Chapter 10

Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C.

“Who the hell are you? And how in blazes did you get in here?” an astonished Senator Mary MacDowell asked. She was the senior Senator from California, and she was sitting – alone – in the private lounge in the secure area of the airport. There was security at the only entrance. An unexplained visitor suddenly popping into existence inside the security perimeter was impossible, and yet here she was.

The Senator had been reading her electronic book, looked up and saw the young woman who was now sitting across the lounge. A girl really, now that she looked at her. She was wearing an ankle length, white dress. It was unusual: long sleeves, form fitting, came up to her neck – almost a gown – she wore no visible jewelry.

“I didn’t want to startle you while you were reading. But I needed to speak to you in confidence.” The words, however, were not spoken. They seemed to appear in the air around the Senator without having come from the woman’s mouth. In actuality, of course, they came from Io’s amulet that adhered to the Chris’ breastbone.

The Senator fingered her comm; she was unnerved at the voice not coming from the voicebox of the woman. “I can have security in here in a minute.” She didn’t mention the comm unit in her head; she couldn’t make a threatening gesture toward that.

“You certainly can. Then there will be a big furor. And I won’t get to tell you about the plot or the bomb,” said Chris’ breastbone amplifier, in a calm, quiet voice.

“Then I should definitely call security.” But her finger didn’t make a move to activate the comm.

Chris changed the voice-source; her voice was now sent to the Senator via the head-comm and sounded in her head – despite the face that the comm unit was nominally ‘off.’ “The President of the United States has put a hit out on you. And apparently he doesn’t mind killing several hundred of your fellow citizens to take you out.”

Senator MacDowell’s hand now reached for the comm. She turned it off, and put it in her briefcase. “Would you care to explain? That’s a hell of a statement.” Her voice was pitched low also. She was still speaking out loud.

“The bomb’s easy enough to check,” Chris explained, again via head-comm. “But first, please call your family in El Campo. Have Mr. MacDowell pick up your daughter at school and tell them to get to somewhere safe. Out of town. Don’t tell anyone.”

“That’s just crazy. And anybody can look up where I live.” To anyone listening to the room, it would sound like Senator MacDowell was speaking to herself. She wondered idly if a camera in the room would show the woman at all.

“If I’m wrong, you’ve wasted a phone call, and may look like an alarmist to your family. If I’m right, you’ve saved them from being kidnapped or maybe killed. There’s no telling what lengths Ellis would go to.”

She thought for the briefest of moments. Her comm was in her hand a second later; she didn’t really like the head-comm, and besides the woman was using that device. “Hi, Jeff. It’s me ... Ya, me too. Listen and don’t ask questions ‘til later. Leave the office now, go and pick up Roxie at school. Get to somewhere safe. A motel somewhere. Don’t use your credit cards ... Ya, I know. But do it. I hope we’ll all laugh about it tomorrow. Something is going on here. I’ll tell you later.”

The Senator checked her watch, then turned her brown eyes on the young woman. “You have five minutes to explain before I get on that plane.”

“Just call in a bomb threat on the flight.”

“This could get me in a lot of trouble.” MacDowell called it in, but she didn’t say who she was.

“They’ll track the call to you. You won’t be safe here.”

MacDowell mumbled, “That S.O.B. wouldn’t dare. I’m a United States Senator.”

“And if they find a bomb?”

“You could have planted it. You could be trying to discredit me. That sounds like an Ellis plan, actually.”

Chris sighed. “All right. I wish you the best. Goodbye.” She got up, obviously ready to go – by some means or other.

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed the Senator. “We’ve haven’t used all five minutes yet ... What can I call you?”

“You can call me Armis.”

“Armis? Is that some sort of Latin name? Sounds like a derivitave of a Latin word.”

“It’s an old name,” said Chris/Armis.

“Where are you from? How did you get here?”

‘Patience, Armis. We need to convince her, ‘ said Io through the comm chip in Chris/Armis’ neck. ‘Stick to the story we came up with. She must be reeling from a lot of unusual things.’

Chris/Armis put a peaceful look on her face. “I come from a place that is a long way from here. A very long way. As for how I got here ... I teleported in.”

“You teleported?“ Senator MacDowell was unbelieving ... understandably. “What is that? Some sort of new DOD technology?”

“No. Not the DOD. It’s a non-human technology.” Well ... it was developed by a non-human wasn’t it? Chris/Armis mentally chuckled to herself. I can’t help it that she’ll come up with a different conclusion.

“Non-human!?” She was even more disbelieving.

In the blink of an eye, Chris/Armis was in the air, near the ceiling, on the other side of the room. “Over here,” she called softly, using the publicly audible source. The Senator whirled around. Chris/Armis floated slowly to the floor.

The Senator leaned back and wound up sitting on the arm of her chair. She didn’t say anything and was obviously thinking ... hard.

There was a pounding on the door. “Senator! Senator! Open the door. This is Colonel Murdaugh, temporarily in charge of Reagan National. A bomb has been discovered in your plane. Open up. We need to take you into custody.”

MacDowell looked at the door. “Custody!? The army? What happened to my security?” she said under her breath. Then her head turned to Armis. “Can you get me out of here?” she whispered.

In Transit

Armis crossed the room quickly, as the doorknob rattled. She grasped the Senator by the hand. Chris/Armis sent a message via the comm chip in her neck. ‘Ready. Beam us up, Io.’

‘Making it so, Armis, ‘ Io laughed back.

The pounding at the door continued. In the next second, between the thumps on the door, the two of them were under a tree, under the open sky.

“I ... uhm ... wh ... where are we?” the Senator was stunned.

“We are on the Mattaponi Indian Reservation, part of the Mattaponi Independent Nation, on the Mattaponi River, a tributary of the York River in eastern Virginia. It is the closest place I could find that was not legally part of the United States.” Armis was using the public voice transmitter at her chest, still not moving her mouth.

“What about the embassies?” asked Senator MacDowell.

“I suppose they would have been possibilities. But I couldn’t guarantee privacy there,” Chris/Armis explained. She looked around. “It wouldn’t do to just appear in front of somebody from a foreign country ... We need to go somewhere more permanent. Where would you like to go?”

She thought a moment. “Can we go to the Miwuk Reservation in Jackson, California? It’s the Jackson Rancheria Casino Resort – but it’s an independent reservation. I have good connections with the managers. James Red Feather runs it. He’s a Mohawk Indian, from New York State, but...”

‘I have it, Armis. I think we can have you appear behind the trash containers, ‘ said Io via comm chip. ‘Four jumps.’

“We can get there, Senator. It might take a few jumps ... could be disorienting,” Chris/Armis said. “Might be best if you keep your eyes closed. Teleportation is not an unlimited power – to the extent it’s a power at all.”

The Senator let out a big sigh, and closed her eyes. “I’m ready ... Can we talk while we do this?”

“I prefer to concentrate on the process. We can talk when we get there,” was the reply. Each of the jumps took about 15 seconds. Mostly it was in prep time: Io spent the time finding an out of the way ‘landing place, ‘ a place without an audience. The landing in Wyoming was in the middle of a rain shower, and the duo got wet. The Senator’s eyes blinked open in surprise and she squinted through the rain.

They next blipped into place behind the dumpster in a corner of the parking lot of the casino. “Okay. We’re there,” said Chris/Armis.

“Armis? How do you do that? It’s just amazing,” she said wiping the rain from her face.

“It’s an innate ability of my ... um ... forebearers.”

‘So that’s what I am ... a forebearer?’ Io chriped.

‘Hush ... All this beaming around gives me a headache, I think, ‘ Chris/Armis sent back.

“Senator,” said Chris/Armis, “can you take it from here? Do you want me to get your family to the casino as well?”

“Uh ... I think I’ll be okay. James will keep me off the official guest list for a few days, and I can call ... no, they’ll be looking for my comm. Armis? How can I get in touch with my husband? I don’t even know where he’s staying.”

Chris/Armis pasted a serene look on her face again and shut her eyes. ‘Io, can you find them?’ she said/thought over her comm chip.

‘Looking ... There aren’t any father/daughter pairs that have checked in. But it’s been less than an hour since her call. They’re probably still on the road, ‘ Io reported. ‘But I can reroute her comm so it won’t show on any trace.’

‘How?’ asked an astonished Chris/Armis.

‘Silly human, ‘ Io joked, ‘the comm system is just a really big computer.’

“Senator, I can’t find them at any hotel or motel yet. They are probably still on the road. It’s only been a few minutes, after all. But you can make a comm call. It won’t be traced.”

“How can you be sure? He has the whole government: the NSA, all the agencies.”

“Trust me. No one will be able to trace your call – or your husband’s receipt of it.” ‘Right, Io?’

‘Correct, Armis.’

The Senator looked at her hand-held comm unit. Well, if you’re gonna be killed for a lamb... [she forgot what she was telling herself] ... in for a pound, she finished mixing her thoughts. She pushed a button on her comm. “Hi, Jeff? ... Ya ... Can you drive to the Miwuk Reservation Casino in Jackson? ... Yes that’s the place... [she dropped her voice to a whisper] ... I know what we did there on our honeymoon. But our daughter is in your car, I hope, so no more of that...”

She was going on and on, while walking toward the back entrance to the casino-hotel. Chris/Armis said “I’m going to go...” and waved to the Senator. She waved back.

A second later, Chris/Armis beamed out.

New York City

It was nearly three p.m. on the east coast, when Armis reappeared in the ladies room on the fifth floor of The New York Times building. She took a moment to get her bearings then walked calmly out of the ladies’ and turned toward the bullpen that filled the west side of the place. It was filled with people who were either sitting at a computer terminal, or dictating into a mic or hurriedly going hither and yon. Around the outside of the pen were a series of offices with waist high solid walls and glass atop them. None of the offices’ walls reached the 8 foot ceiling.

No one even blinked at Armis as she cast about looking for Edgar Sorenson. There. She recognized him from the image that Io had beamed into her chip. Third office from the northwest corner on the north side. She walked over and found him talking to two men – one an armed soldier and another in a dark blue suit. She stopped at a vacant desk and watched the interplay between the men with her peripheral vision. Sorenson was a slender man of 47 years who was losing his hair in a typical male-pattern baldness. The other two, one in Army uniform and one in government uniform were standing threateningly close.

Armis walked toward the door, which was closed. ‘Io, the bad guys are here already. They seem to be taking Sorenson into custody. Get a place ready ... no. Be ready to beam him to his apartment. We’ll pick up his wife on the way to elsewhere.’

‘She’s in her office. She’s an associate at Morris, Peabody and Snyder, an accounting firm. We can make a stop at her office. She’s got a private office with a door and no appointments this afternoon that I can find. There’s no children.’ Io seemed more than willing to allow the 16 year old to work out how to make the snatch.

Armis said, ‘Patch me through to his head-comm, Io.’

“Sorenson,” she said through her own comm chip to Sorenson’s, “if you don’t want to go with these gentlemen, scratch your nose.”

Sorenson lifted his head and looked around to see who could be speaking to him. It was a woman’s voice, unfamiliar to him. All he saw was the bull pen full of busy people and the back of young woman in a white gown, walking away from him. She was the only one who was unfamiliar to him, and he wondered ... But he scratched his nose.