Dalton didn’t have a chance to pursue that as the senior officer pulled a cellular phone out of a deep pocket of his greatcoat. He punched in and began talking. Dalton watched with interest as Jackson dissolved her falcon shape and became a small glowing sphere on the virtual plane. She floated over to the officer, enveloping the cell phone and the hand holding it.
The officer completed the call. Jackson came back to
Dalton’s position, re-forming to her avatar on the virtual plane. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Where?” Dalton asked.
“He just called his higher headquarters to say their search has turned up nothing and they have no idea where Vasilev is. We ’re going to that headquarters to see what else they know.”
“How do you know where that headquarters is?” Dalton asked.
“I went into the cell phone’s memory. The address was listed there inside of the encryption lock. It’s a trick I’ve learned while doing this,” Jackson said. “Here’s the site.”
Dalton received the image.
“The phone he called is inside this room,” Jackson told him. “It’s not far away. Let’s go.”
He flashed out of the room behind Jackson.
When he came to a halt, he was in a conference room, hovering directly above a large wood table. Startled, he pushed himself over to a corner of the room, joining Jackson.
“They can’t see you,” Jackson reminded him, the edge of laughter in her tone.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Dalton said.
A GRU officer was at a lectern, speaking quickly in Russian.
“Can you understand him?” Dalton asked.
“Yes,” Jackson said. “As I told you earlier, you can too, if you ask Sybyl to do the translation for you. It’s practically instantaneous.”
“Another thing no one’s told me about,” Dalton said.
“It’s hard to get you up to speed on everything in a couple of days,” Jackson noted. “I’ve been remote viewing for six years and there’s still so much I don’t know about it. So many capabilities I haven’t even thought of, never mind tested.”
“Sybyl?” Dalton prompted.
The voice of the Russian faded for a brief moment, then
Dalton could hear him in English, through the medium of Sybyl. It was disorienting— as pretty much everything else that had happened so far had been— to watch the man’s lips move, but hear words that didn’t exactly correlate with the movements.
“We must assume there is a connection between the attack on October Revolution Island and Dr. Vasilev’s disappearance,” the officer said. “The phased-displacement generator is missing. Without Vasilev’s expertise, the weapon would be practically useless. With his expertise— ” The officer paused, the words sinking in.
“What is a phased-displacement generator?” Dalton asked Jackson.
“A hypothetical weapon,” Jackson responded. A mechanical device that integrates a space inside of it into the virtual plane, and then is capable with psychic help of sending a mass through the v-plane to any location on the planet. There were intelligence reports years ago that the Soviets were trying to develop such a weapon.”
“Doesn’t sound very hypothetical to these guys,” Dalton noted.
“The generator is no good without nuclear warheads,” one of the officers at the table noted.
“Not necessarily,” the officer at the lectern said. “The phased-displacement generator projects mass. The possibilities for its use are limitless. Whoever has it can project a biological agent directly into the aqueduct for a major city and cause an epidemic. They can project a conventional explosive to exactly the right location to cause a tremendous disaster. Say a pound of C-4 into the American space shuttle’s fuel tank when it launches?”
“If this weapon is so damn effective, why was it left lying in that godforsaken place?”
Dalton focused on the man who had said that. His uniform was different— camouflaged fatigues, a blue beret tucked in his belt. His face was hard, the eyes cold: a killer. Dalton recognized the insignia of the Spetsnatz on the beret.
“Colonel Mishenka,” the man at the end of the table with the four stars of an Army general on his collar acknowledged the Spetsnatz officer. “The weapon was abandoned because it malfunctioned, killing everyone involved in the project.”
Mishenka fingered a folder. “This Vasilev wasn’t killed, General Bolodenka.”
“Almost everyone,” Bolodenka clarified. “Vasilev barely escaped. The information he gave us indicated that the risks involved in a weapon such as the phased-displacement generator would not be worth taking.” The general indicated for the briefer to continue.
“The generator requires computers in order to operate. Another key to the phased-displacement generator is that it will require a tremendous amount of energy. This will limit where whoever has it can set up. They would have to tap directly into a major power line, and the draw would clearly show up. I’ve already alerted those who would be affected to keep an eye out.”
“That’s if they stay inside our borders,” General Bolodenka noted.
“The Mafia is most powerful inside our borders, so I will assume that is where they will operate,” Mishenka noted. “How do you know this thing— this generator— works?”
General Bolodenka swiveled in his heavy leather chair. “Because in its last field testing, the phased-displacement generator destroyed an American nuclear submarine in 1963 just before it malfunctioned, killing all those who were running the test and also destroying what I understand were some critical biological components.”
“Critical biological components?” Mishenka repeated.
“The generator required the mind power of psychically attuned individuals to operate,” the briefer said.
“Then that’s another parameter that whoever has it will need for it to operate, correct?” Mishenka asked.
“Correct.”
“Perhaps, then,” Mishenka mused, “the good doctor is involved with this. Wouldn’t he have access to such people at his Institute?”
“We’re checking into that,” General Bolodenka said.
“You said that this generator required computers,” Mishenka said.
“That is correct.”
“And the computers need a special program?” Mishenka prompted.
The briefer glanced at the general, who nodded for him to speak.
“A CD-ROM with the programming for the phased-displacement generator was stolen from GRU records last week.”
Mishenka shook his head in disgust at the information. “I was informed of that attack, but I was not told what was taken. I cannot operate efficiently if I am kept in the dark.” He leaned forward. “The attack was most brutal. From what I understand, one of your GRU agents was ripped in half. How could this happen?”
“We don’t know,” the briefer said.
“How could the Mafia have found out about this weapon? About the CD-ROM?” Mishenka asked.
“We don’t know that also.”
“There has to be a leak inside your organization,” Mishenka said.
Any comment on that was forestalled when the door opened and an enlisted man walked in, handing the briefer a piece of paper.
The briefer quickly scanned the message and said,
“We’ve just received word that General Rurik’s wife and children have been kidnapped. They were picked up by a squad of Omon, but the bodies of those men were found in a warehouse in the river district. There are no further clues.” The briefer glanced up. “The injuries to the bodies are similar to those we found at the site in Kiev.”