The Banshee Chapter Page #2

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or cryptic electronic code.

They're in a wide

variety of languages,

and the voices are usually

female for some reason.

Sometimes it sounds like a child.

And how long have you been

hearing them for?

Well, the shortwave community's

been finding them for decades now.

Listen.

7, 5, 4, 6, 8.

8, 7, 7, 6, 5.

Who would broadcast that?

Lot of theories...

secret government agencies,

terrorists, drug runners.

But it's never been shown for sure

who or what is broadcasting them.

So you've been keeping track

of these numbers stations

and documenting them for years?

That's right.

And you've heard that

particular broadcast before?

Yes, I have.

The signal sounded like a

broadcast from this small area

we call the Lonely Traveler Station.

The Lonely Traveler?

Yeah. Shortwave radio

guys named it that.

I've heard recordings,

but I've never gone out there

to listen to it myself.

Well, James's cabin

is right about here,

same area upstate.

So what do I need to do if I

wanted to record this broadcast?

Well, it's not easy.

You'd need to be out on the far

edge of the Black Rock Desert

between 3:
00 to 5:00

in the morning,

and maybe cross your fingers.

That's it?

Doesn't sound so bad.

Yeah, that's it.

I can give you one of our receivers.

One more question.

Did you... Did you used

to work for the NSA?

Excuse me?

You know, the NSA.

You worked for them

as a code breaker.

Why do you say that?

Well, according to the NSA

employment verification contact,

Henry Cale worked there

from 1963 to 1979.

I wouldn't care to discuss that.

So, out here in the

middle of nowhere,

75 miles from the nearest town,

on the outskirts of the

Black Rock Desert...

Listening, watching

for the Lonely Traveler.

Happy times.

Don't know where

James was more than a friend.

Sometimes I find myself asking,

were you in love with him?

I guess I never really thought

of it until he was gone.

The signal is getting stronger.

That's weird.

Is anyone out here?

F***, they're watching.

You need to be more careful, Anne.

You don't know who's out there.

With that substance,

do you know who or what

James might have

been involved with?

Well, there was this strange

message sent from someone,

I think sent from his supplier.

They didn't sign it with a name,

but they signed it

"your friends in Colorado,"

which is exactly the same thing

that Renny Seegan

said on the police tape.

Oh, "friends in Colorado."

Yeah, "friends in Colorado."

Like the novel.

You know it?

Should I?

Mm-hmm.

Before your time, but it was a very

popular book in the late '70s.

Wait.

This is a Blackburn novel.

Yes. That's the way he

used to sign his letters,

the title of his novel,

Friends in Colorado.

Thomas Blackburn.

I... I know his work.

Thomas Blackburn...

an infamous, crazed novelist

risen from homeless, bipolar,

counter-culture activist

to literary icon.

His books were written

in a haze of pills, booze,

and, to some, schizophrenic genius.

He was a beast from a

less civilized era.

Thomas!

Hey, Thomas!

You're ruining my concentration!

He'd been arrested many times.

During an interview in 1974,

he tied the reporter to a chair

and threw him into the pool.

He isn't coming up!

He'd been arrested again

at the late Senator Raider's

reelection party in 1996.

Hey, hey, hey!

I'm press.

Press right here.

Hey, listen, ladies and gentlemen?

Uh, you're campaign contributors.

I just want you to know

that the acid in your drink

is gonna kick in in

about 18 minutes.

Thomas Blackburn?

Who's asking?

Hi. I'm a journalist

from risingjournal.com.

I just wanted to know

if I could ask you

a few questions about James Hirsch.

Have you read my latest book?

Which one?

The one called

"Go F*** Yourself"?

So Blackburn isn't talking

to journalists anymore.

That's fantastic.

So let's see what

this little guy has to offer.

Patient 11?

Time is 5:
13 P.M.,

administering 200 milligrams of pure

Dimethyltryptamine extracted from...

Nobody said anything

about restraints.

What is this?

Hello, Dr. Kessel?

Just relax, please.

Everything will be fine.

Whose voice is that?

They can see me.

They... They can see me.

In the room now.

I can hear them.

I can hear them.

It's all gone away.

It's all gone away.

You hear them?

It's all gone away.

N1.

N2.

H2.

O7.

C11.

They're here.

They're here.

Aah!

Patient 11, can you hear me?

Patient 11, I need you

to respond to me!

Extracting 325 milligrams of

Dimethyltryptamine from a primary source.

Do you know what's on that tape?

That's not regular Dimethyltryptamine

that the CIA injected people with.

Then what was it?

They were extracting a chemical from

a special source, the human brain.

Medical corpses, the pineal gland.

Come on.

The chemicals foundnaturally

in the brain?

Yes. They're extracting it from dead

bodies, injecting it into live ones.

Lovely.

Anything else good on that tape?

I don't know.

The last 35 minutes

have been erased.

I sent it over to the

guys at video forensics

to see if they can pull

anything out of it.

We get it back next week.

Oh.

In the meantime,

I still got to find a way

to get to Blackburn.

You just know he's connected to it.

He's a writer.

He doesn't have the skills to

synthesize something like that.

It's a CIA chemical, I know,

but maybe Blackburn got

his hands on it somehow.

I mean, think about it.

Both men in western Nevada,

the letter signature.

Blackburn found the chemical

and gave it to James

for his research.

It's possible.

It's probable, and I know what

to do to get to Blackburn.

Great.

What are you gonna do?

Honey, I'm home.

How.

One bourbon, please.

Hey, Thomas.

What's up?

I got arrested this morning.

Same as yesterday, huh?

Yeah, same as yesterday.

I was peeing in my own front yard

in the same spot I been peeing

in for the past 15 years,

and there just happened to be

a sheriff's deputy's

car parked there.

F***in' Nazi cop.

Don't you think it's a man's right

to pee in the f***ing desert?

Thomas?

Thomas Blackburn?

Yes?

I'm the writer who emailed you.

Sarah? Sarah Weiss?

Right!

Right?

Right, yes.

The "print is dead,

down on her luck" story.

Wow.

It's nice to finally

put a face to the name.

Well, it's nice to finally...

Sarah.

Oh, no thanks.

I've got a drink.

That's not for you.

I feel sorry

for you kids, you know that?

With your f***ing computers

and sh*t.

You know what?

You can tell a writer

who actually puts a pen to paper,

who actually scribbles

on a f***ing napkin.

You haven't written a new

novel in, like, eight years.

I'm an old f***ing man.

I would love to read

something you've written.

No, you wouldn't.

No, you wouldn't.

You know what I like to write?

You know what I like to write?

Pornography.

Oh, is that right?

I'm quite good at it, yes.

"50 Shades of Sh*t."

Your fans worship you.

They don't worship me.

They worship an image of myself,

an image I've created,

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