“On a need-to-know basis, I think I need to know.”
Again, she was silent, minutes passing before she finally said, in a curiously hollow voice, “It only matters to me. I know something I didn’t know before. I know what it will cost me to survive if they get their hands on me. And it’s not a price I want to pay.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I looked inside Mason’s head, inside him, and there was nothing there.”
“I don’t—”
“He was telling the truth, Tucker. He did pay a high price for life. He paid with his soul.”
Neil Mason sat there on the couch for some time after Gallagher and Mackenzie left and gazed at nothing. He was a little tired. More than a little, if the truth be told. He lifted one hand, holding it out in front of him and, dispassionately, watched it shake.
I’m getting too old for this. Hell, I was always too old for this.
His hand fell to rest on his thigh, and he looked around the living room almost curiously. Had it been worth it? Funny that he hadn’t asked himself before. Hadn’t been able to, maybe. Afraid of the answer, probably.
The phone rang, and Mason rose to get the portable from its place out in the hall. “Hello?” Idly, he walked back into the living room.
“Report.”
That cool, incongruously pleasant voice had the usual effect of removing the solid bone and cartilage from his knees, and Mason sat down abruptly in the chair Sarah Gallagher had occupied. God, how did I let him do this to me?
“I have nothing to report,” he said formally.
“Then you have something to explain.”
“She’s stronger than I was told. Much stronger.” Maybe stronger than you knew, you son of a bitch. “And smarter. She managed to block me very effectively.”
“And the drug?”
“She never touched the coffee.”
“You should have put it in something else.”
Mason smiled, glad he was not visible to the other man. “When I offered coffee, she accepted. Took the cup—and set it down. She wouldn’t have tasted anything I gave her.”
“What made her suspicious of you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Unless it was the fact that her abilities are just about the best I’ve ever encountered. Lots of raw talent there.”
There was a short silence. Mason waited patiently.
“I see. Is she aware of her own potential?”
“I’d say not. Still scared of it. And that says something, you know. Even scared, she did pretty damn good. When she gets her feet under her, she won’t be a tool you can use. She’ll be a weapon. If, that is, she’s brought over by then.”
“And how long do you estimate we have before she…gets her feet under her?”
“Hard to say. If the status remains quo, maybe a week or two. If you keep her rattled and off balance, maybe longer. On the other hand, she’s awfully close to the edge now. Push her the wrong way and that weapon won’t be yours—it’ll be hers. And she’ll be out of your reach for good.”
There was a soft click, and then the dial tone.
Mason turned off his portable phone and set it on the coffee table. Half to himself, he muttered, “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”
Then he sat there looking absently around his pleasant living room and waited for them to come for him.
“A tool may fail even in the hand of a master,” Varden said.
Duran turned from the window and gave him a look that warned him not to bother sucking up, but all he said was, “Bring Mason in.”
“Yes, sir.” Not making a second mistake, Varden left.
She had gone to sleep with the suddenness of an exhausted child just moments after telling him that Mason had sold his soul for life, and Tucker let her sleep. He needed to concentrate on getting them out of Syracuse, and he needed to think.
There was a lot to think about, not the least of which was Sarah’s clearly expanding abilities. She had begun by having visions of the future, but unlike any precognitive psychic Tucker had ever heard of, she was also, at the very least, telepathic to some extent. And that was becoming more obvious as time passed. Last night she had accused him of failing to keep his promises and had cited a broken promise to Lydia—which she could only have known by looking into his own mind telepathically. Or reaching across distance and possibly time to look into Lydia’s mind, as she had appeared to do once before.
Lydia. Jesus Christ.
He pushed that away, concentrating on what Sarah had done this morning. She had, she said, heard the mental scream of a child being abducted—and she had managed to hide her shock and distress from him. And as for Neil Mason, she had somehow managed to block his efforts to influence her telepathically. And she had looked inside him to find nothing.
He did pay a high price for life. He paid with his soul.