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Authors: David Morehouse

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BOOK: Psychic Warrior
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But weeks passed and I heard nothing from the unit. I kept having nightmares, which were taking their toll on the family. Mom and Dad had returned home to California shortly after my nocturnal visit to the cave, so now Debbie was alone in dealing with all of this. I felt that I was growing sicker, and I was convinced that Sun Streak was my only help.
 
 
“Hey! Guess what?” Barker came running into my office slamming the door behind him, his eyes huge behind his glasses. “They want you! Can you believe it? Of course you can believe it. I told you so!” He shook the message in front of him, holding it with both hands. “They want you to report right away. As soon as I got this from the S-1, I called Levy. They want you tomorrow, if they can get you. Do you realize how exciting this is? Aren't you excited? We did it!”
I smiled, more at his reaction than anything. “Yeah, that's great news.” But I immediately thought about what I was going to have to say to Debbie and the children, and the smile left my face.
“What's the matter? You still want to go, don't you?”
“Sure, I want to go. I'm just running over everything I'll have to do to get ready, that's all.”
“Great!” he said. “I'm going to go tell the boss right away. You can go and see the S-1 and get your orders taken care of.” Barker flung himself out of my office and darted across the hall to the command group to present our chief, Colonel Tony Messina, with a copy of the memo from the Defense Intelligence Agency.
I saw that memo later. It read: “The undersigned (Commander, Defense Intelligence Agency) authorizes the assignment of Captain David A. Morehouse to the Directorate of Technology and Science of this headquarters effective immediately. Report date to be not later than five days from receipt of this message. Direct coordination with this headquarters and DT-S is authorized. Early report date is authorized.”
I can only speculate what happened after Messina read the message. What I do know is that he screamed at Barker for about fifteen minutes before demanding that I report to him. It was obvious he was unhappy about Barker making arrangements for the reassignment of one of his officers behind his back; it was also apparent that he was a bit taken aback by my choice of units. Regardless, Barker took his ass-chewing as well as he could and gladly passed the baton
to me when Messina demanded my presence.
“Get in here, Morehouse!” I opened the door and walked toward his desk to stand at attention. Nobody ever did that here, but under the circumstances I couldn't help myself.
“Captain Morehouse reporting as ordered, sir!”
“Close the fucking door, Morehouse, and let's talk,” he snapped back at me, never returning the salute. “Just what the hell is going on here? Barker comes in here this afternoon and presents me with some fucking orders for you to report to this unit called Sun Streak. Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into? Do you have any idea how pissed off I am that you and Barker have been working this thing backchannel, behind my back?” He paused for a moment to glare at me and catch his breath.
“Yes, sir, I think I do. However, I didn't realize that—”
“Didn't realize what? That I might be pissed?”
“No, sir, that you knew nothing about it, sir.”
“All right, let's skip over all that shit. It doesn't matter much anyway at this point—you have orders, and I assume you have accepted the assignment. That leaves me with only one option, and that is to tell you how fucking stupid I think this choice of yours is. Do you have any idea what this unit does?”
“Yes, sir!” I responded still standing at attention.
“Morehouse? Sit the fuck down and let me try and talk some sense into you. This unit is nothing but a bunch of fucking freaks. Do you hear me? They are fucking freaks and nothing good has ever come of anybody or anything affiliated with it. Now please tell me why you, with your service record, want to go to a unit like this. Please tell me what you were thinking when you said yes.”
I couldn't look him in the eyes. He was so full of rage—and, oddly enough, I felt pity. “Sir, it's a combination of things. I'm not the happiest camper here. It's got nothing to do with you or anything … . I just don't fit in, in this unit. I'm not a spook, I'm an infantryman.”
Messina jumped on that. “Do you realize how asinine that sounds when you're on your way to a bunch of out-of-body fuckers?”
I dropped my head, realizing that it did sound pretty foolish. “Yes, sir, but it's something I'm convinced I want to do. I really want to be a part of this unit and learn what it is that they do.”
His fist hit the center of his desk. “Damn it, Morehouse! Your record has ‘Destined to wear stars' written all over it by general officers; you're an above-center-of-mass officer and you will be commanding a battalion someday if you keep up the current performance level. Don't you realize that you're giving all that up if you go to this assignment? You don't just go to something like this and then walk away three years from now-it's crazy.”
“Yes, sir, I understand that there will be changes. But I'm ready to take my chances on everything else.” I wondered if Messina was right, and I was wrong for listening to Barker. I mean, a man I respected a great deal was reaffirming that I was going places in the army … and I was arguing with him. All I knew was what Barker and Levy had told me. Was I making the right decision?
Messina scowled at the orders once again, and threw them into his hold box. “I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to make you sit on this for a few days while I try to knock some sense into your head. I don't have to release you until I get ready to, so you take two or three days to think about this. Have you told Debbie about it yet?”
“No, sir, I've been waiting for the right moment.”
“You'd better include her in a decision like this, or else step across the hall and see the lawyer, because this unit has a reputation for breaking things up. Yes, sir, you'd better make damned sure she knows exactly what you're getting yourself into—damned sure!” With that Messina dismissed me abruptly.
Over the next two days Messina summoned me into his office repeatedly for brief sessions during which he would
all but beg me not to end my career by joining Sun Streak. Sometimes he was pleasant about it; at other times he would extract a pound of flesh. But each time I politely refused his offers to stay at Sacred Cape.
Reluctantly, on the third day, a Wednesday, he bade me Godspeed with these words: “I told you, nothing good has ever come from that unit. I've watched it destroy lives and careers. I can't imagine why you want to do this.” Those were his last words to me. I began out-processing that afternoon.
I still hadn't told Debbie about Sun Streak; it was just too far out on the fringe for her to be comfortable with. I'd thought it best to lie low until all the decisions had been made. We went for a walk that evening after supper.
“Remember I told you and Mom and Dad that I was looking for some help with the nightmares?” I asked her. She only nodded, never taking her eyes off the sidewalk. “Well, I talked to Lieutenant Colonel Innis Barker, the psychologist at the unit, about them, and he—”
“I know who you've been talking to, David. Colonel Messina called me on Monday and told me all about it.” She went on to say that he'd issued prodigious warnings that I would never be the same if I went to Sun Streak. He testified to her of the horrors he had seen in that unit and he urged her to put a stop to the transfer if at all possible.
“Shit!” I muttered. “Why didn't you—”
“Tell you? Why should I have to tell you? Don't you think it's important enough for you to approach me with? My God, David, you're going to a unit that plays with people's minds, and you didn't even tell me about it. Didn't even ask my opinion! What the hell's gotten into you?”
“I'm sorry, honey, I didn't think—”
“That's right, you didn't think. How could you plan something that dangerous and not include your family? Don't you realize that every decision you make, good or bad, affects us directly? And what about your mother and father?”
I started to get angry. “Oh, so you don't want me to do
it, either, is that it? Just because I didn't talk to you about it-which I would have done before I ever committed myself to the job.”
“David, that's a bunch of crap! Colonel Messina told me that as far as he was concerned you'd already made your decision. So as far as I can see there's no use in our even discussing it, is there?”
“That's not true, Debbie! I held off making any decision or even talking to you about this until all the decisions outside our family were made. I didn't want to frighten you or bother you until I knew for sure what my options were. That's all I was trying to do!”
“So,” she asked, her eyes tearing, “are you going to do it?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you think. But before you make any decisions, I want you to understand that this may be my ticket out of the nightmares. This unit knows how to control that stuff. Debbie, these guys do some of the most awesome stuff. Come on, honey. Isn't it intriguing and exciting?”
“No! It sounds too farfetched to be true. They're still playing with your mind.”
I took a deep breath, kicking a pine cone off the walk. “Look, I understand why you're worried. But this is a chance to explore something only a handful of people have ever gotten the chance to explore. I just can't pass this up—and, quite frankly, the more people argue with me about it, the more sense it makes to me that I should just do it. Think of it: I can be trained to traverse time and space, to see and experience anything and everything I want to experience. How the hell can I pass that up? I'm going to do it, honey. I've got to do it!”
“Then for the first time in our marriage you are doing something without my blessing. And God help us,” she said sadly.
I turned her toward me and I kissed a tear away, staring into her eyes and seeing the warmth and love. “I know
you're worried about me. I can't tell you how comforted and secure it makes me feel to know you're always there for me, you love me, you support me. I can't imagine doing something without you by my side … all the way. Please think about it a little more before you shut me out completely.” She nodded slightly. “When I report in, I'm sure there will be something they'll share with you, and if not, I'll bring home anything I can to let you know what's going on. I'll keep you posted every step of the way in the training process. Okay?”
Her lips pressed tightly together, Debbie fought back the flow of tears. Her intuition told her that this wasn't a good thing. But she believed in me and she had always supported me … how could she not support me now? “I'll give you some time,” she said. “We'll see what happens after you get there. But you have to promise me that you'll leave it if I ask you to. Do you promise?”
“Cross my heart … I promise.” I kissed her.
THE TRAINING
T
hat winter of 1988, the first snow fell on the day I started at Sun Streak. We hadn't moved from Fort Belvoir yet, so I was making the long drive to Fort Meade. The trip took me an hour and a half in that first snowfall because I didn't really know where the office was. I missed the turnoff to the Baltimore-Washington Parkway and had to double back. When I finally exited the parkway and made my way down the small back road to Meade, I had to fight another
car
for the right to merge. It was some little bluish gray Mustang, and the woman driving it refused to let me in. We glared at each other, each struggling to hold ground. Running out of road, I was forced to step on the brakes and let her pass. She glanced at me in her rearview mirror and flipped me the bird as a victory salute.
Great fucking day!
I thought.
I made my way onto the post, trying to figure out where the unit was hiding. All I remembered was that it consisted of two old white wooden buildings nestled in a clump of huge oaks. With every turn, I was still in back of the little Mustang. I passed the post library, which I half remembered, and the theater as well. Finally the two white buildings came into view. I was only thirty minutes late on my first day.
My heart stopped as the Mustang turned left into the long driveway that led to the front of the buildings. I turned
down the drive and parked alongside the bluish gray car, then got out and walked around it to face my tormentor.
“What the hell do you want, asshole?” A barroom growl from a rather innocent face. She had long straight brown hair draped over a petite frame. She clutched her purse in her right hand, ready to use it as a club if needed.
“Next time you try to cut someone off, you'd better have more car than you've got.”
“So what do you want? Why did you follow me here?”
I wanted to give her a piece of my mind, but I bit my tongue. “I work here.”
“Bullshit! You don't work here.” And then it became clear to her. “Oh, my God. You're the new trainee from across the river, aren't you?”
“I'm afraid so.” I smiled. “Sorry about back there at the parkway. I didn't mean—”
“Oh no …
I'm
sorry. I had no idea who you were.” She smiled, extending her hand. “Hi, I'm Carol Bush.”
“Dave Morehouse. I'm from Sacred Cape.”
“I know, over there near Fairfax, right?”
“Yeah, right. I really mean it, I'm sorry about trying to merge on you like that. I just didn't know where I was going, and I was in a hurry.”
“It's okay. Everybody gets crazy driving around here. Comes with the turf. Want some coffee?”
“Sure, that would be nice.”
I didn't realize it then, but my first encounter with Carol was a harbinger of how things would be. I followed her to the door and watched as she punched in the key code. Once inside I recognized the painting of the galaxy on the wall,
the
massive file safes on the left, and the small waiting room and coffeepot to the right. Jenny Eastman jumped up from her desk, leaving behind a half-eaten bagel.
“Look who I found in the parking lot,” said Carol, “ran off the road, flipped off, and cussed out.”
“What?” Jenny asked. “You did
what?
”
“Oh, it wasn't like that,” I countered. “We just fought for a little road space, that's all.”
“And she flipped you the bird?” Jenny began to chuckle. “God, Carol, you really know how to make a person feel welcome.” She reached for my arm and led me to the coffeepot. “Come over here with me and let's get some food into you.”
Carol had left the welcome scene and was making her way to her desk. Over her shoulder she called, “Oh yeah—he'd like some coffee, Jenny. Could you take care of that?”
“You bet I can. Now, look, we have bagels, doughnuts, and some crackers here. And here's coffee and juice. We all pitch in five dollars a month, and I shop at the commissary to keep the fridge stocked. The coffee is half and half—that's half real stuff and half decaf. Now, since you're new, I'll let you slide for the month, and you won't be expected to contribute to the fund until the first. If you ever want a soda, they're pay-as-you-go. Just throw the money into the can here.” She rattled the can for me.
“Now over here is the copier and right next to it is the shredder, that comes in handy given what we do here.” Grabbing my hand, Jenny dragged me across the room. “This is the latrine. A cleaning team comes in on Tuesdays and Thursdays and you have to keep all classified put away until they leave. Over here next to it is the office supplies room.” She paused. “Staying with me on all this?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good, because I move fast. I don't like to slow down for routine stuff. These are the safes where we keep all the training and operational materials. Every session ever done by this unit is right here. Yup, every one since 1978 is right here.” She slapped the top of one of the ten file safes. “Back here is Mr. Levy's office—you remember that, I'll bet.” She smirked. “And back there are the rest of the offices. Your desk is right here.” She pointed to a gray metal desk sitting in a corner near a dirty grille-covered window. “Over here through this doorway is the back of fice. Oh, and there are some people I want you to meet. They weren't here when you visited.”
I followed her through the opening to the right of my
desk, into a smoke-filled back room half the size of the space we'd just left.
Carol Bush sat puffing away at her desk. She had a black cloth spread out in front of her, and on it were about a dozen or so large cards with figures on them. She didn't look up but kept flipping and moving the cards from one stack to another.
“Playing a little solitaire?” I asked.
She looked at me, cigarette hanging from her lip. “Hardly.” She broke her gaze and returned to the cards.
“Those are tarot cards, my dear. Some of us use them to keep a little polish in our work.” The voice came from behind me, and I turned. “I'm Judy Kessler.” She lofted her hand, palm down and pinkie extended. “And you must be …”
“Dave Morehouse,” I said awkwardly. “I'm sorry, I didn't know what those were. I've never seen them before, except on television.”
“Well, they're nothing to be frightened of; they're just tools. They help us do our job.”
“Really?”
“Yes. If you'd like to learn how to use them, I'd be happy to show you.”
“Sure … I'd like to know what they're about.” Sitting next to Kessler was Mel Riley. Glancing at him, I noticed that his intent stare at the beads he was working on had turned into a frown. “Hey, Mel, how are you doing?”
He looked up slowly. “Good, Dave, really good. And your?”
“Well, I'm here, and that's where I wanted to be. So I'm happy.” He only nodded and returned to his work. Mel, it turned out, was a student of just about everything relevant to American Indians. He knew their cultures, their religions, and their artwork and crafts. He would spend hours sewing tiny glass beads onto brain-tanned deerhide and other leathers. It was simply unbelievable what he could do. As the years passed and we became close friends, I would spend many an hour just watching him do beadwork. It was almost
a spiritual experience; his demeanor and calm spread to everyone near him when he worked. He was always an anchor in this new world I was entering. Whenever I felt on the edge, Mel was there to bandage me, to help me understand the ways of the ether. He was, and is today, a true friend.
“Come on!” Jenny said. “We need to get you back up front to see Mr. Levy; he should be in the office now.” We walked back through the cubicles to the front of the building.
After a few minutes, Levy appeared. He poured himself a cup of coffee and nodded for me to follow him. With the door closed behind us, he took a seat in the chair next to me. “Let's talk about your training program, shall we? I've assigned Mel as your trainer; he seems to like you. He was one of the very first viewers and I've not found anyone who grasps the theory the way he does. I plan on him taking you through the lecture phase; after that he'll pass you on to Kathleen. She's an excellent viewer and has the patience of Job. She'll take you all the way through Stage Seven training. I may switch you around from time to time, so don't be alarmed.”
“Switch me around? I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“I'll switch trainers and monitors on you, to round out your exposure. I've not done that before and I think it's time we give it a try. So, periodically, you'll be assigned one of the other operational members of the unit. ‘Operational' means that they've completed all their training and are currently validated and are working real targets—I mean intelligence targets. Your first targets, during training that is, will be selected at random from the training files. They are targets with a significant signature and a good deal of known data. The data allow us to give you immediate feedback.” I must have looked confused. “Are you getting any of this?” he asked cautiously.
I laughed out loud. “Well, I'm certainly trying.”
Levy laughed too. “I guess I'm giving you the firehose treatment. I'll back off a bit. Mel can fill you in on everything
you need to know from here. Right now I want you to read the historical files and get a feel for how and why this program came into existence. You should come away from the building today having a general idea of what the Soviets, Chinese, and Czechs have going in this paranormal arena. The rest will come in due time. Okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Levy led me to a couple of stand-alone file safes and dialed in the combination, mouthing the numbers to himself so loud that I could almost make them out. “Start here,” he said, “and work your way back and down to the last drawer. You can pull the folders out, and carry them to your desk for reading. Just make sure you replace them in order. Got it?”
“Got it.” I grabbed a thick slab of the folders, carried them to the desk, and began to muddle through the musty-smelling things. Soviet programs, KGB cover-ups, names, faces, places, the Central Intelligence Agency, Stanford Research Institute … I couldn't believe it—this program had been in existence since early 1974, for nearly fifteen years. It wasn't experimental any longer. Christ, they knew it worked—they'd proven that at Stanford, and all the evidence was here. There were books written on the stuff by the researchers involved; nobody paid any attention to them. The books didn't mention the intelligence involvement, but evidence of government funding and management was all over the place. There were illustrations of machines manufactured in the Soviet Union that allegedly could disrupt human brainwaves, causing nausea, stupor, vertigo, even death. There were diagrams of “energy alarms” for detecting the presence of remote viewers or other foreign energy sources. There were descriptions of “remote mental manipulators,” whose principal focus was to access the mind of another human being and kill him. I'd thought I had a grip on what I was getting involved in, but now I realized I had only the faintest notion.
Several hours passed as I pored over the files, making
trip after trip to the safe for new ones. I'd lost all track of time.
“Are you ready for some lunch?” Mel asked, coming up behind me.
“Sure. I'm getting a little burned-out looking at these files. What did you have in mind, Burger King?”
“Hell, no! I don't eat fast food. You like chili?”
“Chili sounds great. You have a favorite greasy spoon somewhere?”
“Yup, my house. You can eat some of the best venison chili God ever put on this earth. Grab your coat, it's in walking distance.”
We walked out the front door and headed across a field to Riley's place. He lived in military housing at Fort Meade, about a half mile from the office.
At his house, Riley made me feel like a king. “Sit here,” he said, pointing to the lounge chair that was obviously his place. I tried to decline but my new friend insisted. “We'll have to be quiet, Edith is asleep upstairs.” He noticed the puzzled look on my face. “Edith's my wife; she's a critical care nurse—works all night, sleeps all day. She's also very psychic. Almost as good as me”—he smiled—“but not quite.”
“Oh.”
“Well, you watch the news, and I'll warm up the chili. Keep the volume down, though—Edith will kill us both if we wake her.”
Mel scurried into the kitchen to prepare lunch while I watched CNN.
“The top stories today,” the anchor began. “President Bush canceled several top-level meetings due to illness. Sources say that the President is suffering from the flu, and that he should be able to resume his schedule in a few days.”
“Mel, did you hear that?” I asked as I poked my head into the small kitchen. “They said the President was canceling some of his meetings because of illness.”
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