Dream Level One

Robert Blythe

Description

An FBI agent embarks down a mysterious path to learn whether he is the master of his destiny or the figment of a superior mastermind, while terrorists unfurl an evil plan.

It is a picturesque day in Washington, DC, when a nuclear blast disintegrates buildings and innocent victims in a blinding flash of fury. As a mushroom cloud forms above the city, Ahkmed Mohammad Allakheem, sadistic leader of the worlds most wanted terrorist organization, nods his approval, slips a dream disc from a port, and places it into a plain case marked Abu.
FBI agent John Tower is fascinated by a new trend that invites guests to experience virtual dreams. But just as he is planning to visit one of the businesses promoting the idea, he sees a news bulletin announcing the presence of terrorists in the United States who have just acquired a shipment of nuclear grade plutonium. Little does he know that while fulfilling his dream adventure, his path will cross with those preparing to unleash a holy plan intended to bring the Western world to its knees and leave John to question whether he is living in reality or an alternate world.
In this science fiction thriller, an FBI agent is led down a mysterious path to learn whether he is really the master of his destiny or the figment of a superior mastermind—all while terrorists unfurl an evil plan.

Sujets

• Science Fiction
• Hell
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 09 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665711821
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

DREAM LEVEL ONE
 
 
 
 
 
ROBERT BLYTHE
 
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 Robert Blythe.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-1183-8 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-1181-4 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-1182-1 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021918292
 
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 08/09/2021
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
 
For
E.W. (Bob) & Mary Blythe
without whose love and support this work would not have been possible
 
and
 
my wife Betty, who continues to inspire life’s warmest moments
 
“Sing with me, Sing for the years.
Sing for the laughter, Sing for the tears.
Sing with me, just for today, maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away, Dream on, Dream on, Dream on!”
-Aerosmith 1973
CHAPTER 1
In the very near future
O n a picturesque autumn day, a light breeze blew over the Potomac River scattering brightly colored red, yellow, gold and brown leaves along the gently sloping banks in a spectacular array of natural beauty. Tourists were out in record numbers for the late season and long lines prevailed at almost every historical point of interest in the city.
The atmosphere, made so enjoyable by the gloriously pleasant weather, seemed to take the tension out of the kind of waiting that normally would send tempers soaring over the edge. The sun shone with a magical brightness through such a clear, blue cloudless sky, that only God’s palette could ever be credited with the magnificence of color to produce such exquisite beauty.
Songbirds sang their repertoire of love songs back and forth to one another like a heavenly chorus orchestrated by a choir of angels. A second later, the city morphed and became the epitome of hell.
The nuclear blast at the very heart of the nation’s Capital spread hellfire and damnation so quickly that buildings generations old were disintegrated instantly in a blinding flash of fury. Men, women and children of every age and description vanished from whence they stood, their flesh vaporized from unsuspecting bodies before the utterance of a single scream; gone before even the realization of death would register on their extinguished minds.
As the familiar mushroom cloud formed above ground zero, a stillness fell over the city that punctuated the devastation like the first shovel full of dirt thrown over the coffin in a lonely grave.
Allakheem nodded his approval with a wry smile as the dream disc slid quietly from the digital viewing module’s insertion port. He placed the media carefully into a plain wrapped case marked simply- Abu.

Agent John Tower was looking forward to a relaxing, work-free weekend, and as he sat at his cluttered little desk, among all the other cluttered little desks in his section piled high with reports and a never-ending backlog of cases to investigate, he busied himself filling out the last entry of the last report he intended to write before knocking off for the week.
Finishing the task, he stood and stretched his six-foot, two-hundred, pound frame and yawned, a broad, satisfying smile appearing on his handsome face. He smoothed his thinning black hair from his not too receding hairline with a casual wave of one hand and snugged his neat, black tie into place with the other. Then, John picked up the old wooden chair upon which he’d just been sitting and gently shoved the seat up under the desk. Plucking his lightweight black suit jacket from the chair’s back, he prepared to leave.
Two of the other field agents nearby, having informally called it a day, were shooting the breeze with another agent at the desk adjacent to John. Aware that he was about to leave, they stopped their conversation to bid him a good weekend. John knew the three well, they’d been friends for a long time. The man sitting, Agent Dean Rivers, was graduated from the F.B.I. Academy in the same class as John. The other two, Agents Ben Sturm and Ron Druthers, he’d known and worked with for the last ten of the fifteen years of his time with the bureau. They had each worked difficult cases together and on more than one occasion saved the others’ lives. The bond was strong.
“Headed out ol’ buddy,” Rivers asked.
“Yep, I’ve got the whole weekend off,” he said, smiling smugly at his friends whom he knew had drawn the proverbial short straws for the weekend’s duty roster.
“You lucky son-of-a-bitch,” Druthers muttered jokingly.
“What you got planned?” Sturm inquired. He reminded John of the guy who played Norm on the old television sitcom, Cheers, a big fellow, boisterous and witty.
“I’m going to spend the whole weekend in the hot tub drinking fine wine and making mad, passionate love to Leesha.”
“Ooooh, you, lucky bastard.” Sturm groaned. The slang came out, bastid .
John loved making them eat their hearts out. They were all friends with John’s fiancée and knew how stunningly beautiful she was, and John and his friends shared the kind of selfless relationship that not only allowed bragging rights and good-natured digs at each other, but heartily promoted it.
About that time, John’s cellphone buzzed in his pocket. “Hang on a-sec guys, my pocket’s buzzing,” he said, digging for the device.
“Yeah, I notice that thing buzzes a-lot John, is it a cellphone or a vibrator?” Druthers asked, cracking-up along with the other two.
John assumed his best mock-frown face and retorted, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, ha-ha.” he looked at the caller I.D., smiled, and swiped the icon to make the connection. “Leesha, hi!”
John listened as his lovely fiancée spoke, and after a few moments, the broad smile on his face began to fade. Leesha was telling him about the huge blizzard that was socking-in the airport and cancelling all available flights for the evening. After listening a few more moments, he said, “No, I’ll be fine, that’s okay, Sweetheart, I understand.”
“Uh-oh,” Rivers chimed-in, “I smell trouble brewing for someone’s idyllic weekend.”
“Okay, Sweetheart,” “I love you too.” John spoke into the phone; and ended the call.
Dejectedly, John looked at them, they stared back at him with mock pouts, like three forlorn puppies. “She’s stuck in Ontario.” “There’s a blizzard.”
“Hey, I know,” Druthers piped-in excitedly, “Keep your phone in your pocket all weekend and have Leesha put your number on speed-dial.”
As the three jokesters roared over that, John fired back with, “We’ve already done that one, smart-ass.” Then they were all nearly rolling on the floor.
“Hey, John, I’ve got an idea for you, man,” Rivers said, matter-of-factly; “Have you ever tried that new dream-thing everybody’s been talking about lately?”
“Nah, that kind of stuff’s not for me. I like to keep it real.”
“From what I hear, a person can’t tell the difference between dream and real.” Sturm added.
“Yeah, I hear some of those places offer some pretty wild stuff, too.” This from Druthers.
“Ah, I don’t know guys,” John balked, still unconvinced. “I’ll probably just watch the games on the tube and hope the weather breaks, so Leesha and I can get at least a little quality-time in this weekend.”
“Just try it out, John. What have you got to lose?” Rivers goaded. The other two nodded their encouragement.
“Yeah, maybe, but I doubt it. Anyway, have a good weekend, guys. And don’t shoot anybody I wouldn’t,” he added.
“Have a good-one, John,” they wished him in unison. And out the door he went.
John walked-out of the Federal Building and squinted into the light of the bright, fall afternoon. Traffic was heavy, even for two o’clock on a Friday, and he was glad to be getting away early before the rush-hour pandemonium got really wound-up.
As John waited for the light to change so that he could cross the street to the parking garage, a metro-transit bus stopped in front of him and began unloading a handful of passengers. Idly, he read the advertisement plastered all over the side of the vehicle. DREAMWEAVERS was the first thing that popped-out at him, and the picture painted underneath the large letters was an attractive couple snuggled-up, sleeping. A large, fluffy dream-cloud above their heads portrayed them lounging on a tropical beach sipping exotic looking drinks with little pink umbrellas poking from the tops. Underneath the picture, written in bold, rainbow-colored numbers, were digits to call for further information and scheduling. As the lumbering, loud bus pulled away,