“Are you still working for them?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
“That must be risky.” When Lisa does not respond, I add, “Don’t you have some idea how they make their money?”
I’ve finally asked the question that matters. Lisa and Jeff exchange an uneasy look. “Have you heard of the Array?” Lisa asks.
“No. What’s that?”
“We’re not sure, not yet,” Lisa says.
“But it’s clear from the info Randy dug up that the Array allows them to invest with remarkable accuracy,” Jeff says.
“Is it an advanced software program?” I ask.
“It might be,” Lisa says. “We know it deals with computers.”
“Did you come all the way to Missouri hoping I’d know about this Array?”
“We were hoping you would know something,” Jeff says.
“Whoever you are, you’re important to IIC,” Lisa says.
“I promise you, I know nothing about the Array or IIC.” I suddenly stand, signaling that our meeting is over. The fact I don’t know about the investment firm doesn’t mean I’m not going to find out everything I can about them. Lisa and Jeff get up reluctantly. They don’t want to leave. Lisa offers me her card.
“Please call if you hear from IIC,” she says. “Or anyone else that worries you.”
“I will,” I promise. “But may I offer a piece of advice?”
“Please,” Jeff says.
“Be careful who you discuss this matter with. If they made Randy disappear because he hacked into their system, they can make you two disappear as well.”
“We’ve tried to be careful,” Lisa says. “But we thought with you, we could—”
“We thought we could trust you,” Jeff completes her remark.
I like them. I give them a quick hug.
“I assure you I’ll keep our talk confidential.” I give them each a card of my own. “Keep in touch. I’m very interested to hear more about this Array.”
When they’re gone, I call two separate agents who are employed by the FBI but who really work for me. I tell them what I know about IIC and ask them to learn more. I instruct them to look into Randy Clifford’s disappearance while they’re at it. The two agents—who don’t know each other—agree to get on the case right away.
I also hire two private detectives to look into the matter—again, a man and a woman who don’t know each other, but who once worked for the CIA. These four people I pay handsomely, and I have every confidence in their abilities and their discretion. I trust them and they trust me. I warn them the job could be dangerous, and to call if they feel the least bit threatened. I like to think I take care of my own.
But it’s at times like this that I wish I had a true confidante, someone I could open my heart to without hesitation. In five thousand years I’ve known only a dozen people I could totally trust. I don’t know if that’s a testament to my nature or to human nature. I just think it’s sad. Now, in this age, the one person I know I could trust above all others, Seymour Dorsten, doesn’t even believe I exist.
Oh, Seymour knows about Alisa Perne. He even knows my real name is Sita. But he sees me as a fictional character, an amazing immortal vampire who exploded in his mind one day and who didn’t give him a moment’s peace until he wrote down the story of her life. He thought I was a product of his muse, when in reality I was in deep telepathic contact with him.
Now, this instant, I write my own story, but at first I let Seymour do the job. One might wonder why. Well, it was not something I planned—my mind just found him one day, and I discovered I couldn’t let go. So rich was his imagination, so deep were his feelings. For these reasons alone, I thought he should be the one to tell my tale. Plus the telepathic link between us was almost flawless.
I suppose a part of me felt I had been led to him by a higher power. I was sitting alone by the ocean, thinking of Krishna and his dark blue vastness, when my thoughts first intertwined with Seymour’s. I feel it was fate that brought us together. However, even though he knows me better than I know myself, we have never met in the real world.
But that is going to change. Soon.
I can hardly wait to see the look on his face.
THREE
I arrive at the Gator early and sit in the back in the corner. The club is small, it has a maximum capacity of a hundred. Conservative Truman is not exactly a huge drinking town. I notice the stage is equipped with only two instruments, an acoustic guitar and a piano. The amplifiers are modest. I understand where the owner of the club sees Matt in the scheme of things. Matt is there because the boss needs somebody on stage. Otherwise, the owner wants his patrons to be able to talk during the show. People like to talk when they drink, and they like to drink when they talk. The boss knows his business. No singer, no matter how talented, is going to slow down the bar.
Teri and Matt are not visible, but that doesn’t stop me from getting to know them better. They are in the back, in the dressing room, and I can hear them as clearly as if they were sitting beside me. Few people understand the subtleties of vampiric hearing. Simply by focusing on them, I can negate every other sound.
Teri is telling Matt about meeting me.
“She’s a fascinating woman. When she first introduced herself, I thought she was my age. But after we talked for a few minutes, I realized she was a lot older.”
“Is that when you noticed the wrinkles around her eyes?” Matt replies in a rich voice. He has an accent. I hear German, Norwegian, and shades of British. He’s well traveled.
“Shush. She doesn’t have any wrinkles.” Teri pauses. “Actually, she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.”
“I thought you said she looks like you,” he teases.
“She does. She’s me times ten. She has an aura about her.”
“Does she have money? That’s all that matters.”
“I saw her car. She drives a Porsche.”
Matt sighs. “I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“Her whole story sounds fishy. Why would she hire you to do medical research when she can afford someone with a lot more experience?”
“I told you, she finds most doctors and med students to be egomaniacs. And I can’t say I disagree.”