Hidden in Dreams (18 page)

“No problem.” He opened his door. “Nice meeting you, Dr. Burroughs. I loved your book.”

When they were alone, she said, “I don’t like going into this cold, Jacob.”

“They insisted on the secrecy. One of the people waiting for us is my patient, Agatha Hune.”

“The Federal Reserve bank board member.”

“Right. Agatha has someone she wants us to meet. Who, I have no idea. Only that he is a close personal friend. And it had to be this morning.” He saw her objection forming, and responded before she could speak. “These people do not waste time, Elena. Agatha said it was utterly vital that we meet. I trust her. You’re here. Let’s go.”

They entered the regional office of a US congressman whose name Elena did not recognize. A young staffer was there to open the door and usher them into a conference room. The unnamed guest turned out to be Mario Suarez. The senator was on the phone as they entered. He waved a greeting and pointed them into chairs. An aide working in the corner behind the conference table reached forward and handed Suarez a document. He said, “Hang on a second, Herb, I’ve got the figures here in front of me. No, no, that won’t work. You need to cut another fifty mil or we can’t move forward. Okay. Good.” Suarez punched off the connection, tossed the phone to his aide, and said, “Go tell Agatha we’re ready to roll.”

The aide bolted from the room. Suarez swept the documents away from the table in front of him and said, “This meeting is not happening. Understood?”

“Yes,” Elena replied.

He rose from his seat as a woman entered the room. Elena
saw in that action a different side to the senator. He might be rigid, impatient, and perpetually irritated, but he held others in respect and had no trouble showing it. “Have you met? Agatha Hune, Dr. Elena Burroughs. This other guy you know, right?” The woman was in her late fifties and attractive in a severe manner. She wore a sleek gray suit with a pewter and alabaster lapel pin. She seated herself across from the two psychologists. “Hello, Jacob.”

Suarez asked, “You want the guy to stay, right?”

“Jacob is crucial to this, in my opinion.” She turned to Elena. “I very much like your questions and your direction, Dr. Burroughs. Particularly this morning. You were right to include the issue of faith.”

“Whatever you say.” Mario Suarez dominated the room with his sense of presence. “Look. I’m not here to lay a charm offensive on you, Dr. Burroughs. And I don’t expect you to leap over to our side.”

“I thought we were all on the same side here, Senator.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Agatha?”

“You go ahead. I’ll chime in if necessary.”

“Right. Dr. Burroughs, what I want you to do is consider, just consider, that you are being manipulated.”

“Not just you, Dr. Burroughs,” Agatha Hune said. “Every last one of us.”

16

E
lena confessed, “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“And?”

“Realistically, I don’t see how it could be possible. The distance between dreamers, the timing, the dream’s precise vividness, the dream patterns, the absence of archetypes, the fact that none of the dreamers knew one another before this started. All this indicates to me that these dreams are an actuality.”

The senator impatiently shifted in his chair, but remained silent.

Jacob added, “To impact a patient’s dreams requires manipulation of the person’s deepest subconscious. This usually requires hypnosis in conjunction with drugs. Though it flies in the face of my entire professional career, I agree with Elena.”

“We’re not suggesting that the dreams aren’t real,” Agatha Hune replied.

“We’ve both had the dreams,” Suarez agreed. “We’re not here to discuss how
real
they are.”

“We have read your book,” Agatha Hune went on. “We have studied your comments. We have observed you during the interviews
and today’s online conference. Mario met with you both in Miami. I have known Jacob for some time now. And this has led us to trust you with what we feel may be a very real threat.”

The leather of the senator’s chair squeaked as he shifted forward. “What if someone is playing us like their public marionettes?”

Elena looked from one to the other. “You mean they’ve discovered a method for dream manipulation?”

“Right.”

Jacob said, “And they’re applying this process to fifteen dreamers spread around the globe.”

“Exactly.”

Elena wanted to dismiss the idea. She disliked the senator’s attitude and his manner. But the idea held her at a visceral level. “I don’t see how that would be possible.”

“Right. Neither do we.” Mario Suarez nodded to his friend. “Tell them, Agatha.”

“We have been hearing rumors. A hint of something here, a shadow of a whisper somewhere else. Then yesterday Mario’s most trusted aide overheard comments. These things simply do not add up unless we accept one impossible fact: that someone is doing this for a secret purpose.”

Elena asked, “What precisely did your aide overhear?”

“My aide was representing me at a conference of bank directors on Wall Street. They were discussing the crisis. I’m on the senate finance committee, it’s normal for either me or my top committee aide to be there. At break time my guy was hidden in this alcove, texting me an update. Two of these Wall Street jokers passed by, he didn’t see which ones they were and couldn’t recognize their voices. What he heard was, one of the guys asked the other how the project was going. The other said, and I quote, ‘You mean the market exploitation, or the dreamers?’ The first guy said, ‘Both.’ Guy two then said, ‘All but one of the dreamers
are behaving themselves. As for the market, I should hope you’re making a killing like the rest of us.’”

Elena looked from one face to the other, and saw grim intent. And very real fear. “So if this is true, the aim behind manipulating our dream states is to subvert the world economic system.”

Jacob protested, “That suggests an incredible level of power behind their actions.”

Agatha added, “And coordination among different groups. No lone bank or even political system could do this alone.”

Suarez rose from his chair, and began crossing the back of the room, pacing like a caged beast. “When I was a kid, my grandfather used to tell us stories. My mother always objected because they gave me and my sisters nightmares. But my father insisted. He remembered the crossing from Cuba. And losing his own mother on the boat. And he wanted us to learn. After a while my sisters would run and hide whenever my grandfather started on his stories about life under Castro and what they went through in escaping to America. But I stayed. And I listened. I learned about how power drove some men mad. How they used the most insane reasons to excuse their actions. How the lives of others mean nothing to such people. How they build their ideals into golden calves, how they will sacrifice the lives of millions at the feet of their idols.”

Suarez turned and glared at them. “I have learned from bitter experience that the world scoffs at politicians who trumpet their faith in God. So I don’t speak about it except with my closest friends. But I know the Bible. I know the evil that lurks in this world. And I am telling you that in my heart of hearts, I think we have become trapped inside someone else’s nightmare.”

Elena met the man’s burning gaze and found herself saying, “I have prayed and prayed for guidance. And all I have received in response is silence.”

“As though God is not a part of this,” Suarez agreed.

“What should we do?”

“We need your help,” Agatha said. “Desperately.”

“We’ve shared this with three of our most trusted aides, and nobody else,” Suarez said. “Not even our families. We ask that you do the same.”

“We’re almost certain we’re being watched,” Agatha Hune confirmed. “If our fears are correct, you must assume they are keeping you both under surveillance.”

“They need us, so they fear us,” Suarez said.

“If we’re right,” Agatha corrected. “If we are indeed part of a hoax.”

The word hung there in the air between them. Elena found herself surprised at her own calm. As though she was glad for the company of those who also felt a need to question. “So we shouldn’t contact you?”

“Only when there is a critical need, or you have something to report,” Suarez replied. “And you’ll need a cutout.”

Agatha said, “She doesn’t understand that word.”

“I do, actually. You want me to find someone they won’t suspect, who can make the contact for me.” Elena thought. “I have just the person.”

“Our aides will be hunting for more evidence,” Agatha Hune replied, sliding a card across the table. “If you find anything that suggests we are right, you can reach us day or night.”

“You’re both professionals,” Suarez said. “Clinicians, isn’t that what you want the world to see? So design an experiment. Check your data. See if there is a shred of evidence we’re right.”

“Before it’s too late,” Agatha said.

Suarez headed for the door, then turned back to give Elena a look of deadly experience. “If we’re right, and I fear we are, remember this. There are people out there who will do anything and say anything and sacrifice anyone to get what they want.”

17

J
acob gave his postgraduate student some bills and told him to grab a taxi back to the university. He and Elena made the trip downtown in silence. It was only as they left the freeway that Jacob asked, “What just went on back there?”

“I’m going to need some time to fully digest it.”

“But you think it might be real?”

“
They
certainly think so. Two intelligent professionals on the world stage, one in politics, the other in finance, both suggesting this is
very
real.”

“But to manipulate dreams around the globe—”

“Is impossible. I agree. Not to mention manipulating the world economy.”

“So how—” Jacob was halted by the ringing of his cell phone. He glanced at the readout, then handed it over. “Answer that, will you?”

When she answered, Reginald Pierce said, “We’ve just heard from CNN. Don’t go through their front doors. Come in by way of the garage. It’s marked Employees Only, but just tell the security guard your names and they’ll let you through.”

The young man sounded impossibly tense. Elena demanded, “What’s the matter?”

“The dreamer who claimed all this was garbage, you know who I mean?”

She recalled the pudgy Frenchman who had spoken with such disdain. “Actually, he just suggested our experiences were not foretelling.”

“Well, he’s using the word now.
Garbage.
On television. And his claims have gone global.”

•    •    •

Nothing could have prepared her for what awaited them downtown.

The street fronting CNN headquarters was blocked off. Police had stationed yellow barriers across the turning. Beyond them was a solid wall of humanity. Jacob fought through the snarled traffic, rounded the corner, and finally arrived at the entrance to the underground parking garage. When he gave his name to the uniformed officer, the guard leaned over to give Elena a long look, shook his head, and waved them through. Elena turned in her seat to see him lift the phone and speak with someone, his gaze still on them.

The garage elevator deposited them in the main lobby. To her horror, Elena was surrounded by images of herself. She stared down from a dozen massive flat-screen monitors that lined the foyer and flanked both buildings overlooking the street.

“Dr. Burroughs?” A harried young man in a rumpled shirt pushed his glasses up square to his forehead. “Hi, I’m Jeff, they’re ready for you—”

The crowd spotted her through the foyer’s tall glass windows. A woman shrieked her name. The crowd picked it up and began hammering the glass. The young man said something she
could not hear, and pulled them into an elevator. When the doors closed, he said, “The loonies have us under siege.”

Jacob asked shakily, “How did they find out?”

“We posted your name on the online interview schedule. Our website is updated every few hours. It’s normal.”