James Swain - Dark Magic

“Maybe he slipped back into the country, and carried out the attack.”

“Not likely. Flip the page.”

Peter did as instructed. The next page contained a pair of colorful stamps for Rio de Janeiro. Wolfe had arrived in Rio on November ninth, and left on November fourteenth. Wolfe had been on the other side of the world when the attack in Riyadh took place.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Peter said.

Traffic ground to a halt. Garrison threw the car into park, and turned in his seat. “My theory about Wolfe was that he killed three psychics in Riyadh, and then carried out an attack on the oil pipeline. That theory isn’t valid anymore. Someone else attacked that pipeline.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”

“Maybe this is a mistake, and the dates on the stamps are wrong. Have you considered that?” Peter asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“And?”

“I struck out. I stayed up last night checking all the other cities stamped in Wolfe’s passport. In every one, prominent psychics were murdered during his time there, just like in Riyadh, and just like here. Wolfe was sent to those cities to murder psychics. And in every city, a horrible attack of some kind took place a few days after he departed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn sure. Wolfe had nothing to do with the attacks in those cities, and wasn’t going to conduct an attack on New York. Someone else was. The fact that Wolfe is dead doesn’t mean the threat is over.”

“But I already looked into the future,” Peter said. “Wolfe was the one.”

“The spirits gave you bad information,” Garrison said. “Ask them again.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“The spirits tell you what they want, and that’s it. There are no refunds.”

The line of cars in front of them inched ahead. Garrison threw the Lincoln into drive, and the vehicle lurched forward. The veins were popping on the side of his forehead. He looked like a man ready to lose control. He took a right at the next intersection, and Peter realized he was circling back to the brownstone.

“Head south,” Peter said.

“Why should I do that?” the FBI agent asked through clenched teeth.

“Because I’m going to help you figure this thing out.”

“How? You just said the spirits wouldn’t help.”

“No, but I can.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

He’d told Garrison more about himself than he would have liked, but was never going to tell him about the demon. The men who ran the Order of Astrum had the same demon inside of them. In that regard, their powers were no greater than his. Peter suspected that if he put his mind to it, he’d be able to figure out what they were up to.

“I can’t tell you that,” Peter said.

“Why the hell not? We’re talking about thousands of lives.”

“I just can’t.”

“You like keeping secrets from people, don’t you?”

Liza had accused him of the same thing over breakfast. Keeping secrets was part of who he was, and he’d never felt ashamed about it before, until now.

“Just go south,” Peter said.

Garrison grunted under his breath. He punched his horn, and traffic began to move.

Garrison pulled up to the front of the Empire State Building on 34th Street, and parked in a No Parking space. He had calmed down, but only a little. He tossed an FBI sign on the dashboard before joining Peter on the sidewalk.

“So what’s the plan?” the FBI agent asked.

“I’ll tell you when we’re in the observatory,” Peter said.

“No offense, Peter, but the clock is ticking. I can’t be wasting my time sightseeing.”

“Indulge me, will you?”

They went inside. Of all the magnificent structures on the island of Manhattan, the Empire State Building was the best known. Considered one of the seven modern wonders of the world, it towered over every other skyscraper in the city, and offered spectacularly breathtaking views as far as the eye could see. Tickets to the 102nd-floor glass-enclosed observatory were expensive, unless you had an FBI badge you could pass in front of the ticket taker’s face. They rode the elevator to the top with their ears popping.

The observatory was empty as they exited the elevator. Peter made his way toward the north side. He’d been coming to the 102nd floor since childhood, sometimes to think, other times to be by himself, and become lost in the puffy white clouds that often swallowed up the building. He sat down on a bench, and gazed at the storm that had engulfed the city. Garrison joined him.

“You still haven’t told me how you’re going to help me,” the FBI agent said.

“You have a problem that you can’t figure out,” Peter replied. “Problems are mysteries, and I’m an expert at solving mysteries.”

“How so? From being a magician?”

“That’s right. It’s how I learned the craft. Many of the great magicians, like Houdini and Blackstone, coveted their tricks, and refused to share them with other magicians. If I wanted to learn how Houdini and Blackstone’s tricks were done, I had to figure out the method myself. That’s why I’m good at solving problems that other people can’t.”

“And you did it up here,” Garrison said.

“This was one of my favorite places.”

“All right, so what’s going on now.”

“Let’s start from the beginning. We know that Wolfe was going to cities around the world, and murdering psychics. A few days later, a horrific attack would occur. The Order of Astrum is selling this information to ruthless dictators, who are profiting from it. The FBI originally thought that Wolfe was behind the attacks, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Someone else is. Does that about sum it up?”

“In a nutshell, yeah.”

Peter put his elbows on his legs, and stared into space. The storm was blocking the view, and he imagined the various buildings and monuments spaced out before him. Several minutes passed before he glanced at the man sitting beside him. “It’s something simple.”

“Why do you say that?” Garrison asked.

“The greatest mysteries are always simple. That’s what fools us. We’re expecting something complicated, and don’t realize the method is staring us in the face.”

Garrison popped a candy into his mouth. “Give me an example.”

“All right. There was a Dutch magician named Kaps. He was really great, and enjoyed fooling other magicians. He came to New York to perform on a TV show. Later, he got together with the best magicians in the city, and did a private performance. One of the tricks got everyone talking for weeks. Kaps borrowed a lit cigarette, and passed it through the center of a pocket handkerchief without causing it to burn. No one had a clue how he did it.”

“Did they ever find out?”

“Eventually Kaps came back to New York, and one of the magicians begged him to explain. Kaps finally gave up the secret.”

Garrison was on the edge of his seat. “Can you tell me how he did it?”

“Sure. There was a slit in the hanky.”

“A slit? You mean a hole? Hell, I could do that.”

“That’s right, you could. Kaps knew that the magicians would never expect him to do something so brazen. It was brilliant.”

“Do you think that’s what’s going on here?”

“Yes. There’s a slit in the hanky, only we’re not seeing it.”

Garrison’s frown said he wasn’t buying it. “How can you be so sure? Maybe the Order of Astrum has another agent who’s carrying out the attacks. Someone we all missed who’s now here in New York, getting ready to strike. It’s the only plausible explanation.”

“It’s the wrong explanation,” Peter said.