Deadly Visions (20 page)

It was all too surreal.

Who would have the money and influence to gather a “dream team” of psychic superstars to this godforsaken place? And why?

There'd be time to wrestle with that later, Joe thought. Now there was only one problem that needed his immediate attention.

Getting the hell out.

He had one major advantage—the building obviously wasn't designed to keep prisoners. It had been originally constructed as a supply warehouse. Then, more recently, renovated as some kind of testing center.

Surely he could do this. As a struggling nineteen-year-old magician, one of his earliest stunts had been an escape from a new juvenile detention facility in Al-pharetta. A friend of his father's was the warden there, and he'd agreed to lock Joe in a cell until either he escaped or the center opened for business thirty-four days later.

Joe had escaped in an hour and twenty-six minutes. Sam typed up a press release, and within days the story was in newspapers all over the country. For the first time, Joe's magic act was in demand and he
was able to leave behind the birthday-party gigs and corporate shows that had been his bread and butter. Now, after all these years, it was time for an encore.

Forty minutes later, Joe took inventory of the materials he'd gathered in his prison: approximately thirty feet of heavy-gauge video cable from the television; coils of wire unwound from a spiral notebook; a can of hair spray; a sample-size bottle of shampoo from the bathroom, and a long-handled butane fire starter from the gas fireplace. He wished he'd taken a closer look at the building's exterior before barging in, but he hadn't expected to be staging an escape.

He cut slits in two small silk toiletry bags, looped his belt through them, and deposited most of the materials inside. He coiled the video cable and hung it from his shoulder.

He glanced up at the ceiling. Probably the best way out. He was sure he could pick the door lock, but if the corridor was rigged with motion sensors and/or security cameras, the two guards would pay him a nasty visit. Up and out made more sense.

He picked up a table lamp, yanked off the shade, and stood on a chair. He tapped on the ceiling, trying to find a hollow space between the joists. Easy enough. He swung the lamp's base upward, punctured a hole in the ceiling, then clawed down several chunks of chalky white drywall. He gripped the exposed wooden joists and lifted his head into the attic. Tiny, and covered with dust and rolls of pink insulation. He'd have to crawl.

He pulled himself up. It was now dark outside, but there was moonlight filtering through air vents on each end of the attic. He glanced at the criss-crossing beams that held the roof. Better to head west, away from the full moon. The building's shadow would offer at least some cover if he made it outside.

When,
not if.

He pulled the fire starter's trigger, keeping the flame ignited as he wedged the tiny shampoo bottle into the trigger guard. He put the handle into his mouth and crawled on the narrow joists. Shards of fiberglass insulation pricked his exposed skin.

Crickets chirped outside. He was getting closer.

Slow down, man. Can't let the guards hear you thumping around. Focus on the vent.

He felt the cool, damp night air. Just a little farther …

Finally. He was there.

He tugged at the vent.

It didn't budge.

He held up the fire starter and saw that the grille was secured by four flat-head screws. He pulled a dime from his pocket, angled its edge into the screw head, and turned. He worked it loose, then tackled the other screws until the vent grille fell silently into a clump of insulation.

He stuck his head outside. Higher than he'd thought. Thirty-five, maybe forty feet. Shit. He glanced around, looking for a security camera. It was, as he'd suspected, at the roof's highest point, only six or seven feet away. He pulled out the aerosol can and sprayed its contents toward the camera, forming a dense film over the lens.

typical nighttime condensation, they'd think. At least, he
hoped
they'd think. He'd seen enough diffused, cloudy surveillance tapes to know that outdoor security cameras were often worthless beyond the dew point.

He tied the coaxial video cable to the nearest cross beam, then tossed the other end out of the vent opening. He eased outside, legs first, wrapping the cable around his wrists. He glanced down. A long way to fall if the cable didn't hold.

He yanked on it. It
seemed
sturdy.

Only one way to tell.

He dropped from the vent, putting all of his weight on the cable. So far, so good …

He lurched downward.

Just the slipknot tightening, he realized. His lifeline was holding.

He moved down, inches at a time. He hadn't realized it was so damned windy. The gusts blew him back and forth like a clock pendulum.

Forget about the wind. Stay the course….

He continued to move down, hoping that the guards wouldn't spot him. Here, suspended so far over the ground, he was completely vulnerable.

End of the cable. He looked down. Only ten feet to go.

He dropped to the hard earth, rolling as he landed. He jumped to his feet and hugged the side of the building.

Silence.

He moved away, inching toward his entry point at the fence. Another few feet, and he'd be—

A loud, high-pitched alarm sounded. The entire
area suddenly flooded with white, intense light. Either they'd discovered he was gone, or he'd tripped a motion sensor.

Christ.

He bolted for the fence.

Using the distant glow of Remington as his guide, Joe moved through the dense foliage and creek beds that peppered the landscape between the town and the old supply depot. No telling how many people would be looking for him, but his chances were much better if he stayed away from the roads.

After what seemed like hours, he finally emerged on a hilltop overlooking the town. Just below him was the good old Funky Tusk bar.

He half ran, half slid down the grassy hill and threw open the front door. The place was now packed. Joe glanced around for a pay phone as he pushed through the crowd.

The same kid was tending bar. He looked Joe up and down, his eyes widening at his ripped and stained clothes.”What happened to you?”

“Never mind. Let me use your phone.”

The kid plopped a cordless phone on the bar, and Joe punched a number. To his surprise, Captain Henderson answered.

“Henderson, it's me, Bailey.”

She didn't sound surprised.”Are you all right?”

“Yeah, but you wouldn't believe—”

She cut in.”Are you in Remington?”

“Yes, but you don't understand. I was just—”

“I
do
understand. It's going to be all right. Where in town are you?”

Joe hesitated. Something was very wrong here.

“Bailey?”

“Yeah. It's a bar called the Funky Tusk.”

“Okay, here's the drill. The guys who grabbed you will be bringing your car and personal possessions there. Are you okay to drive?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Come straight here.”

Joe glanced at the clock on the wall: 9:05 P.M. “I won't be there until after eleven.”

“We'll be waiting for you. See you then.” She hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Joe watched as his 4-Runner entered the parking lot and rolled to a stop in front of him. Griffith was driving. He climbed out and handed Joe a padded manila envelope. “It's all here. Your wallet, ID, cell phone, everything. No offense, buddy.”

'
Buddy ?What
the hell happened out there?”

“I have a hunch you'll find out soon enough.”The man turned and cocked his head toward a white pickup truck that had just entered the parking lot. “There's my ride. Have a good night.”

E
leven-sixteen P.M.

Joe walked into Henderson's office to see the captain, Howe, Carla, and two men he didn't recognize.

Howe gave him a thin-lipped smile.”Okay, Bailey. Is this your revenge for us dragging you along with Monica Gaines in the middle of the night?”

Before Joe could reply, FBI special agent Raymond Fisher entered the room. It had seemed like ages since Joe had seen him at Grady Memorial, but it actually had been only the previous morning. “Uh-oh. Why are you here?”Joe asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me,”Fisher said.

Henderson stepped around her desk and shook hands with Fisher. “Agent Fisher, thanks for coming on such short notice.”She motioned to the two strangers. “This is Craig Oka, assistant director of Army intelligence, and Derek Haddenfield, project
leader. They came to us a few hours ago with some interesting information. Gentlemen?”

Oka adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Thank you.

I regret you were inconvenienced earlier this evening, Mr. Bailey. I trust you're okay.”

Joe nodded.”Fine. Now, what the hell is going on?”

Oka addressed the group. “As you probably know, in military intelligence we try to keep ourselves open to a variety of information-gathering tech-niques. We conduct studies that relate to surveillance methods, persuasion strategies, polygraph technologies, you name it. From time to time, our studies also explore extrasensory techniques.”

Joe half smiled. “Don't tell me you're trying to groom psychic spies?”

“No,”Oka said flatly. “But if we find evidence that true psychics do, in fact, exist, it obviously would be an avenue worth exploring. Our latest project, called the Narada study, has been taking place in a former military installation in South Carolina. Mr. Hadden-field is the director of that study.”

Haddenfield was clearly uncomfortable. He didn't look anyone in the eye as he spoke. “It's been going on for almost two years. We gathered several world-renowned psychics and subjected them to a variety of tests. Monica Gaines participated several times over the past eighteen months.”

Howe glanced at Joe. “That's where she was all those times?”

Joe nodded.”I found the testing center today. I was locked up there most of the afternoon.”

Haddenfield crossed his arms in front of him as if bracing for an attack. “There was nothing sinister go-
ing on, no government conspiracies. It was just important that we maintain security precautions.”

“Even from a police detective?”Carla asked.

“It took them a while to verify that's who he really was,”Haddenfield replied. “This was a classified study.”

Oka stepped forward. “With no offense toward Mr. Haddenfield's work, this study is just the type of thing that brings ridicule to the military and its spending policies. We knew that we probably wouldn't find anything there, but it was an idea worth exploring.”

Haddenfield's face went red with anger.

“What
were
your results?”Joe asked.

Haddenfield glared at him.”That's classified.”

Oka smiled.”The findings have been inconclusive, Detective, just like all of our previous studies.”

“It's still ongoing,”Haddenfield snapped. “Monica Gaines cut short her last series of tests to come here and offer her assistance to your department. We've never studied a psychic in action like this, investigating a crime. So, I gathered a team and came here to observe her. We stayed even after her accident. If there was some paranormal component to her attack, it could have been worth studying. It was going well until a member of my team disappeared a few days ago at Grady Memorial.”

“That's the guy I've been looking for?”Fisher asked.

Oka nodded. “Yes. I'm sorry we weren't more forthcoming with the Bureau. He was working on a classified study, and we had to decide how many people to let in the loop.”

“Which is what you're doing now,”Joe said. “But would you be so forthcoming if I hadn't found your testing center? Or, even more to the point, if I hadn't escaped from your testing center?”

Oka took off his glasses and wiped them. “When you were caught, the personnel at the installation immediately phoned their superiors. This has been the subject of many meetings today, and ultimately, some sort of disclosure would have been made. We were trying to decide the best way to do that when you took your leave. So, yes, your escape pressed the point. I contacted your department immediately.”

Joe stared at Haddenfield. “Would you like your tri-field meter back?”

Haddenfield stared at him. “I'm not sure what you're talking about.”

“You broke into my apartment with a trifield meter the other night. I chased you. Surely you haven't already forgotten.”

Haddenfield smiled.”I think I'd remember that.”

“I have the serial number. It shouldn't be too hard to find out if that unit was sold to your team.”

Haddenfield let out a long breath. “Shit. Okay, it was me.”

Oka wrinkled his brow.”What's this?”

Joe jerked his thumb toward Haddenfield. “Apparently, his research project extended to my apartment. I caught him in my place a couple of days ago and chased him. I didn't get a good look at his face, but there aren't too many other people around who would be sweeping my place with a trifield meter. It's down in the evidence room.”

Oka glared at Haddenfield.”Explain.”