“You win,” Garrison said. “Your friends can go.”
Liza and Snoop broke into smiles. Garrison wagged a finger in their faces.
“Keep your noses clean,” the FBI agent said.
Snoop walked out of the kitchen with a lift in his step. Liza came around the table, and kissed Peter lovingly on the cheek.
“You’re a star,” she whispered.
“Get out of here before he changes his mind,” Peter whispered back.
Liza hurried out of the kitchen. Moments later, Peter heard the front door open as Liza and Snoop left the brownstone. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing his friends were safe.
Garrison turned to his team, and told them to wait in another room. The three agents filed out.
“I need some coffee,” Garrison said.
Peter fixed a fresh pot. Soon they were facing each other at the table, the hostility between them all but gone.
“You go first,” Garrison said.
“I’d never heard of the Order of Astrum until last night, when one of their members tried to kill me during a show,” Peter said. “A British guy named Wolfe.”
“Who told you Wolfe was a member of the Order?”
Peter sipped his drink. Detective Schoch had told him Wolfe was part of the Order. He wasn’t going to give her up any more than Liza or Snoop.
“Wolfe had the Order’s tattoo stamped on his neck,” Peter said. “One of my assistants recognized the tattoo, and told me about the Order.”
“How did you make the connection between the Order and your parents’ deaths?”
“I saw it in a dream last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was there the night my parents were abducted, and repressed the memory. It came out last night, and I saw the men who did it. One of them had the Order’s tattoo on his neck.”
“You were there.”
“That’s right. So what’s Wolfe’s deal? You must have some idea.”
The ball was back in Garrison’s court. When the FBI agent did not respond, Peter gazed into his guest’s troubled eyes, and read his thoughts. He knows something horrible is about to happen, and doesn’t know how to stop it.
“Tell me what you’re afraid of. Maybe I can help,” Peter said.
“Who said I was afraid of something?”
“It’s written all over your face.”
“Is that so. Are you psychic?”
“I don’t have ESP, but I do have ESPN.”
“Ouch. Just answer the question.”
“I see things that other people miss.” He paused. “I can help, if you let me.”
Garrison drummed the table. He had a face like an open book. Now it was saying, “What the hell do I have to lose?”
“All right. I’ll tell you what I know,” Garrison said.
Peter refilled the special agent’s mug. Garrison appreciated the gesture, and dipped his chin.
“I run a special division of the FBI called the Pattern Recognition Unit,” Garrison said. “We solve cases through data mining and information analysis. You familiar with this?”
“I think CSI did an episode about it,” Peter said.
“I’ll give you an example. There was a serial killer in Boston who was slashing women the third Friday of every month. The Boston police were stymied, so the case was handed to us. We mined several thousand pieces of data to see if anything popped. Turns out, a movie theater in Boston was showing splatter flicks every third Friday. We contacted the mental hospitals to see if any patients got turned on by that stuff. Wouldn’t you know, there was a guy who did, and he’d been missing for months. We caught him.”
“Did a pattern lead you to the Order of Astrum?”
“Yes, it did,” Garrison said. “Last year, an oil field in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, was mysteriously blown up. The next day, the price of crude oil skyrocketed, and a ruthless dictator in Africa named Big Daddy made a killing in the oil futures market. It looked real suspicious, so my group decided to investigate.
“We looked at thousands of pieces of information. Based upon our investigation, Big Daddy wasn’t connected to the bombing in any way. But we found something else. Big Daddy had recently unveiled a new flag with the Order of Astrum’s symbol replacing the country’s national emblem. That bothered me, so I decided to have a look at the Order.
“There wasn’t much information available about the Order, except for a file on the FBI’s computer, which said the Order had killed your parents, who were both psychics. I wondered if there could be a link to their killings, and the case in Riyadh.”
The words went off in Peter’s head like a bomb. The FBI knew that my parents were psychics. Did they know about him, and the Friday night seance group as well?
“Was there?” Peter asked.
“Yes, there was. Don’t get ahead of me.”
“Sorry.”
“I contacted the Saudis, and asked them if there had been any unusual killings in Riyadh before the pipeline attack. Guess what I found?”
“There were.”
“Right again. There were three suspicious deaths the week before the bombing. One victim was a woman who had occult stuff hidden in her house. The second victim was an old man who claimed to be two hundred years old, and gave spiritual guidance to his neighbors. The third was a teenage boy who was shunned by everyone who knew him.”
“Why?”
“The boy’s neighbors claimed he used to sit on the sidewalk, and stare into the sun while predicting the future.” Garrison paused. “We think they were all psychics.”
“How were they killed?”
Garrison gave him a hard stare. “Why is that important?”
“Wolfe used a knife. I read somewhere that knifings are rare.”
“They are rare. Most murderers use a firearm. To answer your question, the victims in Riyadh were stabbed, strangled, and beaten to death.”
“It has to be him. Wolfe likes using his hands.” Peter paused to think about what Garrison had told him. “You think Wolfe was sent to Riyadh to bomb the pipeline. But before he did that, he killed these three psychics so they wouldn’t tip off the police.”
Garrison took another sip of coffee. “You’re very perceptive.”
“Like I said, I see things other people miss.”
“You sure you’re not a psychic like your parents?”
Peter stared into the depths of his drink and said nothing.
“My father had an expression,” Garrison said. “He used to say, ‘I may have been born late, but I wasn’t born late last night.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
“Why would I do that?”
Garrison put his elbows on the table. “I’m going to share a little secret with you, Peter. For the past ten years, the FBI has been getting anonymous letters warning them about disasters that haven’t happened yet. The letters are all postmarked from New York, and they’re written in different sets of handwriting. About, say, seven different sets. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about those letters, would you?”
Peter thought he was going to be sick.
“Because something tells me you’re one of these psychics,” Garrison went on. “I can’t prove it, but then again, I really don’t want to. I just want to know what you know, and stop whatever terrible attack the Order is planning for New York. Will you help me?”
Peter leaned back in his chair. If he told Garrison what he knew, his life would never be the same. But if he didn’t, thousands might die. He needed to come clean with Garrison if he wanted to stop that from happening. Seen in that light, he really had no other choice.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “I’m part of the group that’s been sending you letters. I was about to contact you about Wolfe, who I saw during a seance. He’s planning to attack Times Square this Tuesday night after the shows let out. He’s got some kind of weapon that doesn’t make any noise. People will just drop on the sidewalk, and die. I can’t figure out what it is.”
“You saw this?” Garrison asked incredulously.
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Could you be wrong about the timing, or location?”
“I’ve never been wrong before.”
“Really.”
Peter nodded. “Really,” he added for emphasis.
“Do you think Wolfe knows that you know?”
It was an idea which Peter hadn’t considered. If true, it would explain why Wolfe had come to the theater and attacked him, and why he was trying to kill the others as well.
“He might,” Peter said.
Garrison abruptly stood up from the table. A new look had sparked the special agent’s eyes. Hope. He came around the table, and pumped Peter’s hand.
“This will help us find him. You did the right thing telling me.”
Peter wasn’t so sure. The authorities had never understood psychics, and he doubted they ever would. He walked Garrison to the front of the brownstone. The rest of the team was in the living room, playing with the illusions. Special Agent Nan Perry was sitting cross-legged on a Magic Carpet while floating in space. Her two partners had taken a liking to the Arm Chopper, and were taking turns cutting off each other’s hands.
“Playtime’s over,” Garrison announced.
The three agents filed out of the room and went outside to the street. Garrison stopped at the door, and again shook his hand.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Garrison said.
No, it wasn’t, Peter thought. A secret was never safe once too many people knew it. He’d opened Pandora’s box, and did not know how he’d ever get it closed.
Garrison handed him a business card. “Call me if you have any more visions.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thank you.”
Garrison walked down to the sidewalk and got into his vehicle. Peter shut the door and pressed his forehead against the cold wood. He could not help but wonder if he was doomed.