High-Value Target

By Bruce Edward Butler

 The CIA was desperate when they asked Pastor Will Lyons to help them understand paranormal attacks against Western Democracies. One of their analysts suggested that the only way to counter supernatural assaults was through faith, and Will was known for his faith. Will's wife cautioned him about getting involved with the CIA, but he was certain that helping his country was the right thing to do. That was before they gave him a security clearance and briefed him on all of the details.

 During the Cold War, the CIA and the KGB both had psychic weapons programs. After investing millions, the US shut down their operations, concluding that the results were unreliable. They assumed the Russians would reach the same conclusion. That was before the strange events started to happen. These bizarre occurrences involved natural phenomena, such as tsunamis, earthquakes or extreme weather conditions. But why would anyone suspect those types of things? It was the timing; the events were consistently and suspiciously optimized to compromise strategic military operations or disrupt important government summits. For years, the CIA suspected some kind of telekinetic weapon but couldn't prove it

     Then, a defecting Russian spy confirmed not only the weapon's existence but also its imminent use in a massive, preemptive strike against the United States. The current administration in Washington played down such a fantastic threat; fearing release of the information would create panic and cause a political backlash. This left Will with a choice between risking the lives of millions of people or breaking his oath and running afoul of the US Espionage Act. Back then, Will didn't know the meaning of high-value target but he does today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Edward Butler
• Release date: Jan 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386206859

Bruce Edward Butler

ABOUT ME: I've been married to the same beautiful woman for the past fifty years. Karin and I live in Oregon where we have eight children and ten grandchildren. When diagnosed with cancer in 2008, I stopped watching TV and began writing. Previous writing experience was as a song writer when I played in a couple of bluegrass bands. I've worked actively in jail and prison ministry for the past twenty-five years. I design houses when I'm not writing or in jail. :-)  

Book preview

Chapter 1

KAZAKHSTAN, USSR 1962

Clack, clack. Clack , clack. Clack, clack.

Pavlushka Tur read his Western literature to the slow, monotonous jarring of rail joints passing beneath the train. Without looking up, he responded to a knock on the door of his private compartment.

What is it?

A porter slid the door open. Window shades, Sir.

Each time the train went through a ‘sensitive government area’ or ‘secret operations installation,’ the porters came through, pulling down window shades. And each time that happened Tur flashed his KGB ID to let them know his window shade would remain up. The interruptions had become such a constant annoyance, Tur now used his ID card as a bookmark and showed it without looking up from his reading. The porters leaned in close, squinted at the card and excused themselves.

Tur knew there were no sensitive installations or secret operations in view of this section of the Trans Siberian Railroad. Glavlit, the Ministry of Propaganda, didn’t want people to know about the failed crops and vast areas destroyed by forest fires. The crops failed because of the Communist Party’s collectivization policies. Forest fires burned hundreds of square kilometers because there were no resources to stop them. All extra revenue went into weapons development or glamorizing Moscow so it would appear as progressive as western cities.

Clack, clack. Clack, clack. Clack, clack.

How many porters would have to see his ID before they learned that the man in 17R was KGB, and his window shade would remain up for the duration of the trip? They probably all knew shortly after the first porter knocked. But each had to pound on his door just to see the live KGB officer for them self.

Actually, Tur wasn’t just KGB; he was Director of TKY22; the Psychological Warfare Department of the KGB’s Advanced Weapons Research Program. The lofty title far outpaced the reality. Tur’s program was a despised stepchild compared to other departments in weapons development. All of the other sections dealt with conventional warfare. Tur dealt with something else entirely. He survived budget cuts only because of his ability to convince higher-ups that his work, by some miracle, might actually produce results one day.

The last leg of the thirty-six-hour trip was fourteen hours, and there were six to go. That would only take him three hundred kilometers. Because of the poor condition of the tracks in the area, the train could manage about twenty kilometers per hour.

Clack, clack......Clack, clack......Clack, clack......

But Tur had his books. He read Identity and Life Cycle by Erik Ericson, published only three years earlier in 1959. Bringing Western books into the country was difficult even for the KGB. Glavlit consistently labeled Tur’s imports as subversive and held them up.

As the director of TKY22, he had to keep abreast of current Western thought the best he could. He had three other books to read on this trip. One was French and the other two in English. He knew enough of both languages to get something out of each.

Finally, he reached the remote town of Doskey, Kazakhstan.

Comrade Tur, the stationmaster said. They told me to tell you they’re expecting you, but the truck they sent is delayed because it’s broken down.

A truck. Don’t they at least have one automobile in this forsaken region?

When a tractor-pulled cart drove up, Tur was astonished.

Humiliation upon humiliation.

Long after dark, hungry and cold, Tur reached the prison. After an interminable sleepless night, in austere quarters, he sat shivering in the commandant’s office, waiting for them to bring in a prisoner.

A door opened, and a burly guard entered with his hand wrapped around a thin elderly prisoner’s arm.

Leave him. You can wait outside, Tur told the guard.

The man stood before him in rags. He couldn’t determine the prisoner’s age. He looked old, but looks are deceptive in the Russian Gulag. A forty-year-old can look like he’s seventy. The prisoner’s hair and beard were long, unkempt and graying. He slumped over and looked as though he would collapse without the guard’s firm grasp. However, one thing did stand out about the man; his blue eyes. There was no hatred in them. Only a look of kindness. The man’s steady gaze made Tur squirm.

Tur had come because of reports of strange occurrences at the prison. Documents claimed that the man standing before him had the ability to change physical realities through his touch. It wasn’t the first time Tur had traveled long distances to investigate claims of that nature. His mandate required him to examine all paranormal phenomena for the development of tactical advantage over the enemies of the Soviet Communist State. However, this case was more unusual than most. In addition to numerous other supernatural occurrences, prison officials claimed this particular prisoner brought a fellow inmate back from the dead.

Chapter 2

BEND, OREGON 2017

Afternoon sun glared off the fuselage of the executive jet as it taxied close to the unmarked hanger. The engines whined, slowing to a stop and a door opened, dropping a stair to the tarmac. Two men in dark suits emerged, scanning the area as they came down the steps.

Will Lyons walked out from the shade of the hanger and approached tentatively.

Hold up, hold up, one of the dark suits told him before he got close to the plane.

The man approached and ran a wand over Will’s clothing. It emitted a sharp beep at his belt buckle.

Would you unzip your jacket for me please? He checked the buckle. Looks like you’re good to go. The man motioned toward the plane.

Inside the cabin, a middle-aged gentleman stuck out his hand. Sorry for the precautions. Just part of an everyday routine for us. I’m Maxwell Parker.

No problem, Sir. Nice to meet you. I’m Will Lyons.

Parker led Will to a small nook area. A steward asked if he could serve them something. Will asked for a bottle of water and Parker took one too.

Mister Lyons— excuse me—Pastor Lyons, thank you for meeting me today.

You can call me Will, Sir.

Most people refer to me as Max.

Will, at thirty years of age, dressed business casual, with chinos, an open collar, blue dress shirt, and a lightweight jacket. Parker, well over fifty, wore a business suit. Will looked trim and muscular, with wavy brown hair and gray eyes. Parker had graying hair, looked stuffed in his suit, and had dark circles under weary eyes.

We’ve investigated your claims about recovering from ALS, Parker said. We also know about the people who say they have experienced similar results through your ministry. My superiors are interested in how something like that could happen.

It amazed Will that Parker referred to his recovery from a terminal illness as something that ‘could happen.’ A significant step for the Federal Government, especially for someone in the CIA. But why had Parker flown all this way to ask him about it? Over the past twenty-four hours, Will had plenty of time to stew on the possibilities. One thought had to do with Simon, the sorcerer who offered the Apostle Peter money for spiritual power. Is that what they want? To acquire power?

The power of God is real, Will said, but you can’t use it apart from His purposes.

Parker paused and gave a knowing smile. "What if I told you someone is using it apart from His purposes?"

Will shook his head. If something like that’s happening, I would say they’re probably not doing it through God, but by some other means.

How does that work? Is it really possible that somebody could do that? Parker asked.

Things like that happened in the Bible. Do you...uh...believe in the Bible, Sir— Max?

Parker smiled again. Pastor, I’m a man under orders. I’m suspending my personal beliefs or disbeliefs for the sake of this investigation. We have reason to believe that someone is doing things by paranormal means. My superiors need to know if it’s real and if it is, how it works. That’s why I’m here to see you.

The Bible calls that kind of thing sorcery, Will said. I know little about that. You have the wrong guy if you’re looking for someone to do those kinds of things.

We’re not interested in trying to duplicate the things they’re doing. We’re interested in trying to stop them. We have evidence that someone has been using a mysterious power to do some horrible things. Right now we’re investigating all of the possibilities. We’ve asked some of the most prominent Christian leaders in the country, but they didn’t know much about it. One of them told us about you. Parker paused and furrowed his brow. If this is real, we’re interested in you because you might be able to explain how it works and help us contain it.

With that clarification, Parker had Will’s attention. Of course, Will would want to help stop something like that. What are people doing that’s so threatening?

I believe you’re a good man, and you love your country, Pastor, but I’m limited in what I can tell you. Without taking his eyes off from Will, Parker leaned back in his seat, uncapped his bottle of water and took a swig. He asked cagily, Can you demonstrate this power for me?

Will was drinking too and nearly choked over the question. That’s not how it works. I don’t have the power to do anything. God does it. He responds to faith. If you want to see it in operation, you might have to get to know Him.

Well, Pastor... He looked out the window of the plane. I’m going out on a limb here because of the critical nature of this situation. What I’m telling you can’t go beyond this conversation. Parker scanned Will’s eyes again.

Uh...does that mean I can’t tell my wife?

I’m sure your wife is a fine woman and a sincere American as well. Perhaps at some time in the future, she would need to know too, but for right now, this must remain between you and me. Parker chuckled. No one would probably believe it anyway. He chuckled again. No one would even believe I’m meeting with you, or even much less, the topic we’re discussing.

Discussing things of faith wasn’t unusual or comical for Will, but it was probably almost ridiculous for a man like Max Parker. Will’s only hesitation was; did he want to hear something that had the CIA concerned? But if he didn’t hear it, he might always regret passing up the opportunity. So... Okay, you and me. I agree. I’ll tell no one without your consent.

Parker leaned back in his seat and folded his hands. Here’s the gist of it Pastor. Someone is manipulating nature. We have no idea how they’re doing it.

What do you mean by ‘manipulating nature?’

The natural forces, such as weather, tides and things like that.

Hmmm. Jesus and others in the Bible did things like that, Will said.

We know that. That’s why I’m talking to you. One theory is they might be using Jesus’ teachings to do it. However, they’re doing it to kill people.

"I can guarantee they’re not doing that through Jesus," Will said, shaking his head.

Then you tell me how they’re doing it, Pastor —Excuse me. I have to take this call. Parker got up and went into the forward compartment, phone to his ear.

Will sat there perplexed and astonished. It reminded him of a place in Genesis. Joseph told his brothers what they intended for evil, God used for the good. Was it conceivable that the devil could reverse that? Take what Jesus meant for good and use it to produce evil? Nah.

But people unintentionally reverse faith and thereby do harm to themselves. Fear is faith in reverse. Will believed that when people feared something, they opened the door for it to happen. He had always been fascinated by the statistic claiming there’s a higher incidence of cancer in people who fear cancer. He called it the power of negative thinking. Was it possible that someone could intentionally do something like that? Hmmm.

There had never been any question in Will’s mind that faith was highly underrated. Present-day believers had barely tapped into what Jesus was trying to teach his disciples. Jesus walked on water. So did Peter. They both did it by faith. What if an evil person or group tapped into the power of faith to do the opposite of what Jesus intended? Is that possible?

Finishing his phone call, Parker returned and sat back down. Well, we’ve just had another incident.

What happened? Will asked.

Classified. But if you watch the news tonight, you might get an idea.

Wincing, Parker rubbed his temple in a circular motion with his forefinger. The further we’ve looked into this phenomena, the more concerned we’ve become. However, now it’s urgent. Parker leaned back again and studied Will with his tired, groggy eyes. Before I say anything more, I need to know if you’re willing to help us.

Help you? How can I help you? I’d like to, but if what you’re saying is true, this is as big a surprise to me as it is to you.

Son, you’re right. It’s a surprise. But you’re exactly what we need because you know much more about it than we do. You see, they’ve been using this power to create major disasters for free governments around the world. There’s more, but you’d have to have a security clearance to hear it. Right now, I’ve got to get back to Washington, but I’d like to send some people here for you to train. Just teach them what you’ve taught other people you’ve helped. Would you be willing to do that?

I can try. It’s my mission to teach anyone what Jesus taught.

Thank you, Will. The President thanks you. The people of the United States of America thank you. I’ll make the arrangements. And you’ll receive some payment for this too.

That’s not necessary. I don’t charge people to teach them God’s Word.

Yes, but you do allow them to give you support. There could be a little extra time involved in this for you. We want to compensate you for that. Consider it a donation.

Parker handed Will a phone and a charger. Take this. I’ll use it to contact you. Keep it charged and with you at all times.

Will took it from him and looked it over. It appeared to be a standard Android phone. What have I just agreed to?

Don’t answer it unless the code word, domino 7, appears on the screen. Can you remember that? It’s important.

I can remember it.

They stood up and shook hands. Parker led Will to the cabin door.

I’ll call you in a couple of days, Parker said.

TRIDENT JUNCTURE

THAT EVENING WILL SEARCHED the media for the incident Max mentioned. Apparently, it hadn’t hit the United States yet because he didn’t find anything that sounded like, manipulating nature. He tried some European sources online and found a likely match.

Sean Plosser, Daily Mail, Trident Juncture, May 29, 2017

Stavanger, Norway — As many as seventy military personnel lost their lives today when a tsunami-sized wave swamped seven LCAC landing craft. The boats were taking part in the NATO Trident Juncture exercises in Norway. NATO Commander, L.C. Sartorius said that the seas were calm before the wave struck. The seven craft had just reached the beach when the twenty-foot high wall of water swept in from behind, tumbling the boats inland and crushing the men. No seismic activity has been recorded in the area, puzzling scientists and investigators as to how the wave could have generated.

This tragedy was only one of several that plagued the NATO exercise since its onset last week. The start of Trident Juncture was delayed three days by an unseasonal ice storm which kept several vital vessels in port. Then, the first day of exercises, a flock of Northern Gannets flew into the air intake of an NH90 helicopter, stalling the engine and causing it to plummet into the ocean, killing the two pilots and two NATO observers. Two days after that, the Spanish frigate, Florinio Rella, struck an iceberg. The ship was saved, but several crew members were seriously injured.

WILL REREAD THE ENTIRE article and sat back in contemplation. All of it could be explained as what most people call bad luck. Things like that happen, and sometimes they appear to come in waves. Will had always suspected that there was more to those waves than just coincidence. Sometimes things got so bad in a wave that it became humorous. However, there was nothing humorous about waves killing people. Can the CIA be right? That someone is orchestrating these things?

Will shivered at the prospect, trying to fathom something so incredible. Was it possible for someone to manipulate nature in such a way? The idea was far beyond anything he’d ever imagined. These things were commonly called acts of God; natural causes that could not have been prevented. Not that Jesus would do evil things, but He could have done things like that if he had chosen to. Will shuddered at the thought of something so powerful in the hands of men with evil intentions. If this was real, he felt obligated to do anything he could to help stop it.

Chapter 3

MINSK, BELORUSSIA, 1971

Pavlushka Tur shed his ushanka and shook off the snow. He stood in the main vestibule of a TKY22 clandestine psychological research facility in Minsk, Belorussia. The guarded doors before him contained an odd collection of human souls, some two hundred and twenty-two in number. Most of these individuals were from the USSR, but others came from Soviet Bloc nations. For the past seven years, any person suspected of exhibiting paranormal capabilities had been collected and brought to TKY22 for evaluation. The broad net had gathered a great catch of oddities, but only the most unusual were kept. Realistically, the facility could be called an asylum. 

Sitting in on a meeting of TKY22 personnel, Tur listened to reports from medical staff and psychologists as they explained their progress in their respective fields of research. Tur had been the director of TKY22 for eleven years by then.

He had just returned from Moscow, intending to triage the program. His budget had been slashed again, requiring a reduction in staff by one-third. He could still hear the words of his superior ringing in his ears. Bring me something worthy of your budget, or it will be cut further. It was just another strike against a program that the other departments in the KGB made light of. No one believed it would ever produce results. It had become a joke.

The staff knew nothing about the cuts. They thought Tur was sitting in for his routine evaluation. He listened to various reports, detailing research into apparitions, after-death communications, altered states of consciousness, clairvoyance, telepathy, and ESP. Each researcher gave a synopsis of their investigation, trying to make it sound valuable and on the verge of a breakthrough, but it was just more of the same weak evidence.

After an hour and a half of rhetoric, Tur heard nothing remarkable or even promising. It was a repeat of what he’d heard over and over again. Just stunts and tricks, none of which had the promise of producing anything that could be useful as a weapon. But then he came to his newest addition to TKY22’s menagerie of investigators; Dr. Valeska Shvanova.

For several months, Shvanova had administered the Religion Division. She was thirty, stocky, with short, dark hair and broad facial features. Her assistant, Igoryok Chemerkin, stood in the back of her smiling. He was tall and thin; his head thrust out from his gaunt body like a vulture. To Tur, he looked like a dolt.

"Comrade Tur, we started with thirty-seven subjects in our program. Twelve were quickly determined to be insane, with no paranormal abilities. Of those, four were sent back to their provinces, and the rest are deceased as a result of experiments. Of the seventeen that remain, two are former Orthodox priests, one the leader of the famous Moscow Cult, and the rest come from mixed backgrounds and vary in age and sex.

"All of my subjects are given complete religious freedom and encouraged to pursue their beliefs. They are even given Bibles if they want them, time alone, anything required to seek their purpose. This approach has produced some impressive results. Of course, Comrade, we know there is no God, but because these subjects believe God exists, it enables them to display unusual abilities.

"Case One. Male subject M14A, a former Gulag prisoner for his religious beliefs has overcome viruses introduced into his system. This same experiment has been repeated three times, and each time, the two control subjects died from the same dosage given to M14A. M14A showed no ill effects.

"Case Two. Female subject W62A, twelve years old, was brought to TKY22 because of her ability to touch people and remove their symptoms of illness. W62A has touched control subjects made ill through the introduction of fatal contagion. Twelve out of fourteen subjects have recovered as a result of W62A’s touch.

Case Three. Female Subject W22A, ten years of age. A facility guard received an eye injury in an automobile accident. Doctors declared him blind in that eye. Subject W22A was asked to pray for the man. Vision in the guard’s eye returned to normal within a couple of days of the time W22A prayed.

Case Four. Case four involves six male subjects. Their ages vary from sixteen to twenty-two. They were told that their food allotment would be withheld for every day there were less than six hours of sunshine. They were allowed to group together and pray to try to change the normal weather pattern in their favor. Once the experiment started, the subjects ate an average of twelve days each month. We ended the investigation because each of them became too weak and emaciated to continue.

However, we did the same experiment with six children, ranging in age from six to nine. They ate an average of twenty-six days each month and Meteorologists documented a record number of sunny days in this latitude during that period.

How do you account for that, Doctor? Tur asked.

I repeat, Comrade. We know that religion is the opiate of the people and that there is no God, however, because these children believe there is a God, they are able to bring the climate change into existence. It’s merely a demonstration of the untapped power of the human mind and will.

Very good work, Doctor. I must see the full reports. I would also like to see these children for myself.

It was the first real glimmer of hope Tur had experienced since he became director of the program. The discovery was as close to a divine appointment as he allowed his thinking to go. Shvanova’s experiments opened the door through the complexities of human abilities that had stymied Tur for years. Through the inductive method, it appeared she may have quantified this power to produce actual results. And for some strange reason, she worked it through children.

Chapter 4

DARK IMPRESSIONS

Will Lyons thought about Maxwell Parker and his position in government. What a burden the man carried. He looked like he bore the weight of the world. The power of the CIA dazzled Will to a certain extent, but it didn’t awe him. Will was aware of a different hierarchy of power. One that preempted Washington in all of its glory. One that preempted every ruling authority on earth. That awed him and kept his relationship with Parker in context.

Plus things had happened in Will’s life. Things that molded him and set him free from traditional mindsets. If Will had just attended Bible college and was now out in the world to learn about life, that would be one thing. However, that wasn’t the case. His life had been plagued with misfortune before and after Bible college. But rather than destroy him, it changed him. Like a rock in the stream bed, worn year after year by spring runoff, its rough edges smoothed by the continual adversity.

However, his past still troubled him at times. Feelings and urges he didn’t understand moved through his emotions like storms. He never had nurturing parents there for him when he needed them. No memories of siblings he could use as a sounding board when a little understanding might help. Instead, dark impressions terrorized him. Vague images of violent episodes. Nothing concrete enough to capture and bring into the obedience of Christ. Things that would always remain a subconscious enigma and had to be placed at the foot of the cross.

PORTLAND, OREGON 1988

CELESTE’S SCREAM REVERBERATED off the walls of the Delivery Room.

Good work, Darlin, the nurse told her. Your baby’s just about ready to be born. It’s gonna happen on this next contraction. Just wait for it.

The nurse blotted Celeste’s brow with a damp cloth. That’s it. Yes, that’s it. Now pu-s-s-s-sh.

With another primal scream, the infant landed in the doctor’s hands. He cleaned the child’s air passages, but the baby remained lifeless. He held the infant up and tapped it on the behind, but still nothing. Baby’s not breathing. Resuscitation! He quickly laid the child out on a table, and the nurse scrambled to begin the procedure.

The new mother, Celeste Renno, was an eighteen-year-old prostitute. The next day, she lay in the charity ward of Oregon Health Sciences University in Portland, as a nurse carried the baby in and placed him in her arms.

Had a real time with this one, the nurse said. Once they got him breathing, his heart stopped. Then he stopped breathing again.

Celeste looked down at the tiny, wrinkled, pink form. A sudden wave of dread enveloped her. What she held in her arms was trouble. Something standing between her and survival.

"You know, when something like