Chapter Seventeen

Seacrest scanned the drink menu at the Jazz Standard with the same intensity she applied to her lab experiments. Carter sent a text saying he was going to be a little late. The two new colleagues were both tired, so they decided not to wait on the cocktails.

“Go ahead, Agent Seacrest, you pick the first round. Make it a signature drink.”

Happy to oblige, Seacrest ordered them a round of Manhattans to start. The old-time favorite was dark red and sweet. It came with a cherry, and it packed a wallop.

When the waitress left, she threw back her head and closed her eyes. Running her fingers through her hair, she gathered it all up in one mass and lifted it off her neck to enjoy the breeze from the fan on the ceiling. After a moment, she sighed, let it tumble back down and opened her eyes.

“Long day.”

The club had been described as a recently renovated jazz den located beneath a restaurant called the Blue Smoke. Seacrest suggested a night out on the town, and Deeprose chose this spot hoping it might pick up their spirits. It didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was. The décor was no nonsense, but the talent was unbelievable, and the crowd was even better than that.

Deeprose was mesmerized by the hundreds of tiny stars above her, sparkling gold and silver against a pitch-black ceiling that she could almost convince herself was the night sky. Deeprose noticed Agent Seacrest was also looking up at the stars, but she was frowning.

She’s still thinkin’ about the case…like Ah am.

The jukebox blast into the room with a whole string of Duke Ellington classics. And Seacrest knew the name of every one of them. Deeprose was impressed; she would never have guessed that Agent Seacrest had a passion for World War II oldies.

The live music shows were well known for playing all kinds of jazz, from legitimate to straight-ahead to swing. Here, you could kick back, avoid the tourists, and hear a pianist whose Rhapsody in Blue left you with your mouth hanging open. Then, if you were invited, you could stay after hours and listen to the band blow their heads off until the early hours of the morning.

Deeprose, the incurable optimist, clapped with enthusiasm when the band finally came on.

“Ready for another Manhattan, ladies?”

Deeprose answered, “Not just now, ma’am. Just some water. What’s in those things, anyway?”

“Three parts bourbon and one part sweet red vermouth. And a cherry.”

“Good God! Is that what Ah’ve been drinkin’?”

Seacrest rested her chin on her right hand. “This time I want something, a bit more…I don’t know…wild.”

“How about a Red-Eyed Zombie?”

Seacrest sat straight up. “I like that idea. Bring two, please.”

“Ah haven’t had a stiff drink since leavin’ Alabama.”

“Noooo problem, Shania. Can I call you that outside the office now?”

“Ah’d be pleased if you would, Jill. I wonder where Agent Carter is.”

Seacrest turned toward the stage to watch the band. “Not going to worry about that! Carter’s a big boy.”

“It’s pretty amazin’ that y‘all can be so different and still work so well together.”

“It’s a big pain, sometimes, but mostly very nice. Very nice, indeedy-do.”

“Ah hope Ah get along with my husband like that.” Deeprose looked sideways at Seacrest and burst out laughing. “But first Ah gotta catch ‘im.”

Seacrest glanced around the room. “Maybe it’s not going to be as hard as you think. There’s a nice-looking gentleman at one o’clock who’s got his eye on you.”

“One o’clock from where?”

“From where you are. To your right and a few feet behind me.” Seacrest picked up the drink menu again, and with downcast eyes and a frown of concentration, furtively checked him out using her compact mirror. “I think you should go for it!”

“What makes you think that fella’s lookin’ at me?”

“Why not, Shania? He’s certainly not looking at me. You can see my wedding ring from space and besides, my back is to him. Seacrest held up her hand to reveal a magnificent Vera Wang diamond and sapphire engagement ring and matching wedding band. “This is the only jewelry I wear except for my necklace. See the pendant? It’s the night sky. The disk is made of Lapis Lazuli, and the moon and stars are diamonds. Carter gave it to me six months after we met. When he put it around my neck, he said that we both risked our lives for a living and that he wanted me to promise him that if anything ever happened to him, I would look up at the night sky, say a prayer, and search for the brightest star. That would be Carter telling me that I had been loved and that wherever he was, he was content.” Seacrest choked up a little.

“Agent Carter said that? Ah didn’t think he had that many words in ‘im.”

“Still waters run deep. Look, why don’t you visit the restroom, so you can walk past him? When you clear him, take a quick look back. If he’s been watching you walk away, he’s as good as hooked. Carpe diem, Shania.”

“Maybe after another one of these zombie things. It’s hot in here!”

Seacrest knocked Shania’s menu off the table. “Ooops!”

Deeprose bent to pick it up and took the unexpected opportunity to glance at the chocolate-brown man wearing a lime button-down shirt with a matching tie so deep in color, it was almost black. Slightly nervous, she began winding a strand of black hair around her finger. “But do ya really think he’s my type?”

“Wouldn’t know. But he’s in the band. Ever date a musician, Shania?”

Deeprose scanned the walls without moving her head. Sure enough, the man was featured on a poster. He was holding a saxophone and smiling like he really meant it.

“Men are a little slow on the uptake, Shania. If you don’t grab him with both hands, it could be a long, lonely winter.”

“Ah see.” Deeprose giggled. “Is Agent Carter thick too?”

“Oh, yeah.” Seacrest rolled her eyes. “Top of the list.” She nodded her head. “You don’t know how many coffee dates I had to sit through until the light finally dawned on him. Thick as a brick. Some Zen Master!”

“Dear Lord, that gentleman’s headin’ this way. Keep an eye on my Red-Eyed Zombie. Ah’ll be right back.”

***

“Before I answer your question, Agent Carter, tell me about how you caught your suspect.”

Carter gripped the arms of his chair. “Carter went on to explain that he studied the video of Michael taken by the security camera at the museum, until he could mimic, in his mind, Michael’s gait and posture, and tried to crawl into his head. They took a chance that the murderer might hang around the area where the crime was committed, and it all hit pay dirt.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s what happened. I just tried to get a feeling for who he was and we found him. I haven’t told Jill or Agent Deeprose about it, yet, and I’m not sure I should.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous to me, Agent Carter. Women do that all the time. It’s hard to say exactly what it is. We plug into the social conscious pretty much the same way you do, except that we don’t have to think about it. I can suggest a book, easy and quick to get through, that will show you how to reconnect with people. If you follow the instructions to the letter, certain habits and behaviors of the mind and body will change, with practice and over time, until it is a second nature.

“Agent Carter, I’m about to save you thousands of dollars in therapy; you look inward. A lot. You do your best to ignore people but worry about not understanding them and about them misunderstanding you. You see where ignoring them has gotten you. Excessive worry won’t change your situation or your outlook. Only you can do that. Change your behaviors and your mind and heart will follow.

“Agent Carter, you are far too introspective for a man who claims he can chuck everything away in the back of his mind and not be bothered by it. You are spinning your wheels worrying and worrying so much about worrying! Worry is self-focused and results in thoughts and behaviors that are self-centered. For instance, your body language, voice, and demeanor clearly discourages people from approaching you.”

“Really? I thought I was so much better at that now. You know all that about me just from me being here and telling you this story tonight?”

“Textbook, Agent. We can work more on this together, but the upshot is you have to force yourself to be interested in others, try to like them for who they are, interact with them, ask questions and give honest answers to theirs. Be interested in their problems, their joys, their sorrows. Get involved. Paste a face on it; it someone’s crying on your shoulder, don’t push them away. Smile a lot more. Or at all. Do your best not to think about yourself when there are people around. It’s called engaging the world. Work on open and welcoming body language and your tone of voice.

“Now, tell me everything you can about the facts of the case. Let’s see if there’s anything helpful I can add.”

Carter explained everything he could to her, in detail.

“Regarding how likely it is for a group of angry or fearful people to ignite into a raging mob, the answer is ‘very likely’ if the combined elements are present in the right proportions at the right time. From a psychosocial perspective hate can be said to be a contagious disease because it travels through a live social system infecting everything in its path, like cancer devouring a body. Have you ever heard of the Contagion Theory?”

***

Deeprose extended her right hand to Wilson. He took it in both of his and smiled back at her.

Be careful, now, remember he’s a musician. Oh, shut up and live a little.

“You have beautiful green eyes, pretty lady. We match tonight.”

“Thank you. My name is Shania. Ah saw your name on one of the posters. Wilson, isn’t it? Are you playin’ tonight?”

“I am. I am.” Wilson patted a hand on his chest. “Best saxophonist on the East Side, if I do say so myself.”

“Ah’ve always heard that musicians and bartenders are a great judge of character. Do you consider yourself a great judge of character?”

“Funny you should ask that question! Yes, I consider myself an excellent judge of character. I’m pretty good at knowing the real stories from the bull, but tonight I overheard a conversation a bunch of college-age kids were having about some meeting they went to. It was a kind of a part social, part political organization called the Collective. The ideas they heard there had some of them pretty freaked out. To tell you the truth, just hearing about it freaked me out a little, too.”

“Tell me, Wilson, are they still here? Can you point them out to me without using your hands?”

“I can. They’re sitting three tables to the left of yours- just there, against the wall - the big, round table with all the twenty-somethings. Don’t let them know I eaves dropped and spilled the beans, O.K.? They’re potential fans.” Wilson beamed at Deeprose and pointed at the stage. “Excuse me for just a little bit, Shania; I have to start warming up for the next set. I hate to be so forward, but I’d like to see you again. Can I have your number?”

“With pleasure, Wilson. Maybe you can even put me on your mailin’ list.” Wilson grabbed a pen on a nearby table and wrote it down on the back of his hand.

“Stick around a while. I’ll find something real special to play for you.”

Shania smiled to herself. She was beginning to feel more at home in New York, and she liked that.

***

Dr. Lewis pointed at the T.V. screen hanging on the wall. “If you take a look at the screen, you can read all about Gustave Le Bon, a French psychologist, who proposed that crowd psychology differed from that of the individual.” She returned the remote to a small table beside her.

“I would rather hear it from you, Dr. Lewis.” Carter smiled attentively.

“Certainly. Crowds can radically alter the individual’s mindset and subsequent behavior, at least within a very short window of time. Le Bon believed that the influence of the crowd could make a sane and very moral person do things, as part of a crowd, that he would never do as an individual or anywhere else. However, there are some who argue the Convergence Theory, which states that certain individuals come together to behave in a certain way and often influence others in the crowd who already share their beliefs. Freud believed in something he called a circular reaction, where each person repeats the bad behavior of another, allowing the perpetrator to keep his influence resonating. Because this is a stimulus which generates an almost automatic reaction, individuals might be able to abandon logic or morals, even for one momentary thrill.”

“Dr. Lewis, could contagion or convergence theory work on huge numbers of people? Could it be used to influence people on a national level for political, social, and economic purposes? I’m trying not to go there, but…is that a technique that would have been employed by a man like Hitler on crowds of thousands?”

“Maybe not on such a dramatic level most of the time, but the comparison is valid, yes. On the opposite side of the coin, for sheer reach and influence, there’s Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. It's the central teaching of one of the world's great religions, and, as you know, still studied and recounted not just in schools and religious institutions but by people all over the world. Jesus inspired passion, but it was for love and forgiveness instead of vengeance, gain, and punishment.”

“Doctor, how could this speaker get through to the hearts and minds of the crowd so easily and in so short of a time?”

“He would indicate that he’s one of them and that he understands their pain, give them a reason for their suffering that seems plausible, encourage and inspire them to hate and punish, and promise them a better life or after-life if they put his ideas into practice. Men like that have even convinced their followers to commit suicide.”

“Do you think people are still as susceptible to manipulation as they were in the past? Could it still happen today?”

“Absolutely. A crowd can be connected technologically; they no longer have to be physically present to gather together, so now you can easily communicate with so many more people at one time and deliver audio-visual effects that are captivating, even theatrical. As long as the techniques used are pretty much as I described, and assuming the audience is affected by this person to the degree that they become passionate to join the cause, anything is possible – from joining a club to riot and revolution. Effectively manipulating people and exerting one’s will over them in the modern world requires only access to their eyes, ears, and mind.”

“What about a drug? Could a drug be used to exacerbate the effects of the contagion and convergence theories enough to make an individual want to….kill?”

“Yes. However, if ‘wanting’ becomes ‘doing’, no matter how strong a drug is, we still have free will and can choose whether or not to resist it, with an exception. If a person is unaware he’s been drugged, he may not be able to distinguish fantasy from reality. Drugs can be used to control brain activity and hormones, but you never know what else you may be letting out of the can when you use them. A drug would be considered by anyone administering it, a temporary measure or a safeguard.

“Le Bon suggested that, in a period of widespread discontent, crowd action serves to destroy an old order in preparation for a new one. Social movements help to build the new order, but really, it doesn’t matter what’s discussed at the large gatherings we’re describing. The speaker doesn’t care about anything other than getting people there and keeping them there because he has plans of his own for them.”

“Unbelievable. I truly appreciate your insights into social behavior in general as well as my own. This has been most enlightening, Doctor.”

Dr. Lewis glanced at her watch. “I hate to say it, Agent Carter, but we’ve just about run out of time for today. Would you like to schedule another appointment?

***

Carter hustled through the foot traffic, abandoning his cab to make better time. He was excited and disturbed by Dr. Lewis’ explanations, but that would keep until tomorrow. He raced to the jazz club, ready to kick back and let go.

***

“Nice of you to show.” Seacrest stood up, teetering slightly on her heels. She offered Carter a mighty scowl. “We waited all night for you. What could possibly have been so important?”

“Really, Jill, it was very important and very last minute, or I never would have been so late. I promise to explain the whole thing to you.”

“Explain it to me now, big guy…”

Someone was tapping Seacrest annoying and persistently on the shoulder. “Agents, y’all gotta see this for yourselves.” Deeprose maneuvered them toward a bunch of millennials at a large table next to the wall

A man with shockingly red hair and a baby blue sweater waved his cell phone in Carter’s direction. “Maybe you can settle this for us.” Carter smiled and nodded at the young man. “Sure, buddy. What’s a night out with friends without a good debate?”

Carter blushed as a tipsy Seacrest trailed her hand along his thigh closest to her.

The red-haired man smiled back. “Dude, that chick really likes you.”

“You know, I think you may be right.” Carter whispered in the man’s ear. “Think I should ask her out?”

“Yeah, but have a drink first; she’s way ahead of you.”

He showed Carter a video he’d recorded earlier that night. That was the subject of the debate. After he saw it, Carter nodded to Deeprose, who rose to follow him. “We’ll be right back, everyone. Don’t finish the party without us.”

“Look man, now he’s got another one!” The party roared with laughter.

“What’s going on, Agent Deeprose? What is it you think they can tell me? All I saw was a replay of a video of a speech given by some evangelical-type of man. I’m not connecting the dots. Can you help me out, here?”

“These people may have just broken our case, Agent Carter!” She quickly described to Carter, in detail, the event they all attended earlier this evening. “They told me, Agent Carter, in their own words, that as soon as they realized this man was talkin’ about real violence, they bolted.”

Carter had to acknowledge to himself that when it came to enthusiasm, socializing, and charming information out of people, Deeprose was truly gifted. And as it turned out, she was right. She’d spied out a group of attendees and flushed out a promising suspect like it was all in a day’s work.

“I think I know where you’re going with this; you think this speaker may be connected to Michael and the drug we confiscated. All right, let’s run with it and see where it leads. We’ll have to tread lightly, though. We don’t want to scare them off. I want a closer look at that video. Agent Deeprose, you’re a natural when it comes to putting people at ease. Do you think you could get that redhead to let you borrow his phone?”

“Piece o’ cake, sir.”

“ Ah think Ah can settle your debate, all right, Red!” She tousled his hair and he blushed furiously. “How ‘bout Ah spring for a round o’ drinks for y’all, an’ you can tell me all about it? Ah’m all ears.” Deeprose gifted the man, now known to her as Red, with a thousand-watt smile he’d never forget.

Millennials, one and all, raised their glasses, and shouted, “Cheers!”

Deeprose motioned to the waitress, who flew over to the group and quickly took their order.

“O.K. Ah’m ready to listen to all your arguments and decide who has the stronger one. My decision will be considered final. Commence, Red.”

Red looked like he would willingly drown in Deeprose’s attention. It was pretty obvious that he liked people and they liked him back, but he didn’t seem to be especially suave with the ladies. He’d be telling this story for months to come. Carter was glad for him.

Good thing you thought to video tape that meeting, Red.

Waving his phone around while it replayed the video, he continued. “I recorded it at tonight’s meeting of the Collective. They call themselves protectionists, whatever that is, and they talked a lot about their enemies in this country and around the world. The enemy was everyone and anyone and no one. He just made them angrier and angrier about how they lived and told them their enemies had made it that way. I never heard one specific name mentioned, though. It felt like one of those radical alt-right hate rallies to me. Here’s what happened. I got an invitation by email to attend, so we went. I think the speaker in the video is a senator, but I can’t recall his name. My friends think I’m crazy.”

“And he is. Nice to meet you. I’m Linda.” A young woman extended her hand to Deeprose. She was the West Village artsy-type - no makeup, long mousy-brown hair parted straight down the middle and huge pointy eyeglasses with black rims.

Agent Deeprose shook Linda’s hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Linda. Did y’all see a senator there, then, or do you think it coulda been someone who just looked like one?”

Linda answered. “It had to be a look-alike. Why would an important politician agree to host a radical and fanatical political meeting that encouraged people to tear down a society of just about everyone but themselves to rebuild a better America defined by himself? I mean, the guy actually suggested eliminating “wrong thinkers” for the good of the American community. That was exactly what the man said. Am I right? It’s got to be a joke or something. Tell Red he’s dreaming if he thinks a senator would cut his own throat in public. Whoever it was, he wasn’t actually there, anyway. It could have been anybody.” Linda began to bite her nails.

“It was all virtual!” Red leaned way across the table so everyone could see better, before he pointed to the video again, for emphasis. “He might have been on a big screen, but he was there all the same and in real time. I’d know him again in a minute if I saw him again.”

Linda frowned. “What makes you so sure that he really meant all that, though? Maybe we ran out of there too soon to hear the rest of it. He could have been trying to make a point.”

“I’ll tell you what makes me so sure; I’m not deaf. I stayed until the end, and I have the whole thing on video to prove it. This man was not exaggerating to make a point. He meant it! We left because he scared us. He was really out there, you know? Nuts! What I wanna know is, what’s in it for him? What happens when some nutball takes him seriously and starts attacking people? The guy is a senator. I’m telling you, it doesn’t make sense!”

Red was way too smart and way too curious for Carter’s comfort. The agent decided it was time to step in and tell them who he was and what he was after. “Well spoken, Red. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m F.B.I. Special Agent Carter. This is my wife, Jill, our lead forensic scientist, and my partner, Agent Deeprose.”

Red looked like he was about to lose his dinner. A general commotion broke loose. Everyone began talking at once. Carter became momentarily nonplussed.

New Yorkers! Everyone talks, no one listens.

“Hey, everyone, calm down. Red, here, is a pretty smart fellow. He may be on to something, but he may not. Let’s not get excited. It’s possible this was just a giant misunderstanding. We’re talking about a senator, after all.” Carter didn’t want to alarm them unnecessarily, and he certainly didn’t want them spreading their ideas any further than this table. Red looked crestfallen. “Red, I promise you we’ll still dig around and see what there is to see.”

“Really? This is so cool! This is the only place on earth you can listen to a lunatic in an auditorium that seats hundreds, run into the F.B.I the very next night in a neighborhood dive, and see the film on Netflix by next year.”

Carter seized the opportunity to gain their cooperation while they were still all revved up. Once they went home, they’d begin to think. “Red, Agent Deeprose would like to borrow your phone and examine it. You’d be doing the city a big favor. Is it O.K. with you?”

“Sure. I mean, no.” He rubbed one hand over his forehead, flustered. “Yeah, anything dude. I thought the National Security Agency would have already pulled this info off the web and shut him down, but, hell yeah, you can look at it all you want. Just don’t let anyone know I gave it to you. I’m not entirely sure it was cool to film it.”

Having learned a little lesson from Deeprose tonight on making friends out of strangers, Carter gladly shook on it. While they exchanged phone numbers, Deeprose slid the cell phone off the table and into her purse.

Carter guided a very tipsy Seacrest back into her chair while Deeprose, in fifth gear and nearly unstoppable, rattled off ideas. Carter was proud of her and told her so. “Let’s get Jill situated. We’ll talk about all this later. O.K.?”

Seacrest shouted in Carter’s ear. “Shania met a man, tonight – the sax player! And I found him for her!”

“Shhhhhh! Stop yelling, Jill, it’s a jazz club, not a rock concert; everyone can – Wait; did you just call her Shania? How much did I miss tonight?”

Seacrest leaned over to whisper in his ear. Unfortunately, she broke the sound barrier again with a huge sonic boom. “A Lot! Shania met a man. Did I forget to mention it?”

Actually, it was nice to see Jill finally letting her hair down. Carter put his arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. He’d made a promise to himself to try to inject a little more fun into their lives when they could manage to snatch the time, and the time, apparently, was now. He pasted a smile on his face, but didn’t feel it yet; he was too keyed up.

Seacrest motioned for the waitress. “Excuse me! Over heeeeere! My husband’s thirsty. I think he needs one of those Red-Eyed Zombies.” She smiled wickedly at her husband and winked. “Your forfeit for being late is two of these, Carter. Pay up.”

One Zombie in, Carter looked around the room in a glow of good cheer. The stars drifted and dazzled in the night sky, and he could feel Deeprose shimmering; romance was definitely in the air. His attention turned to the dance floor. It was packed with couples swinging to a Glenn Miller classic. He supposed it had become tradition to sing along with the refrain. After each verse he heard the ring of an old fashioned telephone followed by four words shouted by the audience in unison…

“Pennsylvania six five thousand!”

He’d never seen a swing band or this type of energetic dancing. It was done with incredibly professional precision and great enthusiasm by old and young, alike. Now that was blowing off steam! Carter considered taking dancing lessons with Jill. He watched her as she looked around the room, taking in everything at once – sound, movement and a rhythm that drove her out of her seat.

“Whaddya think of this, Carter?”

“I think we should have done this a long time ago. Would you like to give it a try?”

“We don’t know how to dance like that! But…what the hell, let’s go!” Seacrest beamed.

As they rose, she caught the waitress’s attention. “Another Zombie for my husband, please. He has a lot of catching up to do. Oh, hell, Zombies all around. Come on, Carter; I feel the need for speed.”

When they finally sat down, sweating, exhausted, and very, very, happy, Carter toyed with his second drink to pace himself. The first one hit him hard. Seacrest was having none of that. “Drink up, my love. The purple dusk of twilight time steals across the meadows of my heart.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re not getting any younger. A toast to the night and songs of love!”

Oh boy, she’s gonna be really hung over, tomorrow.

When the band took a break, Seacrest put some coins in the old-fashioned juke box and chose several slow ones. “Shania, I see your saxophone player walking this way. Why don’t we all dance? I picked songs that are slow and timeless. Let’s all make a memory tonight.”

It was pure magic. Even Carter couldn’t deny the dreamy quality of romance wrapping him in its old, familiar embrace. He wished he could capture it in a jar and keep it on his dresser.

This is what life is all about. This moment. This feeling.

They danced to every song that old juke box gave out. It occurred to Carter that the melodies and lyrics from back then were much more direct and poignant than today’s. Those were World War II years, when lovers came together for one brief moment when they could snatch the chance, knowing they might have to live on it for the rest of their lives. Moments like those were terribly important. They were memories that became indelibly linked to a single night, a scent, and a song that said it all so beautifully.

The last song was theirs. Neither one knew most of the words, but they loved the melody and had chosen it for the first dance at their wedding reception. It was a haunting tune called Stardust, written by Hoagy Carmichael sometime in the 20’s – the 1920’s, that was. There was something about it that tugged at their heartstrings every time they heard it, and when it ended, they wished they could have heard it one more time.

Wilson, inhaled the scent of Shania’s hair, and looking into her eyes, thanked her for the dance. The club was about to close, and the next few sets would be played for the band’s own pleasure. He needed to get back, so regretfully, he placed a light kiss on her lips and said goodnight.

Carter couldn’t help but notice the bemused look on Wilson’s face as Deeprose left the dance floor. He seemed to be under some kind of spell.

Jill did something extraordinary tonight when she decided to play those old juke box records.

“Ladies, I think we should get some food into us.”

Deeprose, wearing an amazed expression, pointed at Carter. “You’re right! An’ Ah know just the place.”

With half closed eyelids and a softness of voice Carter never heard before, Seacrest asked Shania. “Would you rather stay here, honey, and wait for Wilson to take you home?”

Deeprose seemed touched by that gesture, blinking a few times. “He has my number, Jill. I’ll wait for his call before Ah consider letting him take me home some other time. Ah’m enjoyin’ romance far too much tonight to turn it into a booty call.” Smiling, she rose from the table.

On their way out, she stopped, shot a long look at Wilson, and winked. Whooping it up and finishing the last of their drinks, late night revelers shouted catcalls at her. A man in an expensive-looking tux with a girl on each arm and a magnum of champagne in each fist projected his voice clear across the room. “Oh yes, oh yes…It’s gonna be a hot time on the old town tonight!” Then he howled like a wolf. “Ahwooooooooooo!!”

Deeprose curtsied in return. Lovers in every dark corner of the club playfully booed and hissed at Carter as he inched them toward the door. He was mortified.

Seacrest kissed him. “Well, you sure know how to bring down the house, Carter.”

Outside, Carter inhaled deeply several times and then had a coughing fit. Seacrest couldn’t resist ribbing him a little. “Carter, I told you, you can’t swallow this air without chewing it first. One deep breath too many and you‘ll wind up in the hospital.”

Deeprose raised a hand to hail a cab. It came to a screaming halt directly in front of them. “Well, whaddya know? Ah’m on fire tonight! Ah just snagged us a cab in under a New York minute!”

“It seems the heavens are smiling down on you, Agent Deeprose. Where are we headed next?”

“For a New York pizza baptism, complete with thin crust, oozin’ cheese and oil drippin’ out onto paper plates. And Cokes all around!!”

Carter opened the door for Seacrest and would have gotten in after Deeprose, but she’d already scooted around to the other side of the cab and scrambled into the back seat. “Driver, take us to Ben’s Pizzeria at 123 MacDougal Street. Google says it’s a favorite late night spot for N.Y.U. students. Any campus with its own Krispy Kreme knows good food.”

The driver, used to out-of-towners, was a good natured man. From the sound of his accent, he hailed from somewhere in India. “Yes ma’am. I know just where you want to go. No problem.”

He put the pedal to the metal until he hit warp speed. Deeprose shouted, “Yee haw! Woo Hoo!” Seacrest looked a little sick. Carter’s face was so mashed up against the window, he couldn’t speak, but he thought there was a definite possibility the cab could fly.

I hate to be the one to rain on the parade, but we’ve got to start focusing on a new plan of action. Tonight. The next inning is coming up. Deeprose can’t afford any strikes, and I can’t afford to lose the game.

“We have arrived.” The cabbie parked on a dime and turned his head to smile at them.

It was obvious he was highly amused by the three contorted faces mashed up against the glass partition separating them from himself. As they worked their way out onto the sidewalk, Carter paid the cabbie in cash, something that astonished him. This time he wouldn’t have to report the tip. “Thank you, sir. Thank you!”

“Everyone’s gotta make a living. Thanks for getting us here in one piece. For a minute, there, I had serious doubts.”

The cabbie laughed. Just then, the clouds moved, and the moon struck him full in the face, revealing a face so handsome it was almost beautiful. Reverently, he said, “I love America! I am working very hard to become an American citizen, too. It’s not so bad driving a cab; I enjoy driving fast.” He grinned and took off.

“Come on, darling, baptize me. I’m a willing convert.” Seacrest was beginning to revive herself now that she’d gotten off the car-plane. The idea of eating out at one in the morning appealed to her.

***

Carter drank in the heavenly scent of tomato sauce, cheese and pepperoni as soon as they walked in. A chef expertly tossed pizza dough in the air, catching and stretching it into a bigger and bigger disk every time.

“That is amazin’!” The pizza chef nodded at them, in a gesture which clearly meant he was ready to take their order. He never took his eyes off the dough, not for a second. “Ah call that real talent! How about we all start with a slice of mushroom and three Cokes? No sense in gettin’ a whole pie if we want to try everything. Next choice is on y’all.”

Seacrest gave her the thumbs up. The chef nodded once again, still tossing and turning the ever-growing circle of dough. Carter steered them into a booth. He let out a long, slow, breath and launched into the topic he’d been waiting to discuss all night. “First of all, I want to apologize for being so late tonight. It was because I thought there might be a way to find out why our killer behaved like the wasp in Jill’s film.”

Deeprose sat completely still for a second, and then, threading her fingers together until they were white-knuckled, she leaned half-way across the table, all attention. “Ah thought Michael acted that way because of the drug we found on him.”

“That may be part of it, but drugs are never a sure thing. Here’s what I found out. In a nutshell, explosive, vicious, fanatical behavior can be ‘contagious’. A person who might never ordinarily conceive of doing something cruel or violent, who understands the difference between right and wrong and who might even be highly intelligent -is definitely susceptible to catching the excitement of a mob gone wild, even to the extent of joining in their collective behavior. Violent behavior is highly contagious when there’s a catalyst that sets off an entire group of people. There is a compulsion to let go of thought and inhibitions and participate. When that happens, they’re liable to do anything, and they don’t have to be under the influence of a drug to do it.”

Deeprose chimed in. “Sure, it was just the same over in the Middle East with every damn fundamentalist leader and his henchmen.”

Carter recalled thinking about those bold, American World War II soldiers who risked their lives on the principle that no one had the right to persecute, imprison, deport, torture, or kill people simply because a madman said it was O.K. to do it. The unmistakable parallel of the influence the speaker had over the Collective and Hitler’s influence over the majority of all Germans hit him like a freight train. “That senator has to be found and questioned.”

Deeprose had a thought about the speaker being visible only on a movie screen. “Imagine what it might be like if that same leader gave the same performance, over and over again, all around the country, without ever havin’ to leave his own livin’ room. Then imagine having a hallucinogenic drug distributed to the audience afterward to push them into fulfillin’ his agenda. Every single listener is now a potential murderer and a suspect.”

Carter agreed, but needed to move on. “Speaking of, let’s back to Michael Santiago. I’m fairly convinced that someone else besides himself orchestrated the museum murders. We’ve got a blood sample showing trace amounts of something we can’t identify. Once the drug he was carrying is done being analyzed, we’ll know if that’s what we found in his system. We’ll also know if he took it prior to the murder. If Michael went to a meeting of the Collective that night, he couldn’t have known he’d be in for anything else but an ear load of crap. Suppose the speaker got them there and then gave some or all of them that drug to make them willing victims and perpetrators, all in one shot. Nice and neat, except for one thing - Michael needed, or wanted, more of it after he made his kill. That’s why I think he had an unused vial on him. I think he stole it.”

Deeprose spoke through a mouthful of pizza. “So, the speeches are only a way to get the audience into a place where they can connect with other like-minded individuals and a speaker who seems to understand them. He whips them into a frenzy and then either gives them the drug or has them drugged without them knowin’ it. But why? He’s got a pre-meditated plan. What is it? Michael didn’t even know the old curator, so we can assume the murders aren’t personal. That’s what has me stumped. If Michael didn’t even know the victim, why did he kill him? Why kill a little, old man who worked in a museum his whole life?”

Seacrest wanted to know where he learned about the contagion and convergence theories. “How about sharing your source, Double-O-Seven? Where were you, tonight?”

“I went to see a cognitive behavioral psychologist.” Carter raised a hand expecting a barb from his wife. “I know the Contagion Theory sounds crazy, but no crazier than this case. There are accepted theories, backed up by scientific research and data, on collective violent social behavior, like the peasant revolts during the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia.”

The chef told them their order was ready. Reluctantly, Carter rose from his seat to retrieve it. “Oh well, let’s get back to this later. Right now, we’ve got some food for the soul coming up.” He carried the slices back to the table on a large, round, tin tray. Eager hands pulled at the cheesy slices, and for the moment, everything else was forgotten.

Seacrest shot her husband a glance. “Come on, Carter, eat up. Take a walk on the wild side, for a change. Look at all that gooey cheese! Those horribly bad-for-you carbs are calling your name! Give in and enjoy it.” Seacrest hiccupped.

Carter was hungry, so his standard protest sounded half-hearted, even to himself. “But you have to wonder what all that is doing to your insides.”

Deeprose waved a hand in dismissal. “Shoot, as long as no one can see my insides, I don’t give a damn.”

They polished off the slices right down to the ends of the crusts. Seacrest raised her eyes toward heaven, and shouted, “Hallelujah! I’ve been saved! Thank you, New York, my taste buds are doing the happy dance.”

She dabbed pizza sauce off Carter’s chin. “Really, Carter, I can’t take you anywhere. Who’s up for pepperoni?” Seacrest clapped her hands like a child with a new toy. She gestured to the waiter, who plated the steaming slices and delivered them to their table.

Carter lifted an index finger. “We have three theories to consider: Someone gave Michael a not-so-gentle push; the video supplied by our friend, Red, tonight, may confirm there is a definite hub and a person to investigate; and New York City pizza may be the best on this planet. Pretty good for a night’s work.”

“Yes, sir! Deeprose took another bite and closed her eyes in rapture. “You’re so right, Jill. This is heaven. Umm! Wait a minute!” She swiped the face of her Smartphone. “See that right there?” That is a photo of Senator Bill Pressman from Langley, Virginia. Look like someone we know?”

Carter fished his cell phone from his jacket. “I’ll contact Deputy Director Fischetti in the morning to get the ball rolling. It looks like he’s been trying to reach us.”

“What does the message say, sir?”

Carter shook his head. “Cryptic. He wants to meet with us tomorrow.”

Seacrest raised her Coke. “On Saturday? Oh well, it’s still tonight. So, let’s enjoy our last supper.”

Carter nodded. “Agreed.”

Seacrest frowned. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for why the murder victims were chosen, but if all of the attendees received the drug at their last meeting, why haven’t we discovered hundreds of murders over the last twenty-four hours? It seems apparent that not all of them got it. I wonder why? And another thing. Neuroscience only goes so far; the ones who do receive the drug still have freedom of choice. They can resist it if they want to. That means it doesn’t work on everyone. I’m sure he would have chosen a select few who seemed most likely not to fight it and who’d also be scared to tell anyone, afterward.

“Hate crimes happen every day. If these murders are generated by the senator’s personal biases and prejudices, how in the hell can we prove it? I mean, doesn’t the Ku Klux Klan kill Blacks? Aren’t Muslim Americans being attacked, detained and deported? Don’t people still bomb abortion centers and kill the doctors who work there? The only way we can find out who the Collective’s killers are is to get the name of every single person who ever attended a meeting.”

Seacrest was overwrought and overwhelmed by the enormity of the issue, and the Zombies didn’t help any. She looked down at the table a moment and then whipped her head back up. “Hey! Red and his friends walked out, Carter. They walked out! Isn’t the speaker afraid they’ll blow the whistle on him? There must be others who did the same thing, too. Carter, those people might know too much now. Red or any of his friends could be on the hit list.”

Carter jerked to attention. “Jesus, we forgot all about him and his friends! I’ll make arrangements for protection. For all of them. We can talk to Fischetti about it tomorrow morning. That’s why I love you, angel; you’re the brains of the outfit.”

“Thank you, darling. It’s high time you admitted it.”

Carter shook his soda cup and watched the bubbles bounce off each other. Something Deeprose said earlier suddenly struck him.

He banged the table with his hand. “Random, yet not random. Unrelated, yet related! And by one man - the speaker Red caught on video. Someone’s got to talk to Senator Pressman, but I think the deputy director should phone him first to pave the way. I think our next step has to be the notification of law enforcement agencies in every single state to send us a blood sample from every murder suspect they’ve arrested in the last month and ongoing. We can test them later for a match to our sample to start weeding out the real killers from the ones who’d been essentially kidnapped and forced into it.”

***

Alison knew she should be feeling guilty about what might have happened to Michael and Eliza, but she didn’t. She’s never felt this sort of closeness, and she never knew until now how good it felt to feel good. Her phone rang. Although the identity of the caller came up as “Unknown”, she answered it.

It was Eliza. “I’m calling from a burner phone, and I can’t stay on long. Are you still at Clara’s? I’ll come to you and tell you what happened.”

“Hold on.” Alison put her phone on mute. “It’s Eliza. She wants to come over. We need her, Clara. She’s mean and horrible, but we need all the help we can get. Don’t forget she’s in trouble now, too, because she didn’t follow through with her order to kill you. What should I do?”

“Tell her to come.”