Mind Invaders

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished representatives of the world’s nations, select members of the media,” Leighton began at last, “it is a great honor and joy to welcome each of you here today to this most important occasion in the long and too-often tragic history of our race. We are gathered just to the south of San Francisco where, in 1945, hopeful delegates from less than half of the nations we represent met to lay the foundation for the United Nations. Today we lay the foundation for something far more significant—not just an organization of nations that remain hopelessly separated by national rivalries, but a New World Order that will make all people and all nations equal and one. When we have proven ourselves to be united and at peace, then we will qualify to apply for entrance into an intergalactic community of civilizations that have evolved far beyond us and who stand ready to share technology and supernatural powers that will give us undreamed of access to the vast universe of space and its limitless resources.

It was June 14—a day never to be forgotten. This date, conveners of World Congress 666 were determined, would go down in history as the day of the key event that laid the foundation for a New Age of unbroken world peace and economic and ecological wholeness. They were confident also that it would always be remembered and cherished as the day that the planet was rescued from an almost certain holocaust. For residents of an area famous for its fog, it would certainly be remembered as one of the most beautiful June days in history. The unusual weather provided the dignitaries from all over the world flying into San Francisco’s International Airport a crystal-clear and sweeping view—from the Pacific Ocean and Golden Gate Bridge, over Nob Hill and the skyscrapers along Market Street, across the Oakland Bay Bridge to Berkeley, and on into the Walnut Creek area, over which Mount Diablo could be seen towering in the distance like some brooding giant.

It was late that night when Carla returned to Ken’s house. She had gone back to the base to try to reason with Viktor—without success. Ken had waited up for her, and together they sat at the kitchen table to talk—the first time he’d been available to do that in nearly a week.

“I really like Viktor,” said Ken, “but I’ve never seen anyone so stubborn. Did he tell you what he intends to do?”

Ken was at the restaurant when Carla arrived. While they waited for Jordan and Viktor, she filled Ken in on what had happened—who Kay Morris was and the close call she and Viktor had had that afternoon and how they’d been rescued in the nick of time by an FBI agent named Anne White.

“I know her very well,” said Ken. “We’ve dated a few times.”

“Really? She’s quite attractive,” said Carla.

“A very nice person. You’d like her,” said Ken. “Her real name is Anne
Bartkowski, but she goes by “White’ on special assignments like that.”
“How do you know her and Don Jordan?”

An hour later, when Carla picked up her office phone, it was an extremely excited Leighton who was on the other end.

“You won’t believe what’s been going on back here in Washington!” he bubbled. “I want you to get Kay and Viktor, and the three of you go into my office where I can talk to you all at once on the speaker. I’ll call back in ten minutes.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you, Frank. Kay, uh—she isn’t here any more. She’s... dead.”

The next few days passed quickly and uneventfully. Absorbed in getting her new secretary oriented and catching up on back phone calls, Carla had little time to devote to long-standing doubts and conflicts. They had only been put aside temporarily, however—not silenced. Disappointingly, Ken had been of little help lately in sorting them out. He seemed, in fact, to be avoiding her. On the few occasions their schedules had brought them into contact over breakfast or a late- night cup of tea, he had been uncharacteristically reluctant to carry on their discussions of the past. She couldn’t understand that. Did it mean that he’d given up on her? A few days ago that would have pleased her, but now it bothered her greatly. She felt neglected.

Carla could hardly contain her excitement as Leighton led them quietly into a large, high-ceilinged room. It seemed almost too much to believe that she had located Viktor Khorev and, on top of that, to have been so easily invited inside this top-secret psychic research installation that she was certain at the very least was being funded by the CIA—and more than likely was totally under its control!

Carla slowed the rented car to a crawl as waves of nostalgia swept over her. The curving street, the elegant new homes set far back on acre lots, the pleasantly rolling foothill terrain and, at last, the house she hadn’t seen since it had been in the framing stage—it all seemed reminiscent of a dream she had long forgotten.