“You didn’t think we were real, did you?” he asked as he once more hid the pin. “Strange how that is. After all, you know for certain that Nexus is real. Hell, they must have come to your office and briefed you. Do you think Eisenhower had nothing better to do when he signed that executive order? Do you think there can be resistance without a force to resist against? Not that Nexus has been much resistance. But we can’t take any chances.”
He glanced at his watch. “Any time now.”
The driver checked his watch and looked at the front door once more. He was startled when someone rapped on the glass next to his head. He turned in surprise and saw a child, about twelve, on a bike. He powered down the window. “Yes?”
The child smiled. Then began to ride away.
The driver frowned and the bullet from the silenced sniper rifle hit right in the center of that frown, taking the back half of his head off. Gore splattered the glass divider and front seat. The child had already turned the corner and was gone. A car pulled up behind the limousine and a man got out. He reached in the open window and opened the door. He shoved the body aside, started the engine, and drove off.
The man checked his watch once more. “Well, that’s done.” He stood, the chair in his hands. “You came home and found that your husband killed himself.” He looked down at the chair. “This belongs there.”
He carried it to the foyer and lay it on its back below Bill’s feet. Then he returned. “The love of your life is dead. There’s only one thing for you to do. The question is-how would someone like you kill yourself? I spent the time waiting for you considering that. And the answer was in your closet.”
He reached behind him and pulled out a nickel-plated Beretta automatic pistol. The one her battalion had given her at the conclusion of her command. He pulled the slide back, chambering a round. Then he flipped off the safety.
He flipped it expertly in his hand, now holding it by the barrel. The man behind her reached out and took the gun. She began struggling as he unhooked her hands, then recuffed the left one to the chair. The man’s left arm went around her throat, applying pressure. She began to feel faint when the cold grip of the gun was placed in her right hand, the man’s hand over hers. She had no power to resist as the gun was swung up, the muzzle against her right temple. The man slid her finger through the trigger guard, his on top. Her eyes darted to the side, to see Bill’s feet and the chair, and she felt the pain once more.
She was content when the man exerted pressure on her finger.
10
The SC-MILSTAR satellite was secured in the cargo bay of Columbia. The two cargo doors slowly closed shut on the payload in preparation for the shuttle to be mated with the external tank and solid propellant boosters that waited for it. A shuttle launch was a highly coordinated operation, and in six hours, when all the parts of the launch vehicle were assembled, the twenty-four-hour countdown would begin.
Dalton felt like a guinea pig as he was rigged up in preparation for entering the isolation tank. Hammond was talking Kirtley’s men through the process as her technicians worked on Dalton, Barnes, and Jackson. The three of them had done their premission planning, preparing their jump points to the last known location of the team in Colombia. Dalton was confident that Barnes could make it back to the site where they had confronted Feteror in Russia without the same kind of preparation because he had already been there once.
“The isolation tanks are warm right now,” Hammond said, “but once the body is inside, they will be supercooled in order to slow the body processes down to a minimum. This machine here”-she paused next to a bulky machine on the side of Dalton’s tank that had a line going from it full of dark blue liquid-“connects to the helmet and provides a cooled, special liquid-oxygen mixture directly to the lungs. By keeping the liquid moving at slow speed over the lung’s alveoli, it provides the body with enough oxygen to sustain it while the diaphragm is in stasis along with the other functions of the autonomic nervous system.”
Easier said than experienced, Dalton thought as he was placed in the harness that would lower him into the tank. He felt a twinge of pain from his shoulder, but it didn’t concern him, since it would not be a factor once he “went over.” Kirtley’s men were probably very good, but he could see that they were uneasy with what Hammond was telling them. He remembered how the team he had led here had reacted on first being told what they were going to experience, and felt some empathy for the NSA men. Hell, he felt sorry for himself, Barnes, and Jackson, as he had little desire to go through the process another time. Only the thought of the missing A-team made it bearable.
“The isolation tank allows your brain to focus on the virtual plane by removing all distractions and energy drains from the real one,” Hammond continued.
She turned to Dalton and picked up his bulky, black helmet. “This is the TACPAD. Actually, this lining on the inside that conforms to the skull is the TACPAD, which stands for thermocouple and cryoprobe projection assistance device. This one has been fitted very specifically for Sergeant Major Dalton’s brain. It does two things. One is to give direct electrical stimulation to those parts of the brain that we want to emphasize, while at the same time using cryoprobes to lower the temperature of those parts that are not needed to operate on the virtual plane.
“This hasn’t changed since the last time you went over,” she added, addressing Dalton, Barnes, and Jackson, “but you will find some changes in the programming which should make the transition easier.”
She turned back to the CIA team. “The other critical component that makes Psychic Warrior viable is the cyberlink to Sybyl, our mainframe computer. We have long known that we only use about ten percent of the brain’s potential. By linking with Sybyl, our master computer, through the TACPAD, we are accessing some of the brain’s untapped areas.
“Sybyl gives you form and power to operate on the virtual plane and then to come out of the virtual plane at a distant point, into the real world in the form of your avatar.”
“What’s an avatar?” one of the men asked.
“A computer-generated form,” Hammond answered. “The power Sybyl sends to you is very important,” Hammond continued. “It allows us to make the jump from simply being able to remote view to operating in the virtual and real worlds, to cross the boundary between the two.”
Dalton considered that statement. If that was true, then perhaps the lost team members were trapped on the virtual plane, without the forms of their avatars to help them navigate. Of course, Chyort, the Russian avatar, had “killed” their avatars, so perhaps he had killed their psyches. But what about Raisor, he wondered? He had asked Hammond to pull the power going to Raisor’s avatar and reroute it to the surviving members of his team so he could transport Jackson and Barnes out of Russia after Raisor went off on his own and abandoned their mission.
That line of thought was interrupted as the techs carefully lowered the TACPAD helmet over his head and locked it down on his shoulders securely. Hammond ’s voice now sounded far away. His head was fixed in place inside, unable to move at all.
“The cyberlink also gives you complete access to Sybyl’s extensive database,” Hammond said. “This linkage-well, you will be amazed at the things it will allow you to do.”