"I understand. Whenever we invite a newcomer back to the farm, we encourage them to notify their family of their decision for precisely that reason. But phone calls can be problematic. We prefer that you simply write a letter."
"You don't know my mother," said Andie. "She will never believe this was my decision if she just gets a letter in the mail. She'll want to hear it straight from my own mouth."
Felicia shot a judgmental look, as if to say that Andie's mother was one of those controlling family members with negative energy who needed to be eliminated. "All right. Call her if you must. But be strong. Do not let her talk you out of something that you know is right."
"Thank you." Andie started for the pay phone across the street.
"Kira?" she called, stopping her. "Tell her you won't be calling home again. Tell her that if she hears from you again, it will be by letter."
"I will:' she said, then continued toward the phone.
The phone rang at the Underwood residence. Isaac was in the kitchen with his daughter cooking breakfast and watching Sesame Street. It was one of his two weekends a month, one of just two dozen annual opportunities to prove that divorced men can do Sunday morning pancakes. He lowered the volume on the TV and took the call while tending to the griddle.
It was Andie, which relieved him. The word from his technical agents--that the transmitter in Andie's ring had been stationary all weekend--had worried him. Andie explained the ceremonial burning and more, glancing every now and then toward the bus to make sure no one could overhear.
Isaac said, "What you're saying blends with the updated profile from Quantico."
"What does Santos think now?"
"She's getting back to the fact that all of the victims display wounds consistent with personal-cause homicides. The killer is acting out of personal anger against the victim. The killings may not be random, as Santos had originally thought. The killer--or killers--may have a very specific agenda. That's especially interesting when you're talking about a cult."
"Which is why I need to stay on this assignment." "What?"
"I'm sorry not to run this through the usual channels, but the fact is, I have just one phone call, my contact agent doesn't have the authority to extend my assignment, and Lundquist's balls are barely big enough to get him into the men's room. So what do you say?"
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
The pancakes were burning. Isaac snatched up the griddle and dumped the smoldering mess into the sink. "Andie, as long as there's the threat of a serial killer making another hit, you're going to have to move fast. Normally, I'd say take some time to build contacts. In this case you're going to have to be aggressive, which means you could blow your own cover."
"I understand."
"I don't think you do. Not fully. You know that videotape you bought at Blechman's orientation meeting? I sent it out for analysis by an audio expert. Specifically, a psychological stress evaluator."
"I was under the impression the bureau didn't use PSEs."
"I had a few of them done when I was with Seattle P. D., and I thought it might be right in this circumstance. You're familiar with the test, then?"
"Yeah. It measures variations and tremors in voice patterns that are inaudible to the human ear."
"Right. In fact, the machine actually charts the variations and creates a kind of voice print. Which is what I did. with your tape. We had a voice print created for Blechman, and also for Felicia and Tom, the two lieutenants who spoke at the meeting."
"What did you find?"
"Blechman is off by himself, which is normal. He's the leader. It's Tom and Felicia who are interesting. They have almost an identical voice print. The expert could barely tell them apart."
"What does the expert make of that?"
"Two possibilities," said Isaac. "One, these characters are skilled actors who are delivering a very well-rehearsed pitch in a very controlled and identical manner."
"Or . . . ?"
"Or they are programmed exactly alike. I mean exactly. Someone has done a real mind-control number on them." "Someone named Blechman."
"I'm not trying to scare you, Andie. I say this only because . . . well, you know why."
"Do I?"
"I think you do."
She smiled, but it was strained. Boy, is this not the time. "I'll watch my back. Don't worry."
"Well, since you don't have eyes in the back of your head, I'm going to set up spot surveillance around the farm. It won't be twenty-four hours, but it's still too expensive to run this forever. I want you to check with me no later than Wednesday. Just somehow get yourself to a phone. If I don't hear from you, I'm pulling the plug."
Isaac sensed her hesitation, as if she were suddenly distracted, perhaps being watched.
"It won't be easy," she said finally. "But I promise I'll stay in touch."