Daniel frowned. “Weird. When do we call the police?”
Slater decided it was finally time to insert himself into the conversation.
“I don’t think there’s any point bringing in the cops,” he said. “Not at this stage. For one thing, we haven’t got much to go on. I’m sure that Marge was telling the truth, at least the truth as she sees it, but I doubt if the police will take it seriously. They’re more likely to focus initially on the man Olivia was supposed to meet last night.”
“Emerson Ferris,” Daniel said.
“I’m convinced now that Ferris had nothing to do with grabbing Olivia,” Catalina said. “The problem with concentrating on him is that we’ll lose valuable time looking for the kidnappers.”
“It does seem unlikely that this Emerson Ferris is behind the kidnapping, but we can’t overlook the possibility that he’s involved,” Slater said. “We need someone to keep an eye on him while you and I chase other leads.”
“That would be me,” Daniel said. “Stakeouts are my specialty. I’m on my way.”
He punched a key to send the phones to voice mail, pulled a small black backpack from a drawer, grabbed his jacket and went out the door.
Catalina looked at Slater.
“Before we go off to see that gallery owner, I want some more answers,” she said. She swung around and went briskly down the hall. “My office, Mr. Arganbright.”
It was not a request.
CHAPTER 11
Catalina dropped into the chair behind her desk and watched Slater set his backpack on the floor. He cast a longing glance at the pot of coffee sitting on the burner.
“Mind if I have a cup?” he asked. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Help yourself,” she said. “It’s not exactly fresh. Daniel made it first thing this morning. Pour a cup for me, please, while you’re at it. I could do with a stiff jolt of caffeine myself.”
Slater nodded. He picked up the pot and poured two mugs. He put one of the mugs on her desk.
She wrapped both hands around the large mug, taking comfort from the warmth. “Tell me why you think Olivia and I are involved in the murders of those two collectors. And then explain how this relates to what we saw fifteen years ago.”
“I don’t have all the answers,” Slater said. He sank down into the client chair, took a healthy swallow of the coffee and slowly lowered the mug. His eyes got very intent. “But I agree that you need some background. I came here today to ask you to assist me in what was supposed to be an unrelated inquiry. Obviously the situation has changed.”
“Obviously.”
“What do you know about the Bluestone Project and the lost labs?” Slater asked.
“Not much. The project and the labs associated with it are more or less an urban legend in the paranormal community. Conspiracy theory might be a more accurate term. Supposedly, back in the late nineteen fifties, the government established a highly classified program to explore the possibilities of various forms of psychic energy.”
“Bluestone was not a legend or a conspiracy theory. It was very real. It was designed to be a paranormal version of the Manhattan Project.”
“The research and development program that produced the first nuclear weapons during World War Two?”
“Right,” Slater said. “During the Cold War that followed World War Two, certain government agencies were concerned because it appeared that what was then the Soviet Union was engaging in serious paranormal research.”
Catalina wrinkled her nose. “Imagine that. Someone in the government actually took the woo-woo thing seriously.”
Slater gave her a bleak smile. “Who knew?”
“Go on.”
“Like the Manhattan Project, the various labs associated with Bluestone were established in rural locations. We believe that most, if not all, of the Bluestone labs were located in the West and the Southwest. The theory was that if the enemy discovered one lab and sabotaged it, the entire project would not be destroyed.”
“You think that Fogg Lake was one of those sites.”
“We assume so, yes.”
“Because of what happened that night decades ago,” Catalina said.
“Whatever went wrong that night apparently made the government agency responsible for overseeing Bluestone extremely nervous. Ultimately the decision was made to shut down the entire project. Orders were given to destroy the labs. Every record and file, every scrap of paper associated with the project was supposed to be burned. There were no digital records in those days, so it was assumed that it would be a relatively simple matter to erase every trace of Bluestone. But this was a government project, so …”
“So of course some paperwork survived.”
“And some of the artifacts associated with Bluestone survived. Hence the collectors’ market.”
Catalina studied him for a long moment. “Are you a collector?”
“Yes.”
“You said collectors tend to be eccentric and weird.”
Slater nodded and drank some coffee. He lowered the mug. “I try to disguise my little obsession by working in the Foundation’s museum. I’m in the security department. I’m in charge of tracking down potentially dangerous artifacts with a paranormal provenance and transporting them to Foundation headquarters in Las Vegas.”
“I can see how a job like that might give you a convenient cover for collecting just about anything.”
“Works for me,” Slater said.
“Have you recovered a lot of artifacts?”
“We have a number of objects stored in the museum vaults,” Slater said. “But only a few are considered dangerous.”
“Have you ever found an actual lab?”
“No.”
“Then how can you be certain they even existed?”
Slater’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “To repeat, Bluestone was a government operation. It was highly classified, but it required funding, a lot of it. Money, even dark money, always leaves a trail.”
“You found that trail?”
“Not me. The Foundation has experts who specialize in tracking financial operations. But although they’ve come up with hints and clues, there is still a lot we don’t know about the project. It’s hard to make a big research operation like Bluestone vanish, but I’ve got to hand it to whoever was in charge of closing down the project. He or she did a hell of a job. All we’ve got at this point are rumors, legends and some scattered artifacts.”
“You think that Morrissey and the man who killed him were searching for the Fogg Lake lab the night that Olivia and I witnessed the murder.”
“Yes.”
Catalina picked up a sleek black pen and tapped it gently against her coffee mug. “Let’s go back to my original question. What makes Ingram’s and Royston’s deaths so important to the Foundation?”
“We’re paying particular attention because there are some new rumors circulating in the underworld market. There are indications that someone is trying to find one particular lab. Of all the facilities, it was the one that was treated as the most highly classified. The code name was Vortex. It was a real black box operation.”