CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Once you see things differently, you gain power. All of a sudden there is enlightenment.” Joan Chen PPenelope Spence glanced over her shoulder as Walker turned onto the Ravenel Bridge and headed toward Mt. Pleasant. Opened in 2005 and built at a cost of over $500 million dollars, with a span of 1,546 feet it is the longest cable-stayed bridge in the Western Hemisphere. Crossing the Cooper River just north of the historic section of the Charleston peninsula, its twin spires and miles of graceful cables make a striking backdrop for tourist photos. Looking back she could see the South Carolina Aquarium and could just about make out the famous “Rainbow Row” of restored Charleston style homes along East Bay Street that have inspired a thousand artists and many more photographers. Far in the distance, at the mouth of the harbor, was Ft. Sumter and just beyond, the Atlantic Ocean. Looming on the Mt. Pleasant side of the Cooper was the USS Yorktown, a World War II era aircraft carrier now converted into a fl oating museum. She felt the Bronco reach the apex of the span at the center point between the two massive towers and start the gradual 150-foot descent back down. Charleston, the town she and 14 generations of her family had called home for over 250 years, melted behind her as they headed north on U.S. 17 in the direction of Myrtle Beach. She sighed as she considered the fact that she had no idea when she would see the city again, if ever. More than 121 The Fourth Awakening one bridge had been crossed. Walker understood the whipsaw of emotions she was experiencing and didn’t intrude on her thoughts by speaking. Instead of getting on I-526 as she had expected, Walker continued a few more miles and made a left on State Route 41. The road was poker straight with light traffic. Penelope smiled when she thought about the Bronco. In Charleston, it was a noticeable eyesore, but on the back roads of rural South Carolina it was just another battered truck with a garden-variety redneck behind the wheel. They drove in silence for nearly half an hour before Walker turned on his left turn signal in the small town of Huger— pronounced “Huge Gee”— and headed west on State Route 402. He finally broke the silence. “What was the last you heard about Senator Horn?” “Stable, but still critical.” “That’s too bad. We really wanted Horn to go on the talk shows this morning.” “Excuse me?” “Your article today got the ball rolling, and the senator’s appearance would have caused a feeding frenzy in the media. That alone could have been enough to force Homeland Security to come clean on our research.” “What do you mean?” “Classified or not, Horn was ready to go public. That would have put tremendous pressure on Homeland Security to declassify it. You could then have written anything you wanted with impunity. Now we have to go to plan B.” “Plan B?” “You and I will be spending a great deal more time together then I initially thought.” “Sorry,” Penelope said. “Don’t be. I enjoy your company.” “Thanks. What happens next?” “We have a very narrow window of opportunity here. With your help, we either flip Noah Shepherd, or put so much heat on Homeland Security that the decision is taken away from Shepherd and made by the Secretary of that department. He has much more political exposure, and with what’s happened in the past 24 hours he’s probably already starting to feel the heat. We have to move quickly before anyone can change their mind.” “How do you propose doing that?” 122 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “Before Senator Horn’s stroke I would have said he was going to ram it through for us, with you covering the story. Now it’s all up to you.” “Me?” “Yes. We have to make as much information public as quickly as possible. Right now, because of your story about my arrest and escape combined with the rumors about what Horn was going to say, our opponents are back on their heels. That won’t last for very long.” “How long do you think you’ll have?” “I’m guessing we’ll need to get Hermes declassified and in the media in the next 48 to 72 hours. If we miss this opportunity, who knows when we’ll get another chance. Horn’s condition will temper some of the attacks on me and Hermes, since they will appear in bad taste if he’s still in critical condition. The only winner here is you.” “Me?” “Yes,” Walker said calmly and without even a hint of regret or emotion “His stroke has greatly increased the value of the stories you’re going to write.” Penelope wasn’t sure how to take Walker’s last comment. While it was true that if she were the only source of information on a breaking story it would enhance her value, the thought of benefiting from another’s suffering went against the grain of her conscience. Walker’s analysis was as cold-blooded as it was accurate. She turned and stared out the front windshield as an uncomfortable silence settled in again. The Bronco came up on a Ford F-150 pickup, laboring at 15 mph under the posted limit, pulling a bass boat. Walker inched up on the rig, let a Honda Civic headed the other direction pass, then hit the gas. The Bronco’s big V-8 accelerated with such force that Penelope was unexpectedly pressed back into her seat. While the Bronco might not be much to look at, with a powerful engine, new tires and a tight transmission, clearly it could hold its own if evasion were necessary. As the minutes ticked by, something else dawned on Penelope. “Th ere won’t be any story if I can’t get in touch with Mark Hatchet at the Post.” Looking around the Bronco for a pen and paper she didn’t see any. “I wish I had something to take notes with.” “Look under your seat.” Puzzlement crept over Penelope’s face as she felt something thin and metallic wedged under the seat. She pulled out a laptop computer. Her laptop. “Where did this come from!?” 123 The Fourth Awakening “I got it out of your house last night.” “What?” “I thought it might come in handy. I bought you a lighter power plug…” “What?” “You plug it into the cigarette lighter and…” “I know what a lighter plug is,” she said angrily. “What were you doing in my house?” “I already told you. I was getting your laptop for you.” “You were in my house last night?” “Yes.” “Wait a minute,” as another thought occurred to Penelope. “I keep my laptop in my bedroom.” She glared at Walker. “Well?!” “Well, what?” “I keep my laptop in my bedroom.” “That’s a statement, not a question.” Furious, Penelope slowly asked her question, enunciating each word carefully. “Were… you… in… my… bedroom… last… night… while… I… was… asleep?” “Yes… I… was. I told you I was getting it for you since you were going to need it, and it was unlikely you would bring it to our meeting. I did it for you.” “For me? You were in my house. Hell! In my bedroom stealing my laptop so you could give it back to me today?” “Yes.” “Did you set the fi re after you finished looting my house?” “No. That started hours after I had left .” “Are you the one who told me to run?” “In a manner of speaking.” “What the hell does that mean?” Walker shrugged and his eyes locked on the road in front of them. “No, no don’t tell me; let me guess. I’m not ready to understand.” Walker struggled to keep a poker face and kept driving. “Do you know who caused the fi re?” “Of course. So do you.” “You’re talking nonsense again!” “Am I? All things considered, you’ve got your laptop, and you got out of the house uninjured. I would think that would make you happy.” 124 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “What would make me happy is for you to have prevented my house from burning down, but for now I’ll settle for you telling me what caused it.” Walker shook his head. “Sorry, you’re not ready yet.” Penelope grunted and slammed both of her fists on the dashboard of the Bronco. Small clouds of dust and lint came out of the air vents. “You know, I think you are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” “Th anks.” “That wasn’t meant as a compliment.” “I know.” Walker shook his head in appreciation, “You shouldn’t be so frustrated. You really need to let yourself relax and be grateful for how far you’ve come so quickly.” “Having come so far still doesn’t mean you’re going to start giving me any straight answers, does it?” “No. But you’re a lot closer.” “What does that mean?” “When you can tell me who started the fire and why, let me know.” Penelope glared a hole though Walker. “I give up.” She said, throwing her hands up in despair. “Will I be able to talk to Mark Hatchet and send him an article?” “You will not be able to speak directly to Hatchet until tomorrow, but you will be able to send him your article. We’ll find a Wi-Fi coffee shop and bounce your article around the globe for a few hours so it can’t be traced. “Cool. What happens tomorrow?” “We’ll be at the compound.” “Won’t they be able to trace a call from there?” “Maybe, but I doubt it.” “Why do you doubt it?” “We’ll be using Walker Industries’ communication satellite. Th ey tried to hack it before, but I doubt they’ll try again.” “Why? What happened?” “When we detected the hack, we retaliated. It led to quite a bit of messy back and forth with the NSA, some of our government contracts, our…” “When did all of this happen?” “About six months ago, when they first started aggressively looking for me. Let’s just say they experienced some computer problems.” “Wait a minute,” Penelope said with a smile. “That was around the time 125 The Fourth Awakening there was a foul up with Social Security checks and they were late going out. The Secretary of the Treasury was almost forced to resign.” “No comment.” Michael Walker smiled, but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “You didn’t.” Penelope began to laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “My God! You did! You hacked the Treasury Department’s computers to get the National Security Agency off your back?” “They were a lot easier than trying to hack the NSA.” “Didn’t you get in any trouble?” “No. But we certainly got their attention. We quietly reached a ceasefi re agreement. ‘You leave our stuff alone and we’ll leave your stuff alone.’ Th e politicians in Washington are more afraid of the AARP than anything I might have been doing.” “You’re awful,” Penelope said wiping a tear from her eye aft er laughing so hard. “So, now are you going to tell me exactly what happened with the Hermes Project?” “No.” “No?” Penelope’s smile vanished. “What do you mean, no!?” “Senator Horn is the big story right now. You were the last reporter to speak to him and you have a pretty good idea what caused his stroke. With everything that happened yesterday now on the record, you’ve already got a huge story to write. Without the senator, the Hermes Project will have to wait until it’s declassifi ed.” Penelope opened her mouth to protest but stopped when she realized Walker was right. It would be a huge build-up piece for when she fi nally got to the compound. Every news outlet in the world would be waiting for her to file her report. “Okay. But what if the Hermes story breaks before you get around to telling me about it?” Walker smiled. “Even if they should somehow find the compound, which I highly doubt they will, I promise you an exclusive interview with both me and Dr. Altman.” “On the record and you’ll give me direct answers to all of my questions?” “Absolutely.” “I’m going to hold you to that.” Penelope said as she plugged her laptop in to the cigarette lighter. For the next two hours they rode in relative silence, 126 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin broken only by Penelope asking Walker a few clarifi cation questions. She ended up with two articles, one long and one fairly short. Both were a bit wordier then her normal style, but Mark would edit as he saw fit. She wanted to give him everything she had since they didn’t have the ability to discuss the copy over the phone. Th e first and longer piece was a general overview of her day with Horn, what had happened at the brig, and as much as she knew about the Hermes Project. The shorter and most dramatic piece was her recap of what had happened in the interview room with Walker and Horn. She was intentionally vague about the Hermes Project and gave no indication that she was sitting an arm’s length away from Michael Walker. “I’m done.” “Excellent. We’re near Florence, South Carolina. We should be able to find a Wi-Fi site somewhere.” As if on cue, a McDonald’s marquee on U.S. 52 proclaimed “Free Wi-Fi”. Penelope was still doing a fi nal proofread when Walker wheeled the Bronco into a space near the door. She was surprised when she felt the passenger side door open. Walker extended one hand for the laptop and the other to Penelope. “Such a gentleman,” Penelope said as she disengaged the laptop from the cigarette lighter and handed it to Walker. Walker selected a table by the window with a clear view of their vehicle, then pushed a piece of paper in Penelope’s direction. “What’s this?” She asked. “That’s the email address you should send the article to and the name you should use on the file. But first we need to run it through an encryption program.” “Excuse me, but if the NSA and Homeland Security are monitoring emails wouldn’t a document using your encryption be like sending up a flare asking them to come and arrest us?” “Very nice,” Walker said with the nod of his head. “But encryption probably is the wrong word. This is a name substitution program. Any emails, and especially any that originate from the southeastern United States with your name and words like Walker Industries, Hermes or Th e Washington Post, among others, will be instantly flagged. What we’re going to do is change them to something else and have them converted back just before the document is sent over to your editor.” “Are you sure that will work?” Penelope asked. 127 The Fourth Awakening Walker’s eyes twinkled and a broad grin covered his face. “I’m pretty confident this will work.” “Oh, Lord,” Penelope said with a laugh loud enough that heads turned in the restaurant. Looking around she leaned in and whispered. “You wrote the NSA email search program, didn’t you?” “We might have been involved in that project.” “I can see why these guys don’t want you running around without adult supervision,” Penelope said shaking her head. “How long before Mark will get this?” “Four or five hours.” Walker motioned toward the front counter. “You want anything?” Penelope glanced up at the menu board. “A fi sh sandwich and sweet tea.” She turned back to her computer and grimaced; she was having problems getting linked to McDonald’s Wi-Fi. “I hate computers…” Before she could make any further comments on the annoying complexity of modern electronics, Walker had spun her laptop around and his fingers were dancing across the keyboard. “I’m going to freshen up,” she said, sliding out of the booth. When she got back the fi le had been sent and her food was waiting for her. To her surprise Walker had ordered himself a Big Mac combo and a chocolate shake. But, as if to show opening her car door for her wasn’t a fluke, he had politely waited for her return before starting to eat. “Sir,” Penelope said in her best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation, “You have the manners of a true Southern gentleman.” “I’m from Miami,” Walker said with a shrug. “Which is about 600 miles south of Charleston. That almost makes you a Yankee to me.” “Oh, Fiddle-dee-dee,” Penelope said as she shook a napkin into her lap and took a bite of her sandwich. After a few moments of silent chewing she pointed to a dot of special sauce in the corner of Walker’s mouth that he immediately wiped away. “With all of this talk about enlightenment I was expecting you to be a vegan.” Walker smiled as he took another bite of his Big Mac. “What makes you think I’m not?” “You’re eating a Big Mac might be a clue.” “Am I?” Penelope’s mind flashed back to her lunch with Joey at the Sunfi re Grill and remembered how Joey had a completely diff erent recollection 128 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin of the meal they had shared. “You are a very odd man.” “Th anks.” “Wasn’t a compliment.” “I know.” . BBack in the Bronco and on the highway, the adrenaline rush from the chase downtown and the jolt Penelope had gotten from writing another article that would be tomorrow’s front page was starting to wear off. Running on only a few hours sleep, a deep fatigue crept over her. Not only was she exhausted physically, but she was mentally and emotionally drained. Less than two days ago she had been sitting at home minding her own business and now she had helped someone escape from prison, her house burned to the ground, a man she had worked closely with for six years suffered a stroke, and she had beaten up a federal agent. Here she was in a car, wearing a wig, headed who knows where with the guy she had helped bust out of the clink. All in all, this was not her typical weekend. Almost as if he was reading her mind, Walker reached behind the driver’s seat and tossed her a pillow. Looking in the back to see what else he might have, she saw camping gear, an assortment of tools and some lumps covered with a blue plastic tarp. She tucked the pillow between her shoulder and the window, and in less than 30 seconds was fast asleep. . PPenelope Spence’s eyes didn’t open again until she felt the Bronco slowing to a stop. The sun was low in the western sky. Walker was pulling into a Cracker Barrel Restaurant and she realized that despite the quick lunch at McDonalds, she was famished. Though she had been trying to go vegetarian, the smell of grilling meat and poultry coated in flour and frying in vats of grease set her mouth to watering. Th is was going to be a real test. “Where are we?” she asked. “A restaurant.” “I can see that. A bit more general, please.” “Third planet from the sun.” “If you’re going to be like this the whole time,” she said with a smile, 129 The Fourth Awakening “then I’m going home.” Penelope’s smile faded when she realized what she had said, and she lowered her eyes. Walker noticed the mood change and decided to give her a straight answer. “We’re just outside of Mt Airy, North Carolina. We’re far enough from Charleston that we can safely get on the interstate now.” Penelope shook off the wave of weepy emotion that was trying to control her. “Where are we headed?” “Inside a restaurant,” Walker said with a smile as he held the door open. She waved a warning finger in Walker’s direction. “I’ve already kicked one person’s butt today…” . PPenelope Spence couldn’t remember a meal that had tasted better or that she had enjoyed more. Walker must have read her mind. Because of the disruption of her normal sleep cycle, she was more in the mood for breakfast food than a traditional dinner type meal. Cracker Barrel had been the perfect choice; breakfast all day. Sitting across from each other like old marrieds instead of next to each other like lovers, they began talking for the first time. Since each had read the other’s bio, they were more like friends renewing an acquaintance than strangers sharing a meal. Walker shook his head whenever she started to ask questions that he didn’t want overheard, so they kept the conversation light. His research department had done a heck of a job. He seemed to know an awful lot about her. “So,” Walker asked with a smile. “Do you still dance?” “You asked me that before.” “Yes, but you didn’t give me much of an answer. I was curious. Your fi rst two years of college it looked like you planned to be a dancer, then when you had to declare your major you headed into journalism instead. Was there a reason?” “Other than the fact that my mother would have come to New York City, dragged me back to Charleston by my hair, then locked me in the room next to my crazy Aunt Martha?” “That was your mother’s reason. What was yours?” “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Walker shrugged and waited for an answer. “In the summer between my sophomore and junior year I got a job on 130 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin Broadway. It wasn’t much. I was a vacation replacement for some of the girls in the chorus line of Chicago.” “Wow! Cell Block Tango is one of my all-time favorites.” Walker’s eyes brightened as he propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fists. Penelope had his full and complete attention. “That must have been exciting.” “If you’re going to patronize me…” “I’m serious, that’s one of my favorites.” “It sounds more glamorous than it actually was. The tedium of eight shows a week began to wear on me pretty quickly. As the fall semester approached I had to make a decision. Th ey offered me a full time position, but the experience had made it an easy choice. Dancing was my passion. Turning it into a job took all of the fun out of it.” “Interesting.” Walker nodded his head as if he completely understood. “You seem to know a great deal about my personal life, just how many of your employees have you had stalking me?” she asked as she motioned to the waitress for a refill of her sweet tea. “A small army,” Walker answered as he sipped his plain water—no ice, no lemon. She had gotten over the embarrassment of their food order and was feeling refreshed. The waitress had used a huge tray to carry the assorted bowls, plates and platters. Four of them—a plate with a large stack of pancakes and three eggs over easy, a bowl with fried apples, another bowl with cheese grits and a side plate of buttered sourdough rye bread—had gone to Penelope’s side of the table, while Walker’s French toast and side of plain grits had fit on a single plate. “I didn’t want to admit it in the brig but I had been having problems with food, just like you said.” She told him the grits/risotto story. “So,” Walker said as casually as if he were asking her opinion on the chances for rain. “You were able to completely change the reality of those around you while maintaining your own reality.” “I don’t know if I would have described what happened in those terms.” “How would you have described it?” “I was going friggin’ nuts.” “That’s also a possibility.” “You’re so reassuring.” When the check arrived, he left a three dollar tip for a $20 bill. 131 The Fourth Awakening “Last of the big tippers?” “We don’t want to be a big tipper or a lousy tipper. We just want to be another customer at another dinner rush. We don’t want to give our waitress a reason to remember us.” In the warm glow of a full tummy and good conversation with an attractive man of her own age Penelope had momentarily forgotten that much of the federal government and probably every state and local police department in the country were looking for them. Walker’s caution brought it all back and put a knot in her recently filled stomach. At the cash register, she placed a pack of Tums on the counter, which Walker paid for along with their bill. . TThey were headed due north on I-77 in the mountains of Virginia as the sun set over the Allegheny Mountains. It was a Sunday night, and the traffi c was light. “Okay,” Penelope said as she adjusted herself in the bucket seat. “What exactly is the Hermes Project?” “First, a bit of history. We are on the cusp of the Fourth Awakening of mankind…” “Okay. Let me stop you right there. A news story must deal in facts. My generation, which now controls all of the newsrooms, already survived the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. If you start talking like a middle-aged hippie, I don’t care how much traction you’ve gotten from your arrest and Horn’s stroke, there is not a major paper in the country that will touch this story, except maybe the Psychic Hotline.” “I know. That’s why we need you.” “I don’t follow…?” “You have credibility with the media. We don’t. If we try to tell this story we’ll be branded as kooks and nut jobs by the people we’re up against.” “Ok. Then tell me about Hermes.” “Without the background context, you could be like so many others that get completely hypnotized by the significance of the breakthrough we’ve made, and miss the bigger story.” “Which is?” “The Fourth Awakening is coming and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”