Just as they stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, Ritter's legs gave way and he flopped to the carpeting. Maxwell dropped to one knee and awkwardly pulled him to his feet. Ritter wobbled like a marionette and babbled an unintelligible flurry of sounds. Maxwell wrapped an arm around his shoulder and dragged him the last fifty feet.
The door of Ritter's room hung open and Maxwell pushed his way inside with his load. He hauled Ritter across the room and dumped him onto a chair, where he collapsed, his head hanging to one side. "Steve, are you all right? Talk to me. What's going on?" No response.
Shit. Maybe he'd blown a fuse. Maxwell had always been concerned about something like that happening. He'd imagined his remote viewers all ending up in mental hospitals staring at the walls. But Ritter and the others had repeatedly exhibited an impressive mental resilience. They excelled in their work, if not their everyday lives.
"Steve, can you hear me?" Maxwell picked up his thin, limp arm and felt for Ritter's pulse. A long thread of spittle seeped from the corner of his mouth.
"We're all here now. We're ready to start," Ritter mumbled. "What did you say?"
Ritter slowly raised his head. He stared blankly ahead. "I said, we're all here now. They say I can speak for them."
Incredible, Maxwell thought. Ritter had entered a deep trance state, one in which his body was asleep, but his mind was alert, connected with the others. It had never happened this way before. Usually they worked together on conference calls, one or two others at a time, each one sinking into his zone, but keeping in contact by phone. But now Ritter implied that he was aware of all of them—Johnstone, Timmons, and Henderson.
Maxwell wanted proof. "Johnstone, are you there?"
"Yes," Ritter replied in a monotone.
"What's your mother's maiden name?"
"Carter."
"Timmons, can you hear me?"
"I told you we are all here," Ritter replied. "But go ahead and check our IDs."
"Timmons, what your oldest brother's name?"
"Alex."
"Henderson, what kind of work did your maternal grandfather do? You told me once."
"He was a blacksmith."
Fantastic. He doubted that Ritter would know the answers to the questions he'd asked. Ritter took little interest in the personal lives of the other viewers and rarely talked with them outside of their remote viewing sessions.
"Okay. We've got a lot of work tonight. Important stuff. We're going to push beyond our limits. Is that understood?"
He realized he didn't know if the others actually heard him or Ritter relayed his comments. But if it worked, it didn't matter.
"That's no problem," Ritter replied. "No telephones, no problem."
"First, we're going to find Agent Fielding. We need to see if he's getting close to our sponsor. We want to find out what he knows and what his plans are."
"Got him," Ritter said, nearly cutting off Maxwell's last words. So fast. Maybe they were moving too fast. He needed to keep Ritter and the others reined in. After Ritter's bizarre behavior, anything could happen. He wanted results, not surprises.
Ritter's loss of control reminded him of the old days when they were first developing remote viewing. As part of the training, they would send everyone to the Monroe Institute in West Virginia where they would learn Robert Monroe's method for out-of-body travel. Ultimately, Maxwell had concluded that the out-of-body method didn't work, not for their purposes. He wanted his viewers firmly grounded in their bodies, in contact with him as well as out there with their target. Once he'd made that determination, the remote viewing protocol became linked with bilocation, but not out-of-body experiences.
"We all feel pressure on the net," Ritter said as if responding to his thoughts. "More parts being activated. It links us closer together."
He didn't like the sound of that. "Steve, what about the static you mentioned in the dining room?"
"A temporary block when we tried to look in on the others. Caught us by surprise. Disturbing, disrupting. Static. . . static. . . static."
"Are the outsiders here with us now?"
"Outsiders?" Ritter asked.
"Calloway, Doc, and Perez. You know who I mean." Maxwell had always referred to them as the others or the nonparticipants, but now "outsiders" seemed a more appropriate term.
"We feel them close by. No static now. They're part of the net, not outsiders. But they're not here. Not in the same way."
"Keep in mind that they are working against us," Maxwell said. "They want to destroy everything we've done. Even destroy the net."
"We're ready to swallow them." Ritter spoke slowly, but his voice was firm. When he was working, Ritter usually dropped his annoying habit of incessantly repeating words at the end of sentences.
"That's good, but the FBI agent comes first. Now tell me about Fielding. What is he doing?"
"He's getting ready to leave the hotel where he's staying. He's excited. He senses a break in the case. Ah, how interesting for you, Max. He's going to Perez's place to see our other half—the weaker half. He has his doubts about remote viewing, but if he gets the results he wants, he doesn't care how he gets them."
So that was it. Calloway and the others had either found Wiley's hideout already or they were about to go after it. Maxwell realized that he'd forgotten to set up the tape recorder. He opened a desk drawer next to Ritter's bed and looked for blank tapes. When he didn't find any, he settled for a notebook and pen. There would be no time for Wiley to listen to any tapes, anyhow. Everything was moving too fast now.
"They haven't looked yet," Ritter said as if he'd heard his thoughts. "Fielding was tempted to tell them to find the location, then they'd talk. But he also wants proof of what they do. He wants to know more about this stuff."
Maxwell laid the pen down. He recalled Wiley's words when he'd surprised Maxwell in his room in the Brown Palace. If Wiley were caught, he would tell the authorities how he'd used remote viewers to remain hidden. But now Maxwell glimpsed his opportunity to hit hard and crush all of them—Fielding and the three outsiders. Snare them like flies in a web before they found Wiley.
"He thinks he can get there in fifteen minutes if he can find the turnoff to the property," Ritter said.
"Okay, just relax now as he drives. If there's anything else any of you pick up, just tell me."
"Johnstone says this is the way it should always be," Ritter said in his monotone voice. "We're all closely connected. Everything is coming through very clearly. Mind to mind."
"Good. That's good."
A red light flashed on the wall. A recorded female voice, rather than an alarm, alerted everyone of Fielding's arrival. Vehicle entering property. Vehicle approaching residence.
Now Calloway understood how Perez had known of their arrival even though he'd been a hundred feet or more below ground level. "I have sensors at the perimeters," Perez said. "Video cameras, too. Take a look."
He picked up a remote control device from a drawer in a coffee table and pointed it at a wall. The paneling slid aside, revealing a large-screen television. A dark-colored Ford Taurus rolled into view and stopped in front of the house. Fielding stepped out, looked around, then approached the door. His face now loomed on the screen as he looked up toward the hidden camera.
Perez touched another button on the remote. "Hello, Mr. Fielding. Please wait right there."
"I'll go get him," Calloway volunteered. He walked over to the elevator and rode it up to the surface. He crossed the garage, and opened the door for Fielding.
"Welcome to the mole hole."
Fielding followed him to the elevator. "We're going down three levels."
"I guess I know where to come now in case of an atomic attack," Fielding replied.
"I think you'll find this place interesting."
"I'm not here to be entertained, Mr. Calloway," Fielding answered. "But I hope you have something else for me that's interesting."
"We're going to work on it." The idea of this Bobby Aimes look alike calling him mister bothered him. "And call me Trent."
The elevator door slid open at the third level and they moved out into the central room. Calloway introduced Doc and Perez. Fielding's gaze moved about the large room, then upward into the atrium.
"You ought to see it during the day," Calloway said. "There's a skylight at the top and steel plates that close over it at the touch of a button."
"Impressive," Fielding said in a noncommittal tone. He turned to Perez. "Looks like you can survive anything. But I hope you've got a good collection of videos in case you get stuck in here for a few years."
"Mr. Fielding, I am just protecting myself because I can afford to do it. I came to this country on a raft from Cuba in 1980. Five years later, I went to work for the CIA as a psychic and exposed myself to all sorts of dangers. I don't regret it and I hope that I helped protect this country. Now I am helping myself."
"Yeah, well, I'd like to see if you could help me tonight. If you can win the lottery, maybe you can find George Wiley."
Perez smiled. "I am glad you asked. We are ready anytime you are. But do you want something to drink or eat first? My housekeeper will be leaving in a few minutes, so I thought I would ask."
"No thank you. I'm fine." He turned to Doc. "I have some questions for you about your work with Mr. Calloway, but let's put them off until later. I'd like to get started as soon as we can."
"You're going to see how it happened," Doc answered. "You'll be a witness to it all. You should find it very interesting."
"Everybody wants to make my life interesting. All I want to do is catch that bastard before he blows up something."
Perez led them down a hallway and into a more intimate room. Dim lighting oozed from hidden recesses in the ceiling. Several candles burned on a low table and Native American flute music played from invisible speakers.
A U-shaped sofa combination dominated the room with a well-padded chair completing the circle. Perez gestured for them to sit down. "Trent, you take the back. Doc and I will be on either side of you. You get the chair, Mr. Fielding. Now we will find the wayward general for you."
"So give me a clue, how does this work?" Fielding asked.
"The three of us will go down into what we call our zone, where the remote viewing works. Give us a few minutes. I'll signal you, then ask your question."
Calloway didn't like working this way. Multiple viewers created distractions. When one saw something, the others tended to look for it and create analytical overlays that short-circuited their efforts. Sometimes, the viewers constructed extravagant fantasies as images built one upon another until they were told that their impressions had nothing to do with the target.
Doc apparently felt the same way. "Why don't I monitor you two? That way Agent Fielding can just observe."
Perez shook his head. "No, we all need to go down tonight. We need to be united. Are we ready?"
Calloway took a deep breath, then another. He sank slowly into his zone. Trouble. They weren't alone. Ritter and the others were here, watching.
Look at the man in front of you.
It sounded like a whisper in his ear. He ignored it.
Look, Trent. It's your old buddy.
He willed himself not to look at Fielding.
"Hi, Trent. We had such a good time as kids."
This time the words sounded as if they were spoken in the room. He blinked his eyes open. Bobby Aimes looked just as he'd last seen him. He hadn't changed a bit. He smiled with that same goofy grin, and spoke aloud.
"You remember when we both joined the air force. It was great. But what happened, Trent?"
It's not Aimes, he told himself, attempting to stay calm. But then he heard himself responding. "You stole Denise from me, Bobby. You ran off with her. You left the air force and turned into a drug pilot."
"No, you got it all wrong, Trent. Denise was my girl, not yours. She always liked me, even in high school. You never saw that. You refused to see it. You never forgave me. So you had me killed. You sneaked right into that punk's head and he shot me. Why, why did you do it? It was my last run. I was ready to quit."
"Stop it! I didn't want to kill you, Bobby. Maxwell sent me into the Colombian's head. He pushed me. Made the guy think you were double-crossing him. It happened so fast."
Aimes grinned again. "Now I can do it to you, too. Watch me!"
"Steve, what's going on? Where is Fielding now?"
Ritter let out a long sigh. "He's inside. They're all underground."
Maxwell glanced at his watch. A minute passed. Then another. "What's going on now?"
"They're going to look for Wiley." He smiled. "I'm playing with Calloway. Fucking up his mind. He thinks Fielding looks like his old buddy, that guy he knocked off for you, the drug pilot." He laughed again. "You tell him, Bobby. He did you wrong. Now, dead Bobby's going to get him back good."
Maxwell didn't like the distraction. Ritter wasn't following orders again. "Let's focus on Fielding. Let's make him see things. Fielding is our target. Push hard on him. Make him feel threatened. He sees them all pull out knives. They're coming after him. They're crazy. He's got to defend himself. He's got no choice. He's got to shoot them all before they get him."
Ritter's breathing came harder now. He nodded his head and spoke aloud as if talking to Fielding. "Yeah, that's it. They're nuts. Totally nuts. Do it now! Do it now before they get you! Pull the gun! Shoot them! Shoot them!"
Calloway stood up, reached a hand out toward Fielding. "Bobby!"
Doc leaped up. "No, Trent! It's a ruse!"
Perez gasped, bolted to his feet. He slipped a small black object shaped like a fountain pen from his pocket and stabbed at it with his thumb. Fielding reacted to the sudden movement, reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a gun.
"Drop the knives! Now! All of you!"
Perez let the device fall to the carpeting. He raised his hands. Calloway and Doc lowered their open palms to show that they were unarmed.
Fielding leaned over, picked up the oblong object. "Jesus. I could've sworn you pulled a knife on me. For a moment, I thought all of you had knives." He turned the device over in his hand. "What's going on, anyhow?"
Perez placed a hand on his chest. "I thought you were going to shoot. We were under attack. They wanted you to kill us."
"Are you okay, Trent?" Doc asked. "It was Ritter and the others, you know. They pushed you hard."
Calloway felt a sudden flood of relief wash over him. He couldn't take his eyes off Fielding. "I know. I know."
"What are you talking about?" Fielding looked mystified as if he'd found himself in a carnival fun house where nothing seemed real.
"They had me believing you were someone else. I thought you or he—was talking to me."
Fielding, still looking perplexed, handed the slender object back to Perez. "What is it?"
"It activates an EMF, an electromagnetic field, around the building," Perez explained. "They can't penetrate it. Now we are safe."
Calloway remembered seeing Perez holding it in his hands earlier, before Fielding had arrived. He laughed. "Goddamn, Eduardo, now I know that you've got every imaginable gadget here."
Doc frowned. "A lot of people are trying to avoid EMF. They say it causes brain diseases."
"Short-term exposure, I think, is safe," Perez said, seriously. "We need it to protect us. I hit it just in time. They almost got us."
Fielding put away his weapon. "What about Wiley? Can you find him?"
Perez grimaced. "Unfortunately, when the field is activated, it disrupts us, too. They cannot look in and we cannot look out."
"It's a stalemate," Calloway said.