Eye in the Sky

He was depending heavily on Sawyer and they rehearsed the plans on the night before departure. He made her aware that she might have to use some degree of coercion to get the initial meeting. She was unhappy about that, but reluctantly agreed to use whatever means necessary to arrange the meeting.

They boarded the Lear the next morning with some trepidation and Mike took off. They landed in Boston to refuel and they were soon over the ocean. They landed at Heathrow, cleared customs and found the RLK England vice president waiting with the limousine. He took them to the train and they boarded at Euston station. Sawyer and Lawson had never ridden a train before and found the two-hour ride fascinating. Rawlins and Mike napped while the two youngsters toured the train.

They finished their inspection and returned to their compartment to find Mike asleep and Rawlins reading a book. Sawyer snuggled in with her head on his shoulder.

"What are you reading, Rawlins?"

"It's a post-apocalyptic thriller about a volcano erupting in Southern Colorado and a family fighting to stay alive," he explained. "There's a young lady in it that you would like, Sawyer. Want to read it when I'm finished?"

"Yes, I'd like that," she said. "We are reading a book by that author in English class about a man that is trying to survive after the economy collapses in America. He is in rural Kansas and it's a pretty grim situation."

The train arrived in Birmingham and they got off at Snow Hill. They checked into their Hotel and Mike and Lawson left to make sure everything was ready at the meeting site. They had arranged to meet Robinson at another hotel nearby and had rented the whole floor going though three shell corporations that Rawlins had set up just for that purpose. At 2 PM, they left for the meeting.

Chapter 12

Rawlins sat alone in a darkened room. The shades were pulled and he was an indistinguishable form, sitting in a chair. Robinson knocked at the door and was told to enter. He stopped in the doorway.

"What's with the cheap theatrics?" he asked.

Sawyer was waiting in the next room and she reached out and touched Robinson for the first time. He discovered that he felt comfortable with the situation and that he wanted to go inside and talk with this man.

Rawlins pointed out a chair with a laser pointer and Robinson sat down.

"Who are you, and why all the cloak and dagger?" he asked.

"It's not important who I am right now," Rawlins spoke through a voice modulator. "I have a question for you. Do you believe it's possible to read someone's mind?"

"No, I don't. Why do you ask?"

"I want you to think for a minute. What do you have in your right front pocket?"

Robinson felt around. "Okay, I'll play along, what do I have?"

"Sawyer? Can you tell what he has?"

"Yes, Rawlins. He has a lighter, some keys, a money clip and a note. Hold on a minute." She concentrated for a second. "Rawlins, it's a note from his lover. He's gay and his lover's name is George Thompson. He works for the city of Birmingham."

"You have a lighter, some keys, a money clip and a note in your pocket. The note is from a man named Thompson. Do you want me to describe your relationship?"

Robinson leaped to his feet. "How could you possible know that?" He discovered that he wanted to sit back down. He resumed his seat. "Are you saying you can read my mind?"

"No I can't. However, I'm in touch with someone who can. Figure out a test. Tell me what it is and we'll take it."

Robinson's mind was whirling. He collected his thoughts. How could this man possibly know about George? They had carefully concealed their relationship. Even his own reporters and family didn't know.

"Okay," he said, "where do I keep the papers from the PRISM leak we reported on last year?" That would stump the man. He didn't dare allow the documents anywhere near the paper. MI6 had seized dozens of computers from their offices at the request of the NSA to try to suppress the story and he had carefully concealed the documents.

"Sawyer, can you tell?"

"Hold on a minute. He keeps them in a bank in Zurich Switzerland called Schweizer Banken. The box number is 1147."

Rawlins repeated the information Sawyer gave him. Again, Robinson leaped up, but as quickly seated himself.

"Okay, that's a pretty good trick. Why are you telling me this?"

"Would you like to meet the person who gave me the information?"

"Okay, I'll bite. Who is he?"

"She, Sawyer is a she, very much a she."

"Sawyer, are you ready honey?"

She took a deep breath, opened the connecting door and went in. She took a seat beside Rawlins.

"Hello Mr. Robinson. My name is Sawyer Raleigh. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"We'll see how much of a pleasure it's going to be. How did you know those things?"

"That's a long story, Mr. Robinson. Do you want to hear it?"

"Not really," Robinson said. "I still think this is some kind of a parlor trick."

"Let me show you it's not," she said. "Mr. Robinson, are you aware that the bottom of your left shoe is on fire?"

He looked down at his feet. To his horror, it was true. He leaped up and stomped his foot on the floor. The flames refused to die. He began to smell burning flesh and fabric and he frantically ripped the shoe from his foot. Suddenly it was no longer on fire. He glared at it in the dim light. It seemed to be the same as when he had put it on this morning. He sniffed it. He could smell leather and sweat, but there wasn't a hint of smoke. It burst into flamed in his hands and he dropped it with an oath. It went out again and he cautiously picked it up. He sniffed again with the same results.

He grinned ruefully. "It was never on fire, was it?"

"No," Sawyer said. "I made you think it was by putting that thought in your mind."

"Good God! How did you do it?"

"I'll let my friend tell you the first part," she said. "I'm sorry for making you do that, Mr. Robinson. I didn't see any other way of getting you to believe me."

"You could have just told me."

"Would you have believed me had I just told you?"

He shook his head and grinned again. "No, I don't guess I would have. I still have trouble believing it."

"Mr. Robinson, are you aware that your underwear are soaked in acid?" she asked.

He leaped up and clutched his groin. He felt nothing. He collapsed in his chair with laughter. "That's pretty good, young lady. I give up. I believe you. Please don't soak my underwear with acid."

She chuckled. "I won't. I just wanted to make sure we had your attention."

"It is undivided," he said. "Please proceed."

Rawlins outlined the beginning of the story. "Are you aware that in the late 1950's the US Government began testing psychoactive drugs on its employees?"

"You mean like MK Ultra?"

"Yes, but that's not the extent of the program. The department of defense was very interested in what they called "enhanced interrogation techniques." They administered these drugs to people they were interrogating with mixed success. Over the years they refined the process until they discovered which drugs were successful in what doses.

In the late eighties, they hired a medical researcher and chemist named Dr. Stephan Watts. He had come to the NSA with the proposal that they were administering the drugs to the wrong party. The information they were getting was unreliable. Given enough drugs and enough torture, the detainees would confess to anything to make the nightmare stop. What if they could heighten the sensitivity of the interrogator instead?

They tried many things without success. The drugs either didn't work or drove the subject mad. Dr. Watts found an ergot alkaloid that worked. When he administered it, the subjects, usually military personnel or NSA interrogators, were able to gain abilities initially, but the side effects soon drove them mad. They became dangerous and delusional and had to be restrained. I believe they were eventually killed, though I can't prove that yet.

Dr. Watts then began to experiment with children on the theory that their minds would be more flexible and tolerant of the alkaloids. This was true, but it merely delayed the descent into madness. Younger children were more resilient than older ones so he believed that if he could only introduce the changes at an early enough age, he could produce a stable personality.

He found military personnel of high intelligence and adaptability. He tested high school girls and came up with his candidates. He harvested eggs and sperm. Eventually he produced 21 children. He gave them the first injection in the womb. He continued through early childhood and found promising results. The children were able to sense emotions and as they grew older and more comfortable with their abilities he hoped they would be able to sense thoughts as well.

This proved to be true. But the adverse effects were horrible. Most of the children were unable to control the input they received and were driven mad by sensory overload. They died one by one until only two were left, a boy and a girl. I don't know anything about the boy. He is kept at a top secret installation at Groom Lake in Nevada in isolation. Sawyer is the girl. She was able to survive because she can choose not to receive at all, or to receive only what she wants to hear.

Robinson had been listening with growing horror. "Bloody hell, man! This is the story of a lifetime, maybe the story of the century. Can you prove any of this?

"Yes, a great deal of it. There are records, but they're carefully sealed away. What kind of proof do you need?"

"Well, I don't know. I'll have to think about it. If you could prove it though: God what a story."

Sawyer had been sitting quietly but now she spoke up. "Mr. Robinson, I understand you're a newspaper man. I understand why you're excited, but I'm not a story. I'm a eighteen-year-old girl. I go to school and I have a horse and a car. I like skiing and painting and dancing and music. I love my friends and most of all I love one boy and I've been a prisoner all my life.

Sobs began to shake her small form. "Do you know what those people did to me? When I was eight years old, they took me into a room where they were holding a man. They asked me to look at him. I mean look at his mind. It was horrible. He was a monster. He had killed hundreds of people and planned to kill thousands more. He had sodomized little boys and raped little girls. He looked at me and I could see the things he wanted to do to me. It made me feel all dirty inside. I collapsed and they carried me away. When I could stand up again they told me to go back and do it again. I refused and they beat me with rubber hoses until I went. I was eight years old, Mr. Robinson. They beat me with rubber clubs, starved me, kept me in the cold, naked and hungry and shocked me with electricity. They gave me drugs and poured water over my face. I believe they called it waterboarding. They put me in a tiny box in a hot room and kept me there for days until I was smeared with my own feces. They kept me from sleeping until I went insane. I got away and they've been chasing me ever since, and if they get me back they'll go on until they kill me. I'm not a story, Mr. Robinson. I'm a eighteen-year-old girl. I'm a person, Mr. Robinson and I've lived all my life like a rat in the sewer. For two months, I've been able to finally know what it's like to have someone love me. Three people took me into their hearts and showed me what life is supposed to be like. Sooner or later the people who made me are going to find me and turn me into that rat again and it's going to be a million times worse because now I know what love is."

She broke down completely and Rawlins quickly moved to hug her sobbing form to him. She sank her face into his chest and felt his tears drop on her cheek.

Robinson sat stunned into immobility. Tears were running down his own cheeks.

"Let me show you Mr. Robinson. Let me show you my story?" she asked.

He nodded and felt her presence surround him. Her desperate fear of loneliness filled his mind. He could feel her deep reservoir of love and compassion and her honesty and frantic need for his understanding. He saw the horror of an adolescent girl and the pain of her life and the glow she now knew and her desperate fear of losing it. He was sobbing uncontrollably himself, and the floor came up and hit him and he knew no more.

He awoke lying on a sofa in that same darkened room. The two dim figures had become one as they clung to each other and he heard the man comforting Sawyer with quiet words.

He sat up. "Sawyer, I'm awake now. Sweet Mary Mother of Jesus, I swear that by all the gods there are that we are going to make those men pay. I'm a professional cynic, Sawyer. It's my job. It's who I am. I was thinking about the story. That's the problem with being a reporter. You report the news and forget that there are real people whose lives are those stories. I'm going to try to never forget that again. I know you aren't a story, Sawyer. From now on, you're my little sister and that's the way I'm going to treat you. I'm going to report this like I would report it if you were my little sister. Jesus, I've never felt anything like that in my life."

Sawyer had regained some measure of composure and she nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Robinson. What will you do?"

"I haven't the foggiest notion. I know everything you told me is true, but unless you can do that to the whole world, it doesn't matter what I know. It only matters what I can prove. We need documents. We need witnesses. We need records and pictures. Can you get any of that?"

"Maybe we can," Rawlins told him. "We have a man on the inside of the NSA that is helping us. Sawyer knows things, and she can find anything out. She can help us get those things but it will be dangerous. Powerful people won't want this coming out. The secretary of defense is involved. He at least knows about it. There are a lot of people who will go down that will fight to keep that from happening. Operation Wormwood is going to open a lot of eyes around the world to what a lot of powerful people are really up to. It's going to get hot, and we're in the kitchen. Another thing: We can't let anyone know that Sawyer can do what she can do. Every government in the world would want to get their hands on her. We have to make them think the experiment failed. They would kill her if they couldn't get their hands on her. She wouldn't be safe anywhere in the world. Swear you won't tell Robinson. Sawyer, make sure he's telling the truth."

"My God man, I'd never tell her secret. I'm not a monster. You have my permission to make me forget Sawyer."

"No, I believe you. I won't do that. I'm going to trust you."

"I swear to God you won't regret it. I'll make a list of the kinds of things we need," Robinson said. "How will I get in touch with you? I don't even know your name."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Rawlins told him. "But I'm hiding Sawyer. I can't afford for anyone to find out where I'm hiding her. If they take you, you don't know anything. The way you are going to get in touch with us is that every day at noon, Greenwich Mean Time, Sawyer will be listening. Go to your home. She needs to know where you are when you call. Think her name and she can talk to you. You can tell her anything we need to know. We're going to leave now, Robinson. Stay here for 30 minutes, then you can go. Okay?"

"Yes, but I have a favor to ask. Can I see you Sawyer? Can I see what you look like?"

"Yes, let my friend leave first and then you can turn on the light. But I want you to know that I'm going to fog that memory. I'm going to have different hair and different colored eyes. I'm in disguise right now and I won't give that away. You'll see me like I really look when I'm myself."

"That's what I want," he said.

Rawlins left the room and Sawyer switched on a lamp. She stood in the light and Robinson stared. She looked like someone's fantasy. Her long blonde hair floated around her, framing the face of a fairy princess. Enormously long lashes lined liquid brown eyes and her skin looked like it had been touched by the sun. She was very small, but her neck was long and slender and delicate. High breasts sat proudly and her hips flared dramatically into the curves of a woman. Long legs tapered to tiny feet and the light went out.

Robinson breathed. "My God, Sawyer; you're beautiful!"

"Thanks Mr. Robinson, but we both know your tastes run to tall brunettes with skinny butts."

He laughed for a long minute. "You are amazing. I'm going to help you Sawyer. Go to your friend before you make me think my face is melting. Be careful young lady. It's going to get rough."

Chapter 13

The secretary of defense was getting impatient. There was no progress on Wormwood and the girl seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. He instructed the director of homeland security to assign another team to the case. They would be assigned to work under the NSA team and interface with the FBI and local law enforcement to expand the search grid. Twelve men were assigned and Calston was hard pressed to find false trails to send them down.

Agent Wilson Spalding was a former federal marshal and he knew how to do police work. Something wasn't right about this investigation, he told himself. It had the smell of an inside job. He was assigned to check backgrounds of all facility employees to see if he could turn up some connection between the subject's escape and any help she may have received.

He spent two weeks questioning everyone involved. He traced their movements and checked records. No one had left the facility since the subject escaped. There was nothing. He expanded his search. The only people who came and went were the NSA team and he tracked their movements. Agent Brown had been to Washington three times. Agent Calston had been there five times and he traveled to Albuquerque twice and Flagstaff three times. The Flagstaff trips hung in Spalding's mind. They knew the facts about Flagstaff. The subject had contacted two people there, but their story checked out. They knew that the subject had persuaded the boy to purchase a bus ticket to Albuquerque, that she had boarded the bus and that she had arrived in Albuquerque. What was Calston doing in Flagstaff?

He checked schedules and found that Calston planned to return to Flagstaff next week. He would be waiting. He informed Calston that he had been recalled to Washington and boarded a plane for Flagstaff. He checked into a hotel and waited for Calston to arrive.

"Sawyer? Are you listening? This is Dave, hello?" Calston was boarding a flight in Las Vegas. He had documents and video footage he needed to turn over to Rawlins who was forwarding them on to Robinson.

"I can hear you Dave, what is it?"

"I'm on flight 1017. I'll get in at Flagstaff at 12:30."

"Okay, thanks Dave. I'll let Mike know. He's going to pick you up."

"Okay, see you this afternoon maybe?"

"Maybe, I'll come over to Lawson's after school. I have a parent/teacher conference after school. Rawlins is going with me. See you then."

Calston found his seat and napped during the short flight. When he arrived in Flagstaff he collected his bag and walked outside. Mike was waiting for him and they stopped at Starbuck's for a cup of coffee.

"Rawlins won't be back until after five," Mike told him. "He's going to a parent/teacher conference with Sawyer."

"I know, I talked to her earlier. How come you didn't go?"

"I was picking up some idiot at the airport," Mike grinned. "Sawyer wanted me to go, but schools give me the creeps. I feel like they know I cheated my way through the first time. I keep expecting to get detention."

Calston laughed. "I know what you mean."

"This is Sawyer's first report card. She's very excited about it. I keep track of how she's doing on the web site they have. That girl is smart, Calston. I don't think she's missed a point in a single class yet. Some of them she has more than a hundred percent."