CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Enlightenment must come little by little — otherwise it would overwhelm.” Idries Shah PPenelope Spence awoke to find her head resting on Michael Walker’s shoulder and her left arm hooked under his, holding it tight. Blinking her eyes, she tried to orient herself. She was wrapped in a soft cotton blanket she couldn’t remember seeing before. They were in what appeared to be a rest stop along an interstate highway. The clock on the dashboard said it was just a few minutes before 7 a.m. She tried to untangle herself carefully, but when she did Walker’s eyes fl ickered open. He cleared his throat before saying, “Good morning.” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” “I was already watching my body wake up,” Walker answered. “What does that mean?” Penelope said with a laugh. “It’s not important.” “If you say so,” Penelope answered while fighting a yawn. “Where are we?” “We’re at a rest stop in Richwood, Kentucky, about 15 minutes from the Cincinnati airport.” As if on cue, a large passenger jet in its fi nal approach for landing rumbled overhead. “How long have we been here?” “About four hours.” As she stretched and covered a yawn with the back of her hand, Penelope asked, “How long have I been asleep?” 166 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “Long enough.” “I’m going to the powder room.” “Here.” Walker handed her a small plastic bag. A puzzled expression crept over her face as she looked inside the bag. It contained travel sized versions of all of her normal personal hygiene products, including her preferred toothpaste and deodorant. In plastic wrap was a new toothbrush, and there was also a washcloth and small hand towel. For a brief moment she considered asking how he knew exactly what toiletry items she preferred but decided she really didn’t want to know. “Th anks.” When she returned from her brief but refreshing trip to the ladies room, she was surprised to see Walker talking to a man who was leaning against the Bronco. He was a younger version of Walker and looked enough like him that he could be his son. Each was reading a copy of Th e Washington Post; a third copy was waiting for her on the hood. “Who’s your friend?” she asked. “Timothy Ellison, Penelope Drayton Spence.” Timothy Ellison shook her hand firmly, but not too firm, and made strong eye contact. “Ms. Spence, it’s a true pleasure.” Normally she hated it when men over 25 called her Ms. or Mrs., but there was something gentle and sincere about Ellison that practically made her want to adopt him. He was handsome with a rugged outdoorsy demeanor; the sun had started early smile lines on his face. Like every mother with unmarried daughters, she let her eyes drift to his left hand. There was no ring on the third finger and no shadow of one that had been recently removed. “Tim has worked on the Hermes Project since the beginning,” Walker said. “If I’m ever not around, listen to him and do what he says.” Ellison handed her a copy of The Washington Post. “Very impressive, Ms. Spence.” “Please,” she said as she spread the paper across the hood of the Bronco so she could get the full effect. “Call me Penelope.” To her surprise, Mark had done precious little copy editing. “Wow!” she muttered to herself. Every word on the front page of today’s edition had her byline. Mark had even added her as a source for the background pieces on the condition of Senator Horn. For a journalist, this was the equivalent of hitting a grand slam in the ninth inning of the seventh game to win the World Series while pitching a no hitter. It just doesn’t happen. 167 The Fourth Awakening “Here, Ms..,” Ellison caught himself. “Penelope.” He smiled as he handed her a hotel keycard. “What’s this?” Walker opened the passenger door and said, “Our next stop.” . WWalker backed partway into a parking spot in the rear of the Airport Sheraton, well away from the view of the front desk and any surveillance cameras. Jumping out of the Bronco, he grabbed a screwdriver, removed the license plate and tossed it into the nearby trash dumpster. Next he opened the tailgate and flipped the tarp back. Underneath, Penelope saw a familiar looking carrying case for a laptop and three pieces of luggage. Her luggage! “I see you grabbed more than just my laptop.” He shrugged as he pulled the four bags out of the Bronco and set them on the curb. This time she wasn’t upset; quite the opposite. She was eager to see what he had selected for her. Looking at the offending T-shirt he was still wearing, she didn’t hold out much hope. “So what would have happened to all of my stuff if I hadn’t come along?” Penelope asked. “You’d have found it sitting on your friend Joey’s porch,” Walker answered with a smile. Walker jumped back behind the wheel of the Bronco and slowly backed it up until its rear bumper was touching a six-foot high retaining wall. Locking the doors, he tossed the keys in the dumpster. “What in the world are you doing?” Walker smiled. “We aren’t going to need this car anymore and by making it hard to see the license plate, it is likely the hotel staff will walk around this thing for weeks before they do anything about it.” Leaving the laptop case for her, Walker and Ellison picked up the other three pieces of luggage and nodded toward the rear door of the hotel. By using the swipe keys that Ellison had already secured, they were able to avoid the front desk and any video equipment that might be near it. Their rooms were on the fi rst floor at the end of the corridor. Again using the magnetic card Timothy Ellison had given her, she opened the door to 168 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin her room and stepped inside. Ellison had booked them two adjoining rooms. Walker lined up the suitcases and pointed to the door that connected the room. “I’ll be in there. Please don’t leave the room for any reason, and keep the blinds pulled. If you need anything, tap on this door.” Penelope nodded that she understood. “How about I give you an hour to get cleaned up and change, then we’ll get some breakfast.” He was almost out the door when he turned back. “Wear your charcoal skirt, white blouse and the black Manolo Blahnik shoes.” “Why?” “For once, could you just trust me?” “It depends on what else I find in my suitcases.” Walker laughed as he pulled the door shut. Penelope couldn’t remember enjoying a bath so much in her life. Walker had done brilliantly. One of the suitcases, the largest one, was filled with some of her favorite shoes; including, of all things, her old college dancing shoes. Men. The other had the perfect mix of casual and formal clothes, just the right amount of underwear and her make-up kit. This man was certainly building up a considerable number of credits in her mental ledger. Feeling somewhat like a school girl getting ready to go to a movie with a boy she liked, she tried on a series of different white tops, hoping to find the one that best complimented the requested charcoal skirt, before settling on a simple white silk blouse. She was slipping on her black Manolo Blahniks, which also happened to be her favorite pair of shoes, when she heard a soft tap on the connecting door. She opened it and was immediately startled by what she saw. The man she had driven a third of the way across the country with was gone. No crude T-shirt, no long greasy blond hair and no pillow to give the impression of a budding potbelly. Michael Walker was clean-shaven, and wearing a perfectly tailored, three-button dark blue Armani suit with pinstripes. His shirt was pale blue and custom fitted. Around his neck was a tasteful pale blue Luigi Borrelli tie, and he wore handcraft ed Forzieri black leather Oxford dress shoes. With the hint of silver on his temples, he looked like he had just stepped off one of the pages of GQ. “You clean up nice,” Penelope said as she adjusted his tie and smoothed 169 The Fourth Awakening down his lapel. Catching just the faintest whiff of Emporio cologne, she said, “Smell nice too. Did you go to all of this trouble just for me?” “No,” he answered. Penelope pulled away; if Walker noticed he didn’t indicate it. “We have to make the right impression at the airport. We don’t want anyone slowing us down. We’re going to need you to wear the blonde wig and these,” said as he handed Penelope a pair of contact lenses. “They will make your eyes brown instead of blue.” Penelope didn’t like either idea, but didn’t protest. “I suddenly feel very underdressed.” “You’re dressed fine for your role.” She took another step back. “My role?” “For the next few hours all eyes need to be on Tim and me, not on you.” “Why?’ “If our latest bit of information from inside Homeland Security is correct, they are no longer looking for me.” He locked eyes with her. “Their main target is now you.” . NNoah Shepherd’s entourage filled the entire elevator. In addition to Robert Smith and Marcus Wolfe, there were four Homeland Security lawyers. It was his usual approach to display overwhelming numbers and power when dealing with a potential adversary. He wanted to do everything possible to intimidate Mark Hatchet and Th e Washington Post. A surprise visit might be enough to get them to back off from trying to discover the actual work that was being done at the Hermes Project and just leave it as some secret, classifi ed program. If he was successful, this story would blow over in a few days. Especially if he could locate Penelope Drayton Spence. Shepherd was a fit and elegant man in his early fi fties with an air of sophistication usually seen in career diplomats and those running entire departments of government. Coming from old money, Shepherd supported the arts and was also a generous contributor to politicians of both parties. He belonged to all the ‘proper’ social clubs and contributed to all of the right causes. He was well traveled and fluent in nine languages, including Mandarin, Japanese, and Russian. He was famous for requesting original copies of important documents and doing his own translations. “Crap,” Marcus Wolfe quietly muttered, when the elevator doors 170 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin opened and they were greeted by twelve men and two women in expensive business suits, all carrying notepads. In addition to Hatchet, the group included the publisher, editor, several senior editors, four corporate lawyers and even more outside counsel. Mark Hatchet extended his hand. “Director, we’ve been expecting you. This way, please.” All activity stopped in the busy newsroom as everyone’s eyes followed the parade of dignitaries down the corridor. Shepherd was not used to being outmaneuvered and he didn’t like it one bit. He had suspected there was a leak in his office and this confi rmed it. Worse yet, apparently it was at the highest level. Only three people knew they were coming this morning; Smith, Wolfe and him. He glared at Robert Smith as Hatchet guided them toward the conference room. After the introductions were completed and everyone was seated, Hatchet, sitting directly across the polished mahogany table from Shepherd, began the proceedings. “What brings representatives of Homeland Security to our offi ces this morning?” “We,” Shepherd said as he straightened his tie, “wanted to express our disappointment that your newspaper has decided to renege on your agreement not to pursue a story involving national security at the highest level.” Hatchet glanced at the Post’s head of legal, Leon Steinberg. Steinberg slid a piece of paper across the desk toward Shepherd, while a secretary moved around the table and handed each of the Homeland Security staff a copy. “I think you’ll find that in order, Director Shepherd.” “What is this?” “This, sir, is a release from Senator Clayton Lee Horn to Penelope Drayton Spence, allowing her to use any and all material from her meeting with the senator and their joint interview of Michael James Walker while he was being detained in the U.S. Naval Consolidated Brig in Charleston, South Carolina, on Saturday aft ernoon.” Steinberg was a bull of a man with a thick neck and broad shoulders. He’d grown up in Brooklyn and earned his law degree at City College at night while working construction during the day. There was nothing he liked better than a good scrape with some prissy Ivy League elitist. His career was almost exclusively built on eating guys like Shepherd for lunch, and Steinberg considered them his primary source of roughage. “You will find that this release covers everything published in Th e Washington Post concerning this topic.” 171 The Fourth Awakening “That will be difficult to verify, considering the condition of the senator,” Shepherd said. Leon Steinberg smiled as he passed a second document across the table. “This is a copy of a notarized statement from Senator Clayton Horn’s Chief of Staff, Joan Louise Inman, verifying the accuracy of the release.” Steinberg waited until everyone had the document in front of them before he reached into his folder again. “And this is notifi cation of The Washington Post’s intention to withdraw from its agreement not to pursue this story.” “I must admit,” Shepherd said, not bothering to wait for the fi nal document to be distributed. “I find this disappointing.” “Sir,” Mark Hatchet said, “we do not enter into suicide pacts to remain idle while our competition is looking into something that may not be an issue of national security. At present we consider this story to involve the potential cover-up of a government experiment that, if exposed, would simply prove embarrassing.” “We strongly disagree with that characterization and reiterate that you are pursuing information, and have already published an unacceptable level of detail concerning, a project whose secrecy is of grave importance to the national security of the United States of America.” “We’ll be in a better position to evaluate your claims later today aft er we’ve talked to Dr. Carl Altman and have had the opportunity to review the Hermes Project fi rsthand.” Everyone on the Homeland Security side of the table fl inched except Director Noah Shepherd. Hatchet and his bosses could tell from their reaction, they had drawn blood. If The Washington Post had been able to find the Hermes Project, this was rapidly disintegrating from a containment operation to damage control. “I’m afraid any information you receive from Dr. Altman will be classified and we’ll seek a federal injunction to prevent it from being published.” Before Hatchet could answer, Leon Steinberg jumped in. “You can try, sir. But the federal government hasn’t won a prior restraint decision since before the Pentagon Papers, and that was over 30 years ago.” Shepherd rose to his feet, and his entourage to theirs a half-beat later. “Let me again express our deep disappointment and concern over the irresponsibility of the decisions being made on this matter.” 172 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin In the back of his governmental limo with Special Agents Smith and Wolfe, Shepherd was so furious he almost raised his voice. “We have a leak.” Shepherd’s eyes locked on Smith. Wolfe he was sure of, and there was no reason for him to have given the newspaper a heads up. Smith, on the other hand, had been close with both Walker and Altman. “Who else knew about this meeting?” “The other people who were with us?” Wolfe off ered. “No.” Shepherd said fl atly. “They were not notified there was even going to be a meeting until it was time to leave, and they were not informed of where we were going until we arrived.” “One of your two secretaries?” Smith said. “Possibly,” Shepherd said. “But not very likely. They only arranged our entourage but were as much in the dark as everyone else.” Assistant Director Smith could see where this was headed, and didn’t like the direction. “What about the computer guys?” Director Shepherd thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. While it is true Obee is the one who discovered that the Spence woman was working for the Post within minutes of her first appearance at the brig, he didn’t know about the meeting. Besides, he has no loyalty to anyone in the Hermes Project and he seldom leaves his room.” “What about the other guy?” Wolfe asked. “I only dealt with Zhack, or whatever he calls himself,” Smith said weakly. A heavy silence settled over the car. Having played political games himself for years, Director Shepherd knew that as situations changed allegiances could as well. Adjustments often had to be made. Perhaps the Assistant Director was feeding Walker information in the hope that when this unraveled he could avoid becoming everyone’s scapegoat. Th at was what he would have done. “Whatever it takes,” Director Shepherd said. “I want Penelope Spence found before she can file her next story.” . TTimothy Ellison, now dressed just as nattily as Walker, joined them for breakfast, where Walker was already explaining what they were going to do and why. “We’re going to have about fi ve hours of vulnerability, from the time 173 The Fourth Awakening we enter the Cincinnati airport until we leave the Salt Lake City airport,” Walker said. “After that we’re home free.” “Aren’t you afraid we’re going to be seen?” Penelope asked. Walker didn’t answer but exchanged smiles with Ellison. “What?” “Trust me,” Walker said. Timothy Ellison outlined the plan. “Since this is a 737, all of the coach passengers will enter the plane and make an immediate right. Our seats are in First Class, which is a left turn at the entry door and directly behind the cockpit. There may be a few others in Business class but we should have most of the front section to ourselves. I booked us four seats together, so this will mean we have a certain level of privacy, and no one will be looking at our faces.” “Four?” Penelope asked. “You’re coming with us?” “Yes,” said Ellison. Apparently, he was as fond of one-word answers as Walker. “They are looking for a man and a woman. Not two men and a woman. We bought the other seat to assure no one sits next to us,” Walker answered before she could ask. Ellison left and went up to the rooms to get the luggage. Before he did, he slid Penelope a wallet that didn’t look new but didn’t look old either. Inside was a Florida driver’s license in the name of Sally Winters with a picture of a woman who looked enough like her to maybe not be her twin but at least her kid sister. There were also a library card and a few credit cards. In the back was around $500 in small bills. He also handed her a passport that made her appear to be a frequent world traveler. Out front of the Sheraton a black stretch limo with dark windows was idling at the curb; the driver was helping Ellison place the bags in the trunk. When they arrived at the Delta Terminal curbside check-in, Ellison immediately jumped out of the car, grabbed a Sky Cap and handed him a $100 bill as the driver popped the trunk. Ellison placed the preprinted boarding passes on the airport security table along with three passports, before opening the rear door of the limo. Walker, wearing dark wraparound sunglasses, got out talking briskly on the telephone, using his left hand to cover his mouth and keep the conversation private. It had the side benefit of also covering more of his face from the surrounding video cameras. Penelope, with her head down, was right behind him writing furiously on a notepad, never raising her eyes. 174 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “I really don’t care what time it is in Singapore. If they want to do this deal then we’re going to have a conference call as soon as we get to Salt Lake City.” The TSA agent behind the curbside check in counter watched Walker carefully and compared his passport picture to his face. “No,” Walker shouted as he placed his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone and turned to Ellison. “Are we about done here?” Ellison, with a kicked puppy look on his face, turned to the man behind the counter, his eyes pleading for help. The TSA guard nodded toward the terminal. “Thank you,” Ellison mouthed sheepishly. The trio walked inside with no one giving Penelope a second glance. “Which part of ‘no’ is unclear? The word only has two letters in it, apparently the same number of digits as your IQ.” Once they had cleared the front door, Walker immediately closed his phone and tossed it to Ellison. The only carryon bag they had between them was Penelope’s laptop, and it was safely over Ellison’s shoulder. “Hold on one second.” Walker pulled a piece of white thread out of his pocket and stuck it on the back of Spence’s skirt. “What’s that for?” “Later,” Walker said as he led the way toward the metal detector. With no keys and no other metal of any kind on them, Walker and Penelope breezed through security. But Timothy Ellison, who had “forgotten” he had a cell phone in his front shirt pocket, caused alarms to ring. Th e second time through he had “accidentally” touched the side of the metal detector, setting off the alarm again. As all eyes turned toward Ellison, Spence and Walker reclaimed their shoes and moved down the corridor unnoticed. He caught up with them in a restaurant where they were seated with their backs to the people walking by. Ellison sat down facing them and in a position that allowed him to keep an eye on their surroundings. They waited until the final boarding call for Delta Flight 1712, nonstop from Cincinnati to Salt Lake City, before they left their seats. As Penelope stood up, Walker plucked the white thread off the back of her skirt. She looked at him, quizzically. “You need to start trusting someone in your life, it may as well be me,” Walker said with a weak smile. “When we get to the gate, keep your head down and don’t look up, no matter what happens. Also stay close. We’re going to be walking at some odd angles which will seem a bit disorienting.” 175 The Fourth Awakening “Why?’ Walker pointed to a video camera on the opposite wall. Penelope nodded that she understood. Again, as they approached the boarding ramp, Walker was on the phone and Penelope was writing on her note pad with her head down. Ellison handed the three boarding passes to the check-in person and apologized for the late arrival with his eyes. Alone in the connecting tunnel, Walker flipped Ellison the phone and asked if he was ready. He nodded that he was. As they reached the door of the Boeing jet, Ellison tripped and went sprawling face first in the doorway, causing the crew and passengers to focus on him. By the time he had been helped to his feet, Walker and Penelope were already seated in the front row with their backs to the rest of the passengers. Ellison popped into one of the two empty seats behind them. Th e flight was one of five daily non-stops from the Delta hub in Cincinnati to Salt Lake City. This was one of the airline’s most profi table routes; there were seldom any empty seats on the 737-800. Th is was good and bad. It’s always easier to get lost in a crowd, but with more eyes available it increases the risk someone might recognize you. Once the jet was in the air, the trio settled in for the three hour and fi fteen minute fl ight. “So,” Penelope said as she sipped her merlot. “Are you going to tell me the Timothy Leary story?” “Oh, Lord,” Ellison moaned from the seat behind them. “Not that one again.” Ellison stood up and leaned over the seat. “He’s been trying to sell that to the guys at the compound for the last few months.” “Are there any buyers?” “Fift y-fi fty, at best. The consensus at the compound is he wanted to be the one to bring you in so he could indoctrinate you into all of his theories.” “Hey,” Walker protested. “Be quiet,” Spence said as she slapped Walker’s arm. “So others found some of his stories hard to believe?” “Are you kidding? Wait until you get involved in the nightly debates. While we all tend to agree on the major points…he’s got his ideas, but believe me, there are other opinions.” “I will concede that we don’t have total agreement on all…” 176 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin Penelope slapped his arm again and held a finger up to her lips. “Will you shush? I’m talking to Timothy and would like to hear what he has to say.” Turning her attention back to Ellison, she continued. “So not immediately believing what he says is normal?” “Absolutely. You’ll eventually work it all out for yourself; we all have. I have to admit, in most cases everyone pretty much ends up agreeing with him.” “Thank you,” Walker said as he reached for his water and brought on yet another slap. “Except for the Timothy Leary theory.” “Why?” Penelope asked. “A lot of us think he’s still upset that he was such a serious college student that he missed all of the sex, drugs and rock and roll, so his view of the 60’s and 70’s is tainted.” Tim Ellison had an easy smile and deep, kind eyes. He looked to be around the same age as her eldest, unmarried, daughter Carrie. Strong-willed and difficult at times, especially when tired or hungry, Carrie still hadn’t found the right guy. In high school, her father called all of her suitors “Clarence”. When one asked why, he told the boy if he was still around in three weeks he would make an effort to learn his name. From the time she started dating at 15, until she went off to college; Carrie only dated boys named Clarence. Penelope had to wonder if Ellison would have the right stuff to deal with a 21st century woman like her tightly wound little darling. She sighed. Since he probably did, that would mean Carrie wouldn’t find him the least bit attractive. Walker unbuttoned his jacket and took another sip from his bottle of water. “Last count, the majority of the people at the compound have come around to my way of thinking on this, as well, thank you very much.” “I’ve heard all of this before,” Ellison said, “I’m going to try and catch some sleep.” He fell back into his seat, closed his eyes, and was instantly fast asleep. “He’s already asleep.” “Sort of,” Walker said. “What does that mean?” “At his stage of development he is always awake at some level, even while asleep.” “Awake while you’re asleep. Just when you were starting to sound sane,” Penelope said with a sigh. “Timothy Leary?” 177 The Fourth Awakening “Are you willing to at least consider that we are all connected through thought, and that there is power in thought?” “If I say, ‘no’ do I still get to hear the story?” “No.” “I wholeheartedly believe we are all connected through thought, and that there is power in thought.” “Your sincerity is touching.” “We’ve got three hours to kill, just tell me the story.” “Okay. Back in the late 1950’s, Leary, who was a psychology professor at Berkeley, began experimenting with psychedelic mushrooms to try to raise consciousness levels. Then along came LSD and he was off to the races. Later he moved to Harvard, which gave him a bi-coastal following. As the number of people exposed to LSD grew, the San Francisco Bay Area and the Boston to New York corridor became hotbeds of psychedelic usage. Soon this fad jumped the oceans and was in the urban centers of Europe and Asia, with LSD as the drug of choice for intellectuals on college campuses across the globe.” “Why was it so popular?” “Those that took it started to have what appeared, to them at least, as an awakening.” “You mean like your Awakening?” “Yes.” “Because of Timothy Leary and LSD?” “There was a renaissance in the realms of music, art, fashion and politics. Leary and his experiments, though incredibly crude, were strong enough that they began having an impact on the collective consciousness. As the usage of LSD spread, so did the problems.” “Problems?” “As you have so wholeheartedly agreed,” Walker said as he cleared his throat. “We’re all connected and thoughts have power, but understanding this has to come naturally and can be dangerous if forced on a person.” “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” “It’s like comparing a chainsaw to a scalpel. We give a gentle nudge while Leary and his followers started a train wreck that had worldwide implications for nearly a decade.” “What kind of implications?” “It was almost as if the thoughts of those on LSD were being amplifi ed 178 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin by the drug. Their thoughts were distorted, and in some cases, destructive. LSD seemed to open some kind of spiritual Pandora’s Box; the eff ects started to seep into other parts of society and spread around the world.” “Sounds almost like a virus.” “Exactly. This virus started to affect everyone else on the planet in a negative way. People around the globe became more violent. By 1967 it appeared the whole world had gone mad.” “Are you kidding me? 1967 was the summer of love. Those people were not violent.” “That’s the way most people remember it, but consider this; in 1967 and 1968, more than fi fty cities had race riots. The Vietnam War was at its height. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were both assassinated. In Chicago, the Democratic National Convention was disrupted by student protests that were put down violently. College campuses were being shut down. The Weathermen and Students for a Democratic Society were blowing up ROTC buildings. And it wasn’t just in the United States. The insanity was worldwide.” “Worldwide?” “In 1967, OPEC was formed, and the Arab world united and attacked Israel. Former colonies in Africa and other places were breaking away from their European masters. The Soviets and Chinese were saber rattling across their long border. There was the Prague Spring, and around the same time student riots in Paris in May of 1968 nearly toppled the French government.” “You’re going to blame all of this on the consciousness level of the world being altered by a few hippies dropping acid?” “It was a lot more than a few.” “Moon barking crazy.” Penelope heard a snicker from the seat behind them. Walker was right; Ellison wasn’t sleeping as soundly as she had supposed. “Am I? During those years the people in power were terrified they were losing control. In the United States, they bought off the cities by creating a wealth of social welfare programs. The Europeans created an even more generous welfare system, and they jettisoned all of their colonies. Th e two major Communist powers went in the exact opposite direction. Th e Russians used their military to crush Prague and to send a message to the rest of the Soviet union by dramatically increasing the size and brutality 179 The Fourth Awakening of their gulags and prison camps. The scariest was what happened in China.” “Oh, you’re kidding me? You’re going to try and hang that on poor old Timothy Leary?” “As a representative figurehead, at least. Mao’s Cultural Revolution started in 1966. You do the math. The Red Guard killed millions of people and sent millions more to re-education centers.” Concern etched a frown on Penelope’s face. “Are these the kinds of things you’re afraid will happen because of the next Awakening?” “You read the newspapers and see the news.” “Lord. What, in your theory, stopped all of this?” “In this case it was bad chemistry.” “What?” “A lot of bad LSD started popping up. People began to think they could fly and started walking off rooftops or stood in front of trains convinced of their own invincibility. Considering how it evolved, I suspect the government had a hand in it. They had been experimenting with LSD for years and likely had uncovered many of its nasty side eff ects. Th en they started planting stories that LSD caused chromosome damage and could make your testicles fall off and other nonsense.” “That would certainly put a damper on the summer of love.” Penelope scrunched up her face. “The government giving bad drugs to our own kids? I find that hard to believe.” “This was the decade before Watergate, and back then the government did all sorts of nasty things they could never get away with today. Th e FBI under J. Edgar Hoover had files on nearly everybody, the CIA was going around the world assassinating political leaders, and the Pentagon could pretty much do whatever they wanted. Combine that kind of unchecked power with the fear they may be losing their grip on it, and I wouldn’t put anything past them.” “So, let me get this straight. You think the federal government made a concerted eff ort to discredit LSD because they knew it was having a negative impact on humanity’s collective consciousness.” “Yes. They had been experimenting with it for years and had to be aware of the cause and effect regarding the spread of its usage. Had to.” “And you accused me of being a conspiracy theory nut!” Walker shook his head. “I knew you weren’t ready.” 180 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “Apparently neither are the rest of us,” wafted from the seat behind them amid more snickering. “How exactly do you suppose the government went about discrediting LSD?” “They did a frontal assault on the people most likely to be using it. If you’ve ever seen the movie on Woodstock, you saw the guy who took the microphone and warned everyone about some ‘bad acid out there’.” “When rock stars began dropping like fl ies—Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison—from drug overdoses in 1970, the popularity of the drugs of choice from the sixties faded and they were replaced by disco and cocaine. After that, things pretty much stabilized and the status quo was restored. “So you’re saying the last act of insanity from the LSD movement was Disco?” This brought yet another snicker from the peanut gallery behind them. “Wow. Now it all makes sense for me. Timothy Leary begot us John Travolta. How could I have been so dense?” Walker shook his head. “Just give it some thought.” Penelope fanned her face with both hands. “Are you kidding? Th is is the epiphany I’ve been waiting for my whole life. For the first time, with total clarity, I understand Disco.” “Pigheaded,” Walker muttered under his breath so only Penelope could hear. He picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal from the stack of newspapers Ellison had bought at one of the airport gift shops. Penelope smiled when she saw her byline on the lead article of the morning edition of the Cincinnati Enquirer. . TThe seat belt light had gone on indicating fi nal approach for Salt Lake City when the cockpit door opened and the co-pilot stepped out to use the restroom. Glancing over at the trio, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Mr. Walker?”