“We can talk about why I’m here in Seattle when we meet,” Slater said. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation on the phone.”
With an effort of will, Catalina forged through the small trance she had plunged into when she heard the Arganbright name. She lurched forward, once again walking as swiftly as possible, almost trotting.
“I’m on my way back to my office,” she said. “Stay right where you are, Arganbright. Don’t make a move or I swear I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re responsible for the disappearance of my friend. I’m sure the Foundation has some good lawyers who will be able to keep you out of jail, but I’ll make damn certain that the Arganbright name is all over the media before Victor can make me shut up. And what’s more, I’ll mention that little private lab he’s operating there in Las Vegas.”
“It would be better if I come to you,” Slater said. “Is there a busy office building or a hotel near your present location where you can wait until I get there?”
So much for her puny threat. Evidently it hadn’t even ruffled his hair as it went past. The truth was, she wasn’t in a position to be anything more than a minor inconvenience for Victor or his Las Vegas operation, and they both knew it. Informing the media that the Foundation Arganbright currently controlled was engaged in paranormal research wouldn’t do any real damage. Who cared if some eccentric gazillionaire had set up his own lab to run some crazy-ass experiments? Vegas had a history of eccentric characters. Think Howard Hughes.
“No,” she said, abandoning Philip Marlowe and settling for coldly polite, “there is no suitable location where I can hide out and wait for you. I’m only about three blocks away from my office. I will be there in a few minutes. Do. Not. Leave.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the connection. Maybe Robot Man was trying to figure out how to respond to her refusal to follow his orders. Evidently he was not programmed to handle rejection.
“All right,” Slater said finally. “But stay on the phone. Keep to the busiest streets. Make sure there are people around you at all times. Above all, don’t get into any cars. No taxis. No ride services.”
Catalina caught her breath. “My witness says that’s how they grabbed Olivia. How did you guess?”
“You’ve got a witness?”
There may have been a slight edge on Slater’s words now.
“Yes,” she said. She was not about to offer him any more information. Not yet, at any rate. “Now tell me how you knew that the kidnappers faked a ride service pickup.”
“I didn’t know about that angle,” Slater said. “I just went with the logical and most obvious assumption. Kidnapping usually requires a vehicle. Historically, unmarked vans have been popular for that purpose. But these days it’s obvious that a vehicle that looks like a car from a ride-hailing operation would be a smart option. No one takes any notice of a black car pulling over to the curb to pick up a passenger.”
“Oh, right.” She felt like an idiot. Of course there would have been a vehicle of some kind involved.
“Do me a favor,” Slater continued. “Make sure you use all your senses on the way back here.”
The edge on his voice got sharper. Her level of wariness and the anxiety that accompanied it shot up another notch. At this rate it wouldn’t be long before she was in a state of full-blown panic.
Who was this man, and what was he doing in her already complicated life?
“I suppose your uncle told you about my talent?” she said.
“He mentioned it, yes.”
“He told you I was one of the Freaks from Fogg Lake?”
“I’m not from Fogg Lake but I’m in the same category as you. A genuine, but not yet certified, freak.”
Robots did not crack jokes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, deeply suspicious now.
“Let’s just say that my family made sure I didn’t wind up with an official diagnosis.”
“I see.”
“Obviously your family took good care of you, too,” Slater said. “And that’s enough getting-to-know-you conversation for now. You need to focus. Crank up all of your senses.”
“Please stop talking like that. You’re making me nervous.”
“Talking like what?”
“Never mind.”
She braced herself for the jolt that she always got when she went all the way into her other vision. First came the rush of heightened awareness. For a couple of seconds she was being spun around in-side a disorienting kaleidoscope. The world got sharper but people took on a ghostly aspect. Their auras whispered, sparked, flashed and glowed. Their footsteps left seething prints on the sidewalk.
And then she got control.
With control came the prickling chills of dread. When she walked down a busy city street with her senses running at full blast the world was transformed into a jungle. The potential for danger was everywhere. Each and every person she passed was a threat until proven otherwise.
“Are you running hot?” Slater asked.
“Yes,” she said, her voice very tight now as she struggled to process the tsunami of information her psychic vision was transmitting. She had to steel herself to make the three-block trek to her office. It was not going to be a walk in the park.
“Promise me you’ll stay on the phone,” Slater said.
“I’ll stay on the phone,” she said, “but don’t expect an extended conversation. I’ve got to concentrate.”
“To maintain control. Trust me, I understand.”
For the first time there was more than just an edge on his voice. There was a faintly human quality now. She got the impression that he just might know exactly how much effort it took to remain anchored to reality when you found yourself trying to interpret the world through a storm of visions.
Luckily the sidewalk was not very crowded. The morning surge of workers on their way to the office was over and the noon lunch frenzy was still a few hours away. Nevertheless, walking through downtown Seattle with her talent engaged was always an intense, exhausting experience. The fact that it was daytime made no difference. Her other vision transformed every individual who came within a range of twenty to thirty feet into a luminous figure that had to be scanned, assessed and categorized according to her intuition’s definition of threat level.
Each illuminated figure pulsed with hot energy that created constantly shifting, complex patterns. Every man, woman and child was a three-ring circus with various performances taking place simultaneously. For those with the vision to see it, the truth was that humans really could walk and chew gum at the same time. It was an unnerving talent.
Each individual was capable of thinking about a problem at work while anxiously trying to ignore the new chest pains. A person could carry on a conversation on the phone that elicited a range of conflicting emotions, all of which seethed in his or her aura. Some people she passed were hovering on the verge of an anxiety attack. Some were brooding. Some were angry.
And for Catalina, the sense of a potential threat did not end once a person had moved out of range, because she was forced to wade through the hot energy of the footprints that had been left behind. Sure, in most cases the prints cooled rapidly and faded into the countless footsteps that had already been laid down on the sidewalk. But the speed with which most prints sank to the undetectable level was no help when you were trying to dodge the still-fresh energy tracks of a man who wanted to hit someone or a person who was mired in deep depression.