CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

“An Enlightened Master is ideal only if your goal is to become a Benighted Slave.” Robert Anton Wilson AAfter the performance by James Steerforth, there was no shortage of volunteers from The Washington Post’s crew to participate in another demonstration. With the heavy shielding and limits on space, everyone had to be either shoehorned into the windowless control room or watch the demonstration on video monitors in the waiting area outside. Th ere was only enough space for the senior Post brass, Penelope, Walker and Altman in the control room. There were three chairs in front of the control room console. Altman took the seat in the middle with Flickling to his left and Mitchell to his right. Walker, Spence and Hatchet stood behind them. “This entire area is heavily shielded,” Dr. Altman said. “Is that to keep interference out?” Hatchet asked. “Initially, that was the idea,” Altman said turning to make eye contact with Hatchet. “With our recent advances it is more important to keep our experiment contained. We used to have thick glass here in the control room but we had to replace it with something more resistant to our experiments. As we got better it started to affect this room as well. That’s why we will need to observe this via video.” “That sounds ominous,” Flickling said as he adjusted himself more comfortably in the chair. The plane trip and the long day were wreaking havoc on his lower back. “Is it safe in here?” 269 The Fourth Awakening “The risk is negligible,” Dr. Altman assured him. “We have gotten more and more skilled and better able to focus our eff orts.” On multiple viewing screens inside the control room, they all could see four reporters from the Post; two men and two women. Dressed in blue surgical scrubs, their body language said everything anyone needed to know about their relationships. Each had claimed a corner of the cube and was as far away from the others as possible. Their eyes kept darting around like mice looking for the cat. Each kept shifting his or her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Both women had their arms folded across their chests and the two men refused to make eye contact with the other. “Normally I wouldn’t put those guys together in such a small space,” Hatchet said. “Are you sure this is what you want?” “They are bitter rivals?” Altman asked “That’s putting it mildly. We had to break up a fi st-fight between Steve and Alex in the newsroom last week over a story assignment. Joan and Celeste work the Capitol Hill beat and have been at each other’s throats for years.” “Then they’re perfect,” Walker said. “Let’s get started.” Altman turned on the microphone. “We’re going to begin now. Will each of you please be seated?” The four moved gingerly in the direction of the wobbly plastic table in the center of the cube and claimed one of the white chairs each. None made eye contact with any of the others. Altman flipped a switch and, other than a red “In Use” indicator light blinking on the control panel, nothing seemed to be happening. “You may feel a slight dizziness. That is to be expected. Sit back and relax, this will not take very long.” Altman turned off the microphone and addressed the people in the control room. “We should start seeing a reaction in just a few moments.” “What kind of reaction?” “They are being hit with a very specific magnetic wave that will cause some portions of the brain to become less active.” “Is this the part you have to quiet first?” Franklin Mitchell asked. “Exactly,” Altman answered. “All of these subjects have strong and well-developed egos. Decreasing activity in this part of the mind will cause them to experience the early stages of enlightenment.” “What the hell does that mean?” Mitchell demanded. 270 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “They will start to experience a level of contentment they have never thought possible.” Walker pointed toward the cube. “It has already started.” In the cube, the four people around the table no longer looked like mortal enemies. Their body language had gone from defensive to relaxed and open. They were actually smiling, possibly even at each other. Altman flipped on the microphone. “How are you all doing in there?” “I’ve never felt better in my life,” answered one of the male reporters. “Amazing,” said one the female reporters as she glanced around the table. The other three head nodded their agreement. “I feel like a weight has been lift ed off of me…” They all began to talking at the same time and only bits and pieces could be distinguished. “I’m happier than…” “…total peace…” “…relaxed…” “….feeling of absolute serenity…” When they realized they had been talking over each other, all conversation stopped. They glanced around the table and all burst into laughter. They all began talking again, this time apologizing for their rudeness, then started laughing again. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this day,” Hatchet said as he watched the interplay with his mouth hanging open. “Th at’s amazing.” “That’s the future of mankind, if we can survive the transition.” “One of you better start explaining this,” Mitchell insisted with the tone of a person at the pinnacle of their worldly infl uence. “I think that’s enough, Carl,” Walker said. Altman nodded his agreement and the “In Use” light clicked off. Immediately, four members of the Hermes Project entered the test room and joined Th e Washington Post reporters in the cube. Th ey offered the test subjects bottles of water, which they quickly accepted. As the room began to fi ll with the rest of the WaPo people, loud animated conversations and laughter echoed off the walls as each of the reporters tried to describe to their compatriots what it had been like. “Gentlemen,” and with a nod toward Penelope, “and Lady,” Walker said. “We are on the cusp of the Fourth Awakening of mankind.” Walker pointed toward the cube. “And that is a perfect example of the potential. All we did was give each of them a nudge and shine a bit of light on the path; their innate nature did the rest. In one hundred years or so, the way 271 The Fourth Awakening they are reacting and interacting will be the norm.” “So,” Hatchet said, “this will work on anyone?” “This is a much lower level of stimulation and considerably less focused than what James Steerforth went through. All that happened is we briefl y sped up a process that has already started. All four of those people have experienced something they may have found on their own tomorrow, next week, next year or decades from now.” “Is this a permanent change?” Mitchell asked. “Possibly, but not very likely in this case,” Dr. Altman said. “Th ey would have to spend much more time with us at this point to permanently rewire their neuropathways and stabilize the brain processes involved.” “It is important that you understand that this phenomenon is occurring spontaneously around the world, as we speak,” Walker interjected. “You’re saying the whole human race is moving in this direction?” Hatchet asked. “Yes. It’s the Fourth Awakening that was mentioned in the material we sent you. What we’re hoping is, with your help, we can get out in front of this and let people know what’s happening before it is too late because there is a potential dark side.” “That is why it is so urgent,” Dr. Altman added. “This technology can be used to enhance the human experience or, in the wrong hands, stifl e it. “I’m sorry,” Bill Flickling said, “I don’t see a problem here. If this can make the world a better place, then I just don’t see a problem.” “The problem,” Walker answered, “if we had shined a light on a slightly different path, some of them may have turned into monsters.” “What the hell does that mean?” Flickling demanded. “Some people,” Walker answered calmly. “When they reach the non-symbolic state of consciousness…” Franklin Mitchell cut Walker off in mid-sentence. “What the hell is this non-symbolic whatever you said and what does it have to do with the Hermes Project?” “Non-symbolic consciousness is difficult to describe since the vocabulary is still evolving and most of the current words are just placeholders. But generally speaking, in Eastern religions it is called enlightenment. In Western religions it is God’s divine grace.” A smile broke across Walker’s face. “To Luke Skywalker it was the Force. And it has everything to do with the Hermes Project.” 272 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “Look, Walker,” Bill Flickling said as he tried again to get himself more comfortable in his chair. “Everything I’ve seen today is damn impressive and you’ve got tomorrow’s front page. But if this is all you’ve got…” “The problem is,” Walker answered calmly. “Some people arrive at this state and still have personal and psychological baggage. Some of them are the exact people Senator Horn is afraid of; people who think they are God and the rest of us are just their play toys.” “What Michael is trying to say,” Dr. Altman interjected. “Th is Awakening is occurring and there are people that can use this technology for their personal or political advantage. We know or suspect at least six other groups that are currently involved in similar research to ours. It is important you understand with just a few minor changes of the settings, I could have had your people at each other’s throats instead of having a group hug.” “There’s going to be a transition period,” Walker added. “We’re afraid a great number of people will get hurt or worse if we don’t get out in front of this.” “Okay,” Franklin Mitchell said as he stood up and tried to start pacing but gave up for lack of space in the control room. “You’re saying there may be other people out there whose intentions are not necessarily good and somehow this technology can be used as a weapon.” “Exactly,” Walker and Altman answered in unison. The senior managers from The Washington Post exchanged worried glances. Mark Hatchet spoke for all of them. “I understand what you’re saying,” Hatchet said. “But until I see it, I’ll have trouble believing it.” “I won’t put any of my people through that,” Walker said fl atly. “You don’t have to.” Hatchet answered, his eyes locked on Walker’s. “I’ll do it.” “No.” Walker said. “Without a demonstration,” Flickling said, pulling himself out of his chair, “we’ve spent a great deal of time and money on a story that, while interesting won’t survive a 24 hour news cycle. In three days the Hermes Project will be forgotten.” Walker looked at Altman, who reluctantly nodded his approval. After Hatchet had changed into a blue surgical gown and removed his watch, he joined Walker in the plastic cube. All of the furniture except for a single plastic chair had been removed. “This is for your protection,” Walker said as he bound Hatchet’s wrists to the arms of the chair with white medical tape. 273 The Fourth Awakening Hatchet looked down at his wrists. “I don’t think that will hold me for very long.” “It doesn’t need to. We are only going to give you a short burst, but you will find it terrifying. One aspect of this will trigger your natural fi ght or flight instincts on a level that’s far beyond what you’ve experienced before. You will want to run but not be able to so you may try to fi ght. Do you understand?” “Yes.” “After that we will flood the room with a different blast that should nullify the fi rst one.” “Should nullify?” Hatchet said as he checked the tape on his wrists. “Don’t like the sound of that.” “The worst case scenario is you wrestle a bit with Timothy and his friends,” Walker nodded toward Ellison and the two others in the cube with him. “Just remember, you know what’s coming and the unknown is often the most frightening. It takes a few seconds to change the settings in the control room and depending on how you respond, it could feel like hours. Try to relax and go with it. Okay?” “Okay.” Hatchet forced a smile and waved to a ghost white Penelope who was standing by the door to the control room. Penelope could hear her heart pounding in her ears and her palms were clammy. Th e reluctance of both Walker and Altman to allow any of their own people to do this demonstration concerned her mightily. They both knew exactly what was about to hit Mark. How would he take it? Was it possible he would react like the men from Homeland Security and end up insane or worse? Penelope closed her eyes, drew in a deep cleansing breath, and allowed herself to relax. Mark was going to be fi ne. Walker chatted privately with Timothy Ellison and two of the youngest and largest members of Hermes. Their faces were grim but all nodded that they understood what to do. Ellison opened a storage case and removed three motorcycle style helmets that appeared to be larger and thicker than the off the rack versions. The three donned them, fastened the chinstraps, and took up positions inside the cube as far from Hatchet as space would allow. Walker joined the others in the shielded control room and nodded in the direction of Dr. Altman. “The headgear they are wearing will block the pulse,” Walker stated. The “In Use” light blinked on. At first there was no reaction by Mark 274 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin Hatchet. Then his eyes grew wild and his breathing started coming in gulps. He pulled his wrists to his mouth and started tearing the tape that was restraining him with his teeth. “I want out of here!” He screamed in a voice that sent chills up Penelope’s spine. With an unexpected burst of strength, he tore the last of the tape from his wrists and tossed the chair aside. Seeing his path to the door blocked, he started backing away from the other men in the cube. A guttural growl was heard as Hatchet’s eyes danced between the other men in the cube. “My God,” Penelope gasped. “Is that what happened to those men you lost?” “That’s enough,” Walker shouted as he burst out of the control room. Walker, along with Ellison and the two other men in the cube all spread out and gingerly approached Hatchet. “Mark,” Walker said in a soothing voice. “It’s all going to be fi ne. Just hang in there for a few more seconds.” Hatchet’s eyes danced between the four men until he backed into the wall and could retreat no further. “Carl!” Walker shouted as Hatchet grabbed the chair he had cast aside and threw it at the men who were closing in on him. It missed Ellison by inches. Altman worked frantically to change the setting on the control panel. The “In Use” light clicked on. “You won’t take me alive!” Hatchet shouted, as he lunged toward Walker who grabbed him in a bear hug. As the new pulse started to fi ll the chamber, the rage began to leave Hatchet’s body. Walker, with the help of the others, lowered Hatchet gently to the floor where he curled up into a fetal position softly muttering, “You won’t take me alive.” Penelope pushed her way past Franklin Mitchell and ran into the cube. “Mark!” she shouted. The sound of her voice caused him to stop mumbling, and instead he began rocking on the cold concrete floor. “Mark,” she said softly. “It’s me, Nellie.” “Nellie?” His eyes slowly focused on the woman kneeling in front of him. A smile broke across his face. “Nellie! Wow. And I thought my last divorce was bad.” A huge smile covered Penelope’s face. “He’s okay. He’s okay!” Hatchet and Spence turned toward the control room door and saw Flickling and Mitchell on their feet, both white as a sheet. Neither moved and neither blinked until Walker rejoined them. 275 The Fourth Awakening Mitchell cleared his throat before speaking. “You’re telling us there are other people and governments who are working on this technology?” “Yes,” Walker answered. “The people have a right to know.” A grim Franklin Mitchell turned to Bill Flickling and nodded. Flickling, his hands trembling, pulled out his cell phone. All of the shielding kept him from getting a signal. He pointed to a phone on Dr. Altman’s workstation in the control room and asked, “Can I get an outside line?” Altman shoved the phone in his direction. Quickly dialing a number he said, “This is Flickling. Clear the front page and I want a minimum of four interior pages…” . FFor the next six hours, the Lazy S dining room was the western annex of The Washington Post. Walker’s team had anticipated everything the newspaper people could need, from a good selection of wonderful food and drink, to high-speed Internet connections. At around six o’clock Jackson time, 8 p.m. Eastern, someone announced: “They’ve got footage up on YouTube of James Steerforth with his ping pong paddles doing his kung fu shuffl e…” Another voice added, “Some of the forums are already starting to go nuts.” As eleven o’clock Eastern time approached, a hushed crowd began to form around the workstation Mark Hatchet had claimed for himself. Sitting next to him, her eyes flying across the screen, sat Penelope Drayton Spence as she finished one last proofread. “We good to go?” Hatchet asked. “One second,” Spence answered. For the past six hours, Penelope Spence had directly supervised the writing of over fourteen articles that would be appearing in the next edition of The Washington Post. In addition to the expected material on the history of the Hermes Project and what it had discovered, there were individual profiles on both Michael Walker and Dr. Carl Altman. Altman had worked with his old student Aaron Joseph, who had written a passable feature on exactly what they were doing and how it was accomplished. In addition there were articles titled, “Are you Awakening: Five Early Signs”, “What the Awakening Will Mean to You”, and “Protecting Yourself fr om Unwanted EM Pulses”. Each of the four reporters who had been in the 276 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin cube wrote outstanding stories about their experiences. Mark Hatchet even wrote a rare feature, in which Penelope allowed him to have a solo byline, on what had happened to him. The religious beat writer, who was mesmerized by Michael Walker, wrote a detailed history of the previous Awakenings, and a top-shelf analysis on how this Awakening and previous ones did not actually conflict with the world’s major religious texts. Needless to say, Timothy Leary didn’t make the cut. Hatchet’s cell phone rang. “Hatchet.” He listened intently, and then jumped to his feet. “The New York Times has just gone to press with this headline for their lead story.” He let the tension build for a moment, but with the tears in his eyes and the grin on his face he wasn’t about to bluff anyone. “I guess they need to start reading The Washington Post. Their lead headline: What is the Hermes Project?” A roar went up from the room full of tired journalists. It died down quickly as all eyes turned back to Penelope who, oblivious to what was swirling around her, still sat staring intently at the computer monitor. The CEO of The Washington Post Group was sitting with the publisher and Michael Walker, sipping a single malt whiskey, neat. “That’s quite some lady you’ve got there,” Mitchell said, his voice slightly slurred from single handedly finishing an entire fi fth of the golden liquor in one sitting. “She is that.” Franklin Mitchell put his arm around the shoulder of publisher Bill Flickling. “I want you to hire her.” “After tomorrow, I don’t think we will be able to aff ord her.” “Did I stutter, Bill? I said hire her, I didn’t ask how much it was going to cost. Back up a damn Brinks truck, if you have to. Her name on the masthead will add five dollars a share to the value of our stock.” “Many of the old warhorses won’t like it if we pay her more than them.” “Then tell them to quit living off their past glory and go out and write something new. I want to see her name in my newspaper.” “Yes, sir.” Penelope fi nally finished the article and nodded her approval. “We’re good to go?” Hatchet asked again. “Yes.” With a flourish he hit the send button on his workstation. “We just went to press! Congratulations everyone! Great work!” 277 The Fourth Awakening Pandemonium broke out in the room. Paper was tossed in the air; hugs and back slaps were exchanged. The doors at the far end of the room burst open and six members of Walker’s team rolled in carts with bottles of champagne on ice. Everyone there knew they were part of the biggest scoop in the history of publishing. Unlike the previous Awakenings, thanks to Penelope Drayton Spence, this one was going to be documented completely. With the way Walker and Altman were making the world aware of the changes that were coming, there would actually be a chance to avoid the slaughter that had followed previous Awakenings. The corks began popping and, like a locker room after a team won a world championship; soon the spraying and drenching began. Walker made eye contact with Kevin and Stevie, his Internet brain trust, and gave them a thumbs-up. With a few keystrokes, the “under construction” sign came down on FourthAwakening.com and the webpage went live. In multiple languages, complete information about the Fourth Awakening was presented, along with opportunities to join an online global discussion involving it. In the first 24 hours the site got over ten million hits; by the end of the week it would be second only to Yahoo! News as the most popular news URL on the World Wide Web. Mark Hatchet, his hair dripping wet from the many showers of champagne that had ensued, came over to Spence with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. “You did it, Nellie!” “I’m so grateful you called me, Mark!” She clinked her glass against his bottle and took a sip. Mark Hatchet climbed up on the table and called for quiet. “Let me have your attention, everyone.” The big dining room fell silent. “I’m sure no one in this room needs to be reminded that they will be able to tell their grandkids they were part of the biggest scoop of our time!” A whoop went up in the room, and as it ebbed Hatchet again motioned for quiet. “Please join me in raising a glass to Penelope Drayton Spence— the best damned investigative reporter in the world.” A roar of “Hear! Hear!” went up, followed by a chant of “Speech! Speech!” Her cheeks flushed slightly as Mark helped her up on top of the table. A prolonged and sustained round of applause followed and everyone in the room crowded in closer. Penelope tried to quiet them but they 278 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin were not having any of it. “Thank you, thank you,” Spence shouted over the noise. Glancing in Walker’s direction she saw that he, everyone from the Hermes Project, and the senior management of The Washington Post were also on their feet applauding. “Thank you, thank you.” The din finally died down enough for her to be heard over the people still applauding. “I would like to thank one of my oldest and dearest friends, Mark Hatchet, for trusting in me.” Penelope kissed Mark on the cheek, which drew oohs and ahhs from the Post staff. “And mostly I would like to thank Dr. Carl Altman, who doesn’t appear to be here, Michael Walker, and the entire Hermes Project.” Penelope turned and raised her glass to Michael Walker, who nodded slightly. “If it weren’t for their work, there wouldn’t be a story.” Penelope gathered herself for a moment before continuing. “And to all of you.” She looked around, her eyes glistening, at all the flushed faces in the room. “This is the kind of night that every journalist dreams of.” The room fell silent. “This is the big exclusive that everyone will be talking about tomorrow, and for weeks and even years to come. It was a team effort, and I owe each and every one of you a deep debt of gratitude that will be difficult to repay. Thank you so much.” Another roar erupted. Hatchet checked his watch and shouted, “The online edition should be up by now. Let see how long this takes to get some legs.” In keeping with the rustic style of the lodge, televisions were few and far between at Lazy S, and were never allowed in the dining room. Th is night they made an exception. Earlier, Walker’s men had brought in six TVs that, using the satellite dishes in the back yard, were displaying WNBC, WABC, WCBS, CNN, Fox News and MSNBC. A small group was huddled around the TVs when another whoop went up. “CBS just preempted Letterman.” “Ms. Spence, CNN is reading your lead article, word for word off the Internet.” “Fox News just broke in.” “There goes MSNBC.” “They cut off the Tonight Show in the middle of the monologue.” Another round of excited congratulations followed as Nightline also gave way to the Penelope Drayton Spence show. Slapping herself on the forehead, Penelope grabbed her cell phone and 279 The Fourth Awakening called Joey. In all of the excitement she had forgotten to call. “Hello,” said Joey, somewhere between sleepy and irritated. Closer to irritated. “It’s me. Sorry I didn’t call but I’ve been busy.” “No problem.” “Really?” “Sure. That nice Sally Winters has called a couple of times to let me know you were fine. So have you jumped his bones yet?” “I’ve been busy.” “Busy doing what” “Turn on your TV.” “What channel?’ “Take your pick.” “I see you’re still timeless.” CNN was displaying a fi le photo that was taken years before when she won her Pulitzer. “Oh, my God!” She was wearing a puffy-sleeved dress, and her hair was teased with bangs. “Sally!” Sally Winters appeared instantly. “My assistant already has them on the phone. They have had the new media package for over four hours, but sometimes its amateur night at the cable networks after all the adults go home for dinner.” Sally Winters pointed to the screen, which was already displaying a head and shoulder shot of Penelope with the Tetons in the background that had been taken earlier in the day. “We’re going to go live on satellite in 20 minutes.” On cue a set of lights clicked on at the far end of the dining hall where a table had been set up in front of huge banner that had the football sized The Washington Post logos all over it. “We need to get you over to make-up.” “Joey, I have to go.” “I guess. Are there any awards bigger than a Pulitzer?” “A few.” Penelope hung up the phone and smiled in the direction of the bar. All of the noise had awakened Dr. Carl Altman. He was standing, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers, next to Michael Walker. Dr. Atlman looked at Walker. “Savor this evening Michael. Now that we’ve revealed ourselves to our enemies we’re at much greater risk.” “I know. At least now, between the news coverage and our webpage, people who have already started experiencing the Awakening will have a place to turn.” 280 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “How long before the jackals turn on us and start to discredit our little exercise today?” “I’m sure it is already underway. A lot will depend on her.” Walker nodded toward Penelope. “We might make it through the Sunday talk shows, but I wouldn’t think much longer than that.” “I’m going back to bed.” Altman patted Walker on the shoulder. “Do you think what we did today will be enough?” “No. Not nearly.” 281 EPILOGUE “Truth has no special time of its own. Its hour is now—always.” Albert Schweitzer “What’s next?” Penelope Spence asked. “We’re done,” Sally Winters answered. “Done done?” “We are finished for the day.” “Thank God.” Penelope pulled the annoying piece of plastic out of her ear, as one of Sally’s assistants disconnected the microphone attached to her lapel. Starting with Good Morning America and the Today Show, the entire day had been a blur of interviews. She had spoken to all the major networks and all the cable channels, even C-SPAN. And, she had done dozens of radio interviews with everyone from NPR to Rush Limbaugh. “Some people are here to see you,” Sally said. Penelope’s shoulders slumped. “I thought you said we were done.” “I think you’re going to want to talk to them.” Through the door burst fi fty pounds of sniffing, wiggling fur. “Sam?” Penelope said. Hearing a familiar voice and seeing a familiar face, the chocolate lab bounded to her side and leaned against her leg while she rubbed his ear. A few feet behind were her three children: Carrie, Kelly and William. “Oh, my God!” Penelope shrieked. They shared a bouncing group hug that got Sam so excited he began to run circles around them, barking with joy. “How did you get here?” 282 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin As usual, Carrie spoke for all of them. “Apparently, Mr. Walker personally called each of our bosses and requested we get some time off , and then he had us brought here by private plane.” “How long have you been here?” “Just a few hours,” Carrie said. “Talk about organized chaos…” “A few hours!” Penelope glared at Sally Winters, who just shrugged and kept talking into one of her multiple cell phones. “Joey said you were busy.” Kelly added. “Joey is here, too?” “Along with Mr. Rickman,” Kelly added, with the innocence only her middle child had ever successfully mastered, and been able to maintain her entire life. “He said something about a book deal and a movie deal. This is so exciting.” “Oh he did, did he?” Looking over her shoulder Penelope saw that Sally Winters had moved a bit further away. Leaving the cabin that had been converted to a makeshift “studio”, they stepped outside and Penelope had to put on her sunglasses. The transition in the past few hours had been startling. The area in front of the main building was crowded with people she recognized as Hermes Project members showing their friends and family around. Two large tents had been erected and caterers were busy setting up tables and chairs in one tent, while carpenters installed a dance floor in the middle of the other, along with a bandstand at each end. At the east end at least 20 roadies were hustling around setting up and testing equipment. Six large men were busy rolling into place in front of the bandstand what was obviously a full-sized grand piano covered in white satin. Others were setting up enough chairs for what looked like a full orchestra. At the west end a five-piece local cover band was tuning their equipment. “This is going to be some party, Mom.” William said. All eyes turned when the woman screamed. “AHHHHHH!” Standing at the bottom of the steps of the main house was Joey Rickman. On her right arm was Franklin Mitchell the CEO of The Washington Post Group and in her left hand was a Grey Goose martini. Penelope screamed back. “AHHHHH!” Handing her drink to her new friend, Joey ran down the sidewalk as Penelope ran up. Meeting in the middle, both women began screaming 283 The Fourth Awakening at the top of their lungs. They hugged and bounced and screamed again as everyone within earshot laughed and pointed. “You did it! You did it! YOU DID IT!” “This has been an amazing couple of days.” “Angelina Jolie.” “What about Angelina Jolie?” Reclaiming her martini from Franklin Mitchell who had just joined them, Joey said “That’s who should play me in the movie.” “Movie?” “Ron is in there talking to some guy from Sony or NBC/Universal, or whatever.” “Ron is negotiating a movie deal! He’s a criminal lawyer!” “Don’t worry, Amy is doing all the talking.” “Amy.” Franklin Mitchell shivered. “I’ve never seen anyone beat up Leon Steinberg like that. I thought he was going to cry.” “You know Frankie. Of course you do, he’s your new boss.” “He is?” “As soon as you sign the contract, Ms. Spence.” “Please, call me Penelope. What contract?” “Ron was in there, all full of himself. You know how he gets. Apparently, you are the now the highest paid print reporter in the world.” “And then some,” Franklin Mitchell added glumly. “Really?” “Ron got you all types of perks too. Tell her, Frankie.” “Normal stuff for high-end talent.” “High-end talent,” Penelope thought to herself that she liked the sound of that. “First-class air travel, an apartment at the Watergate for when you’re in Washington, a twenty-four hour driver; it’s a pretty extensive list.” “I have to move to Washington?” A frown darkened Penelope’s face. “No,” Franklin Mitchell answered. “You can live anywhere you like. We’ll work around your needs.” “Frankie is taking me to the Kennedy Center next Saturday night. He says he is going to introduce me to the President.” “Really?” “We would love to have you and, if possible, Michael Walker join us,” Franklin Mitchell said. 284 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin A mischievous grin covered Joey’s face as she nudged Penelope gently in the ribs. “I think she would like that.” A sheepish grin covered Penelope’s face as she lowered her eyes and felt her cheeks get warm. “Excuse me,” Sally Winters said softly as she tugged on Penelope’s arm. The mood broken, Penelope’s shoulders sagged as she sighed. “What now?” “I’ve had a request, and if you don’t want to do it everyone will understand.” “What’s the request?” “I know you’re exhausted but some of the people really want to get home and they will be leaving early tomorrow and this might be their only chance.” “Chance for what?” “All of the members of the Hermes Project and the people from the Post would like to have individual photos taken with you. You know, for the walls in their offi ces.” Penelope’s mind immediately flashed back to the pictures on the wall behind Senator Horn’s desk. She was fl attered. “Of course…” Penelope turned to her children. “If it’s okay with you guys.” Carrie kissed her mother on the cheek. “No problem. This is your day, Mom, enjoy it.” Sally arranged the photo shoot so that the Teton Mountains were in the background, and her staff soon had it organized like a well-oiled machine. Each member got a one-on-one pic holding up a print copy of The Washington Post and, if they wanted, a group picture with their friends and family. It took less than an hour. “Let’s go,” Sally Winters said. “Where now?” “A hot bath and a nap, followed by a late and overdue dinner.” Penelope dropped her head onto Sally’s shoulder. “Th ank you.” Before Penelope even had her shoes off, Sally had the bath water running. “If you need anything…” Penelope maneuvered her out the door. “Thanks, I’ll be fi ne.” Alone for the first time in what seemed like months, Penelope savored the quiet. After a long soak she decided to check her closet to see what she should wear to dinner. Hanging inside the door was a garment bag with a handwritten note attached. “Please wear this tonight. Michael.” Pulling the zipper down, inside she discovered a shimmering dark blue 285 The Fourth Awakening silk dancing dress with a plunging back. As she lifted the bag off of the hook she noticed that her old dancing shoes, cleaned and polished, were on the floor waiting for her. Smiling, she sat on the end of the bed and tried on her old shoes. Not only had they been cleaned and polished, someone had taken the time to somehow soften the leather and make them as good as the day she had bought them. To her delight, they fi t perfectly. . TThe sun had dropped behind the Tetons and the food and drink had been amazing. During dinner, the local cover band had played a variety of tunes to satisfy all tastes. After the dishes were cleared away, Michael Walker tapped a water glass and asked for quiet. “If everyone would please move into the other tent, thanks to the efforts of James Steerforth, we have a surprise for you.” It took about 5 minutes for everyone to be relocated. James Steerforth, dressed is one of his Vegas outfits, was standing in front of the satin covered piano doing magic tricks to the delight of a dozen small children. After everyone had settled in, he picked up a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen.” He glanced lovingly at the group of children who were now sitting cross-legged on the floor at his feet. “Boys and girls.” Th e spotlight narrowed on Steerforth as he moved away from the piano. There was a hustle of activity behind him but in the dark, no one could quite make out what was happening. “At the request of Michael Walker, I have imposed on a dear friend of mine to perform for you this evening.” A murmur began to build as those closest to the stage caught a glimpse of the man now seated on the piano bench. Not wanting to be upstaged, James Steerforth shouted, “Sir Elton John!” All of the stage lights clicked on and for a moment the 450 people in the tent weren’t sure they believed what they were seeing. Aft er the first bar of “Take me to the pilot of your soul” they were all on their feet cheering. For the next 90 minutes, Elton John and his band dazzled the crowd with his seemingly endless stream of hits. After the third encore, Elton John yielded the bandstand to a 16-piece swing band that began playing old favorites. About 15 couples, including “Frankie” and Joey, were slow dancing to “Moon River.” Hearing a familiar laugh, Penelope noticed Carrie and 286 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin William sharing a joke with Timothy Ellison. Penelope, self-conscious in the all too revealing silk dress, had thrown a shawl over her shoulders; it was finally getting cool enough that she didn’t feel overdressed. She had barely seen or spoken to Michael in the past 24 hours. Catching a glimpse of him across the dance floor, she smiled when she saw that he had changed clothes since dinner. He was wearing a Roaring Twenties-style tuxedo that would have been perfect for the doorman at a Prohibition-era speakeasy. As the song ended and the dance floor emptied, Michael Walker pointed to the band leader who nodded his head. All of the lights in the tent went out, drawing a gasp from everyone there. A spotlight clicked on putting a tight circle of light on the clarinet player. He rose to his feet and hit a note that Benny Goodman or Artie Shaw would have been proud to claim. The circle of light moved over to the drummer who took over for the clarinet player. As the heavy drum beats reverberated through the valley, two more spotlights clicked on; one on Michael Walker, the other on Penelope Spence. A roar went up in the tent. Michael Walker glided across the floor to Penelope and held his left hand out, palm up. “Ms. Spence.” “Mr. Walker.” “I believe you owe me a dance.” “I believe I do.” With a fl ourish she tossed the shawl aside, took his hand and joined him on the dance floor. Another, louder, roar echoed off the mountains. He spun her away so that the silk skirt twirled like a top, then pulled her back so that his chest was pressing against her shoulders and his mouth was next to her ear. The drummer stopped playing; the tent fell silent. All eyes were on the couple in the spotlights. “Tango?” “Of course.” “Argentine?” “Is there any other kind?” He pushed her away hard. Spinning twice, her heels clicking on the hardwood dance floor, she moved about six feet away from Walker and froze with the index finger of her right hand pointing at him; their eyes locked. 287 The Fourth Awakening “Wooo, go Mom,” Carrie shouted as the crowd roared again. “Maestro, if you please!” Walker shouted. “A Tango!” Th e crowd erupted again. The band began playing a steamy tango and the couple began circling each other. The only sound now was from the band as everyone in the tent was mesmerized. Suddenly they moved together, then began moving as one. For the next two minutes all Penelope Spence saw was Michael Walker’s eyes; all she heard was the music. Her heart was pounding and between the exertion and the elevation, her breath was coming in small pants. “Are you ready for the big finish, Ms. Spence?” “I am indeed, Mr. Walker. You know, you were wrong about one thing.” “Really? What?” Penelope didn’t answer. As the song ended, her right ankle rested gracefully on Michael Walker’s shoulder and her hair was brushing the floor. She was twenty-three again. 288 The story continues online and with the next book in the series!

The End