Night Vision by Randy Wayne White

Author:Randy Wayne White [White, Randy Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2011-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

It took several seconds before Tomlinson finally said to Emily, “I don’t want to upset you, but I get premonitions sometimes. That’s why I was asking you about Doc. I wanted to see if your karmas are connected.”

Emily said, “Our karmas?” as if she didn’t understand but was willing to listen.

“I’m a psychic sensitive,” Tomlinson told her, pouring himself another shot of Patrón. “An empathetic, too. In fact—and this is something I don’t share this with many people—I was employed by our own damn government as an expert on what they called remote viewing. I’d have never done it if I’d known who was paying me. Ask the good doctor if you don’t believe me.”

I nodded a confirmation. While still in college, Tomlinson had worked for the CIA during a time in history when the Soviets and the U.S. had recruited people who, after completing a very bizarre military test, were believed to have paranormal powers. The CIA called the project Operation Stargate. Stargate was fully funded by Congress until 1995, when wiser heads prevailed.

Tomlinson was looking at the woman, his voice soft, as he continued, “I just found something that gives me a very bad feeling about Emily making this trip. For Doc and me, it doesn’t matter. We’ve lived and died a dozen times. But you ... you’re fresh, you’re new. I’ve got a feeling something bad’s going to happen tonight if you go to Immokalee. It’s because of your karmic linkage with Doc and me.”

“Are you stoned?” Emily asked him, serious.

“I was,” he replied, giving it some thought. “Cannabis interruptus—the girl’s disappearance has completely screwed up my schedule. On a lunar scale, I’d say I’m closer to the Sea of Crises than the Sea of Tranquillity. We can share a spliff if you want—but later. Right now, I’d like you to take a look at this.”

Emily’s expression asked me Is he for real? as she reached for a photo he was handing her, something he’d just printed from the Internet. I intercepted the thing and took a look. It was a pen-andink drawing from the time of the Spanish Inquisition. A Mayan pyramid in the background. In the foreground, a woman, tied to a ladder, was being tilted toward a roaring fire by Conquistadors.

I passed the drawing to Emily as I asked, “What does this have to do with her, for Christ’s sake? You’re getting her upset for no reason.”

“Look at the face,” Tomlinson replied, voice calm now but concerned. “I don’t know why it caught my eye, but it did. There’s a connection. I’m not sure what, but I don’t think Emily should go with us.”

“You think this woman looks like me?” Emily asked. “I’m flattered, I guess. We’re both dressed in white, is that what you’re saying? If it wasn’t for the gown, she could be a nice-looking boy.”

After a moment, she added, “Our cheekbones, I guess, are similar, and . . . she has a sort of plain face, like mine. But don’t most women have plain faces? And the hair’s completely different.

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