A cockpit door opens and a pilot, helmet still shielding his face, comes out with a gun drawn. Xavier rushes him, getting between the shot and Diana. A flash and a roar in his eardrums, another flash and he’s on his knees, two holes torn through his shirt, and oddly he thinks the configuration makes them appear like the stars of the Gemini constellation….
Back — it was too much. Couldn’t focus, see or talk. Had to warn them…
How much time had just passed? Can I still stop it?
His head spun around to the cockpit door, which creaked and opened a crack.
Cool air rushed into the cockpit as another door opened behind him.
A shout, a scuffle. Shapes rushed past, someone elbowed him aside.
A glimpse of men in blue, and a dark-suited man with a flight helmet…
A gunshot and a scream.
Something crashed onto his head and the world went black.
5
Caleb was still processing the events the from the helicopter as the Secret Service men and the uniformed officers rushed them across the rooftop and down into the stairwell.
The pilot had been shot! Had Xavier known? Had he seen the threat?
He had turned and shouted a warning even as the door had opened, the same moment the agents boarded the chopper. Maybe coincidence, or just fast thinking, or they had some new intel on the pilot.
But it didn’t make sense.
If the pilot had wanted them dead, he could have done so earlier, any time on the flight from Long Island. What had changed his mind? Had he overheard something?
What were we talking about right before that?
Caleb wracked his brain, but it was all too jumbled, and then he was being rushed out of the chopper. Diana was on a gurney, wheeled across the roof ahead of them, and Xavier was loping along close behind. As Phoebe and then Caleb passed, sheltered by other agents, Xavier gave him a look of utter helplessness and confusion, and said: “All is death.”
On the spacious penthouse-like 33rd level, a number whose significance in Freemasonry was not lost on Caleb, Edgerrin Temple had set up a makeshift control room. Complete with several dozen large screen monitors, servers and telecommunications equipment, it sported reinforced bullet-proof windows and massive doors. The room was an impregnable safehouse, at least for now, from which to conduct their efforts at intelligence gathering, and design a plan for recovery.
Edgerrin wasn’t physically present, but his commanding presence was there nonetheless on the main monitor, broadcast from the bunker below the White House. Caleb could see the figures of the President and the First Lady back there, neither looking too fit, being attended to by others in suits. He made out an IV and other medical equipment, along with dozens of high ranking officials.
“Glad you’re back in one piece.”
“Barely,” Caleb said, straightening up, adjusting his sweatshirt and trying to appear formal, in case the President maybe happened to look his way. He was dying to know… “Are they… affected?”
Edgerrin glanced over his shoulder, then nodded. “Yes. But don’t let that out yet, we need to present the image that we’re in control. Going to broadcast some spliced footage of him speaking and assuring the world all’s ok and we’re working on it.”
“But he’s not. They’re not…” Caleb looked around. “But some are. These agents…”
“From what we’ve seen in the limited time so far, it hits certain people more than others.”
“Makes sense,” Caleb said. “Varying degrees of empathy and susceptibility to psychic activity has been well documented. Even at Stargate, we passed over selecting many who had a whiff of talent, but not enough to be full blown remote viewers. So maybe those types had some immunity to the onslaught of… whatever this is.”
Edgerrin’s face loomed closer, revealing the lines of age, grown deeper and more weathered in the years since Caleb had first met him. Back when Edgerrin had stepped in to right the wrongs of his predecessor, to remedy the harm done to Caleb and his family and friends, and to open his own mind to the potential of the program, if used correctly.
“And what exactly is it we’re dealing with?” Edgerrin winced. “I mean, I can see things. Feel things, hear the thoughts of… god, too many around me. And even…” His eyes were deeply haunted. “…even those of people I’ve lost. My father appeared to me, several times, like he’s… right goddamned there! And I…”
Caleb wished he could reach out to the screen, and tried to think of what to say, but it was Phoebe coming to stand beside him, that had a response. At least something.
“It sucks.”
That’s all, but she said it with such a straight face, with such poignancy, that he heard her. And others did and could tell it came from a lifetime of experience. Of her own pain and frustration and unwanted sights displayed again and again without let up. She took a breath. “I mean it’s a curse for sure, but it’s also a gift, or can be. We can show you how to control it, how to silence the voices and visions to some degree. But we think you have it worse, since it’s been thrust on you suddenly after living your whole life without it.”
Caleb nodded. “For us, it’s been like any skill you learn and develop and practice. Just like someone good at math isn’t always computing formulas and solving problems in their head but can do so when called upon. That’s how it mostly is for us…” He glanced to Xavier. “Some in present party excluded. But what this event seemed to do was to lift the blockage in ‘normals’ like you. Or maybe it activated some dormant DNA in the rest of the population and snapped it to full power suddenly. And now…”
“Everyone’s a math whiz,” Phoebe finished for him. “Buried under nonstop calculations and equation-solving.”
“It will subside in time, I think,” Caleb said, standing shoulder to shoulder with his sister. He checked the monitors, the news, the live camera feeds from random people posting to social media.
“But by the look of things, that’s time we may not have.”
“Agreed,” Edgerrin said, shaking off his emotions. “And to answer your earlier question, some others like those agents there — and supposedly your pilot — seemed to suffer no ill effects. Had no premonitions or visions or even the slightest psychic hiccup.”
“About that…” Caleb glanced at Xavier, who was once again by Diana’s side, pulling up a chair. His attention was back on the nearest monitor — where riots were turning violent in front of the Kremlin. Then the screen turned to amateur footage of the San Francisco bridge and stalled traffic, and people launching themselves over the side en masse.
“We have a potential lead. A drug of some kind. Xavier got a hit on something the pilot may have been taking. Can we access his prescriptions?”
Edgerrin frowned. “A lot of services are down, and even if we could, pharmacies are closed, workers not showing up. Judges won’t be available for warrants and our IT staff at the NSA may be a little… overwhelmed with their own visions, from what I hear.” He was getting flustered, a vein bulging on his right side. “Have to figure this out soon…”
“Okay,” Caleb said, straightening. His attention turned to the monitors, seeing a montage of sights he wished he hadn’t seen. “I think, whatever else you need from us, any assistance we can give, we have to. The problems out there are problems we — I—created.”
Edgerrin looked at him with a softening stare. Behind him, someone helped the president limping off screen to lay down. He looked drugged, and Caleb imagined he was being sedated, like others including Diana, to dull their thoughts and help restore some balance or momentary relief at least.