Conspiracies

  Jack smiled. "I'll be glad to play 'mine is bigger than yours' some other time, but right now I'd like to know why you were following me."

  Kenway pointed his .45 at Jack's chest. "I'll be asking the questions here."

  "Ooh, scary," Jack said, broadening his grin. "We both know you're not going to fire that. Lose it now or I'm out of here."

  Jack met and held Kenway's gaze. He didn't exactly know that Kenway wasn't going to shoot him, but he was pretty damn sure. A .45 makes one hell of a racket, especially indoors. Kenway had to know that the whole floor would hear it and someone would call the desk to see what was going on.

  Finally Kenway sighed and stuffed his pistol back inside his shirt.

  "You're a cool one," he said, handing back the Semmerling. "Whoever you are. And don't give me that Jack Shelby shit because I ran a background on you and you're not Jack Shelby."

  Background ... the very word sent snakes of dread crawling through his veins. He'd known from the start that a paranoid guy out of Army Intelligence would be trouble, but he hadn't counted on a full background check.

  "Strange," Jack said, trying to keep cool, "that's what my First Annual SESOUP Conference badge says."

  "Don't play cute."

  "Well, if I'm not Shelby, who am I?"

  "Damned if I know!" He took a sip of his scotch. "Can't tell you your real name at this point, only that it isn't Jack Shelby. That's probably just something you pulled out of the air. But I'm willing to bet those NWO operatives know who you are."

  New, bigger dread-snakes wriggling in Jack's veins.

  "Maybe they came up empty too," Kenway said. "And maybe they were following you for the same reason as I was—to find out who the hell you are. What I found is you're some kind of creep—a lousy Peeping Tom."

  "A Peeping Tom?"

  "Don't play innocent with me. I saw you watching that woman out in Queens. Christ, fella, get a life!"

  Jack ran a hand over his mouth to hide an incipient grin. This guy follows me around and watches me watch the Castlemans—and he thinks I need a life. He wondered if Kenway had seen the fight.

  "You watched me all night?"

  "Only for a few minutes," Kenway said, "Then I waited in my truck." He narrowed his eyes. "And I bet that story of your experience out in the Jersey pines is as bogus as your name."

  "How do you know I didn't change my name because I don't want to be connected with that story? Maybe I have a job and a family and I just don't want everybody thinking I'm nuts. That ever occur to you?"

  "Of course it did. Nobody knows better than me how people fear the truth. But some of us have the guts to stand up and be counted. If what you said is true, you probably stumbled on a New World Order outpost. They tend to set up in remote areas, especially in national parks. Did you see any black helicopters?"

  "You asked me that the other night. I told you, it was dark—night, remember?"

  "Oh, right. I do remember. But did you hear a helicopter?"

  "Not that I recall." Jack wasn't interested in black helicopters. He wanted to turn the discussion toward Melanie Ehler. "Maybe you should ask Melanie. She seemed to know all about what happened to me."

  "I wish I could. If there's an NWO outpost in the pinelands, I want to know about it."

  "What about her Grand Unification Theory? You think—?"

  "Frankly I don't give a damn about her theory. If it doesn't center on the New World Order, then it's flat-out-wrong."

  A little heat there, Jack thought. If he could get Kenway rolling, maybe he'd make a slip.

  "What's this New World Order you keep mentioning? Wasn't George Bush talking about that after the Gulf War?"

  Kenway nodded vigorously. "Damn right he was." He leaned forward, and Jack got the impression he'd been waiting for Jack to ask about the NWO. "Remember how he was the hero of the country then, of the whole damn so-called free world? His reelection looked to be a sure thing, didn't it. But he slipped up, got carried away and spilled the beans about the New World Order. That was a no-no. Not bad enough to be punishable by death, but they had to take him out of the limelight. And that's why 'the guy who couldn't lose' was not reelected. When people talk about the 1992 Presidential race, they always mention Bush's lame, lackluster campaign. That's because he'd been told he was going to lose."

  "So who's behind this New World Order?" Jack said. "Aliens?"

  "Aliens?" Kenway said with the expression of someone who'd just stepped into a Portapotty at the National Chili Eating Contest. "I see Zaleski has been bending your ear. Look, Jim and his kind mean well enough, but the UFO types who aren't outright kooks are dupes. These flying saucers they're seeing aren't from outer space—they're from right here on Earth, experimental craft built by the One Worlders."

  "What about Roswell and—?"

  "Staged—all staged. That alien saucer crash baloney is all disinformation to distract people form the real truth. And I've got to hand it to them, they've done a masterful job—that intentionally clumsy fake cover-up at Roswell was a work of genius. But if you want the real skinny, you've got to go back to the nineteenth century." He finished his scotch. "You sure you don't want one?"

  "Well, if we're going back to the eighteen hundreds ... maybe a beer."

  "Good," Kenway said, pulling a Heineken from the bar. "It all starts with a guy named Cecil Rhodes. You remember Rhodesia? He's the Rhodes in Rhodesia. A British financier and statesman. A true believer in the Empire. He formed a secret society called the Round Table whose members were dedicated to seeing the entire globe under one world government. And to their minds at the time, the ideal One World government was the British Empire. Rhodes's special interest was Africa. Wanted to add the whole continent to the Empire, became a small-scale tyrant in the process, but ultimately failed. His One World legacy lives on, however."

  Kenway popped the top on Jack's beer and handed it to him.

  "After World War One, the British Empire fell apart, so Rhodes's heirs had to try a different tactic. They formed two front organizations: the Council on Foreign Relations, then the Trilateral Commission. You've heard of those, I take it?"

  "Heard of them," Jack said, sipping his beer. "But damned if I know what they do."

  "Hardly anyone knows what they really do. But in a 1975 report the Trilateral Commission said that there could be, in certain situations—and I quote—'an excess of democracy.' Can you believe that?"

  "Can you believe how little I'm surprised?" Jack said. "Or care?"

  "You damn well should care. Between NATO and the EC, they've got Europe pretty much in their pocket. And the UN—which they run—has the Third World sewn up. The only piece missing is the old US of A and they're making great headway here. Just consider: nearly every president and secretary of state is or was a member of the CFR and/or the Trilateral Commission. Bill Clinton's an even better example: he's with the Trilateral Commission, the CFR, and he's a Rhodes Scholar! He went to Oxford on Cecil Rhodes money! That's why he was tapped to replace George Bush."

  "This is a little scary," Jack said, and meant it. Kenway's scenario wasn't quite as easy to dismiss as aliens and antichrists.

  "A little scary? You don't know the half of it. Europe has pretty much surrendered, but the American people aren't playing ball. That means it's dirty tricks time, and the all-time masters of dirty tricks work for the CIA—which the NWO has controlled since its inception. It's public-knowledge now that the CIA has been running mind-control experiments since the fifties. MK-ULTRA is the best-known. That one was exposed in Congress and the government has had to pay off the victims of those early LSD experiments."

  "I read something about that a while ago," Jack said.

  "Big embarrassment. They slipped up on that one. But there are so many other projects that've remained secret—remote viewing, HAARP, mind-control implants, brainwashing. The agents you dealt with tonight are the results of their mind-control and programming experiments."

  "Yeah?" Jack said, rubbing hi
s sore wrist. Something more going on with those two than mind control.

  "Trust me: they were. The NWO has been dabbling in programmed suicide too—the Jonestown and Heaven's Gate mass suicides are their most successful tests—but they've generally failed in their quest to program the whole country. So lately they've been concentrating on the US military."

  "You're ex-military, I'm told."

  "With the emphasis on ex," Ken way said. "I got a look at some NATO papers that scared the shit out of me. That's why I retired. You see, the New World Order bosses have resigned themselves to the fact that force will be necessary to tame America. But first they have to soften us up. The plan is to weaken the American economy by shipping jobs out of the country with treaties like NAFTA, and hamstringing industry with whacked-out environmental restraints. Then they'll try to push us toward Kosovo-style anarchy with church bombings, and more Ruby Ridge and Waco-type incidents. When all hell finally breaks loose, United Nations 'peacekeepers' will be called in to 'quiet' things down. But the forces won't have to be shipped in because they're already here; As I mentioned before, foreign UN troops are secretly camped out in our national parks and in wildernesses like the pine barrens, and when they charge out, our own soldiers will put on blue UN helmets and join them. Why? Because they've all been brainwashed by the CIA mind-control projects I told you about."

  Kenway paused for breath and unlocked the briefcase on the desk. He pulled a map of the United States and handed it to Jack. Little hand-drawn stars were scattered across the country.

  "These are confirmed UN troop locations and planned concentration camp sites. Black helicopters will darken the skies and people like me will be rounded up and placed in concentration camps where we'll be 're-educated.' But not without a fight, brother. I and others like me will fight to the death to keep America from becoming enslaved."

  Jack handed back the map and said nothing. It would be so easy to get sucked into Kenway's world—the reasoning and pseudologic were so convincing on the surface—but he wasn't buying.

  "Well?" Kenway said. "Want to join me? I saw the way you handled yourself tonight. We can always use someone like you."

  "I'll think about it," Jack said, hoping to avoid a sales pitch. "But I can't help wondering why these New World Order types should bother with an armed takeover. I mean, considering how nowadays people are slugging away at two and three jobs to make ends meet, how Mr. and Mrs. Average American are working until mid-May every year just to pay their federal income tax, and then on top of that they pay state and city income taxes, and then after those they've got to fork over sales taxes, property taxes, excise taxes, and surcharges, not to mention all the hidden expenses passed on in day-to-day prices jacked up by license fees and endless streams of regulations from OSHA and all the other two-bit government regulatory agencies. By the time Mr. and Mrs. Citizen are through they've surrendered seventy-five percent of their earnings to the bureaucracy. Seems to me like the NWO boys have already got you right where they want you."

  "No, no, no!" Kenway said, his face reddening as he vigorously shook his head. "An armed takeover! That's how it will happen! That's how they'll take away our freedoms and make us slaves, make us property!"

  A little touchy, aren't we? Jack thought as he finished his beer. Let's try one extra nudge.

  "As I see it, that's pretty much what you already are. If and when this takeover comes, the only difference will be you'll no longer be able to kid yourself that you're not property."

  Kenway stared at him, mouth slightly parted. Then his eyes narrowed. "You keep saying 'you' as if you're not involved."

  Uh-oh. This was veering into areas Jack did not want to go. His own lifestyle was off limits.

  "Just a way of putting it," he said, rising. "Time to go. Thanks for the help tonight, and the beer."

  "No, wait," Kenway said. "There's so much more to discuss."

  "Thanks, but I need my beauty sleep." He turned toward the door, then turned back. "By the way ... you said you checked me out. Ever check out Roma?"

  "Damn straight—six ways from Sunday, and Professor Salvatore Roma of Northern Kentucky University passed with flying colors. I don't particularly like the fellow, but he's the real deal."

  "Yeah?" He kept thinking about Roma being spotted in Monroe with Melanie before she disappeared, and then lying about having never met her.

  "Ever see a picture of him?"

  Kenway laughed. "Why should I want to? I know what he looks like. I've been looking at his pretty puss for two days now."

  "You know what the guy calling himself Professor Salvatore Roma who started SESOUP looks like. But does he look the same as the professor you checked out at Northern Kentucky U?"

  Kenway's smile vanished like a coin in a magician's hand. "What are you saying?"

  "Just wondering. Does SESOUP mail go to Roma's faculty office, his home, or a post office box?"

  "A P.O. box."

  Jack smiled and shook his head. "I think you'd better get that faculty photo."

  Miles's eyes widened. "You mean they're different people?"

  Jack held up his hands. "Didn't say that. It's just you never know till you check. Usurping someone's identity is surprisingly easy."

  "Oh, really?" Kenway's eyes narrowed. "How do you know so much about it?"

  "Gotta go," Jack said, heading for the door.

  "All right, some other time then," Kenway said. "But just to be sure, I'm going to get a picture of the university Roma."

  "You can do that?"

  "I'll have it within twenty-four hours, tops."

  "Love to see it when you get it."

  Kenway started following Jack to the door, but stopped at the desk to scribble on a hotel pad. He tore off the sheet and handed it to Jack.

  "Think about what I said. Here's my pager number. Any time you want to talk about joining us, call me. I like the way you think."

  He unlatched the door and used the peephole before opening it. Then he stuck his head out and peered up and down the hall.

  "And be careful," he said. "They're watching you."

  Jack stepped out into the hall. He could feel Kenway's eyes on his back as he walked away.

  And so are you, he thought. Lately it seems like everybody's watching me.

  IN THE WEE HOURS

  Roma ...

  "Feel it?" Roma said as he and Mauricio waited in the basement. "It is beginning again."

  "To what end?" Mauricio said sourly. "To send the rest of the device to the stranger?

  Roma sensed that Mauricio was troubled ... much more so than usual.

  "What is wrong?"

  Mauricio looked away. "I must tell you something. Earlier tonight I tried to eliminate the stranger."

  "What?" Roma cried, suddenly furious. He'd half-suspected the creature would do something foolish, but had hoped his better judgment would prevail. "Without checking with me?"

  Mauricio still did not make eye contact. "I felt it the safest course."

  "You said 'tried.' I assume that means you failed?"

  "Yes. And that is what is most disturbing. I had him down. I was about to deliver the death blow, when suddenly I was pushed away from him."

  "Pushed? By whom?"

  "By myself—or rather by some strange sudden impulse within that would not allow me to kill him."

  Roma's anger evaporated. He did not like the sound of this at all. "Did you sense the enemy protecting him?"

  "No. That is the strangest part. It seemed to be the work of the Otherness. I am very confused."

  So am I, Roma thought. Why would the Otherness protect the stranger? It made no sense. Perhaps Mauricio was mistaken.

  "You shouldn't have acted without my approval in the first place," he said. "I will tolerate no more of that, understood?"

  Mauricio said nothing.

  "I had a long talk with the stranger earlier. He is blissfully ignorant of the Otherness and anything connected with it. We have nothing to fear from him. When th
e second half of the shipment arrives, we will relieve him of both packages."

  "In light of my experience with him, that may not be so easy."

  Roma pondered that. He would not allow these anomalous events to rattle him. He would remain in control.

  "That is why we must learn who he is and, as I said before, who he loves. With the proper leverage, we can move him in any direction we wish." Roma closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Ah. Feel it?"

  Right now he could almost smell the charge in the air. Once again he congratulated himself on his cleverness at being able to concentrate all these sensitives in one spot. They were lightning rods, so to speak, attractors for the influence of the Otherness, and as they slept they would draw it in and funnel its power through the building, weakening the barrier between this plane and the Otherness just long enough to allow something to slip through from the other side.

  The second delivery was on its way now ... he could feel the barrier thinning, the tiny rent beginning ...

  And once again, just like last night, that seepage from the other side would gift these sensitives with the worst nightmares of their lives.

  James ...

  ... awakens squinting in the white glare that pours through his room window, creating a brilliant rectangle on the carpet.

  The light blazes intolerably, searing his retinas, so bright it seems solid.

  Jim could swear he pulled the curtains before knocking off, but now they're wide open, as if pushed aside or burned away by this beam from above.

  Where's it coming from? Sure as hell ain't the moon, and it's too white for sunlight.

  He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to leave the security of his bed, but he's got to know the source. Like a reluctant moth wise beyond its genus, knowing its wings will be fried but slave to a hardwired compulsion, Jim is drawn inexorably toward the shaft of brilliance. Without allowing the light to touch him, he peers through the window at an angle but cannot find the source. Finally he takes the plunge and steps into the shaft—

  —and screams as the light pierces him. It is a physical thing, lancing through skin, fat, bone and organ, spearing every cell of every tissue. He feels the birdshot sting of each photon as it shoots through him.