Origins (Remote) (9 page)

Now here he was sitting in a bar in a city he didn’t like, running a program that was breaking new ground and the whole time it seemed to be slipping away from him. He’d been blinded at the start by the promise of practically unlimited funding in an area that few had explored in any scientific way. The human mind was one of the great new frontiers as the saying went and it was just as important to find out what wasn’t true, what couldn’t be done, as it was to find out what could be done. He’d gone into it a sceptic and now he was a true believer. But he knew it would never gain him any recognition. The hope that the government would allow him to release anything was non-existent. His discovery would be buried in national security concerns, shunted away into some defense use, and he’d be left with nothing.

The frustration was causing him to slip into depression and now the shadow of Thorne was becoming ever larger. The cover up was beginning. Soon Cutter would lose control and be pushed to the side. The best he could hope for was to be allowed to remain and work in the program, slaving like a lapdog for his masters. And it was his idea. The more he thought of it the more he drank. Just today a phone call had come in from Archer. Turn over all your findings to Thorne, who’d courier them back to the proper authorities. His work. His. Like he had no say in anything anymore. He was finishing up his third beer and tipped his glass at the bartender for another. The crowd at Maxwell’s never got overbearing but the bar itself was beginning to fill. Cutter found himself being wedged in by a slightly overweight woman in a red dress and a man in a business suit, both working on Long Island Ice Teas and getting louder as the minutes wore on.

He finished his fourth beer and ordered another. The woman in the red dress scooted her chair over to let her friend slide in and managed to bump him in the process. He spilled some of his beer and reached for a napkin. She turned and patted him on the leg. He felt a sharp sting. Must have one hell of a rock on that hand he thought as she leaned over, gave him a nice shot of cleavage, and said “Sorry Dear.” She turned back to her friend after a drunken smile. He drained his beer. Time to go. He stood up, a wave of dizziness hit him then receded. Shaking his head he began to make his way to the door, found his way out onto the sidewalk. The dizziness got worse and Cutter leaned against the dirty wall outside. He had taken three staggering steps when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Let me help you, Dear. I think you need a cab.” Cutter felt himself pulled along into the street, vaguely caught the yellow of a local taxi, a flash of red, and fell into the back seat.

“Of all the goddamn times for this to happen.” Thorne was listening to Archer raging on the telephone. “You find him Thorne, find him now.”

“Sir, we’ve no idea where he might have gotten off to. He didn’t show up for work this morning and he hasn’t been seen at the hotel since yesterday morning. No airline travel that we can find. No bus ticket bought. Nothing. Give him a day or so. He’s probably shacked up with some hooker. He spends most of his nights drinking in the Qaurter lately.”

“Goddamn it.” Archer said. His sigh came over the connection. “Alright Thorne, it’s your show now, at least until we can locate Cutter and see what’s what. In the meantime there’s something big brewing and I’m going to send you some info we want explored. You’ll have it in an hour by courier. If Cutter shows up I want to know immediately.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Thorne and hung up the phone. He spent the next hour doing nothing, allowing his mind to wander over all the possibilities. It was his own brainstorming technique that sometimes resulted in unexpected avenues. This time things seemed straightforward. Cutter wasn’t going to show up again. Ever. The program was his now. If he needed support he had Farrow and Ruff, who would now be completely under his thumb. They may have been intellectuals but they were still CIA and would follow orders. He went for a cup of coffee, drank it at his desk. By the time he was finished he was given an envelope, hand carried past security. The courier was dismissed, the envelope open, and his day got better.

Classification: Top Secret

Situational Analysis Re: Egyptian/Syrian Operations

Date: April – May 1973

Sources indicate increased communications between Syrian and Egyptian operatives within the Middle East. This information garnered by both human assets and intercepted transmissions.

Increased interaction between these two countries is correlated by the movement and heightened levels of troop training movements reported in earlier transmissions.

Combat units, specifically tank brigades, have increased operational readiness to nearing 100%. In addition, there has been increased stockpiling of fuel and logistical supplies within easily accessible points to the Egyptian border and the Suez Canal.

Analysis: While the situation is still unclear, it’s become obvious that Egyptian and Syrian forces have markedly raised their readiness levels in recent months. Diplomatic channels have failed to produce clear cut indications of intent. Soviet advisors participation duly noted in previous reports
.

At the bottom was a hand written note detailing Thorne’s military authority. This was to be explored in the next session and the ensuing results reported immediately. Archer seemed to be leaning his way now, if only slightly. Thorne called in Farrow and Ruff. An hour later they were involved in a heated discussion.

“This is bullshit,” Farrow said. “We can’t throw this at these kids. How are we going to correlate it with anything? This isn’t science, it’s a fishing expedition.”

Ruff broke in with his two cents though he was thinking it wouldn’t do much good. “He’s right Mr. Thorne. Everything we’ve done so far we’ve been able to go back and double check against things we actually know. We’re still in the process of evaluating the value of what they’re telling us. You’re going out on a limb here by basically asking them to predict the future. How are we going to verify anything?”

“Gentlemen,” Thorne said. “I know what I’m doing. Up until now you’ve been operating under Mr. Cutter. He’s out of the picture for the moment at least, until we can locate him.”

Thorne leaned back in his chair and looked at the two men in front of him. At some point it might be necessary to have them removed but for right now he needed them. Later they could be replaced.

“Here’s the bottom line, gentlemen. This program now falls under my control. You do your jobs and you’ll be fine. Get the information we want. Any questions?”

Cassie Reynolds was watching. Watching from somewhere overhead. She was sitting in a chair in her Aunt’s living room, the same easy chair Ronnie had taken on Saturday. It was Monday afternoon now and both Ronnie and Cassie had made their way back to Julie Hoffman’s on the bus, making up a story that passed the suspicious looks of two mothers. Only a phone call from Julie Hoffman to her sister had finally secured the arrangements.

Cassie
was watching and seeing more clearly than she ever had. The past few weeks with Ruff had sharpened her sight, though she’d never let on. She could feel it more and more, something getting stronger in her mind, like a runner going faster with practice, working the muscle, the talent. Shying away at first because it scared her but eventually giving in. An acceptance was building inside of her. Finally the decision to embrace it, and with that decision an essence of control had come. Cassie Reynold at thirteen years old was becoming something. In essence she was becoming her own person, what she was born to be. She had her Aunt and she had Ronnie and that gave her the confidence to reach out with her mind in a way she had never experienced. She had found Farrow and Ruff, homing in as if from above. Now she spoke, there and not there, in the company of her comrades but all alone.

“They’re in a room….somewhere close but not real close………there’s someone else.”

“Can you…?” Julie started to speak and Ronnie waved her off.

“He’s telling them something they don’t like….They don’t like it…..Mr. Ruff is arguing….The other man is talking now…..He’s the dangerous one….Mr. Farrow and Mr. Ruff are upset with what he’s saying…really upset.”

“Why is he dangerous, Cassie?” Julie asked. “Can you tell us what’s being said?”

“No…I just know it but it’s got something to do with us…..he’s telling them to do something with us or he wants them to make us do something….something like that ... and they don’t want to…I can feel that…I know it’s us because I can see our names on their lips…it’s about us.”

Ronnie was watching with a kind of horrid fascination. He knew exactly what Cassie was feeling, that disconnect. It was like being a balloon and floating around and seeing things but still being tethered somehow back in the place you actually were. It was a feeling of power but mixed somehow with uncertainty. The feeling of a slippery grip that could be lost if you weren’t careful. It was something you didn’t want to do alone in a room because you might not find your way back if you went too far. Whatever this was it was necessary to have an anchor. Farrow and Ruff had been their anchors at first but with this thing growing in power the way it was, it was even more important to have an anchor you trusted to pull you away. He watched and waited, rubbed his palms on the knees of his jeans. His turn was coming.

“They’re leaving now….the other man is still sitting at his desk..he’s…not happy…he’s….Oh….he’s….Oh, God….”

“He’s what, Cassie?” said Ronnie.

Cassie
came all the way back. She opened her eyes and looked at Ronnie, tears beginning to pool.

“He’s crazy I think. I could see it coming off him. And he wants us.”

Farrow and Ruff left Thorne’s office without speaking, neither wanting to start the conversation anywhere within sight of the building where Thorne worked. The drive across town to the small apartment building that held their rooms was dead silent. They arrived in the parking lot, carried their briefcase inside to Ruff’s place and looked at each other. Farrow held a finger to his lips, motioning Ruff out the door again.

They didn’t speak throughout the three-block walk to the levee and climbed it still in silence. Reaching the top they turned and headed downriver at a slow walk. A barge was making its way against the current, the Mississippi River straining to impede its progress. In the distance was the Mississippi River Bridge, the swooping span painted gold by the sun. “We’re screwed, “ Farrow finally said.

Ruff was almost frantic. “Can you believe this guy? How did he get in charge? Where the hell is Cutter?”

“I think…” Farrow said “that Cutter isn’t coming back?”

“What?” Ruff said. “What the hell are you talking about? He’s got to come back. Thorne’s going to screw this thing up and you know it. Cutter knows the whole program. He’s been running it since the beginning. Why would he just walk away?”

“Think about it, Jim.” Farrow kept his eyes on the water. “You know Cutter wouldn’t just go off. Thorne steps in and just takes over? Think about it.” He shook his head. “Cutter’s gone. Thorne got rid of him some way. I hate to think how.”

“You mean..? Oh, Jesus, Clint. What are we going to do?”

Farrow put his hands in his pockets, turned and began the walk back. The barge was fighting its way around a curve, a pair of tugs keeping it in check as the current worked to push it into the bank. From somewhere further down a horn sounded, answered by a whistle from another boat.

“I think,” Farrow said, “we need to do what we’re told. Unless we want to end up finding out exactly what happened to Cutter.”

Ronnie Gilmore was heading somewhere. He didn’t know where. He was following a telephone line. He could feel the energy pulsing inside, an invisible beacon that drew him along it’s path. He ran along it, somehow feeding off of it. He was as free as he had ever felt but as scared as he ever thought he would be. He knew that somewhere he was back in the living room of Julie Hoffman but right now he was flying.

The trail had begun in the office of Thorne and would end up he didn’t know where. Immediately after Cassie came out he had gone under himself, to a place he could only think of as
Away
. He found Farrow and Ruff leaving the meeting. Rather than trailing them with his mind he had begun exploring the building from which they came. Like Cassie, his talent had grown but the rawness of it still grated on him. His control of the power was tenuous, growing, but still like trying to hang on to a fish out of water. He felt himself grow a little stronger with it as he entered the building, gliding in somehow, pushing himself into a long hallway. Pictures hung on the wall. He recognized Nixon, the jowly face scowling down on him. Other men in uniforms whose faces seemed familiar but whose names he couldn’t recall. The place felt stale. He smelled ammonia, as if someone had just scrubbed the floor,and thought it odd that he could smell when he wasn’t actually there. The building was as quiet as a hospital. He stopped. Cassie had told him that she could feel some essence coming off of the man with Farrow and Ruff, something dreadful. The man would be looking for them. Ronnie tried to hone in on his thoughts. He walked the hall halfway and stopped again. Moving on slowly he found himself at the end of the hall, a staircase on his right. He followed it up, the physical sensation of climbing in his legs, another odd thing. There was an identical hallway on the second floor. Halfway down Ronnie saw the door he was trying to find..