He asked himself whether that was something he should be particularly concerned about, considering the big picture of everythingelse the Site was doing. And then he decided that, yes, it absolutely was, because this—unlike every other terrible thinghe’d caused in the world—was something he could fix.
“Off the record,” he said. “It has to be, and you’ll understand why as soon as I tell you.”
Leigh nodded, making a zipping gesture across her lips.
“I told the president that he was going to be diagnosed with Stage IV lymphatic cancer in January of next year. And then Isaid that I had set up all my predictions to be released on the Site, including that one, unless I tell the system once perday to hold them back.”
Leigh whistled.
“Jesus. Is that true? Is he going to die?”
“I don’t know if he’ll die, just that he’ll get diagnosed.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, at first. I mean, what do you say to that? His face went really still. You could see him thinking it through. Ifthe country finds out about the cancer thing, then no second term. No one will vote for a terminal president.”
Will shrugged.
“I told Green to let us go and gave him my word that I wouldn’t let that particular prediction leak before voting day. Butif he comes anywhere near us, out it will go.”
“That’s why you said we’re safe for the next six months,” Leigh said.
“Until the first Tuesday in November,” Will said. “Election day. Hopefully longer, though. We knew something like this mighthappen eventually—we made plans.”
Will took a small hard drive that held demos of most of his original songs and stuffed it into the bulging duffel. He lookedat the basses and other instruments leaning against the walls, some in cases, some not. Some of them he’d had for ten yearsor more. There was just no way.
Will zipped his bag closed. He stepped over to Leigh and looked her in the eye.
“For all I know, you’re taping this. Maybe you’ve got me on video. I don’t know. I don’t really know you. Hamza’s pissed atme for bringing you here.”
“I noticed,” Leigh said. “Why did you?”
“I’m guilty about a lot of things. I didn’t want stiffing you on your interview to be one more.”
Leigh raised an eyebrow.
“Will, honestly . . . that’s stupid.”
“Guilty of that too,” he said.
Leigh was blocking the way out of the bedroom, standing with her arms at her sides, looking at him.
“Can I . . . get past?” Will said.
“I’m still going to write a story,” she said. “I’ll do my best to make your quotes from the hotel interview accurate—it’llbe from memory, but I think I’ve got it. Hell, I’ve got material from three Oracle interviews, including today. If I can’tput a story together by this point, I should quit.”
Three? Will thought. He gazed at Leigh for a long moment. She met his eyes without blinking.
“I didn’t think you remembered,” Will said.
“Union Square,” Leigh answered. “I recognized you right away when I saw you on the helicopter without the wig. Is that whyyou chose me? I’ve got to say, Will, I still don’t get it.”
Will felt his face flush.
“I, uh, used to read all the articles that came out about the Oracle,” he said. “Everyone speculating about who I was, ifthe whole thing was real. I stopped after everything started to get so dark. But back then, you wrote an article about me.It was different from the others—it talked about me like I was a person. Tried to get into what I was thinking and feeling,maybe how hard it would be to have to deal with all this.”
He shrugged.
“I never forgot it. It’s why I talked to you in Union Square. I recognized your name.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“I knew that piece was good,” Leigh said. “It almost got me fired, but I knew it was good.”
“Yeah,” Will said.
He turned and yelled into the living room.
“Hamza, how we doing?”
“Getting there,” Hamza called back. “You could have organized your files a little better, you know. You’ve got stuff all overthe place here. I just want to make sure I get everything we need.”
Will looked back at Leigh, who was just watching him, waiting.
“Before I forget,” he said. “You’ll need that prediction, so that people believe you interviewed me. I’ll put something upon the Site about you, too, like I said I would.”
“Thank you, Will. That will make my life a lot easier.”
“Okay. Can you write this down?”
Leigh reached into the pocket of her hoodie and produced a small notepad and a pen. Will thought through the ever-shrinkingset of predictions he hadn’t yet put out into the world in one way or another. It didn’t take long. He only had three left,and two—the ever-confounding 23–12–4 and a vague phrase about a Laundromat—weren’t anything Leigh would be able to use.
The third, though . . . it was perfect. Will found that he wasn’t even all that surprised. The Site had given him exactlywhat he’d need for every step along the way—no, not what he would need. What it would need.
The devil’s toolbox, almost all of which had been used. But not all—at this moment, when he needed a prediction, he had exactlyone left that would suit the purpose. Of course.
“In about two weeks, on the fifth of July, a guy named Manuel Escobar will hook a two-hundred-and-twelve-pound tarpon whilefishing off Santa Monica. It will happen at about half past three in the afternoon.”
He watched Leigh write that down, imagining the Site grinning fiendishly as he let another chunk of it loose. Leigh gave hima doubtful look. “Presidents getting cancer, and Manny Escobar catching a fish. Whoever sent you this stuff, they’ve got aweird sense of what’s important.”
“It’s all important,
