Wynn looked dubious. “Do you really think he’d be so obvious as to pull that kind of stunt when the date and time are listed on his public schedule?”
“I think everything Carver does is listed on his public schedule. The man can’t take a leak without reporters there,” Kylie drawled. “The guy has made statements in the past that the constant media scrutiny is a burden he tolerates for the sake of the causes he supports. But no one can put up with that kind of twenty-four-seven attention without slipping up now and then, not unless they secretly like the spotlight. And Carver never slips up.”
“It would fit neatly with the theory that the Hierophant will want to see the effects of his plan,” Dag said.
Knox added, “And would point to the utter lack of conscience of the leaders of the Order.”
“I don’t think that was even in doubt.” Wynn grimaced and drained her tea.
“It’s also a great way to hide in plain sight. If the Order knows that the strike will happen at a public and highly publicized event, they can risk coordinating along public channels,” Kylie said, pulling up Richard Foye-Carver’s Web site and downloading his public events schedule. “All they have to do is keep the language neutral and they can skate by without notice as any other interested participants. Just leave out the words ‘demon,’ ‘apocalypse,’ and ‘mass murder,” and they’re golden.”
Wynn frowned. “That sounds … disturbingly practical.”
“It is an avenue we cannot afford to ignore,” Knox acknowledged. “Without any idea of where and when the strike might happen, we are helpless to prepare even the most rudimentary defense.”
Kylie let the others continue the discussion, the words droning on in the background, while she scanned the information on the screen. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what she was looking for, but she hoped she’d know it when she saw it.
It would have to be a large event, something open to the public. She suspected the Order would want large media coverage to up the fear and hysteria that would be generated, though the presence of reporters was never in question where Carver was concerned. She also had the niggling feeling that it was coming up soon, perhaps not tomorrow or the next day, but certainly within the next few weeks.
A jolt of something sizzled through her when she saw it. Electricity, awareness, magic, she didn’t know what to call it, but she absolutely felt it. All the way down to her bones. Maybe because she read it on the computer, her mysterious power made the seemingly innocuous information mean more to her, but whatever the explanation, she had no doubt that she had found the fateful day.
“It’s not Patriot’s Day, but it’s close,” she said, and felt all eyes turn her way. “The following weekend, in fact. The Carver Foundation World Congress on the Environment, Hunger, and Global Activism.”
Wynn hurried to her side and peered at the screen. “Right here in Boston, April 23 and 24, at the Hynes Veterans Memorial Convention Center. You really think this is it?”
Kylie nodded. “I’m certain. Don’t ask me why, but there’s not a doubt in my head. It hits all the criteria—first, numbers. It says they expect more than five thousand people to attend from all over the world. All those people will be concentrated in one place for the event. The media will be swarming because of Carver, the topic, and the chance of other prominent world figures attending. The topic is so philanthropic that emotions will be running high, and there will be a huge outpouring from the public if anything tragic happens there. It both feeds the Demons and feeds Carver’s need to appear in public and be adored. I know this is when they’ll strike.”
She met her friend’s gaze and watched while Wynn digested her words and nodded. “Okay. I buy it.”
Knox rose and began to pace. “It is a starting point. We should still perform our research to confirm.” When Dag snarled at him, the other Guardian held up a calming hand. “I do not doubt your mate’s sincerity, nor her intuition, but we cannot afford to be careless. I believe Kylie is correct, but we will use our research to verify and to gather further intelligence.”
Kylie flashed the room a grin, a surge of energy filling her. She had a mission, a method, and a goal in sight. “Grab me a flashlight, boys,” she crowed, cracking her fingers and settling in at her computer. “I’m going dark.”
*
Kylie enjoyed the dark and dangerous aura of the deep Web as much as the next person, but the truth was most of what lurked out there was about as sinister as your average university bulletin board. A little sex, a lot of rock ’n’ roll, and maybe one or two part-time pot dealers. The darknet, the dingiest corner of the deep, did play host to illegal activity and immoral adventures, just the kind of thing to interest the cultist who wanted everything.