Sigma Rising. John Randolph Price
SIGMA RISING
A novel by
JOHN RANDOLPH PRICE
SIGMA RISING
By John Randolph Price
In the year 2021, twelve men and women in high government posts suddenly disappear. When it is realized that the spouses are also missing, the FBI launches a multi-pronged investigation along with a complete media blackout.
Kidnapping by a foreign terrorist group is suspected, but after discovering that there were no witnesses, signs of struggle, or evidence of foul play, intelligence services consider the possibility that the group left of their own accord and now represent a threat to our national security.
Keri Winslow, a Washington television reporter, and Phillip Lansing, White House correspondent for a major network, find the location of the missing VIPs and are soon involved in the unraveling of an ancient mystery that has been fearfully controversial for centuries-that there are those among us who are not of this world.
The characters in Sigma Rising are strong and memorable as they move through the twists and turns of a frenzied nation, clandestine meetings, paranormal experiences, grief and new found love, and a greater understanding about life and death.
The secrets of the benevolent beings who have been active on Earth for two million years is finally revealed. Although based on the spiritual truth of Ancient Wisdom with valid insights on the meaning of illusion and reality, this is basically a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.
Copyright 2012 by John Randolph Price
Literary Plaisir, Inc., P.O. Box 1196, Boerne, TX. 78006
$9.99
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Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1045-6
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This novel is dedicated to the love
of my life, Jan Price, who knows that
there are many worlds of living reality
in the superuniverse of heavenly creation.
Chapter 1
Washington, D.C., November, 2021
The large black sedan stopped at the South Gate of the White House, the driver's window lowered part way. The marine guard peered inside, stepped back and saluted. The driver nodded and continued through the cold misty rain to the West Wing.
In his early sixties, tall, well-built, with pale blue eyes and brownish gray hair, FBI Director Wallace Edward Brent was not looking forward to the meeting in the Oval Office. He had been awake most of the night searching for answers, reasons, motives, anything he could tell the president that would make sense. He had come up with nothing, not even wildly imaginative scenarios involving the lunatic fringe. Brent felt helpless. He was known for his hands-on command and quick-strike actions in solving more than a dozen crimes of domestic terrorism. He didn't like the raw sense of futility gripping him this early morning.
A secretary announced his arrival. As he entered the Oval Office the president gave him a quick glance of acknowledgement and returned to the morning paper, turning the pages for any news related to the director's visit. "Be with you in a moment, Wallace."
Brent removed his topcoat and sat on the sofa to the right of the president's desk, waited for him to complete the scan, wondering why the first lady didn't advise him on how to dress for power. His gray suit was ill-fitting, the top of the coat hanging back two fingers from his blue shirt collar, and the blue and tan stripped tie loosened at the neck decidedly inappropriate. Brent suspected he was wearing the usual heel-worn loafers.
Director Brent prided himself on being a meticulous dresser: smart, stylish, well-groomed. Quite a difference, he thought, including their backgrounds. Brent was a west Texas rancher's son who deserted his boots, straw hat, and dust-in-the-mouth heritage to study law at Harvard, later becoming an FBI special agent and competitively maneuvering his way to the top of the Bureau. Despite his uneasiness at the moment, he knew the job as though it was created for him.
The president, a city boy governing the most powerful nation on earth, seemed more like a back-country tourist who had stopped by the White House for a visit. Brent could see him cast in a movie as a small town high school coach selling life insurance on the side to make extra money. The ironies in life amused him.
The president folded the paper. “All right Wallace, let’s hear what you have.”
“Mr. President, I appreciate you seeing me before the others arrive. They've all got to be a bit apprehensive. I admit I am, and I thought that maybe together we could assuage the anxiety and get a productive forum going."
President Samual Underwood looked up, shook his head. "This isn't something that makes me strut with confidence either. I've cancelled two off-premise meetings today. Wallace, there has got to be a logical explanation for what's happened."
The FBI man rubbed the back of his neck. "Logical does not mean benign, Mr. President. Have you read my report?"
"Yes, when I returned last night from the London conference. Vice President Ranston called me yesterday with what he knew, then Bob Evans gave me a summary on the chopper ride from Andrews. I agreed he should call the individuals you requested for the meeting--Ranston, Defense Secretary Pellman, Director Santana of the CIA, NSC's General Lindly. I also asked Evans to attend. I don't know what he told them except that it was an emergency session."
"Your chief of staff shook them up. Secretary Pellman called me last night. He's nervous as hell."
"They are due in less than thirty minutes," the president said as he leaned back in his chair and looked at his watch. "If we're going to calm them down and have a constructive meeting, I've got to have more details."
The FBI Director moved to the edge of the sofa. "As I reported, Mr. President, seven top government people, including two of the Joint Chiefs, have vanished into thin air in the past three days. I've got most of our field offices working on it. Tony Voger is heading up the domestic investigation and Langley has alerted CIA case officers to check sources for any related information on foreign terrorist activities. But right now we're still in the dark. Not a single clue."
The president looked at the report on his desk. "Evans said Ambassador Livingston-Vance was seen at mid-morning leaving the private garage at the UN in her limo. As I understand it, her aide told you the ambassador had been informed her husband was seriously ill, but she never arrived at their home on Long Island."
The director leaned closer. "That was three days ago, and neither the NYPD nor my agents have found any sign of her, the car, the driver, or the person who supposedly gave her the message. Oh, and something else that wasn't in the report. We can't find her husband either. We've checked every hospital in the area, and no one by the name of George Vance has been admitted."
"The FBI was called in because of a possible kidnapping." The director nodded. Massaging his forehead with both hands, the president asked, "But what about the media? Evans said there hadn't been anything on the news, and there was nothing in the paper this morning."
Brent smiled. "We covered that with some crisis management. A party line has been developed for each missing person, with the appropriate people, aides, staff members, and both the New York police and Metropolitan cops here cooperating with us. We'll keep a lid on it as long as we can."
"Good thinking."
"Just