Natalia’s Game

“How do you know this?”

“Because we know and have hunted each other. One is a Russian named Larin, and the other is Chinese, named Li.”

“This is too much to fathom. Should I assume the women you loved are involved with this story?”

“Yes. I believe the Russians may have killed one, and Li killed the other.”

“Were they collateral damage?”

“No, they were the targets. Final question, please. You said three.”

“You mentioned that you would tell me later the second reason you came here. That time has arrived.”

* * *

I’m not sure how to tell Natalia about the storm brewing, that my trip to Romania is recruitment…of her. That the Pentagon reluctantly authorized me to share as much information as necessary to bring her home.

“Natalia, my abilities are here-and-now by nature. If I could see the future, I could project into it and change it – but projecting into the future works only if I have a partner who can see it and connect me. That is why I came here looking for you. The world is in trouble.” Done.

* * *

What? I’m flabbergasted. His two dead girlfriends were lucid dreamers? He came here looking for me?

“Crew, if I got that right, your two lovers were killed by super-spies. So why would I join you if they are still out there?

Won’t that make me a target?” The words fly out of my mouth.

“Worse yet, you came here to recruit me to the CIA? Are you asking me to defect? If you are, I’m putting my top back on.” I might as well maintain my sense of humor.

* * *

“Natalia, I’m here to recruit you to me, not to the CIA. If need be, I’ll ask your President for permission.”

“Our President?” Her voice elevates. “What’s he got to do with this?” I find it notable that she could debate this while lying unabashedly half-naked. She seems not to notice. Tih s girl has focus and a killer instinct, precisely what I need.

I calmly ask, “I assume you have heard of Operation Bright Light?”

“Yes, of course, everyone in my country has. But we don’t know the details.”

“I’ll tell you. Operation Bright Light brought our countries together. We built a CIA prison in Bucharest that allowed us to skirt our laws limiting the interrogation of terrorists. We interrogated Sheikh Mohammed in that facility, and Mohammed spilled the beans on the location of Bin Laden. We paid your government greatly to conclude that deal, efef ctively funding your ground-to-air missile program, which will be important to you when the Russians come calling.”

“What is the point?” She is getting impatient.

“I’ve known your President a very long time. He owes me one.” I’m not about to tell her or anyone else that the President is one of my closest friends. But, by the look on her face, she does not like this.

“In any event, your three questions are up. We kept our deal?”

* * *

“Yes, Crew,” I say softly, “you lived up to the deal, but we will make another one. I have no answer for your suggestion that I leave my country and sleep with you each night for your gain.” He looks taken aback by my honesty. My biting honesty. Oh, if my father could see me now. So far, Crew isn’t dull and doesn’t lack moral fiber. My gaze flits over him. He’s clean. An egomaniac? We shall see. But he is not a pig.

Enough of that. I pull Crew to my lips. To me, there are fake and real kisses. The former are markers leading to the fulfillment of human needs. They mean nothing. The real ones are delicious and passionate and expose the giver and taker’s desires, triggering profound feelings. Desire creates action. Without passion, there is no action. His kiss is electric.

I have loved no one. Maybe it’s time to change that.

* * *

I brush her cheek lightly with my fingers and kiss her neck. Then her shoulder, on my way to her breasts. She has goosebumps. My pledge is history. Her legs are parted, and I keep them that way with my relaxed hand, then with my tongue, making any attempt on her part to resist useless. She jolts and pulls my face to hers, desperate to swallow me whole. I can feel her breath as her lips search for places that will make me lose control. We make love like there is no tomorrow. She falls asleep in my arms, safe, cared for, and respected. I wrap her as no other man could.

The Dream

In my dream, I see a female falcon soaring above the clouds early in the morning. The falcon lands in its nest atop a mountain. Her chick is waiting in the nest for food. The falcon feeds the chick and stretches one and then its other wing over the chick to protect it while it eats.

* * *

I watch Natalia in her dream. Her REM elevates quickly. Deep REM typically happens ninety minutes into sleep, if at all. She is in deep REM after just a few minutes. I can’t help but whisper to her, “What do you see?”

She is motionless. Her eyelids flutter; her face is calm, tranquil. “I see a mother falcon and her chick.”

“Where?”

“In their nest close to the top of a mountain.”

I’ve indeed found a lucid dreamer. “What happened next?”

“The falcon rose majestically from its nest. It was angry.”

She is struggling. Her words turn to, “No. No.” Her body contorts. She’s in a nightmare. Crew, help. Help! She sends me thoughts to wake her up. I can hear them. But they are only thoughts. I shake her shoulders. “Natalia, wake up. Wake up!” Her eyes open. She breathes deeply and reaches for me.

“What did you see?”

“A falcon trying to kill me.”

I know that the most frequent bad dreams involve something or someone trying to kill the dreamer.

We sleep peacefully, but we sleep too late.

* * *

My God, they will be waking up soon. “Crew, it’s almost dawn. I must get back.”

At that very moment, a falcon takes flight. The drone is a perfect combination of animal and artificial intelligence. Its job is to locate me. I know this drone flies at speeds approaching 100 miles per hour, so it will not take long to find me.

I’d learned from the IT guys about the drone called “Einstein.” According to the geeks, it was designed and named for research on birds and bees, first conducted by Albert Einstein in 1949. Einstein believed that animals could be the key to discovering human capabilities, and he was right. The SRI spent more than a decade turning Einstein’s idea into the perfect intersection between biology and physics. The Einstein drone can survey an area of roughly ten square kilometers and launch micro-drones the size of bees, blanketing an additional ten square kilometers. But Einstein does more than search. It can fire a deadly laser beam, making it a state-of-the-art war machine, a national treasure.

And it is looking for me.

The Manifest

The sun is rising, and we are far from the fence. The SRI may already have noticed. I watch Natalia run down the beach and dive into the water. She knows her job, and maybe her life, is on the line. I am mesmerized by her movement. Undeniably great legs, a perfect body nearly all visible, at least thirty years my junior. She runs and swims efof rtlessly. 5–9”, 36-24-35, plus or minus. The old scale is still good for me.

Last night, energy flowed up my spine each time she touched me. It traveled my core in a way identical to when I took a metaphysical leap. She has a rare reservoir of energy. Natalia didn’t wait for me. Good. She will need to be independent to make our relationship work – a relationship now predestined.

I know it will take at least twenty minutes for her to return to her cottage. So I have to hurry.

I see the bird-like drone above at about 1000 feet. I’ve not seen a drone so sophisticated; its disguise is perfect. Absent the sound; I might have been looking at a falcon. Natalia’s dream predicted this flight.

I quickly return to the rock cavern where we spent the night, sit down, cross my legs, close my eyes, and meditate. My near-silent mantra is lyrical; it’s a repetition of the nine words of the Falun Gong until my voice finds the perfect frequency.

Fa-Lun Da-Fa Hao

Zhen-Shan-Ren Hao.

In Mandarin: Falun Dafa is Good. Truthfulness-Compassion-Forbearance is Good. The power of these words cannot be understood or understated. They are part of the foundation of my ability to manifest, project, and teleport. My eyes remain closed as my mind seeks the astral plane. Energy drifts into me from forces in difef rent dimensions spinning as I absorb power from parallel universes.

As a college kid, I discovered the power of this mantra and somehow leaped forward by attaching this mantra to the principles of quantum physics. Then, when I stumbled into the combination, the world turned upside down. Later, I realized this power enabled me to do almost anything in the world of spying. In China, people are still arrested for even uttering these Falun Gong words because they threaten the Communist Party. This may be good because my enemy, Johnny Li, will never discover this path to power.

Enough of that. I’m wasting time. Natalia needs to get back. Energy travels to the left side of my brain and then to the right side in Hemi-Sync. It took twenty minutes to reach a transcendental state when I first learned to manifest. Now it takes only the time necessary to repeat my mantra.

I rise through the ceiling of the three-wall enclosure, leaving my body behind in a state of drowsiness. My senses explode with the sounds and rhythmic pulse of the earth. The moment has arrived. I desire to set Natalia free. With that desire comes freedom.

* * *

As I scurry down the beach clad in nothing but a bikini, I hear the buzz of Einstein. Step by step, or lunge by lunge, I move as fast as possible on the soft, sinking sand. Last night…

I stop, momentarily escaping my humiliating walk of shame. The whirring of Einstein is getting closer. I move quickly up the incline of sand to reach a flat surface that leads into trees. God, I wish I had a cover-up. Even my slip. I get to the trees, shaking my head. Would a slip look worse? Exacerbate the morning-after look? Yes, definitely. Amidst the hovering of Einstein, I eye the welcoming lap of waves and the sparkle of the morning water, and I wonder how long I can hold my breath. Could I hold it for the remainder of the journey back to the cottage? I roll my eyes. No, Natalia.

Swim “laps” home, and tell them I was working on my backstroke? I hop over the sand, reaching another tree to hide behind. No, that won’t work. We don’t swim in the

Black Sea for a reason; it’s not okay to be observed by enemies. It’s a lose-lose situation. I move as quickly as I can to cover, but knowing I am about to be discovered, filmed, and caught.

* * *

It is time to save Natalia. I have a feeling this will not be the last time. My consciousness separates from my physical body on its way to finding her. I see the “falcon,” and it can’t see me; I float above it, observing, and descend to just above its flight path. The drone is at work, its cameras moving side to side, searching for Natalia, who must be frantic about returning to her cottage not filmed in a bikini. That sexy bikini. I see the camera’s lens is pointed straight ahead or down, completely disregarding its peripherals. A design flaw, but this doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t see me anyway. A small circuit board is embedded in the back of Einstein’s neck. I focus a beam of energy a few inches from the circuit. In less than a millisecond, it crackles, sputters, and the $20 million drone plummets into free fall, crashing into the rocks just off the beach, where it explodes, exposing its stomach. Mini-drones pour from it, broken.

I circle the crash for pleasure, mimicking a falcon circling its prey in celebration of death.

* * *

There is an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. The drone is closer than before, and I imagine getting reprimanded.

Half naked. Oh, God. From this point on the beach, I can almost see my cottage, but there are no trees on the beach. It’s sand, sand, and more sand. I prepare to run faster than

I ever have. This is not going to end well. As I take my first few steps, I watch with astonishment as the dreaded drone hurtles through the air. Downwards. Fewer than thirty feet away from me, it smashes on rocks. What the hell! I don’t care that the drone was after me. At a minimum, I’m mad at whatever rookie tech geek was responsible for the terminated flight – incompetence.

* * *

I spot Natalia as my conscious being soars over the forest. She’s not running like before, no. She walks calmly but with a swagger in her hips and tension in her back and shoulders. She’s frowning. The tips of her hair sway with her movement. I want to chuckle; she’s annoyed with the finale of Einstein. Oh, Natalia. You are the one for me.

Beyond her, guards are out in the dimmed light of 6:00 am. I take care of them, one by one. Three guards are down. They will wake up dizzy. “I desire her to be in her room.” The manifest is complete.

I return to my cottage, ignoring the laser sensors. Once I’m inside, a sudden feeling of loneliness overtakes me. I want to see Natalia again as soon as possible, and this thought startles me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way.

* * *

How did I get back so easily? What did he do? Exhausted, I step into my cottage, half expecting a welcoming committee in my living room. Thank God no one is here. Do they even know I was gone? A formal invitation to the SRI board meeting was placed under my door. I opened it with great anticipation. I’ve never attended such a meeting.

I lie in bed for a few moments, sweating. What just happened? I can hardly remember the dash. I can’t get his touch or his voice out of my mind.

After showering, I get ready for work.

Friend or Foe?

Presenting to the board of the SRI might be fun. Then again, it could drift in a very difef rent direction. I’m not sure how this crowd will take having an American CIA operative amongst them.

Hidden behind the ofifce of the school’s Operations Director is a conference room with seating for eight. I wonder about Natalia. Is she invited? The SRI delivered a detailed meeting agenda to my cottage. In charge will be Eduard Raul Helsing, the Director General and Chairman of the Board of the SRI. Three other board members will be present: Brigadier General George-Viorel Voiculescu, Major General Ion Grecu, and Lieutenant General Dumitru Ponoru. Helsing is a Ph.D. political scientist, not a warrior. But, he oversees 12,000 agents, making the SRI one of the world’s largest intelligence organizations. That makes Helsing a player.

Florin Oltean will be in attendance. He is the operations director who runs the place with an iron fist. Oltean is openminded, especially on topics of science. He has to be. He oversees active experiments with DNA manipulation, genetic improvement, and quantum techniques, all connected in some way with spying.

Major Alina Balan will attend as the secretary. Her bio says she runs the national cyber security program. I’m not sure why she is the secretary, but I guess I’ll soon find out.

The boardroom door opens, and a stunning blond with blue eyes and “physically gifted” walks out and greets me. I assume she is from Transylvania. Lots of slim blonds there. I like that thought. She wears a pin-stripe suit with a white silk blouse and a mid-length skirt, slit up one side, partially revealing her thigh.

“Good morning, General Thomas. I am Alina Balan. Welcome to Romania. Your participation makes this meeting different from others we have had.”

Her English accent is excellent. She looks me in the eye and extends her hand. I accept it. Unusual. She has long, delicate fingers. Her hand is relaxed and welcoming.

When shaking hands with the opposite sex, Romanian customs dictate that touch is acceptable for only a couple of seconds. Alina holds my hand twice that long. Alina Balan is just a little too perfect. Too hot. What is her role here?

We walk together into the boardroom. While I glance around, looking as casual as I can, it’s hard not to acknowledge what the room has to ofef r. It exhibits wealth not often found in Romania. The room revolves around a Harkness conference table, topped with a thick layer of glass decorated with a chiseled edge. The curved legs are painted bronze. After marveling over the table, I averted my attention to the displayed artwork. In one corner is a sculpture by Constantin Brancusi. Although abstract, the piece mimics a bird’s closed body. It rests on a piece of white marble. I hide a smile, thinking about the morning’s events and how I’d destroyed their prized falcon.

Surrounding the entering generals, the walls house Spoerri and Luchian – famous Romanian artists – artwork and an engraving by Albrecht Durer. Durer was the German artistic genius who trained under Da Vinci and later wrote Europe’s first advanced mathematics book.

I shake each general’s hand, trading formalities, and turn toward the door, wondering if a certain brunette assassin I’m crazy about would be entering anytime soon. Then for the shocker. Next to the Durer hangs a Da Vinci painting. The Da Vinci is probably worth more than the school and the entire town of Mamaia nearby. This room is unlike anything I’ve seen in Romania.

I take note of two empty seats, no windows, LED lighting – unusual for Romania – and a small camera in the darkest corner near the ceiling. Flowers in a vase on the table undoubtedly contain a microphone. Amateurish.

I recognize some of these guys in the room. I had met Helsing the day before. Very professional.

General Voiculescu was in the news as the first Romanian diplomat ever invited to the White House. He must be important.

General Ponoru is their interface with NATO on cybercrime. Major Balan works for Ponoru.

And Major General Ion Grecu. I don’t want to tangle with him. I’ve read his CIA file. He’s less sophisticated but a warrior. And smart. I will keep an eye on him.

At the Board Meeting

Helsing speaks first.

“I call to order the Second Quarter Board Meeting of the SRI. Major Balan, please record the date, time, and attendees and keep the minutes.”

Balan gets right to work, scribbling away. She not-so-casually glances at me, lingering for a moment and giving me this odd sexy look before returning to her work. Oh, boy.

Helsing continues, “Our agenda today is in the Board book in front of you. It is short.”

Major General Grecu gives his intro a little snort, leafing through the book’s pages.

Helsing summarizes. “We will discuss Intelligence gathered over the past year, and we have invited General Thomas as a special guest.” Some light clapping fills the room; Balan claps audibly louder than anyone else.

“Any questions before we begin?” Helsing waits for the others to answer, but no one reacts. Then he turns to me and continues: “General Thomas, I hope your trip was smooth and your lodging is acceptable. Thank you for your willingness to discuss our complex world and where it might head.”

I observe protocol. “Thank you for having me. My accommodations are excellent, and the service by your staff is impeccable. I realize the importance of your topic since Romania is one of the former states under the influence of the Soviet Union. That’s becoming a hot topic under President Putin.”

I pause to hold their attention.

Grecu uses the opportunity to jump right in.

“Excuse me. What are we doing here? Chairman Helsing, will we discuss our National Strategy with the senior commander of the American CIA?” Others are nodding, and it’s clear they have chosen Grecu to put me on the spot. Helsing doesn’t like Grecu and is anticipating the worst. Generals don’t like to be called by their first names in formal meetings…

“Ion, the world is changing. Either we change with it, or we die. General Thomas has an extraordinary view of where the world might be going. We can learn. Early in his career, General Thomas produced a report that challenged intelligence-gathering forever. ‘Analysis and Assessment of the Gateway Process’ provided a framework for expanding human consciousness, out-of-body experiments (OBE), and altered states of mind. If you haven’t yet read the report, please do. The first section provides a timeline of key historical events that led the CIA to investigate paranormal skills. The second section discusses the principles of various theories required for mastery of hypnosis and transcendental meditation. The last section outlines the steps to transcend space and time.”

Grecu is quiet but maintains eye contact with me. That stalemate lasts only a few seconds before he blurts out, “So what role did you play in the report?

I answer, “The report was written about me. I understand you have tried to explore the quantum sciences. Perhaps I can be of help. Our two nations are bound together by friendship and trust.” Eyebrows shoot up around the room.

Helsing: “There are photos of Thomas near the Berlin Wall when it fell in 1989 and again that year at Tiananmen Square. There is a record of him traveling to Mogadishu in 1993, where two American Black Hawk helicopters went down in hostile territory. Most of the crew died, but a few survived the crash. Shortly after Thomas arrived, a team of fewer than ten men rescued the trapped soldiers and somehow found a way back through congested, enemy-filled streets while killing 1000 Somali crazies who were peppering them with bullets and bombs.

“Thomas was photographed during Saddam Hussein’s capture in 2004 and again with McChrystal in 2007 during the Iraq Surge. He was on the ship in 2011 when the Navy Seals dumped Bin Laden’s body into the ocean.

“He negotiated Operation Bright Light with our former President. The US rewarded us handsomely for their black-ops site in Bucharest. That facility led to the arrest of Sheikh Mohammed, who bombed the World Trade Center. Mohammed eventually led us to the capture of Bin Laden. Bright Light is a deal that worked for both sides. As you know, Bright Light paid for the missile defense system that protects us from the

Russians and continues to pay our salaries in this perpetually tough economy.”

Grecu is a stocky guy who looks like someone stufef d him into a uniform a size too small. He shrinks back but glares at me, though I think I’ve won the others.

I say, “Gentlemen, should I continue?”

Helsing firmly says, “General, my apologies for this opening. Please continue and know that you are a proven friend of Romania.”

With that statement, I’m on stage. “Gentlemen and lady, to begin, there is dissatisfaction in Moscow with the current alignment in Eastern Europe. That’s concerning. I’m unsure if I can help, but I’m happy to provide my frank views. ”

“Our relationship with Romania is valued. Though your media paints a false picture, Operation Bright Light has been a success for both countries. Our government now holds Romania in high esteem. We view you as a partner.

“The Russians are becoming a problem. They annexed Crimea and now have their eye on critical portions of Ukraine.” I carefully check each participant’s body language. Balan sits next to Ponoru and takes notes. Most of the others sit back in their chairs, arms and legs crossed. Negative and disinterested they are. That is about to change.

“The United States, China, and Russia are the three dominant players on the world stage. Everyone else is a second-, third-, or fourth-tier player, frankly not worthy of today’s discussion. The United States has a four-year planning horizon. Russia operates under a ten-year plan though they go to press with only half of it. The Chinese have a one-hundred-year plan unavailable for viewing by anyone outside Communist Party leadership or the People’s Liberation Army.

“The US owns the most powerful military machine and the second-largest nuclear arsenal. The Chinese are second in military strength. The Russians are weak, nearly bankrupt, and disorganized. But they have the largest nuclear arsenal.

“The US has the most robust economy. The Chinese are second, with the Russians being broke and needing a higher oil price to meet ends.