“You, I trust. Not the people you work for.”
“That’s a low blow, man. The people I work for are cool.”
“You think so?”
Garrison’s eyes grew wide. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How many people did you tell about me?”
“Just my immediate superior, who swore he’d stay silent. Why?”
“He broke his promise to you, that’s why,” Peter said. “The CIA is holding a psychic friend of mine at a farm in Virginia. They use him to look into the future. My friend made contact, and told me the CIA was on to me. He heard it from one of his handlers.”
Garrison looked crushed, and stared at the table. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Start with ‘I’m sorry’ and work your way up.”
“I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”
Peter pulled up a chair, and sat down beside his guest. His life was about to become a living hell, courtesy of the man sitting across from him. He had to deal with this right now, or risk losing everything. “Erase me,” he said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Garrison asked, clearly perplexed.
“I heard it in a spy movie. I want you to make me disappear.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Tell your boss I’ve vanished, or died, or went to Nepal to live with the monks. Whatever you think he’ll buy, tell him.”
“Erase you.”
“That’s right. Poof.”
“You’re not going to help me anymore?”
“I didn’t say that. But you’re going to have to tell your boss that the information is coming from somewhere else.” He paused. “Is that possible?”
Garrison gave it some thought. “I don’t see why not,” the FBI agent said.
“Good.”
They shook hands. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best Peter could think of. Now, if he could just figure out how to win Liza back, his life would return to normal.
Garrison smothered a yawn. “I need to head out. I’ve got a long drive home.”
“Where do you live?”
“Out on Long Island. Little burg called Greenlawn.”
“Want another cup for the trip?”
“You’re a mind reader,” Garrison said, and burst out laughing.
Garrison soon left. Peter sat in the kitchen and drank more coffee. The ordeal was over, only he didn’t feel relieved. Too many questions were still unanswered. It was like a jigsaw puzzle filled with holes, and he wondered if he’d ever know the whole story.
Through the kitchen window the sky was starting to lighten. He wondered if Liza was awake. He wanted to call her, and share the good news. It might be a good way to start over, and get their relationship back on track.
Then, he had a better idea. He’d get dressed, and take her out to breakfast. Telling her in person was better than over the phone, as was asking her to forgive him.
He headed upstairs and took a hot shower. There were other people he needed to contact as well. Holly, Milly, Max, and Reggie. He guessed they were probably all asleep, and he decided to wait another hour before making the calls.
He dressed while watching the morning news. The main story was Wolfe’s capture in Westchester County. A perky blond newscaster read the story while a photo of the burned-out van Wolfe had been driving was shown.
The story ended. The newscaster announced that a video of Wolfe was coming after a commercial break. Stay tuned, she said.
Peter found himself shaking his head. The story didn’t add up. Why had Wolfe decided to go to Westchester County? And where had the van he’d been driving come from? His body was growing cold, the feeling seeping out from his bones. He put on a wool sweater, and when he didn’t get warmer, put on a pair of wool socks as well.
The promised video clip arrived. It showed Wolfe pulling up to a tollbooth, and dropping a handful of coins into the hopper. He was eating a sub, which he clutched in the same hand which held the wheel. There was no doubt it was him, yet something still didn’t feel right.
The clip was shown again. Peter drew closer to the screen to get a better look. His eyes were drawn to Wolfe’s neck. The collar of Wolfe’s shirt was open, the flesh plainly exposed.
Peter cursed.
He pulled up Garrison’s cell number, and called him. Voice mail picked up, and he called again, and again. On the fourth try, the FBI agent answered, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Hello?” Garrison grumbled.
“Hey, it’s me, Peter. You make it home okay?”
“Yeah, just climbed into bed. What’s up?”
“I’ve got some bad news. Wolfe isn’t dead. That wasn’t him in the van.”
“I told you, I saw the tape. It was Wolfe. Now, if it’s okay with you, I’m gonna get some sleep.”
The cell phone went dead in Peter’s hand. Garrison needed convincing. Peter surfed the other stations. He found one showing a story on Wolfe’s apprehension. The same video was being shown, and he hit redial. Garrison practically barked at him this time.
“This is getting old,” Garrison said.
“You’re going to be a lot angrier once you realize I’m telling you the truth,” Peter said. “Turn on the Channel Eleven news.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because I’m going to prove to you that Wolfe isn’t dead.”
Garrison growled at him. Peter could hear a TV being turned on in the background. He stared at the screen in his bedroom. The clip of Wolfe pulling into the tollbooth was on.
“This is the same clip I saw,” Garrison said.
“Did you look at his neck?” Peter asked him.
“Why should I?”
“The Order of Astrum tattoo is gone. What you’re seeing is an illusion, courtesy of the Order. They tricked you into thinking Wolfe was dead to bring your guard down.”
“So who’s driving the van?” Garrison asked.
“Some poor guy who never knew what hit him. You need to marshal your troops. Wolfe’s going to strike soon.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m cold.”
“You’re
“I’m freezing from the outside in.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Peter grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair, and headed down the stairs with the cell phone jammed into his neck. There were some things that couldn’t be explained; the feeling that he got in his bones whenever Wolfe was about to strike was one of them.
“You still there?” Garrison asked.
“Still here.”
“Come on, man, you’ve got to work with me.”
“I am working with you. Wolfe isn’t dead, and he’s getting ready to kill one of my friends. You need to alert the police that he’s on the streets.”
