PSI/Net

by Rob MacGregor

  No, no, stop! You work for me.

  He struggled against them, but the pain intensified even further. He released Wiley, grabbed his head, and rolled onto his back, curling into a fetal position.

  Now you die, Max. Ritter's voice. We can't let you kill him.

  He vaguely heard the words through another wave of intense pain. His brain felt as if it were about to explode. Then they backed off. The pain started to recede like the tide rolling out.

  Ritter hovered over him. "Guess what, Max? They have another backpack nuke, and this time it's loaded, loaded and ready to rock 'n' roll. They're going to deliver it themselves—George and Marlys—and we will protect them the entire way. Your team, Max."

  "I don't care. Just leave me alone."

  "Sorry, Max."

  The pain suddenly surged forward, an enormous tsunami of agony. Battering him. Crushing him. Choking him. He gagged. Swallowed his tongue.

  He felt his brain shattering, exploding. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't feel anything. His life ebbed away.

  "I think he's dead," Marlys said. "Are you all right, George?"

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They reached the end of the tunnel and pushed aside the underbrush that blocked the entrance. Calloway climbed out into the night and took a deep breath of the cool evening air, relieved to be out of the cramped tunnel. Hounds barked in the distance. He scanned the craggy moonlit landscape and spotted a strip of pale brown dirt a couple of hundred yards away, the road out of here.

  Perez pointed to the right. A four-wheel-drive Jeep was parked between the butte and a huge boulder. They hurried over to it.

  "I hope you've got the key," Calloway said.

  "Of course I do," Perez answered with an indignant snort. "Right on my key chain. There's also one hidden under a rock near the right front tire."

  "You amaze me," Camila said as she climbed into the backseat. "The Jeep is no good if you can't drive it," he replied.

  "You better keep the lights off," Calloway said.

  "I know. I wish a cloud would cover the moon, too. It seems very bright out here after walking in that tunnel."

  They bounced over the rocks as Perez drove down a steep incline. For a moment, Calloway thought the vehicle would flip over, but Perez maneuvered it expertly through the rocky field. He reached a gentle incline and the Jeep scrambled up onto a dirt road.

  "Glad that part's over," Camila said from behind him.

  "It's the next part that worries me." Calloway had no sooner spoken when several headlights appeared in the distance moving their way. "What do you think, Eduardo?"

  "I don't like it. There shouldn't be anybody driving back here at this time."

  "Unless they're looking for us," Calloway said.

  "You got it."

  Perez crossed the road and drove down a rugged slope. He continued on until a wall of rock blocked him from going further. He turned off the engine. "I hope that's far enough away."

  Three pickups crawled along the road, moving at no more than fifteen miles an hour. "They're definitely looking for us," Perez said.

  The vehicles passed within a hundred yards of them and continued on. As they disappeared around a bend in the road, Perez turned on the engine. "Now we make a break for it."

  They bounced back to the road and turned left, opposite the direction the pickups were moving. They'd driven about half a mile when Perez stopped on a rise. He pointed to the right. Moonlight illuminated at least a dozen vehicles parked at the base of the butte near his garage. The baying of the hounds sounded louder and Calloway could see several dogs scrambling over the rocks in the moonlight.

  "Look at that. How could this happen to me?" Perez sounded indignant, unconcerned about the dangers. "That is my place and those bastards are overrunning it."

  "Christ, Eduardo. Let's get out of here," Camila said in a panic-riddled voice. "I'll call for help."

  Calloway pointed ahead. "More company."

  A predatory-looking Humvee rolled over the next rise and headed toward them. No time to run. No place to hide. "Oh, oh!" Perez snapped out of his funk. "What are we going to do?"

  "No choice," Calloway said in a firm voice. "We go to work. We use our abilities."

  "What do you have in mind?" Perez asked.

  Calloway watched the approaching vehicle. "We make them believe we are with them."

  "Oh, wonderful," Camila groaned. "I don't know about you two, but I can't do that!"

  "Don't worry about it. Eduardo and I will take care of them." But Calloway had his own concerns. If these guys were Wiley's white supremacists, as he suspected, they were going to have trouble accepting him as one of their own.

  Perez seemed to pick up his thoughts. "We make them see white, Trent. That is how we do it."

  "Smart thinking. Get ready. You take the driver, I'll take the passenger."

  "But what should I do, duck down?" Camila leaned forward, gripping the back of Calloway's seat.

  "No, just relax," Calloway said. "Help us out. When the door opens, you say, 'Now!' That's when we go for them."

  In spite of his confident tone, Calloway couldn't help wondering what was going to happen. He had never done anything like this, especially under these conditions. No time to prepare and armed targets approaching them. Nothing remote about this at all. No need to locate the target. Just get inside immediately and twitch the man's conception of reality.

  Impossible, he thought. But then his abilities were much improved, he reminded himself. Far superior than his days on active duty. The link among them—the net—had enhanced their skills.

  He took several long, deep breaths, letting his eyelids droop until he could barely see. Flaring headlights suddenly blocked what little vision remained. He heard the rumble of the other engine. Surprisingly, the lights and sound helped. He felt himself slipping down.

  "Now!" Camila hissed.

  Calloway saw the silhouette of a man with a rifle emerge from the passenger side. He easily read the man's thoughts. It must be them. Yes. That's the fuckin' nigger. We got 'em now. Shoot if they make any sudden moves.

  Calloway struggled to contain his panic. He threw everything at him. He pushed hard, harder than he'd ever done. He told the man to see white, to see one of their own. The man moved closer.

  Maybe not them. For a moment there. . . must be the shadows, the moonlight or something. Just one of ours. Let's see what they're doing.

  Calloway raised a hand, greeting the man, a towhead in his mid-thirties. He felt oddly dissociated with himself as he spoke. "We're watching from here. In case anyone tries to walk away."

  The man nodded, grinned. "You mean run away."

  "Yeah."

  He looked toward the rear seat. Calloway pushed again. Just two of them here.

  "I believe my eyes are playing tricks with me tonight," the man said. "I could've sworn there was someone in the backseat." He laughed. "And you looked a little dark there at first."

  "What, you don't like my moon tan?"

  He pointed at Calloway. "Funny guy."

  Perez ended a brief conversation with the driver. He tapped Calloway on the shoulder. "Come. We are going to trade vehicles with these guys. It is our turn to drive the Humvee."

  Calloway nodded. A part of him wanted to laugh, but he forced himself to stay focused, making certain that his target didn't start reassessing. Camila walked in front of them, not saying a word.

  Perez flipped him the keys. "You want to drive?"

  "Why not."

  He got behind the wheel, started the engine. Camila sat up front, Perez climbed into the back. Calloway made a U-turn and drove away.

  "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would've believed it," Camila said, turning in her seat, looking from one to the other.

  "I know what you mean," Calloway said. "But they're going to figure it out pretty damn quick. They're not robots."

  "True. They may be starting to wonder what happened already,"
Perez said. "Especially since I took the key with me."

  "That's great!" she chortled. "So they're stuck."

  "Hey, look at this." Calloway held up a walkie-talkie. "Too bad they left their two-way radios."

  "Stay to the left where the road splits up ahead," Perez said. Camila took out her cell phone. "I'm calling the cops right now."

  "You better tell them what they're up against," Calloway said. "I don't know if the Crested Butte police department is prepared to face an army."

  "I am not so sure about calling the police, Camila," Perez worried. "I hear that Freedom Nation has sympathizers in lots of these police departments."

  "Don't worry, Eduardo," Camila responded. "I won't give away our position. But they'll respond when they hear an FBI agent and a Secret Service agent are down. They have no choice. That place will be blanketed with federal agents within an hour."

  "Yeah," Perez said, glumly.

  Camila made the call, identified herself, quickly explained the situation, and told the dispatcher to alert state police, federal authorities, and the military. She disconnected the call before the dispatcher could ask any further questions. "That should do it. This could be the beginning of the end of Freedom Nation."

  Calloway heard a beep and saw a red light blinking on the two-way radio. He picked it up and turned it on. "Attention, Freedom Nation fighters. I have word that our commander in chief is airborne and carrying the payload! It won't be long now!" The man let out a gleeful yelp, then added: "Over and out."

  "I wonder what exactly that means," Camila said.

  "I don't like the sounds of it," Calloway said, glancing into the rearview mirror to make certain they weren't being followed.

  Perez slid down into his seat in the rear. "Let me work on it. I'm going to find their commander in chief—George Wiley."

  Five minutes passed before Calloway asked him if he was okay. "I'm fine. But I'm not getting anything. It's like there's a shield around him," Perez explained.

  "He's being protected by the others," Calloway said. "I'm certain of it."

  "I think you are right," Perez said. "They are blocking me." "But what's the payload and where is he going?" Camila asked. "I bet the walkie-talkie man knows," Calloway said. "Can you try him, Eduardo?"

  "Give me a minute, then lead me to him."

  Calloway drove on. He looked over at Camila and smiled. She reached out and took his hand. She'd been through a lot tonight, but she was strong, stronger than he remembered. He thought about Doc. There'd been no time to help her. But maybe she didn't need help anymore. Maybe it was too late. The same for Tyler. He didn't know the Secret Service agent well, but he'd liked him, and the guy had saved his life.

  Perez cleared his throat, indicating he was ready. "Okay, Eduardo," Calloway said. "Go to the walkie-talkie man. Find him now. Describe him to me."

  "He is in his mid-fifties, gray hair, overweight. Vietnam vet. His name is Sumner, no Sudner. Thinks the world has gone to hell. Wants to see things change in his lifetime. Change in a big way. But he feels all torn up. He lost his daughter in this thing somehow, and he thinks that Wiley might kill him."

  Calloway didn't want to pursue the man's personal problems. He wanted to stay with the present and push further for details. "Okay, good. What's he doing now?"

  "Oh, he is angry about something. Us. They found the guys who lost the Humvee."

  "What are they going to do?"

  "They are ending the operation and pulling out. They figure we are headed to the Crested Butte PD. They have a couple of guys back in town monitoring the police scanner. They told them to watch for us."

  "What will they do if they see us?"

  "They are supposed to hit us with everything they've got, take us out."

  Perez provided the information in a matter-of-fact manner, as if he were talking about someone else's life. That didn't surprise Calloway, since part of Perez remained with his target. He needed to move on, then get Perez back so they could figure out what to do.

  "Okay, what does Sudner know about the general and the payload?"

  "That is easy. He feels very emotional about this. He has something personal at stake. The daughter. I am not sure what happened. He is blocking it out. But he wants this to work. He wants Wiley to take out Washington, D.C., with the bomb. The real one. A backpack fluke. The other one. . . his daughter had something to do with it. Okay, she was in the car and died. That's it. A big sacrifice and now he wants Dustin and the rest of the federal government to pay. Really pay."

  Camila pointed to a sign that said five miles to Crested Butte. Calloway nodded, but pushed on. "What else does he know about it? What other details?"

  "Wiley is in a rented private jet. He left from the airport in Durango. The whole thing is going to happen fast. He has a remote trigger on the bomb and he will detonate it from the air tomorrow morning just after Air Force One lands."

  "Okay, one more question. Where will the bomb be placed?"

  "He doesn't know. Probably somewhere in the airport. That's what Sudner thinks."

  "All right. Come back now, Eduardo. Release the target and bring yourself completely back here."

  Perez blinked, exhaled loudly, and leaned forward focusing on the road. "Where are we?"

  "About two miles from Crested Butte," Calloway said.

  "Just keep going toward Gunnison," Perez said. "Don't stop. They are nearby, watching. Close to the police department."

  "Go directly to Leslie's ranch," Camila said. "We've got to warn the president. He can't leave in the morning. We've got to alert Washington National. That's where the president is scheduled to land." "

  Wait a minute. There's something wrong here," Calloway said.

  "What is it?" Camila asked.

  Calloway hesitated, putting together disparate thoughts. "Okay, let's look at what we know about General Wiley. He's a clever strategist. He throws feints to mislead anyone after him. That's what he did with the fake bomb. He wanted to see what would happen, and when it failed he had a backup—the real bomb. So my guess is that he's not telling his lieutenants the full story."

  "You mean you don't think that he really plans to bomb Washington?" Camila asked.

  "Yes, I do. But not tomorrow morning and not from the ground. Think about it. Why would he take the chance of getting caught on the ground or losing the bomb when he has a remote trigger?"

  "I understand," Perez said. "Shit, you are right. I did not see it."

  Camila shook her head. "Oh, no. What are you saying?"

  "He's not going to land at all. He's going to drop it from the jet tonight and set it off before it hits," Calloway explained. "It's twelve-thirty now. My guess is that he could be over Washington in a few hours."

  "But the president won't be in Washington then. And do you really think he'd lie like that to his own men?" Camila asked.

  "Yes, definitely," Calloway answered. "There's a good reason, too. He doesn't want to tell them how he's going to kill the president."

  "You got it, Trent!" Perez shouted from the backseat.

  "Wait. You guys are going too fast," Camila said. "What do you mean? How is he going to kill him?"

  "He will kill him with his secret weapon, the remote viewers," Perez answered.

  "That's what I think," Calloway said. "He doesn't need Dustin in Washington when he destroys it. He'll take care of him soon enough. It'll look like a brain hemorrhage or a heart attack."

  Camila shook her head. "I still find it hard to believe they can do that. Did they do that when you were in the military, Trent?"

  "Towards the end, yes. But only through indirect means. They'd push an intermediary into the act. He tricked me into doing it once. That's when I left."

  She looked over at him. "We've got to stop them, but I don't know if anyone will believe us. The air force certainly won't shoot a private plane out of the sky based on a psychic impression. We don't know if they can even identify the plane."

  Calloway peered into the re
arview mirror, studying a vehicle that suddenly loomed in his vision. "We've got a pickup coming up fast on us."

  He'd no sooner spoken when he heard an automatic weapon coughing bullets. Several struck the back of the Humvee.

  "Get down!" Calloway yelled out and stepped on the accelerator.

  The back window shattered. Calloway glanced into the mirror, saw the pickup ten feet behind them, a rifle from the passenger side aimed down at a back tire. He slammed on the brakes and his seatbelt tore into his shoulder, chest, and hips. An instant later, the pickup slammed into the rear of the Humvee.

  He held tight to the steering wheel and stepped on the accelerator. The pickup remained several feet behind the Humvee and another round of bullets struck the frame and ricocheted off the passenger side of the vehicle.

  Calloway focused on the road, picking up more speed. He hit fifty, sixty, seventy. The road suddenly curved sharply and he turned hard on the wheel to keep from flying off the road bed. An ordinary Jeep would have risen on two wheels and rolled over. But the Humvee, with its extraordinarily wide wheelbase, hugged the pavement. Behind him, he heard tires screech and a moment later the pickup catapulted off the road, flipping over and over down an embankment.

  Calloway eased off the accelerator and looked over at Camila, who was crumpled on the floor. "Camila?"

  She raised her head. "I'm okay."

  "Eduardo?"

  No answer.

  Camila looked back and climbed into the rear seat. "Oh, God, Trent. He's hit. We've got to get him to a hospital."

  "I guess they did not order the bulletproof windows," Perez groaned.

  "Don't talk, Eduardo," Calloway shouted. "Camila, call 911. Get an emergency helicopter to the ranch fast. We'll be there in ten minutes."

  She snapped up the cell phone. "Hang on, Eduardo. Hang on!"

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Calloway drove up to the gate of the ranch and signaled frantically. A state trooper approached just as a helicopter circled overhead.

  Camila held Perez's hand. "We've got help coming, Eduardo. Stay with us."