"Sanctuary" had mobilized nearly all of its resources on the East Coast.
They had joined forces with several official peripheral agencies that obeyed orders but ignored oversight, setting up an inescapable net centered on the Metropolitan Museum in Big Apple City.
The monitoring room in the security center had been taken over by personnel temporarily transferred in by them, while the museum's own security staff had been pushed into a corner.
A security guard chewed gum, his cheeks bulging as he wore an utterly indifferent expression:
Used to it, used to it. Every few months, these people of unknown origin come and take over the place. God knows what they're tinkering with.
Honestly, he only made a few thousand dollars a month. Why risk his life over it? Let them do whatever they wanted. The museum's senior management had brought them in anyway—
Other than the museum's original security personnel, the atmosphere throughout the monitoring room had been stretched taut as the highest string on a violin.
Hundreds of screens, large and small, covered every exhibition hall, corridor, entrance and exit, and even the surrounding streets.
Besides the standard infrared and thermal sensors, dozens of screens displayed fluctuating waveforms and energy spectra that ordinary people could not comprehend, clearly connected to specialized equipment—
Calvin, a senior coordinator of "Sanctuary," stood before the central console with a grim expression.
Around him, personnel dressed in museum uniforms, business suits, and casual clothes had gathered in a circle, every face solemn.
"Still nothing unusual?"
"No, sir." A technician staring at the psychic radar screen tapped the keyboard twice and answered in a low voice, "Round-the-clock scanning picked up seventeen instances of low-intensity natural spirit fluctuations, all the kind naturally emitted by antique furniture several centuries old.
Forty-three reactions came from visitors. Individual screenings