Psychic Warrior

Chapter Seventeen

Dalton’s lungs filled with liquid. His body spasmed, tired muscles fighting the foreign substance, then giving way.

The process went faster and shortly Dalton was back on the virtual plane. Jackson’s falcon avatar swooped past, over his left shoulder, startling him.

“Ready to go?” Jackson asked.

“Where’s the first point?” Dalton asked.

An image from Sybyl appeared in his mind as Hammond spoke. “You’ll be taking the polar route to Russia. Your first jump point will be in central Canada right above this lake.”

Dalton’s arms flowed into wings and he took flight, catching up to the falcon.

“First jump, ” Jackson said.

“First jump,” Dalton acknowledged.

He concentrated on the lake point in Canada. Everything went blank; he felt disoriented and then he was there, about five hundred meters above the water.

He looked around. Jackson was close by. Dalton felt awkward and huge next to her small, graceful form.

“Second point, ” Jackson projected.

It took them four points to get to Moscow. Dalton had no idea if that many were necessary— if they could have gotten there with one jump. He also had no idea how much time passed. Between some of the points the transition was not instantaneous. He felt as if he had flown a distance between some of them in the gray fog of the virtual plane.

He was grateful for Jackson’s presence, as he wasn’t sure he could have made it this far this quickly without her keeping him oriented.

“The Russian Physiological Psychology Institute is that building.” Jackson nosed down toward a large, square building, built of dark stone. Dalton followed. He paused as Jackson’s avatar blipped into the roof and disappeared, then he did the same. He was in an office. There were three men in uniform inside the room. Dalton staggered backward before he realized that he was still in the virtual plane and the men couldn’t see him.

“This is Dr. Vasilev’s office. ” Jackson paused. “I don’t know who they are. They have GRU tabs on their shoulder boards.”

“Seems like they’re looking for something,” Dalton noted.

That was an understatement, as the large desk was turned on its side, spilling papers. Two men dropped to their knees, searching both the papers and the underside of the desk. The third, obviously an officer of higher rank, watched the other two.

One of the men on his knees said something to the senior officer in Russian. The officer replied.

“Vasilev is missing, ” Jackson told Dalton. “They’re trying to find out what happened to him.”

“You understand Russian?” Dalton asked.

There was an amused tone to Jackson’s projection. “Yes. And so do you.”

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.”

“Who’s General Rurik?” Colonel Mishenka asked. “And what does he have to do with this generator?”

“Rurik is the head of SD8,” General Bolodenka said. “That is the department that was in charge of the generator.”

“ ‘Was’?” Mishenka asked. “What does SD8 do now?”

“It runs the successor to the phased-displacement generator program,” Bolodenka said.

“Which is?” Mishenka pressed.

“That, Colonel”— General Bolodenka’s voice had turned chilly— “is none of your concern.”

“I disagree, General,” Mishenka said. “I do not think this kidnapping can be a coincidence. All of this information is most definitely connected. Anything you withhold from me will hinder any action I take.”

“Let us deal with one problem at a time,” Bolodenka said.

“What do you want me here for, then?” Mishenka asked.

“When we find the generator, your men will go in and secure it,” Bolodenka said. “You will also neutralize all those involved with extreme vigor.”

‘Just say ‘kill,’ ” Mishenka said. “It does not bother me to deal in the truth.”

“Kill, then,” Bolodenka said.

“And how do you propose to find the generator?” Mishenka asked.

“That is not your concern.” Bolodenka smiled, revealing expensive capped teeth. “But rest assured we will.”

“I need to know what is going on,” Mishenka said. “Or I will not accept this assignment.”

Bolodenka stood. “Alert your men, Colonel Mishenka. Be ready to move at a moment’s notice.” The general walked toward the door and paused. “Contact my scientific adviser. He will update you on SD8’s current status.” Bolodenka went out of the room, the others following.

Mishenka pulled a cell phone out of his breast pocket.

“Can you get that phone’s number?” Dalton asked Jackson.

“Yes.”

“Do it,” Dalton ordered.

She coalesced into the glowing ball and slid over Mishenka’s hand. In a moment she was back at Dalton’s side.

“Let’s go, ” Jackson said.

Dalton followed her out of the room, into the featureless virtual plane. They paused as they both considered what they had learned.

“You really believe the Russians destroyed one of our subs in 1963 with this thing?” Dalton asked.

“It’s long been an unsubstantiated rumor that the Thresher, an attack submarine, was destroyed by some sort of psychic force,” Jackson said.

Dalton was concerned with something else. “Do you think this Chyort is the successor to the generator?”

“Yes, ” Jackson said.

“So the Chyort is an avatar, just like us?”

“Like us,” Jackson acknowledged, “but more powerful. They’ve done something different than Psychic Warrior.”

“What the hell is going on?” Dalton wondered. “This doesn’t make much sense. If all this is true, and you met the Chyort in the railyard, then the GRU should know that the Mafia plans to take down the nuke train. But those guys in there acted like they didn’t have a clue.”

“Maybe the information is compartmentalized?” Jackson suggested.

“That was the head of the GRU in there. If he doesn ’t know, who does? Hell, Chyort, whoever the hell he is, should be stopping all this.”

“Let’s get home,” Jackson said. “I’m tired and this doesn’t change anything. In fact, it makes it all the more critical that we stop the nuke hijacking, now that we know that the Mafia will have a means of projecting those warheads anywhere on the globe.”

“One billion dollars. U.S. currency, of course.” Oma lit a foul-smelling Russian cigarette and watched the two men across the expanse of her desk. There was no external response on their part to her quoted price or the odor she blew across the desk.

“I will be most reasonable about payment,” Oma said. “One hundred million due in the next twenty-four hours to insure targeting. The balance to be paid on completion of the task.”

“For one nuclear bomb?” the head of the delegation asked.

“For one nuclear bomb placed anywhere you want it on the face of the planet and detonated there, Mr. Abd al-Bari,” Oma clarified. “You want the bomb inside of Israel’s secret nuclear weapon storage facility in the Negev Desert? I will put it there and detonate it.” Oma’s steel teeth shone as she smiled. “The world will think it an accident. The Israelis will have to go public and admit what they have so fervently denied for so long. Their nuclear arsenal will be destroyed. The military forces based nearby will also be destroyed. A rather spectacular coup, and there is no way they can trace it to you.”

“No one can get inside Negev,” the younger of the two men protested, before he was shushed by Abd al-Bari.

“I can put the weapon anywhere you want and detonate it,” Oma repeated. “That is why the price is set as it is.”

“Still rather high for one weapon,” Abd al-Bari said.

“How much do you spend on your military each year?” Oma didn’t wait for an answer. “Buy a few less fighter jets and you won’t even tweak your budget.”

“The money is not the critical factor,” Abd al-Bari said. “I want to know how you can do this.”

“That is not part of the deal,” Oma said.

Abd al-Bari laughed. “Then there is no deal.” He stood. “I have listened to many fools make many outrageous promises over the years. I do not need to waste any more time.”

Oma spread her hands out on her desktop. “You fail to understand the true nature of what we are discussing. I am trying to be courteous. To give you something for your money.”

“I do not need to listen to your blustering.” Abd al-Bari turned for the door.

“I understand you enjoy gambling,” Oma said.

Abd al-Bari paused.

“According to my sources, you play the cards,” Oma continued. “That means you understand the difference between a bluff and someone holding a strong hand.”

“I am very good at everything I do,” al-Bari said.

“If you have the imagination, I would suggest you turn this all around and picture my deal for one billion dollars per bomb as a winning hand.” Oma smiled once more. “I do not wish to offend you, but please, understand that I can put those nuclear bombs anywhere, including the center of your largest oil field. There are some who would pay the money I am asking for that to happen. Of course, I have not contacted them yet. If I am bluffing, then no harm done if you walk out that door. But if I truly hold the cards I am telling you I hold— ”

Abd al-Bari’s skin flushed a shade darker. “Do not threaten me.”

“I am trying to be reasonable,” Oma said. “I would like to continue to be reasonable. But I thought it best that all the possibilities be put on the table, so to speak, so that we have complete understanding.”

Abd al-Bari said, “And if you fail? If you do not do what you say you can after I have paid you the money you ask for down payment?”

Oma spread her hands wide, taking in her office and the building. “Then you know where to find me and you can play your winning hand. I understand you have those in your organization who are most willing to die for your cause. I have no doubt that if you wanted me dead, one of those people would find a way to accomplish that.”

“I have to confer with others,” Abd al-Bari said.

“Please do.” Oma’s voice chilled the room. “But I need an answer in twenty-four hours.”