Ivan hasn’t found the magic combination yet, that we know of. Aside from HAARP, which is the biggest, there are other ‘atmospheric heaters’ like it all over the world, at least a dozen, not counting any somebody might be hiding in the woods somewhere. And using the ionosphere to bounce off of—like playing pool, you can bank the shot—any one of them could be driving the Chinese bonkers—if they’ve figured out the correct frequency to do it. And given what we know, it seems as if somebody might have figured it out.”
“Sounds like science fiction to me.”
“No, that is the point, Boss—it’s old tech, the root stuff. Anybody with some wire and a lot of time on his hands can produce it. It’s the frequency stuff they need, not the hardware. It’s like plug-’n’-play; you don’t need to be a whiz to get it to work. Tesla did the basics a century ago. Certainly a theory we ought to check out.”
“And how do you propose we check it out?”
“Hey, that’s the fun part. We go into the wonderful world of VR and hunt it down on the net. I bet that somewhere,
sometime, somebody has put something about this into the ether, and even if they hid it, I’ll find it.”
Michaels nodded. Mind control. A scary thought.
“What about Morrison? Are we checking him out?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m paying his files a visit this afternoon. I’ll get anything anybody knows about Dr. Morrison or my name’s not Lightnin’ Jay Gridley.”
Michaels just shook his head again.
17
Saturday, June 11th
Portland, Oregon
John Howard watched his son watch the boomerang throwers. The contest was going full steam, several events at once, and the air was full of bright plastic bits spinning in all kinds of flight patterns. Outside of computers, this was the first thing that had ever seemed to really attract Tyrone. Well, not counting that little girl who had broken the boy’s heart a few months back. What was her name? Belladonna? It had to happen eventually, of course, and maybe sooner was better than later, but it had been a wrenching experience. And your first heartbreak never went away, not altogether. Howard could remember his own with a clarity he wouldn’t have thought possible more than twenty-five years after it had happened. He’d even told Tyrone about it, trying to ease his son’s heart-sickness. Maybe it had helped. He liked to think that it had, a little.
Ah, yes, beautiful Lizbeth Toland, who had betrayed him at sixteen with his best friend, costing him both of them. It was a lifetime ago, and in the grand scheme of life, it didn’t mean much, a tiny bump in the road, but not something that ever quite went away. Even after all the years, he could still summon up the sadness he’d felt, though it had lost the painful sting it had once had.
Ah, well, it was the path not taken, and he didn’t have any regrets about the one he had gone down instead. If he’d wound up with Lizbeth, then he’d never have met Nadine, never fathered Tyrone, and he would have missed entirely the life he enjoyed. It was possible that other life could have been better, but he couldn’t see how. He wouldn’t trade Nadine and their son for all the money, fame, and power in the world.
He smiled at Tyrone and his new girlfriend, and their enthusiasm for this whirly-twirly sport. Fortunately, Little Nadine didn’t seem to be evoking the same sexual response in Tyrone that Bella had; they were more like pals, and Howard was happy to see that. Plenty of time to play that game later.
After a career in the service, first the military, then taking over the military arm of Net Force, finally rising even in this bastard service to general, he now felt a need to spend more time with his family.
It seemed like yesterday that he’d gotten married, a few hours ago that Tyrone had been born, and here he was already a teenager. It would be but a blink of an eye before the boy was off to college, getting married himself, maybe having children. One day, Howard would look down, and there would be this little version of Tyrone standing knee-high to him, saying “Grampa! Grampa!”
It made a man stop and consider his life, such thoughts.
“Where did you go?” his wife said.
“I was just thinking about my grandson.”
“Oh, really? Something you haven’t told me, John?”
“No, no, I meant Tyrone’s son.”
“Lord, he’s only thirteen. Let’s give him