Kill Switch (45 page)

“Let me guess … H. P. Lovecraft and his crew?”

She frowned. “How did you know that?”

“We've been chasing pieces of this,” said Church. “Continue, please.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “even though Greene lost contact with the boy and had to flee the Closers, he never let go of this. He did a lot of very quiet research. He thinks the energetic discharge may have been what drove Hitler mad. And he thought that these same kind of dreams might have been what kicked off the psychedelic movement of the sixties. People who'd had those dreams who were using drugs to find their way back to that other world.”

“I don't see how this is useful to us,” said Bolton. “It's interesting as a cultural phenomenon, but it doesn't seem like it poses a threat. The Kill Switch is our primary concern.”

She looked at Bolton for a long, thoughtful moment. “You're with the CIA?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“I'm surprised you don't already know about this stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remote viewing,” she said. “Project Stargate?”

“I'm not sure I follow,” he said.

“It was a program started by the Defense Intelligence Agency.”

“Wait,” I said, “I'm lost. Wasn't
Stargate
an old TV show?”

“This is different,” said Church. “Project Stargate was a clandestine research project.”

He gave us the lowdown. The Stargate project had been a covert line of research based primarily at Fort Meade in Maryland and overseen by the Defense Intelligence Agency and SRI International, a defense contractor. The goal of Stargate had been to determine the authenticity and potential of psychic phenomena. The officer in charge of it was Lieutenant Frederick Atwater, known as “Skip” to his friends. Skip was an aide to Major General Albert Stubblebine. According to DIA and CIA legend, Skip was a “psychic headhunter” for the project, searching for candidates who scored high on the ESP evaluations. People whose abilities might open the door to the first generation of psychic spies.

The project was high concept and, had it worked, it would have changed the nature of espionage. Imagine it. A psychic spy was, according to Stargate, an operative who would not need to physically visit an enemy location or foreign country, but who would instead be able to project his consciousness there and remotely view the enemy, view their installations, overhear conversations, and so on. It was an outlandish idea that everyone took seriously, and the United States was far from being the only nation actively involved in this research. The Russians had gone farthest with it and had spent millions trying to not only get inside the heads of enemy agents and scientists, but to hijack them, to psychically control their actions. It was like carjacking someone's mind.

Scary stuff. Considering that I have at least three people inside my head at any given time, I knew the terror of ceding control. I was a different person when the Modern Man or the Killer was in the driver's seat.

Junie said, “The DIA handed the Stargate program to the CIA.”

“And the Agency canned it,” said Bolton, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “It was nonsense and it didn't work.”

He told us that the Agency officially concluded that ESP was not provable, any results were not reproducible, and it was all, essentially, a waste of time and money. If the Russians got anywhere with their program, which was nicknamed “Remote Control,” it didn't keep the Soviet Union from collapsing. Bolton said that everyone dropped their research on it. A book,
The Men Who Stare at Goats,
was written about it, published in 2004 and made into a George Clooney movie in 2009. Neither the book nor film actually mentioned Stargate, though conspiracy theories abounded. From the military intelligence perspective, however, it was a failure and it was dumped.

“And yet,” said Junie, “Prospero Bell told his therapist that this kind of thing was a side effect of this machine. This God Machine or Orpheus Gate, or whatever we need to call it.”

“Sorry,” said Bolton, “I'll buy the electrical null field, because we're seeing that in play. But psychic projection and psychic possession is too far-out, even for me.”

I turned and studied him. “Then how do you explain what happened with Rudy Sanchez, Captain Craft, Glory Price, and a lot of other people? How do you explain the two surfer boys who attacked me yesterday? No offense, Harcourt, but are you going to sit there and tell me that you'll believe in interdimensional travel, electrical null fields, and this God Machine and
not
the psychic projection stuff? I mean, come on, Erskine had a project division coded
Dreamwalking.
What the hell else could it have been?”

He gave me a tolerant smile. “For the record, Joe, I never said that I believed that the God Machine did anything more than disrupt electricity. I certainly don't think we're dealing with cross-dimensional travel, and I'm sorry, but psychic warfare was researched ad nauseam and all they discovered was a way to squander a whole lot of taxpayer dollars. No … I'll buy a lot, but that doesn't work for me.”

He stood up, smiled and glanced around, then gave another shake of his head.

“Junie,” he said, “you are a remarkable woman and you've brought us some incredibly valuable information, but we need to stay focused. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I need to get on the phone to the president. I have to try and convince him that the DMS hasn't lost a step getting to first base and you, Captain Ledger, have to be taken off the bench.”

He left behind a big and very pregnant silence. Church sat for a moment considering the door that Bolton had closed behind him as he left. He slowly ate a Nilla wafer and made no comment about Bolton's parting remarks.

Something occurred to me and I dug a sheet of paper out of our case notes and placed it in front of Junie. “Bug said that there was a list of ancient books among the papers of one of the Gateway team. He ran it by Circe and she said that it was part of something called the Index Librorum Prohibitorum.”

“Oh, sure, the Pauline Index. What about it?”

I told her about the inclusion of the supposed fictional works by H. P. Lovecraft and the others.

“Oh,” she said, “you're talking about the Unlearnable Truths.”

Church stiffened. “How is it you know that phrase?”

Junie shrugged. “That's what Dr. Greene called those books. When Oscar Bell called, one of the things he ranted about was how he'd ruined himself by trying to find those books.”

“Did he say why he wanted them?” asked Church, and maybe there was some actual human emotion in his voice. Some real excitement.

“Prospero seemed to believe that these books contained some kind of mathematical code that would help make his machine run correctly. And by ‘correctly' he meant that it would open the door to his world. The conversation never got farther than that—that's when Oscar Bell started making threats and it all fell apart.” She touched Prospero's photo. “I heard rumors that there were experiments with certain cell lines. Not clones exactly, but what they called ‘birth pairs.' Until now I never knew if that was true.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Now I know. God … Prospero Bell was my brother.”

We sat there in silence for a while, each of us deep in speculation as to what this all meant. Then two things happened that changed the course of the day. Maybe the course of the world.

A call came in on Church's private line. He didn't put it on speaker, so I only heard his half of it. “Violin,” he said, “it's good to hear from you. Your mother said that you've been off the radar for quite a while. She was concerned.” He listened. Listened some more. Then he said, “You should have called me. I would have been able to bring you in. No, I don't care what your mother has been telling you about us. The DMS is not falling apart.” He shot me a look that dared me to contradict him. I mimed zipping my mouth shut. To Violin he said, “Where are you now? Very well. Go to the Hangar. Aunt Sallie will arrange transport here.” He paused. “I'm sorry, who did you say you were with?
Really?
That is very, very interesting. Yes, bring him along. I would be extremely interested to meet him, too. Fly safe and don't worry. Bring the item with you.”

He said something else to her in the language of Upierczi, which is also the private language of Arklight and the Mothers of the Fallen. Church probably doesn't know that I've managed to sort out a lot of that language. I'm very talented with languages.

What he said was, “Be safe, sweetheart.”

He said it the way a father might. Yeah. So … there's that. Which is confusing, since both Lilith and Violin told me her father was Grigor, the so-called King of Thorns, head of the Upierczi. I'd killed Grigor in the tunnels under an Iranian power station. How, then, did that explain Church's connection to Violin? An adopted daughter? I don't know and I doubt he'd tell me under torture.

When the call was done Church stared into the middle distance for a long time. When his eyes came back into focus he looked at Junie.

“As you overheard,” he began slowly, “that was Violin. She has been on the run from two competing groups of operators. One is a religious order I've run into once or twice over the years. The Ordo Fratrum Claustrorum.”

“I've heard of them,” Junie said. “There are a lot of stories about them. The conspiracy rumor mill is rife with them. They're supposed to be pretty scary.”

“They are,” said Church. “The Brotherhood, as they're also known, is very real and highly dangerous. But they're only half the problem. The other team that has been chasing Violin are Closers.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, “Violin has obtained one of the books from that list.
De Vermis Mysteriis
. The—”

“
The Mysteries of the Worm,
” said Junie. “That's one of the books Lovecraft mentioned in his stories. It's … real, isn't it?”

Church nodded gravely. “So it would appear. Violin has had a great deal of trouble getting it out of Europe. The Closers and the Brotherhood have been very aggressive, and she and her partner have had to go to ground to keep themselves and the book safe.”

“Her partner?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Church slowly, “she has partnered with a young CIA field agent formerly of the Hungarian station. His name is Harry Bolt.”

I shook my head. “Don't know him.”

“You know his father,” said Church. “Harry shortened his name some time ago. His birth name is Harcourt Bolton, Junior.”

 

PART THREE

LIGHTS OUT

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token.…

—Edgar Allan Poe

“The Raven”

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

THE PIER

DMS SPECIAL PROJECTS OFFICE

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

SEPTEMBER 8, 1:19
P.M.

Junie Flynn stepped onto the elevator, pushed the button for the parking garage, and was tugging her cell phone out of her pocket to make a call when someone yelled for her to hold the car. A hand shot between the doors and the rubber buffers bounced back from the wrist of Harcourt Bolton.

“You're fast,” she said as he stepped inside.

“Old but not dead yet,” he said, grinning and puffing a little from having run down the hall.

“Parking lot?” she asked.

“Yes. Been a long day and we old duffers need to take naps or we fall asleep in meetings.”

“It's only a little after one.”

“I was up all night,” he said, and reinforced it with a yawn that made his jaws creak. “God, excuse me.”

They got off in the parking garage, but Bolton touched her arm before they went their separate ways. “I've heard a lot about you, Junie. You're quite an impressive woman. You've overcome so much. You've dealt with hardships and obstacles that would have crippled most people, and yet here you stand. A radiant woman of intellect and power. Compassion, too. FreeTech is a testament to good intentions.”

Junie was surprised. “You know about FreeTech?”

“Mr. Church tells me that your company is repurposing many of the technologies Joe took away from Howard Shelton's Majestic group.”

“I'm surprised he told you.”

Bolton's smile was rueful. “The Deacon and I go way back. I won't lie and say we've always been friends, more like friendly rivals, but we play for the same team. We both want to save the world from itself.”

“I suppose that's how we all feel.”

“Not all of us,” he said, his smile dimming. “I heard that your offices were robbed. Such a frightening invasion. Thieves these days wouldn't bat an eye about hurting someone. There are so many bad people in the world. So many people who have darkness in their hearts. So many people who want to turn out the lights on everyone else.”

“Yes,” she said. “And it hurts me to see how often they win.”

“You think they're winning?”

“Don't you?” she asked, surprised. “With what ISIS or ISIL or whatever they're calling it now is doing? With what those people down at Gateway tried to do?” She shook her head. “It shows how sick the world is.”

“Sickness can be cured,” said Bolton. “And bad people can be redeemed.”

“Sometimes, I suppose.”

“Look at your own company. As I understand it you are taking technologies that could do unimaginable harm and are using them to save lives. And, if you want to talk about redemption, I hear that Alexander Chismer—or should I call him Toys?—is one of your employees. Or is he more than that? He has unusually high DMS-approved security clearance for a person who, by all accounts, should be serving multiple life sentences for murder, terrorism, and a laundry list of other crimes. If you have been able to reform someone like him, then perhaps there is hope for us all.”