Freedom TM

nodded. “They owned the largest contiguous parcel of private land in the United States. 784,393 acres. Larger than the state of Rhode Island.”
    Boynton grinned. “If we play Trivial Pursuit, can I be on your team? In all fairness, it’s more like two million—not that anyone would know.” He motioned for her to approach the waiting limousine.
    “Why such a large piece of land?”
    “Privacy. We’re seventy-five miles from the nearest town. The outer perimeter is ten miles from where you’re standing and ringed with the latest seismic sensors and cameras. The sky is sweptby radar, and we’ve got a battalion of crack troops in garrison— including an artillery section. The Daemon would have difficulty sneaking up on us out here.”
    Philips nodded.
    Soldiers wielding what looked to be metal detection or radio frequency wands emerged from the Suburban and approached Philips. Other soldiers moved to take her luggage.
    “What’s this?”
    “Necessary, I’m afraid. No outside electronic devices or weapons of any kind are permitted on the ranch. The Daemon is cunning and the secrecy of this operation is vital. Your understanding is greatly appreciated.”
    She had left her phone and laptop back in Maryland, but they riffled through her purse and carry-on bag with gusto.
    They also started scanning her body.
    In moments, they detected her watch and the silver amulet on a chain around her neck. They scanned both closely then nodded to Boynton that they were okay.
    A soldier now strapped a small gray plastic bracelet around her wrist. He fastened it into place with a rivet gun and ran tests on it with an electronic device.
    Philips looked at it. “You’re strapping a transponder on me?”
    A soldier snapped a digital photograph of her.
    Boynton held up his hands reassuringly. “RFID tag for tracking purposes. Don’t try to remove it.” He pointed to the one on his own wrist. “It’s your identity while on the ranch. It’ll send an alert if it’s tampered with. Sensors at the entrances to most buildings will go into alarm if you enter without one. Likewise if you enter restricted areas. And alarms are responded to with lethal force. These RFID tags let the troops know that you’re friendly, and we’ve got quite a few snipers out there—so please wear it at all times.”
    Boynton opened the door to the first limousine and gestured for Philips to get inside.
    She lingered at the open car door. “Why is the airfield so far from the house?”
    “The FAA restricted the airspace within a twenty-mile radius of the mansion.”
    Philips nodded. “I guess after 9/11 you can’t be too careful.”
    Boynton looked confused.
    “Planes as weapons.”
    Boynton thought for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, right.” He gestured again for Philips to get inside the car. “If you please …”
    She got inside.
    The drive to the main house was a blur of grass and scrublands. For all the signs warning of cattle and the dozens of cattle guards they rumbled over, Philips never saw one. Instead she saw military units and anti-aircraft missile batteries.
    Even though she remembered every word of what she’d read of the Aubreys, she was still stunned at the sight of their mansion. After World War II they’d purchased an English manor house from one of the grand estates of central England—one that had gone bankrupt as the British Empire started to collapse. They’d had the house dismantled stone by stone and reassembled here in south Texas. A hundred-room neoclassical mansion done in solid granite blocks, replete with acres of ornamental gardens and statuary.
    It was as if Philips had just rolled up to Castle Howard in Regency-period England. The cobblestone courtyard in front circled around a massive Italian fountain, blasting water thirty feet in the air from a dozen cherubic lips—with a muscular stallion rearing up over it all. It looked as though the Aubreys had sacked Europe. For all Philips knew, they had.
    Linked to the back of the house by a covered causeway was whatlooked to be a sizable modern conference facility, done in smoked glass and granite.
    The Maybach stopped under the shadow of twin marble staircases rolling out from the massive front door of the house. Philips stepped from the limousine as a valet in a red livery coat held the door for her.
    Boynton had exited the Suburban and walked past them. “This way, Doctor.”
    Philips followed Boynton through a maze of ornately furnished hallways dotted