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  "My God." The general shook his head.

  Higgens cleared his throat. "There were psychotic breaks, sir. Two became violent. Uncontrollable. Even the others couldn't help them."

  Guilt ate at Lily's insides, churning her stomach. "As soon as Dr. Whitney realized what the problem was, he attempted to create a calming atmosphere that was soundproof, a place that could insulate the men from the constant torment of people around them. He regulated the atmosphere, used lighting and soothing natural sounds to relieve the continual assault on the brain."

  "Can these men really give suggestions to others and force obedience?" General McEntire demanded. "Could these men have given your father some kind of posthypnotic suggestion? His car was found down by the docks and there's been some speculation that he's at the bottom of the sea."

  Lily gasped. "Are you implying these men had something to do with my father's disappearance? He was the only one capable of helping them."

  "Maybe not, Dr. Whitney. Maybe you are," Colonel Higgens pointed out. "It could be that Ryland Miller figured that out. He heard your answer when I made the mistake of asking you in front of him if you could read your father's code."

  A shiver shook her frame as certain knowledge blossomed. The moment she had answered in the affirmative, she had sentenced her father to death. She remembered how Higgens had suddenly changed, how he had ceased arguing with her father and looked at her with speculation instead of hostility.

  "I'm sorry this is necessary, Lily," Phillip Thornton said. "I know you're grieving and you've been up long hours trying to figure this out for us."

  Lily forced a smile and waved his concern aside. "I don't mind doing what I can to help, Phillip. This is, after all, my company too." She owned a large block of shares and wanted to remind him of the fact. "Have you any idea how this could have happened? I spoke with Captain Miller at great length this morning. He appeared quite cooperative and even was considering the possibility that one of the side effects of the experiment might be paranoia. He spoke so highly of Colonel Higgens, then would suddenly become hostile toward him. I pointed that out to him and he definitely was considering the possibility. He has a quick, logical mind."

  "He did ask to see me," Colonel Higgens admitted. "I went to speak with him and he did say something along those lines." He rubbed his forehead. "The cage was securely locked when I left that room. The cameras will bear me out on that."

  "The cameras were on the blitz again," Thornton said.

  There was a sudden hush in the room. All eyes were on Colonel Higgens. He sat back in his chair, glaring at them. "I'm telling you the cage was locked. I wouldn't have unlocked it with or without an armed guard present. In my opinion Captain Miller is a dangerous man. With his team, he is nearly invincible. We're going to have to send everyone we have against him."

  "I hope you're not implying that we should terminate these men." The general stared hard at Higgens.

  "We may have no choice," Colonel Higgens replied.

  "Excuse me, gentlemen," Lily interrupted. "There is always a choice. You can't abandon these men because they did something in desperation. They were under tremendous strain. I think we need to step back from this situation and try to figure out how we can help them."

  "Dr. Whitney, do you have any idea how long they will be able to survive without insulation from the noise and emotions of people around them?" Phillip Thornton asked. "Are we sitting on a time bomb?"

  Lily shook her head. "I don't honestly know."

  "What will happen if these men turn violent?" the general asked. He was twisting a pencil in his fingers. He tapped the lead on the table, the pad of his thumb striking the eraser, as if that would somehow stop what he was hearing. "Is that a possibility?" He looked around the faces at the table. "Is that a viable possibility?"

  Lily twisted her fingers together tightly. "Unfortunately these men are highly skilled in combat conditions. They have had every advantage the military could give them through special training. There was an incident the first year of field training involving one of the men. I viewed the training tape." She took a cautious sip of tea.

  "I don't think I'm going to like what I'm going to hear," General McEntire said.

  "One of the trainees became disoriented during a mission in Colombia and along with the targets, he went after some of the innocent populace. When Captain Miller attempted to restrain him, the trainee turned on Miller. The captain was given no choice but to defend his own life and protect the other members of his team. They were friends, close friends, and he was forced to kill." She had watched the attack on the film and it had been gory and grim.

  Even worse had been the tapes of Ryland Miller afterward. Although she was watching film she could almost absorb his emotions. The guilt, the frustration, the anger. He had been despondent, hopeless. "You have to understand, sir, paranormals are subject to and respond to different stimuli than we can sense. They live in the same world, but in a different dimension, really. So, the line we draw between clairvoyant and insane is very thin and sometimes nonexistent. These men are unlike any soldiers you've ever trained. You have no idea what they're capable of."

  Lily took another sip of tea, savored the warmth as it settled in her stomach. The general couldn't conceive of the power the men wielded. But she knew.

  "Why would they want to leave if they knew the risks in leaving?" The general scowled at them all, his eyes raking the room. "What conditions were they living in?" The implication of abuse was there and Lily fought down the urge to blurt out the entire story to him. How the men were isolated, even from one another, cut off from their command, studied like animals in cages. Subjected to continual tests.

  The pencil between the general's fingers snapped in his fingers, one end sailing toward Lily, the other still in his hand.

  Lily caught the end of the pencil before it rolled off the table, her thumb sliding over the eraser, automatically absorbing the textures, absorbing the heavy emotions. She stiffened, her gaze sliding to touch the general, then away. She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. He was tamping down his fury that Ryland Miller and his team had escaped. There was money to be had. Ryland stood in the way.

  The emotions swirled together, a mixture of violence and impatience over a thwarted plan. General McEntire was up to his bushy eyebrows in deceit and treachery. Lily folded her hands carefully on the table, looking as serene and confident as she could when she wanted to leap at McEntire and brand him a traitor to his country and demand what he knew of her father's death.

  "The living conditions, Colonel Higgens: Why would these men feel they needed to escape?"

  "They were isolated from one another." Lily forced her voice to work.

  "For their own good," Higgens snapped. "They were growing too powerful together, they could do things we didn't expect. Not even your father expected their combined powers to be what they were."

  "That was no excuse for forgetting dignity, Colonel. They are human beings, men who were giving service to their country, not lab rats," Lily objected coolly.

  "Your father was solely in charge of this experiment," Colonel Higgens shot back. "He's responsible for the results."

  "As far as I can ascertain," Lily said calmly, "my father, Dr. Peter Whitney, conducted the experiment in good faith. When it had become apparent it was harming the men, he immediately called a halt to enhancing the rare talents, immediately trying to find ways to help them cope with the repercussions. He sought ways to make the men more comfortable. Unfortunately, no one listened to him. I read your direct orders, Colonel Higgens, and Phillip Thornton signed those orders, insisting the men continue. On your say-so, Colonel, Captain Miller ordered his men to follow your command and he and his men did so. Your orders, sir, were to continue training under a variety of conditions and the men, being who and what they are, followed orders despite knowing they were deteriorating rapidly, their control unraveling even as they grew in power and ability. It is well documented that
my father objected, that he laid out the repercussions, and that when you ordered the men to be isolated from one another he told you they would have a much more difficult time. You ignored everything he said and you have the results of your own foolish decisions."

  "Your father refused to provide me with the data I needed." Colonel Higgens turned bright red he was so angry. "He wanted to reverse the process and throw out everything because of one or two acceptable losses."

  "My father tried to find a way to restore filters and deactivate the part of the brain he had stimulated. He could not. And there were no acceptable losses, Colonel; we're talking about human life."

  Phillip Thornton held up his hand. "This is a discussion best left for later when we all have cooler heads and more sleep. Right now we have to find a way to contain this situation. Dr. Whitney, you've given us quite a bit of information, but we really need to know exactly what was done to these men. We have access to some of the greatest minds in the world to help us, if we knew exactly what your father did, and how he did it," Thornton pointed out. "Can you explain it, step by step, to us?"

  "I'm sorry, sir, I can't. I can't find his original data. It wasn't in his office here or at home. I tried both computers and I'm going over his reports now to see if I can spot anything that will help me to figure it out." Lily allowed her extreme fatigue to show, pushing her hands through her hair. "I've given you all the information I know at this time, but I'll continue looking."

  Higgens snorted his disgust. The general shoved his coffee cup across the table, splashing dark liquid onto the highly polished surface. "Who knows about this?" The general continued glaring at those in the room.

  "It's classified, only a few people," Colonel Higgens answered. "Aside from those of us in this room, General Ranier and the techs here at the lab."

  "Keep it that way. We need to contain this and mop it up as soon as possible. How the hell could this happen? Can any of you tell me that? With all the security, how could they have pulled this off?"

  There was a small silence. Again it was Higgens who responded. "We believe they've been testing the security, setting off the alarms, shutting down the cameras, and manipulating the guards, practicing for the last couple of weeks."

  The general exploded with rage, his hands curling into two tight fists. "What do you mean manipulating the guards?" he roared, his face so red Lily feared he might have a stroke.

  "I've already explained it, sir. It's part of their standard training," she explained patiently, "planting a suggestion to look the other way. Very useful when infiltrating enemy and terrorist camps and in hostage situations. They are capable of unbelievable feats. They use their minds to coerce the enemy without the enemy knowing."

  "And these men are out there somewhere right now? Walking time bombs, men who very well could become mercenaries or, worse, who could go over to the other side?"

  Lily lifted her chin at the man. "These men were chosen for their loyalty, their patriotism. I can assure you, sir, they will never betray their country."

  "Their loyalty became a question the minute they became deserters, Dr. Whitney, and make no mistake, that is just what they are. Deserters!"

  Eight

  THE wind tore through the trees, bending trunks nearly double, sweeping branches along the ground. The chain-link fence loomed and Ryland leapt up, catching the links, scrambling up and over in one smooth move, landing on his feet in a crouch. He remained low to the ground and silently signaled to the man on his left.

  Last man clear.

  Raoul "Gator" Fontenot dropped to his belly and scooted along the ground toward the sound of the baying dogs. Telepathy was one of his weakest talents, but he could tune in to animals. It was his job to direct the guard dogs away from the other members of his team. Knife in his teeth, he moved through the grass along the fence line, willing the lightning to stay in the clouds. Too many guards were swarming along their escape route, and even with Ryland's tremendous control, to manipulate all of them was an impossibility. It took a collective effort and, through necessity, they were scattered.

  Waves of fear and aggression poured from the guards, compounding the danger to the team. All of them were feeling ill from the tremendous energy being generated.

  Coming up on you now, Gator.

  Gator glanced back toward Ryland, caught the swirl of his fingers, and nodded in understanding. He transferred the knife to his right hand, blade flat along his wrist to hide the telltale glint of steel, and dropped all the way down on his belly, breathing softly, inaudibly, willing himself to be a part of the earth. The dogs were eager, rushing toward the fence, toward his comrades. The enormity of his task shook him for a moment. He had to lie there in plain sight, trusting his captain to keep the guards looking the other way while he directed the dogs to a false trail. One slipup and they were all dead.

  The rain beat down on him, a steady assault. The wind howled and moaned as if alive and protesting the unnaturalness of what they were doing. Of what they were.

  Captain. It was the best he could do with his lack of telepathy, a one-word protest against having the lives of so many in his hands.

  This is a piece of cake for you, Gator. A pack of hounds dogging our heels is nothing to you. That was Captain Miller, coming through. Gator's stomach settled a bit.

  A walk in the park. Kaden threw in his two cents, laughter in his voice, as if he were enjoying the adrenaline rush after their forced confinement. Gator found himself smiling at the thought of Kaden loose on the world.

  At once he felt the movement of the others and knew Ryland was so tuned in to him that he was already directing the rest of the team forward. The men would be ghosts moving through the storm, but he couldn't worry about them. And he couldn't worry about being seen or captured. Gator put his fate in the hands of his team leader and narrowed his world to the approaching dogs.

  Ryland strained to pierce the dark veil of the rain-swept night, watching for the guards and dogs as their pursuers neared the fence. He trusted Kaden to keep the other men moving. His job was to protect Gator and the two men behind him. Ryland was worried about Jeff Hollister. Hollister was in bad shape, but game enough, struggling not to slow the team. He had barely made it over the high chain-link fence with help from Gator and Ian McGillicuddy. McGillicuddy lay beside Hollister somewhere behind Ryland, holding position to protect the weakest member of his team.

  The dogs were acting frenzied now, picking up the scents, rushing toward them. Almost abruptly they stopped, sniffed the ground, turned in circles, not obeying their handlers to move forward. One large shepherd took the lead, swinging south, away from the escaped prisoners. The other dogs rushed to follow, baying loudly.

  Gator pressed his throbbing forehead into the soft, wet earth in an effort to alleviate the pain brought on by such intense concentration and use of energy. The fear emanating from the guards was like a disease spreading and infecting everyone it came in contact with. The guards had been told the men were dangerous killers and all of them were extremely nervous.

  Mass hysteria. Ryland's voice was soothing in Gator's pounding head. I know you're all comfortable there, but don't go to sleep.

  Gator rolled toward Ryland, judging his position and working his way back as soundlessly as he could. The misdirection of the dogs wouldn't hold for long, but it gave them a few more precious minutes to cover their tracks and get to safety.

  Ryland reached out and touched Gator to let him know his tremendous effort was appreciated. They began inching their way forward across the open meadow, flanking Hollister and McGillicuddy.

  Clear. Kaden reported his group had made it to the other side of the meadow without incident.

  Take them forward. We're right behind you. Gator cleared our back trail but it isn't going to last. Ryland was uneasy. He glanced toward Jeff Hollister. The man's face was etched with pain. Even with the black swirling clouds and vicious rain, the darkness of the night, he could see the lines there. Cursing Peter Whitney sil
ently, he slowed the pace even more. The agony in Jeff's head radiated out of him to touch every member of the team. Jeff needed the medication Ryland had ordered them not to take, fearing it was too dangerous. Now he wondered if he had given Hollister a death sentence with that order.

  Hang in there, Jeff. You're almost there. I've got meds lined up to help you out.

  I'm slowing you down.

  Don't communicate! Ryland protested sharply. You can't afford the effort. Ryland feared Jeff would have a seizure if the assault on his brain continued. Unease was growing in him.

  Fear for his men, the sudden chilling premonition of danger. Ian? Ian McGilliCuddy was a human antenna for trouble. He could sense danger coming.

  Oh yeah, we've got trouble. It's coming fast.

  Ryland scuttled forward on his belly, angling once again toward Gator. Move it, Jeff. Get him up, Ian, run flat out toward the cars. Wait no more than five minutes and then get Jeff clear.

  We're not leaving you behind. Jeff's voice was unsteady, harsh with pain.

  Ryland's heart swelled with pride. Even as ill as Jeff Hollister was, he put the members of the team first. That's an order, Jeff. You and McGillicuddy clear out in five minutes.

  Ryland felt it then, the burst of malignant energy pouring over him. Instinctively he rolled to protect Gator, covering the man's back even as he faced upward. His hands met the solid bulk of flesh and blood.