An aide enters the room, one of President John Zwawa’s personal assistants. ‘Mrs. Mabus, on behalf of the entire White House staff, let me extend my deepest condolences—’

‘Don’t bother. What time is my meeting?’

‘The president says he can see you immediately. If you’ll follow me.’

Lilith Eve Robinson’s descent into the Mexican cave had exposed her schizophrenic brain to an extremely powerful low-frequency electrical field. Like an electrostatic tuning fork, the effect served to rephase the girl’s already imbalanced brain waves.

Thought is analogous to energy. Firing at microseconds, it possesses no boundaries, not even the limits of time and space. In a manner transcending the principles of radio wave propagation theory, thought energy can be sensed by remote viewers who are highly tuned to these psychic phenomenon.

The phenomenon of reliving a previously seen or experienced event (memory) is an example of present-thought energy interacting with one’s past. Though the encounter is usually brief, the mental interplay, or déjà vu, is quite real.

Exposure to the cave’s electromagnetic amplification enabled Lilith’s pathological mind access into the psychic realm. Shortly after her descent, she began hearing another voice, one far different than those of her self-created companions.

‘I can hear whispers,’ she had told Don Rafelo. ‘The voice speaks to me as I fall asleep.’

‘It is telepathy. The communication is meant to guide you.’

‘But who is it? How do they know me?’

‘The whispers originate from both the near future and distant past.’

‘Why do you speak in riddles? Just tell me who is speaking to me.’

The old man grinned. ‘You are in communication with … yourself.’

Three years after her ‘descent’ into the Mayan Underworld, the seventeen-year-old beauty, now traveling under the name Lilith Aurelia, had arrived at the 2030 World Entrepreneurs Association Meeting in Miami in search of a mate. To bait her hook, she wore a strapless cocoa ‘flesh-hugger’ evening gown that matched her skin and barely contained her breasts. Long, wavy ebony hair fell past her tantalizing cleavage clear down to her taut, exposed stomach and gold belly button ring.

The barely legal man-eater sipped her martini as she casually scanned the ballroom crowd. Nothing but pawns, and a few gray-haired bishops. The Queen of the Succubi is here, now where is my king?

She watched as her escort, NRA activist Ben Merchant, worked the room. The middle-aged defender of the Second Amendment, dressed in a white Armani tux, wore a black rose tucked in his lapel buttonhole and a Beretta in his ankle holster. Lilith liked the homosexual, whom she had met a year earlier in Mexico City. He was shallow and greedy—easy to read, with the type of weaknesses she enjoyed exploiting. The constant name-dropping was annoying, but nonetheless, he was loyal and seemed to get things done.

‘Excuse me, have we met?’