Free The Archangel Project by C.S. Graham Page B

was even a dog-eared Defense Intelligence Agency manual. “So where do I start? It’s not that long a flight.”
    â€œThis is probably the best of them.” Matt lifted a slim volume from one of the stacks. “It’s written by a career Army sergeant named McMoneagle. Some of his remote viewing episodes are incredible. He talks about remote viewing Soviet subs hidden inside huge warehouses, and locating a lost airplane loaded with nuclear weapons that went down over Africa.”
    â€œYou don’t actually believe in this, do you?”
    Jax watched, bemused, as Matt’s gaze slid away to focus on something across the room. “Read up on it. I think you might be surprised.”
    â€œRight.” Jax slid off the edge of the table. There was a flight leaving in forty-five minutes to take him to New Orleans. “So if these programs were all shut down back in ’ninety-five, then what’s this Tulane professor been up to?”
    â€œAs I understand it, he’s had a small program going at the university down there for the past year, training remote viewers and trying to identify criteria that can be used to select the most promising candidates. That was one of the main problems all the old programs faced: they were never able to find a way to predict who would be reliably successful.”
    â€œWho’s been funding him?”
    â€œHe’d cobbled together some grant money here and there, but I gather he was struggling to keep the program going. He put in a proposal to us a few months ago.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œWe turned him down…at least, as far as I know.”
    â€œAh. But how much do you know?”
    Matt met Jax’s gaze, the big man’s eyes dark and troubled. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
    Jax frowned down at the stacks of books with titles like Mind Race and Using Your Psychic Abilities and sighed. “This is going to sink what’s left of my career if it ever gets out. You know that, don’t you?”
    â€œChandler personally requested you be the one assigned to it.”
    Jax laughed. Gordon Chandler had been ambassador to Colombia at the time of his little episode last winter. And then, three months ago, the asshole had been appointed the new head of the CIA when former headClark Westlake was elevated to the position of intelligence czar. Chandler had been doing his best ever since to get Jax fired from the Company. A different kind of man would have quit; Jax Alexander was biding his time, waiting for the chance to get even.
    But Chandler was no fool. He knew Jax. He knew, too, that the future of his own career depended on getting Jax before Jax got him.
    â€œThen I’m fucked,” said Jax.
    Matt balanced the file back on top of the stacks of books and shoved them toward Jax. “I think that’s the general idea.”

17
    New Orleans: 4 June 8:35 P.M . Central time
    â€œHey, lady! This is a private bus.”
    Her face hot and wet with mingling sweat and rain, Tobie turned toward the bus driver and found rows of exquisitely dressed wedding guests staring at her. “Sorry.” She flashed what she hoped was an apologetic grin. “Could you just let me out at the corner of Calhoun?”
    â€œSome people,” muttered the driver, and swung onto Magazine.
    The instant the bus swooped in close to the curb, Tobie leaped out. It was raining hard now, great, wind-gusted sheets of water that fell in waves from a lightning-torn sky. She hurried down Calhoun, her shoulders hunched and head bent against the downpour, her hair hanging in a wet curtain beside her face. A car splashed past and she spun around, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, ready to run. The car disappeared around the corner.
    By the time her Bug appeared as a yellow blur through the falling rain, she was drenched. Her skirt clung to her thighs, her cotton jacket hanging heavy and wet. Jerking open the door, she tossed