The Blaine military base would soon be home to thousands of air force officers and their families. The possible haunted activity, however, was limited to the Flight Control Center—the pearl of the oyster.
Vivica hated the desert. She found the wide openness oppressive. She was a city dweller through and through. But the desert wasn’t responsible for her irritation that morning. It was seeing Wilder, Eddie, and two people whose names she couldn’t bother to remember sitting across from her at the conference table.
Oh wait, the remarkable specimen of masculinity was Coulter. Men that beautiful had only one working organ, though, and it was south of the pelvis.
She supposed the woman in their group was pretty enough, but she was short. Vivica didn’t care for short people.
There was something going on between the woman and Wilder though. Vivica could tell by the way he was looking at her. Once he’d looked at Vivica like that.
Twisting open the cap of her water bottle, she leaned close to Maddox. “Hans is suitably restrained in the hotel room, is he not?”
Taking a cue from Dr. Frankenstein, Vivica had discovered that classical music had a remarkable soothing effect on Hans.
So did large doses of chlorpromazine and strong restraints.
Maddox nodded. “Schubert and straps.”
The double doors to the conference room opened and a sturdy-looking woman with a head of short gray hair and a trim athletic figure entered the room, flanked by two military escorts.
Lieutenant Ann Jacobs, their military liaison on the case.
She walked up to the podium, leaving the two officers standing at attention on either side of the door.
Vivica turned her full attention to the front of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the lieutenant began in a firm, no-nonsense voice. “On behalf of our country’s government, I want to thank you for coming today. This is a highly unusual situation and we appreciate your expertise. As you know, this is a secret information briefing. I trust that the details will not leave this room.” A small smile played around her lips. “Although we weren’t very successful at keeping Roswell a secret, now were we?”
Across the room Scott’s team was all grins and soft laughter. Maddox looked at Vivica and murmured. “Am I supposed to laugh?” Vivica shrugged and forced a polite smile.
“Let me give you the big picture,” Lieutenant Jacobs said. “The military has put a billion dollars into a state-of-the-art property that is inoperable. We need it up and running. This base is integral to national security and it’s gathering dust.”
Vivica wanted to interject a question but the lieutenant had asked that all questions and comments be held until the end of the briefing. She scribbled on the legal pad in front of her and noticed Scott and Eddie doing the same.
“To reiterate,” the lieutenant continued. “The purpose of this briefing is to bring you up to date on the number of strange occurrences that have plagued construction of the Flight Control Center from the beginning. We’re talking equipment malfunction, power outages, theft of materials from the site along with personal belongings of the engineers and workers. The real trouble started with the moodiness and personality changes of the crew. Tempers were unusually high on the site. People were sensitive to the slightest look or comment. Fights broke out on a routine basis. One of our top engineers was removed from the base due to a nervous breakdown.
“We’ve had officers stationed inside the center around the clock. When the morning shift arrived they found one of the night officers dead—shot by his shift partner. The shooter had no memory of committing the act. I’ll spare you the details of the subsequent interrogations and psych evaluations. Suffice it to say that we all agreed to a plea of temporary insanity. And now I’ll open it up to questions.”
“Lieutenant Jacobs,” Scott began. “Have—”
“Have you found pockets of unusual electrical discharge?” Vivica asked. “Power bursts?”
The lieutenant nodded. “It’s common to encounter power surges when wiring a new building, but the malfunctions we’ve experienced have been baffling. At this point we’ve given up trying to control the electrical problems.”
Scott cleared his throat. “Did any one person seem to trigger the most occurrences? Serve as a catalyst?”
Lieutenant Jacobs smiled. “Like the little girl in Poltergeist?”
Coulter raised his hand. “That joke’s been done before. By me.”
The lieutenant stared at him, puzzled.
Vivica rolled her eyes and whispered under her breath. “Bloody clown.”
The lieutenant turned her attention to Scott. “To address your question, Mr. Wilder, wouldn’t the officer who committed the shooting be considered a catalyst of sorts?”
“Not exactly,” Scott said. “He was definitely affected, as was the discharged engineer, but I wouldn’t classify either as a catalyst. Their personalities, life experiences, and genetic makeup made them more susceptible to the environment. I’m looking for someone who always seemed to be around when the strange events occurred—whether they appeared affected or not.”
“In that case,” Lieutenant Jacobs said, “the only catalyst I can think of—”
“Is the building,” Vivica finished. “The Flight Control Center. This isn’t a case of accidental PK activity, Wilder.”
“PK?” the lieutenant asked.
“Psychokinesis,” Eddie answered with a smile. “We can lapse into jargon—or nerd speak—now and again.”
Lieutenant Jacobs smiled back. “My ex-husband used to complain he had to dodge flying jargon whenever there was a dinner party at the base.”
Eddie’s smile widened.
Vivica drummed her fingers on the table impatiently. Eddie and the lieutenant could go have middle-aged sex in the back of a jeep for all she cared. But for now she wanted answers. She held up a finger. “If we could get back to the Q and A?”
“Of course,” Lieutenant Jacobs said briskly.
“I’m wondering about specific physical manifestations like vapors, clouds of smoke?”
“Yes, Dr. Bates, we’ve had reports of black clouds of smoke that would appear randomly and dissipate just as quickly. What with the shooting and other major occurrences, that detail was left out of the official report.”
Scott looked at Eddie and then Vivica. “Ectoplasm?”
Even though she hated to agree with him, she nodded. “That’s my guess.”
“Ectoplasm?” the short woman sitting next to Scott said. “As in, I got slimed?”
Vivica rolled her eyes again.
“Define ectoplasm,” the lieutenant said. “I’m afraid, like Ms. Kumar, that my only reference is Ghostbusters.”
“There’s an ectoplasm cocktail.” Coulter leaned back in his chair and fixed his blue gaze on Vivica. “Lots of vodka, some Grand Marnier, and it’s got a kick like a mule.”
“How illuminating,” she replied and turned to the lieutenant. “Ectoplasm is a force of dense bio-energy liberated during psychokinesis. A sort of teleplasmic mass.”
“English please?” Lieutenant Jacobs said.
Eddie responded. “The stuff that oozes out of ghosts and makes it possible for them to do the stuff they do, like move furniture, scare the crap outta you, etc.”
“Now I get it. Thank you, Dr. Mirza.”
Vivica curled her lip.
“Ectoplasm isn’t always slimy either,” Scott said. “Appearance varies. One of its forms, though, is vaporous—gray, black, or white in color. Think of a self-propelled cloud of smoke, moving at its own speed, never losing denseness.”
The lieutenant shook her head in wonder. “This is a lot to process. I happily admit to being out of my element here, but I can offer a suggestion. Why don’t we visit the site?”
Scott held up his hand. “Wait. I want to know more about these personality changes. I’d like to talk to the engineer who was relieved of his duties.”
Vivica frowned. “The personality shifts are incidental, Wilder. They could be caused by anything, the desert heat, work stress. I want to see firsthand what we’re dealing with.”
Scott faced her. “Look, I want to get in there as much as you, but I can’t forgo the safety of my team until I know more.”
“Well bully for you, but I appreciate the military’s need for urgent action.”
“How about a compromise?” Lieutenant Jacobs said. “I agree; precautions need to be taken. I’ll have my aide bring up the engineer’s information.” She looked down at her watch. “It’s oh-nine hundred now. I’m scheduling a tour for sixteen hundred hours.”
“What the hell time is that?” Coulter asked. “Do I add twelve? Multiply?”
Vivica stood up. “Four P.M. We’ll be there.”
The lieutenant gathered up her papers and smiled at all of them. “To reiterate, the Department of Defense appreciates both your teams’ expertise on this…unusual matter. You’re the best in the field, and we’re counting on you for a quick resolution. It will be looked upon most favorably, I assure you.”
“She means more than just a thank-you, right?” Coulter asked.