CHAPTER SIX

“It takes two to speak the truth: one to speak, and another to hear.” Henry David Thoreau PPenelope Spence was delighted to see that Commander Durkin was still on duty and in her office. It had been a while since she had been so roundly dismissed by a mid-level bureaucrat while working on a story. These little gnomes, toiling in obscurity safely away from the glare of a spotlight and scrutiny could, at their whim, make life either miserable or simple for the people who wandered into their domain in search of approval. The Commander frowned when she noticed Penelope standing near the main entrance as if waiting for someone. Visiting hours were over, and other than a few members of the cleanup crew and a stray offi cer or two, the expansive waiting area was empty. Durkin sighed. She thought she had made her position clear. Commander Durkin was nearly to her feet when the front door opened and two Navy Master Chiefs entered and surveyed the room. “What the…” Before she reached her office door one of the military policemen shouted. “ATTENTION! Admiral on Deck!” Commander Durkin’s heart skipped a beat when Air Force Brigadier General Stanley Gibson, Commander of the Charleston Air Force Base and Rear Admiral Joseph Sanders, Commandant of Naval Weapons Station Charleston strode purposefully through the door. In their wake 44 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin were eight more officers, half Air Force, half Navy, including her CO Captain Fredrick. All were above her pay grade. Everyone in the area immediately snapped to attention and froze in place like statues. Admiral Saunders eyed the room and barked, “At ease.” No one relaxed. Senator Horn and Joan Inman were the last to arrive and huddled immediately with the two senior military men and Penelope Spence. Admiral Saunders said something to Captain Fredrick who pointed toward Durkin’s office. All eyes turned toward the Commander. Like a wave they moved in her direction; Durkin had to force herself not to tremble. “Commander Durkin,” Admiral Saunders barked. “Sir.” “Did you tell this woman that Michael Walker is not in the Charleston Consolidated Brig?” “Yes sir.” “Why?” “His name was not on my list, sir.” The Admiral held out his hand. Durkin, confused and terrifi ed, didn’t move. “Sir?” “Show me the damned list Commander.” “Yes sir.” She turned crisply, returned with a copy of the list and held it out for the Admiral. He snatched it and read it over. “At ease Commander,” Saunders said, handing the list to Senator Horn. “His name is not on it.” “What kind of operation are you running here, Joe?” General Gibson asked, furious that his presence had been requested when this was obviously a Navy screw-up. All eyes turned back to Durkin. “Commander, who omitted Michael Walker’s name from the list?” Before she could answer a voice from across the room said, “Th at would be me.” All heads turned in the direction of the voice but only Rear Admiral Saunders spoke. “And who the hell are you?” Before he could answer, Senator Horn said with a crooked smile, “Assistant Director Robert A. Smith, of Homeland Security.” “Senator,” Smith said, with a nod. Senator Horn answered, “Robert. I’m surprised to see you here.” “Not nearly as surprised as I am to see you.” “I can imagine.” “Are we done here?” Admiral Saunders asked. “I’d like to get back to my 45 The Fourth Awakening grandson’s birthday party.” Saunders was still steaming. You could count on one hand the number of people who had the authority to order him to accompany Senator Horn to the brig on short notice on a Saturday afternoon, and most of those would have gotten at least a few questions. When he’d recognized the voice calling, only two words were required on the Admiral’s part. “Yes” and “Sir.” “That depends,” Senator Horn said as he eyed Smith. “Depends on what?” Saunders barked. “On whether or not Director Smith plans to try and stop us from seeing Michael Walker.” The Admiral turned toward the two armed Master Chiefs that had accompanied them. “If that man,” he pointed to Smith, “gives Senator Horn any problems, you are authorized to do whatever is necessary to remove him from this facility.” The two burly enlisted men smiled as they sized up Smith, “Yes, sir.” Joan Inman tapped Senator Horn on the shoulder and handed him a cell phone. “The Secretary of Homeland Security.” Horn smiled as he watched Smith squirm. “Bill. Sorry to bother you on a weekend. I’m at the Charleston Consolidated Brig and I want to chat with Michael Walker.” Horn laughed. “Yes, he is still here. I want to have a part-time reporter, part-time staffer of mine, Penelope Spence, accompany me in for the chat.” Horn laughed again. “Pulitzer Prize winner, actually, but she does have top secret clearance with a variety of codeword riders, and she’s agreed to go off the record…Well, if she found out where he is you can bet the rest of the posse isn’t far behind… Trying to put a lid on a boiling pot only makes it worse, Bill… Right… Th e way I see it you’ve got two choices. You can tell me no, and I spend the rest of my time in office making your life a living hell, or, you can honor my request and we’ll have a nice little off the record chat with Walker to try and see what he’s been up to… No. She already knew he was here. There is no way to suppress that you’ve detained one of the richest men in the world. That’s tomorrow’s front page… Yes, she knows about Hermes too but by name only. No details… I agree… that works for me. Hold on. Penelope, any conversations you’re privileged to here in the brig are off the record until I release you.” Penelope nodded affi rmatively. “You have to say it.” Horn held the phone up to Penelope’s mouth. “This is Penelope 46 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin Drayton Spence. Anything I hear in the brig is off the record, until I get a release from Senator Horn.” Her eyes danced, deciding to push the envelope. “As long as I get fi fteen minutes alone with Michael Walker.” Clayton Horn laughed as he pressed the phone back to his ear. “Yes, she is… I’ll tell her.” Horn passed the phone over to Robert Smith. “Your boss wants to talk to you.” Smith moved away from the group and talked too softly for anyone to hear. “Tell her what?” Penelope asked. “Your fi fteen minutes is also off the record until I release you, and he would like to meet you sometime.” Robert Smith handed the phone back to Horn, who passed it along to his Chief of Staff. “Senator, Ms. Spence, right this way.” After passing through a series of checkpoints and locked doors, Penelope Spence saw Michael Walker in person for the fi rst time through one-way glass. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, sitting with his eyes closed and his hands folded and handcuffed together on the tabletop. He looked bigger than she had expected from the photos. His hair was shorter and he had a healthy dark tan. She was startled when he suddenly opened his eyes and appeared to stare straight at her, then at Senator Horn. “Get used to it. He does stuff like that all the time.” Smith held the door open for the senator and Penelope. Horn blocked Smith from entering the room. “We’ll take it from here, Robert,” Horn said. “And turn off all of your recording equipment.” “Yes sir.” Horn glared at Walker. When it was clear that no introduction was forthcoming, Penelope said, “I’m Penelope Spence.” Walker didn’t speak, but he studied the woman in front of him carefully. She was younger than him, but not by much, fit and healthy. She had hips that were slightly broader than would be expected from a woman of her height and weight. Probably the residual of bearing three children combined with losing some weight recently. He liked her eyes; pale blue, they were the perfect combination of kind and smart. She had the scent of a recently converted vegetarian who occasionally broke down and made a run to the local Hardees for a “Thick Burger.” Her skin tone and texture showed she got some sun but not too much, drank plenty of water, and didn’t smoke. So far, she was perfect. 47 The Fourth Awakening Horn pulled a small device out of his pocket that appeared to be a digital recorder and sat it the middle of the table, then pushed the power button. . AAssistant Director Robert Smith was in the control room that adjoined the interrogation room. His instructions had been unambiguous. The Secretary wanted to know what was said in that room. On the multiple screens he had clear views of several different angles of Michael Walker, Senator Horn and Penelope Spence. A variety of video and audio recording devices were capturing every word. Smith watched as the senator placed what appeared at first to be a digital recorder between them. As soon as he hit the record button the entire video monitor array began to flicker and distort. The Petty Officer in charge of capturing an audio record of the interview whipped his headphones off and threw them to the floor. Even from six feet away, Smith could hear the crackling and the high pitched buzz. Stating the obvious, the Petty Offi cer said, “That’s not a digital recorder, it’s a jamming device.” “No kidding,” Smith answered. He had underestimated the senator. “Would you like me to go in and remove it, sir?” “That’s a great idea.” The Petty Officer began to rise to his feet. “Sit down,” Smith barked, “and try to filter out the interference.” He knew he couldn’t just waltz in and ask the senator to turn off his jamming device because it was causing him problems recording a conversation he had agreed not to record. . “It’s good to see you again, senator.” Walker’s voice was deep and calm, almost soothing. “I wish I could say the same, Mr. Walker. I’ve seen enough of you to last a lifetime.” Michael Walker nodded toward the electronic device in the center of the table. “Is that the one I gave you?” “Yes.” “We have a new prototype that’s a bit smaller. I’ll have…” 48 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “Don’t bother.” Horn’s tone was the exact opposite of Walker’s; he was agitated and hostile. “Is the rumor true?” “Which rumor?” “Don’t be coy with me, Walker. I don’t care who your friends are.” Horn’s face was flushed and the vein in his neck was throbbing. “You know exactly what I’m asking. Did. You. Do. It?” “Yes.” Horn slammed his fist on the table. “Damn it!” The senator shot to his feet and began pacing. “You told me you thought it was a decade or more away.” “It likely would have been if we had stuck to Homeland Security’s leisurely pace.” Horn began pacing in a tight circle with his hands locked behind his back. “Damn it!” he screamed. In the adjoining room Smith didn’t need a working microphone understand this part of the conversation. “Do you remember your promise?” Walker asked. Senator Horn turned and put his hands on the table and leaned so close to Walker their noses almost touched. “Of course I remember my promise, you manipulative bastard. You’ve orchestrated this from the beginning, haven’t you?” Walker had barely moved since they had entered the room. Having another person in his personal space didn’t seem to bother him one bit. His voice was calm; his eyes seldom blinked. “You of all people know this is too big for one person to orchestrate. The wheels are already turning and if we don’t get out in front of this, someone else will.” Horn turned ashen. “You’re saying the bowls are coming off the shelf and there is nothing we can do?” “Those are your words not mine, Senator.” Horn’s shoulders sagged and his breathing was labored. He braced himself on the desk as he muttered a personal prayer. “Senator? Are you all right?” Penelope asked, as she helped steady the elderly statesman. He seemed to be getting older and weaker before her eyes. He waved her away and glared at Walker. “Will you keep your promise, or not?” Walker asked again. Senator Horn returned to pacing and continued whispering a prayer that only he could hear or understand. Penelope had moved beyond being stunned by Senator Horn’s outburst to feeling concern for the old 49 The Fourth Awakening man’s health. “Sir, you really need to calm down.” Senator Clayton Horn, facing the one-way mirror, stopped and composed himself. He drew in a deep breath, adjusted his tie and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He turned and locked eyes with Walker. “Yes. I’ll keep my promise, but you still have to get past Shepherd at Homeland Security. He’ll never agree to it. Never.” “Let me worry about Director Shepherd,” Walker said calmly. “You had better start worrying about me. With you locked up, I’ll tell the truth before you can start telling your lies.” He let the threat dangle before turning his focus to Spence. “You don’t want to end your career like this senator,” Walker said gently. “The same confidentiality rules apply to you that apply to me. Give me a week. With her help…” Again Senator Clayton Horn’s face flushed with anger. “If you think I’m going to let you control the release of this story, you’re out of your mind.” Horn turned his attention back to Spence. “I promised you fi fteen minutes alone with Walker. He’s all yours. At noon tomorrow I’m authorizing you to use anything you have seen or heard for whatever purpose you choose. I’ll have Joan email you an acknowledgement.” Penelope Spence motioned toward Walker. “What about his arrest and detention?” “You found that out on your own and it is not classifi ed. Homeland Security will try to stop you from reporting about this but they know all they can do is buy themselves a few hours. The genie is out of the bottle on this part of it. However, if you attempt to say anything about the Hermes project before I go public tomorrow you could fi nd yourself in a cell next to his.” “But, senator…” Horn cut her off with the wave of his hand. Turning back to Walker, he said, “I’ll pray every night that I never have to see you again.” With that, Senator Clayton Horn turned and stormed out of the room. Through the open door Penelope watched the senator stomp toward the exit without looking back. Despite the quality of the air-conditioning in the room, Penelope Spence’s mouth was dry and her underclothes were damp. What had Walker done? She had a pretty good idea about the senator’s promise; he was going to withdraw his objection to declassifying the Hermes Project. 50 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin But, what was the meaning of “the bowls” that nearly sent the senator into cardiac arrest. Her thoughts were broken by the sound of Michael Walker’s voice. “Well played, Ms. Spence. I wasn’t expecting you for a few more days.” “You were expecting me?” “Yes.” “Me, personally?” “Yes.” “Have we ever met?” “I’m sure I would have remembered if we had.” “Before I walked through that door, did you know my name or anything about me?” “Yes. I have a complete dossier on you.” Penelope Spence was becoming more unnerved with each passing moment, but was not quite sure she believed him. Walker read her expression perfectly. “Interesting, you didn’t use the Drayton part of your name when you introduced yourself. I imagine it opens a lot of doors for you in Charleston.” Now Penelope was starting to panic. A man handcuffed to a table in a high security prison, who she had just witnessed reducing one of the most powerful men in the U.S. Senate to Jell-O knew her name and claimed he had been expecting her. This man, who was at the center of a government cover-up and was potentially responsible for the disappearance of over 30 people, and who was up to his elbows in a covert research project had a file on her. What had Mark gotten her into? Trying to maintain her composure she placed her hands in her lap so Walker couldn’t see them shaking. “You only have fourteen minutes left, Ms. Spence. I would suggest you start asking your questions. “What just happened with Senator Horn?” “The senator and I had a disagreement.” “That’s putting it mildly. Did the senator promise to support declassifying the Hermes Project if you had the breakthrough?” Michael Walker leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I knew you were the right choice.” Penelope ignored the compliment and plowed ahead. “Was that what he promised?” Walker nodded his head, “That is exactly what Senator Horn promised.” 51 The Fourth Awakening “So,” Penelope said, as she felt the interview getting some traction. “What was the breakthrough?” “I’m afraid that would take more than your allotted fi fteen minutes to explain, and most of it wouldn’t make any sense to you.” “Fair enough. Why are you under arrest?’ “I’m not. I’m being detained.” “What does that mean?” “Someone considers me a threat to national security.” “Why?” “Probably because of some of the work I’ve been doing.” “What kind of work?” “The Hermes Project.” “I see. But you’ve never been convicted of a crime?” “No.” “Have you ever been charged with a crime?” “I’ve had a few speeding tickets, does that count?” “Not enough to get you handcuffed to this table, unless you were going really fast.” Walker smiled and Penelope’s skin started to crawl again. “How did you know I was coming?” “Because I needed you and I asked you to come.” “You needed me and you asked me to come?” “Yes.” “I don’t remember getting your invitation.” “Apparently you got my request.” “How do you fi gure that?” “A broad smile covered Walker’s face. “You’re here.” Penelope stared at Walker trying to decide if he was serious or just nuts. The smart money was on the latter. “What do you need me to do?” “We need you to write a story about us.” “Who is us?” “The Hermes Project.” “I thought it had been cancelled by the federal government.” “They cancelled their financial support, but the project is ongoing. You already knew that.” “And you’re now personally providing the funding?” “Yes, but you already knew that as well.” “So, what exactly is the Hermes Project?” 52 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “You’re not ready to hear that answer yet.” “What?” “I could give you a full and complete answer, but you wouldn’t believe me.” “Try me.” “No, we really don’t have the time now. But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll answer any questions you have for me, with one caveat. I may not immediately answer a specific question at the moment you ask it if I feel you are not ready for the answer. But I will eventually answer all of your questions.” “Is there a timeframe regarding when you will answer my questions?” “That will depend on you.” “I don’t understand. What does that mean?” “See. There is a perfect example.” “Example of what?” “An example of why I may not be able to answer a question when you ask it. You will not be ready to understand my answer.” Penelope bristled. Who did this man think he was? “Are you saying I’m not bright enough to talk to you?” “Goodness, no. Just the opposite. People with healthy well-developed egos, especially those that are well-read, sometimes are the toughest for me to communicate with. It’s because you are so smart that you will have some difficulty unlearning the things you must let go of before you’ll be able to truly hear what I’m saying.” Penelope studied Walker for a moment. He didn’t appear to be combative and seemed to be sincere. “What are you saying, then?” “Sometimes it’s harder to show a genius a truth than it is to show it to a fool. A fool won’t have as many preconceived notions that the genius will feel the need to defend. There are things you know, or think you know, that your mind will refuse to release without a struggle. At present, your mind will refuse to allow you to believe many of the things I’m going to tell you. But you should be able to increasingly grasp them soon.” “You be sure to let me know when we reach a subject my mind won’t let me grasp, okay?” “Sure.” Penelope studied Walker. Again, there was no malice in his comment, as well as no apparent appreciation for sarcasm. “What was the deal with the bowls?” 53 The Fourth Awakening “Later,” Walker said. “Do you still dance?” Penelope blinked a few times to be sure she hadn’t stumbled into the dayroom of the bi-polar wing at an asylum. Walker seemed to shift seamlessly from rational thought to incomprehensible bouts of gibberish. “Where did that come from?” “I was just curious. I noticed your degree was in journalism with a minor in dance. I thought that was an odd combination. Do you still dance?” Penelope leaned back in her chair and forced herself to close her mouth. She had to say one thing for Walker, he had done his homework. At twenty-one, living a short subway ride from Broadway, for the briefest moment she had considered a career as a dancer. Her better judgment won out and she stuck with journalism. After college her husband had little interest in, and even less talent on, the dance floor so she seldom got the chance. “Not as much as I would like.” “Too bad. Dancing is good for the soul. In some religions dancing… “ “Let’s see if we can get back on topic. Could you give me an example of something I won’t be ready to believe?” “Sure. You have started to develop skills and knowledge about the power of thought that you do not understand, and instead of accepting the changes you’re finding them unsettling. You may even be frightened of them.” “Frightened?” “Yes. You are starting to see the world and your place in it in an entirely new light, and it is challenging your logical mind. I could explain what’s happening to you, but you’re not ready to believe me.” Penelope knit her brow as she studied Walker. Not only did he know an awful lot about her, it was almost as if he knew what she was going through. This was silly. It reminded her of the way scam artists hook people. Th row out a few vague observations, then read your reaction. She was not going to fall for it, especially not from a guy handcuffed to a table. “Can you be a bit more specifi c?” “Sure. Odd things are starting to happen around you, and you’re remembering things differently than others who share experiences with you…” “What are you talking about?” Walker smiled. “For me it was peanut M&Ms.”