agent Tyler entered and stood by the open door. A moment later, Dustin swept into the room and gripped Calloway's hand firmly. "Trent Calloway, good seeing you again after so many years."
"I'm surprised you remembered. Great to see you, too."
"As I told Camila, that experience wasn't something I would easily forget."
Galloway couldn't help but feel a sense of wonderment at the turn of events. Just a few days ago, he was guiding raft trips and living in a trailer on the riverbank and now here he was conferring with the president of the United States, who was treating him like an old buddy.
"I want to thank you for the work you've already done for us. It's impossible to overestimate the significance of finding that bomb. I told Camila I want to invite you to the White House and maybe even bring your accomplishments to the public's attention. People need to know about what you've done and the amazing way you did it."
"Thank you, sir. But I'll have to think about that public part. I'm not sure I want that sort of attention."
"I understand completely. On the other hand, you have a chance to show how remote viewing can be used in a positive manner." He looked over at Howell. "Considering Trent's recent success, I think we should seriously consider reinstating the program as part of our national defense."
Howell nodded. "We should look into it."
"Whether it's part of the government or not doesn't really matter," Calloway said. "The fact is, remote viewing is being practiced privately for better or worse," Galloway said.
"What do you mean by that—for better or worse?" Waters asked.
"This is a talent that, in the wrong hands, can be abused and the abuse can be very hard to detect. You may actually need some of us to serve as watchdogs over the process."
"That's all for the future," Dustin said. "Right now, we have a pressing matter that could change the way we think about ourselves and our world."
"I'm ready anytime," Calloway said.
He settled into the reclining chair and Camila handed him a pad and pen. "Just give me a few minutes while I sink into my zone. When I lift my hand, that means I'm ready for you to send me to the target."
"But what target?" Camila asked.
"I need a place, date, and time. Nothing more."
Camila moved off with the president and they conferred as Howell and Waters looked on. Calloway closed his eyes, took several long, deep breaths, and imagined his mind as a clean slate ready to absorb impressions. Chairs squeaked as the others sat down. He heard Howell say something and an image appeared on his slate. He pushed it away, drifted deeper. The image appeared again.
He raised his hand. "Okay, Trent, are you ready?" Camila asked.
"Mr. Howell, your wife is a tall, large-boned woman who is very interested in clothing. She may design clothes. She's athletic, maybe a swimmer, but she also beats you regularly at tennis."
"Did Camila tell you this?" he asked, a hint of astonishment in his voice.
"I didn't say anything of the kind," Camila said.
"I see her in a large walk-in closet. She's looking for a dress, a green gown, and wonders what happened to it."
Camila sputtered in a choking laughter.
Something about the missing dress attracted Calloway's attention. He felt an energy around it, a familiar energy that he related to Maxwell's remote viewers. They knew something about the dress and then, for a moment, he glimpsed Howell wearing it. He blinked open his eyes looked from Howell to Camila. They both looked warily back at him. Was he losing his mind? Were they already attacking him?
"Can we move on?" Camila asked in a calm, steady voice.
He nodded, relieved to get away from the confusing matter. "Give me a minute."
He settled down again. He wiped the slate clean with an imaginary cloth, then took a couple more deep breaths. He drifted deeper, raised his hand again, lowered it.
This time, Camila gave him the coordinates. "June third at two a.m., the president's bedroom."
After a few seconds, he saw the interior of a quiet, darkened bedroom. He was vaguely aware of a sleeping couple under the covers. Suddenly, a man sat up, blinked his eyes open. Calloway recognized David Dustin, his hair tousled. He wore silk pajamas. He looked around anxiously. Calloway searched the corners of the bedroom, but didn't sense anyone else in the room.
It appeared that the president had awakened from a nightmare. He looked terrified. Whatever he saw continued to unfold, but Calloway couldn't see any of it.
Calloway searched the room again, this time attempting to feel rather than see. For a moment, he sensed the same energy as he'd felt around the green gown, the energy he associated with the others, the net. Then it vanished. He let the image fade, opened his eyes. He usually began sketching now, but this time he merely tapped the tip of the pen against the paper. He looked up. Dustin stared intently at him, waiting for him to break the silence.
"Are you okay, Trent?" Camila asked.
"I'm fine. Can you give me another time? I didn't get the full picture."
"You mean you didn't see them—the aliens?" Howell asked.
"No, I didn't. But that doesn't mean they weren't there." He didn't want to say anything about the others. He was concerned that he'd sensed them because that was what he'd expected. He'd front-loaded himself. Why else would they appear around the gown owned by Howell's wife?
"That was the date of my first encounter," Dustin said.
"Let's go to the latest one—three days ago at the White House. About the same time."
"How can I help?" Camila asked. "I'm not doing my part."
"You're doing fine," Calloway responded. "Stay focused. You're helping me, even though you might not think so. Give me a couple of minutes, then ask me questions."
Calloway closed his eyes, shifting back easily into his zone. Even though Camila was an inexperienced monitor, her presence provided a sense of stability, an ineffable connection between here and there, this room and the place that he moved to when remote viewing.
He found himself back in the same bedroom. This time Dustin was already sitting up in bed, his body rigid, expressionless. He stared straight ahead as if in a trance. Calloway didn't sense any fear around him this time, just a calm intensity as if he were dreaming with his eyes open. Next to him, the first lady slept peacefully, unaware that her husband was sitting up.
"What do you see, Trent?" Camila asked in a quiet voice.
"I found the target. I'm with the president."
"Can you see anyone else in the room besides the president and the first lady?"
He scanned the room searching for another presence. Again, he saw nothing. He moved closer to the president and willed himself to see what Dustin was seeing. Suddenly, he felt an energy field above his head. It felt as if he were being pulled upward. The sense of here and there vanished. He realized that he was both in the library with the others and in the president's bedroom. He turned his gaze upward and saw a glowing tube penetrating the ceiling. He felt as if he were being pulled up into it, then realized he/Dustin was floating up through the tube, legs and arms spread out.
"I'm being lifted up, up through the ceiling. I'm continuing to rise. I can't tell how far."
"You
or the president?"
"I see what he sees."
"Try to observe what's going on from outside of the president," Camila said.
He separated from Dustin and instantly the tube vanished. He found himself in darkness as if a blanket had been dropped over him. But within the darkness, he sensed awareness, that same familiar awareness. For the first time, the net took on a visual dimension—a mix of light and shadow, and eyes, or the sense of eyes, several sets: watching, aware, in contact with one another.
He tried to push past the net, to see Dustin again, but he was trapped in a sticky mesh of awareness. He felt it closing around him and then he heard his name echoing around him as if the room were filled with people rhythmically chanting his name. Cal-lo-way ... Cal-lo-way ... Cal-loway. Endlessly, over and over. He mentally pulled himself sharply back and the chanting ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
“I’m being blocked. I've lost contact. I need to move back into the president's perspective."
"Permission denied," a voice snapped.
Calloway blinked open his eyes. Everyone turned to Howell, who had replied for the president.
"I'm protecting the president and the nation. No telling what might happen," Howell explained. "It's too invasive."
"I thought you said you didn't believe that this really worked," Camila said.
"I didn't say that," Howell said, defensively. "I said I was a skeptic."
Dustin raised a hand. "I understand your concerns. But I believe Mr. Calloway is talking about a very limited access that relates to that particular night and to a particular incident. Am I correct?"
Calloway nodded.
"In that case, I don't see why he shouldn't continue," Dustin said. "I'm finding this fascinating."
"Wait a minute." Waters spoke up. "From what I understand, Trent hasn't seen any aliens in the room on two nights when the encounters took place. Just this floating experience on the second one. Why go any further? Mr. President, I think we should drop this matter right here. It appears to me that you have had a series of very vivid dreams that seemed real to you. I'm not a dream analyst, but these dreams could symbolize your own feelings about the need to unite the world, which we so often talk about."
"Thank you, Todd. Your point is well taken. I'm going to call an end to the session here, but before I leave I want to talk to Mr. Calloway in private."
Calloway expected Waters or Howell to protest, but both stood up and headed toward the door. Camila nodded encouragingly at him, then followed the others out. Tyler remained standing by the door after they left.
Calloway felt awkward in the reclining chair and Dustin suggested they move to the table. "My staff members are concerned about me," he said after they sat down. "Which is understandable and appreciated. However, as you can see, they want only limited information. Something simple and explainable. They want this matter to be over. Considering their sentiments, I thought it best to talk to you alone."
Calloway nodded, but didn't know what to say. So he waited for the president to continue.
"I suspect that you weren't given the chance to tell me everything that you perceived. Am I right?"
He nodded again. "There is something else."
"I'd like to hear about it. And I'd like an assessment of my experience. Please, don't hold anything back."
"I appreciate that, sir. First of all, I did sense an invasive energy essence that is not part of you. However, I don't believe that it's source is alien or extraterrestrial. I also believe the intention is to deceive, confuse, and disrupt."
Dustin looked baffled. "I find this very disturbing. But who or what is it?"
"Earlier, I said that there are remote viewers working for better and for worse. I believe that you've been victimized by a group of very adept remote viewers. They are so clever and manipulative that their leader even managed to address the governors conference."
"What? You mean, Maxwell?"
"Yes sir."
Dustin leaned back into his chair. "But it seemed so real. I was certain that I actually experienced all of it."
"Think of what they're doing as an advanced form of virtual reality that requires only minds, no computers, no accessories. They're linked together and they're strong, strong enough to play very realistic mind games on people who are totally unaware of their presence."
Dustin appeared shell-shocked. "What if they come back?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"Now that you know, it'll be different," Calloway said. "Stay aware of any thoughts or impulses that seem foreign to you. They can push, but there are always tell-tale signs. If you compare your thoughts to a bowl of marbles, watch for the stone among the shiny marbles."
Dustin grinned. "And I'll try not to lose my marbles."
Calloway winced. "Sorry, sir. I guess that wasn't the best analogy."
"No offense taken."
"If you have any more alien experiences, tell yourself it's not real. Say it over and over while it's happening. You should be able to see through it."
"I have to say that I'm still having a hard time accepting this, Trent. I find it incredible that remote viewing has been advanced to such a degree. It's not about viewing, at all. It's about control."
"That's exactly what it's about in Maxwell's hands and it's frightening. It's like a kid carrying around a backpack nuclear bomb. Extremely dangerous."
"Well put." Dustin glanced at his watch. "I need to be on my way."
They both stood up. "Please, keep this to yourself, Trent. For the time being, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone on my staff about this conversation, not even Camila."
"That's a promise."
They shook hands and Dustin beamed at him with his best presidential smile. "Sorry again that I can't stay for lunch. But I'll let Camila know that you're ready."
Tyler followed the president out the door, paying no heed to Calloway. If he'd overheard any of their conversation, he gave no indication of it.
Calloway walked back over to the reclining chair he'd used and slumped down to await Camila. He felt relieved that it was over. He closed his eyes and within seconds started to drift off. He glimpsed Ed Miller's face. He looked frenzied and was shouting about something. Something was wrong, very wrong.
"Trent?"
His eyes flew open. Camila smiled down at him. "How about some lunch."
"I'd love some. I'm starved."
As they left the room, he thought about Miller and wondered what the image of the old outfitter meant.
Chapter Twenty-One
Camila dropped her head back, closed her eyes, and let the warm sun beat down on her. "It's nice out here. Other than talking to the reporters at the gate, I haven't gotten outside since we arrived. Too busy running from one meeting to the next."
He watched her, taking pleasure in the moment, the opportunity to be alone with her again. It had been a long time since they'd sat together comfortable in their own thoughts. But he reminded himself that in a day or two he would be back in his trailer, back to his nomadic life. No longer eating lunch by a pool served by a waiter in a white coat. No longer seeing Camila, either.
He picked up the remainder of his tuna salad sandwich and bit into the croissant roll. His chip and pickles and the crab bisque had already been devoured.
The thought of returning to Bluff reminded him again of the fleeting image he'd seen of Miller shouting in distress. "Camila, do you think I can make a quick call?"
"Of course, Use my phone." She reached down to her case, handed it to him. She started to get up, but he motioned her to stay.
"This'll just take a minute. I want to check with the outfitter in Bluff. Make sure I still have a job."
She smiled. "With your abilities, Trent, you shouldn't have to worry about leading raft trips, anymore."
He dialed the number, thinking he wasn't sure that giving up the river for remote viewing was such a good idea, especially considering what he knew about Maxwell and Wiley.
Again, he hea
rd Miller's recorded voice. "Hi, Ed. It's me again, Trent, just checking in. Guess I'll try later."
"Trent! My God!" Miller gasped for breath. "I'm glad I caught you before you hung up."
"What's going on, Ed?"
"Oh, my God. You won't believe it. The bastards!"
"Hold on, start from the beginning. What happened?"
Camila looked up, gave him a puzzled look. Calloway shrugged.
"There were men here last night looking for you. They were up at the restaurant first, just before it closed, then they came here. They weren't very nice fellows, either. I could tell they meant business, but all I told them was that you were gone and hadn't been around for several days."
"Do you think they were FBI agents?"
"FBI? Hell no, not these guys. They were thugs, the kind of guys the FBI goes after. But let me finish. One of them, a big guy, started twisting my arm behind my back trying to get information out of me. Finally, he must've figured I didn't know anything and they left."
"Are you okay?"
"My arm's sore, but that's not the half of it. Joe, the fellow who runs the restaurant, woke me up early this morning and told me about a fire down at Sand Island. The frigging bastards blew up your trailer, Trent!"
"You're kidding."
"Hey, I wish I were."
Wiley's men were already seeking revenge, he thought. Perez's assessment, We are in deep shit trouble, echoed in his head. "Ed, I've got to go. I'll be back as soon as I can get there. It might be a couple of days, though."
"If I were you, I'd stay away from here for a while. What did you do to those guys, anyhow?"
"Listen to the news, Ed. The story coming out of Salt Lake City. That'll give you an idea."
"Hey, I just heard something about a goddamn nuclear bomb found up there. Is that it?"
"You got it. When this thing is over, I'll explain it all to you." He handed the phone back to Camila and quickly told her what Miller had said.
"Trent, that's terrible. What are you going to do?"
"Don't know."
He thought back to Perez's impression that Maxwell's gang had pushed him when they'd arrived. If Maxwell knew he was staying with Perez, then Wiley could find out. Now he and the others faced a two-pronged attack: psychic and physical. He didn't like either alternative.
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