“Let me introduce you to my associates,” said Palmer, one arm swinging around to indicate the men behind him. “Michael Hadley and Sal Lopez.”
Henry returned the men’s nods. He’d seen enough Navy SEALs and Army Rangers while working on government contracts out at Stanford to recognize the type immediately, with their tight jaws and fixed expressions and alert postures. The organization Lance Palmer worked for was full of such men. It never occurred to Henry to question why these two men were here, now.
“My boss was impressed with the results of your little demonstration,” said Palmer, while Henry hurried to clear stacks of papers and books from the office’s scattered, mismatched chairs. “Very impressed indeed.”
Henry turned with a pile of books in his arms, his pulse thrumming with anticipation and hope. “It was accurate, was it?”
“Uncannily so. So accurate, in fact, I had a hard time convincing my boss you hadn’t found some way to fake the results.” Both men laughed. It was a suspicion Henry had dealt with time and again when he’d been working on the Grill Flame Project for the Army.
“So are they interested?” asked Henry, trying hard to sound casual but not succeeding.
“The suits are drawing up the contracts even as we speak.”
Henry shoved the books he’d been holding onto the top of the nearest filing cabinet, then just stood there, grinning like an idiot. Wait until Elizabeth and Tobie heard this!
“Where’d you find this remote viewer, anyway?” Palmer asked.
Henry felt his grin grow wider. “She’s incredible, isn’t she? A colleague of mine recommended her. She’s the best viewer I’ve ever studied.”
Palmer nodded. “Who is she, exactly?”
Henry gave a nervous laugh. From somewhere, un-bidden, came a shadow of his earlier unease. “The identities of viewers are always kept secret. You know that, Lance.”
Palmer leaned forward in his seat. He was no longer smiling. “But surely you can tell us now? After all, we’re going to be funding this project.”
Across the room, Sal Lopez sat with his hands loose at his sides, while Michael Hadley had taken up a position near the door. Neither man looked directly at Henry.
Henry had no illusions about the nature of the organization Lance Palmer now worked for. From the open window came the sound of the hot breeze shifting the leaves of a nearby oak and the blaring of a ship’s horn from out on the Mississippi. Henry was suddenly, intensely aware of the stillness of the evening around them, of his own relative weakness compared to the strength and training of the three men ranged about his office. And he felt it again, that whisper of warning that spoke from across the eons. This time he listened.
He gave a shaky laugh. “I guess you’re right.” He turned toward the door. “Some of the things she’s done are amazing. Let me get her file so I can show you. I’ll be right back.”
Henry hurried down the darkened hallway, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the old empty house. A slick layer of cold sweat lined his face, trickled down between his shoulder blades. He threw a wistful glance at the training room, with its reinforced walls and heavy, dead-bolted door. But the room was kept locked and he’d left the keys lying next to his computer. He thought about making a break down the stairs, then realized they’d hear and be after him in a minute.
His breath coming hot and fast in his throat, Henry ducked into one of the empty offices. He eased the door closed behind him, his cell phone already flipped open in his shaky hand.
His fingers were clumsy. He wasted precious seconds searching through the menu for Tobie’s number. More time waiting for the call to go through. He kept his terrified gaze fixed on the panels of the closed door. His ears strained to catch the least hint of movement from the hall.
The phone began to ring.
“Come on, Tobie,” he whispered as the it rang for the second, then the third time. “Answer.”
It was possible he was wrong, of course. Maybe he was overreacting to the point of foolishness. He could deal with the embarrassment if it came to that. But if he were right—
A computer-generated voice said, “You have reached the mailbox of…October Guinness. At the tone, please record your message—”
“Damn,” he swore, hitting the appropriate key and waiting for the requisite beep. “Come on.” It finally sounded, high-pitched and long…
Just as a board creaked out in the hall.