Death of an Adept

Adam was shaking his head. "I have no idea. It could be a mythological reference. It could be a place name. It could be something drawn from lolo's personal dream lexicon. Whatever it means, he clearly considered it important enough to stand on its own. And that suggests we ought to take it seriously."

He turned to Rhiannon. "I'd really like to study this journal more closely. As a psychiatrist, I find dream analysis a useful tool - and it i?ally could give us some clues. May I take it away with me? It's just possible that lolo had some premonition that might be linked to his kidnapping. I can't promise anything, but I'd like to try."

Having come so far already, Rhiannon did not raise any further objections now.

"All right," she sighed. "If it will help you find lolo, it'll be worth it."

"Is this all right by you?" Adam asked Chisholm.

The Stornoway detective shrugged. "Our forensics boys are all finished here. If they didn't see fit to classify that book as evidence, I don't see why I should take exception. No, this is obviously your speciality. Best let you get on with it."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"TELL, here's where we part company," Chisholm said, pulling up outside the fence beside the parking apron where the Cessna lay waiting. "Dr. Sinclair, do you really think that dream journal might help us find McFarlane?"

"It's possible," Adam allowed. "It may at least give me some insight into his psychology, suggest the kinds of things he might have been involved in, that would make someone want to kidnap him."

Which was only partially true, but it seemed to satisfy Chisholm.

"Fair enough," he said. "Thanks again for coming. You'll let me know, won't you, if anything useful turns up?"

"You can count on it," McLeod said, speaking for all of them.

As Chisholm drove off and Harry began his pre-flight inspection of the plane, the rest of them got in, Adam taking the co-pilot's seat that McLeod had occupied on the incoming flight.

"I figured you might be waiting for me," Harry said with a grin, as he got in beside Adam and closed his door.

"I'd like to retrieve those impressions you picked up off McFarlane's medallion," Adam said. "That way, we can discuss the case on the way back."

"You seem pretty sure I got something," Harry said, buckling up his seat harness. "I don't remember a thing."

"You will," Adam said with a smile. "You're really getting rather good at this. Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Harry said, closing his eyes. As he drew breath, Adam touched his wrist in posthypnotic trigger.

"That's right. Take a deep breath in… and out… Settle in. That's right. Peregrine, are you standing by?" he added, with a glance over his shoulder at the artist.

Peregrine nodded, sketchbook and pencil already in hand.

"Ready whenever you two are," he announced softly.

"Good." Adam returned his attention to his subject. "All right, Harry, remember that time capsule you've been carrying around with you for the last hour? I want you to take it out and open it up, and tell me what comes to mind."

There was a momentary pause, then Harry began to narrate. "Reading… in the sitting room… I hear a noise from the kitchen… I get up and go to the door, but three men in black burst in - "

Harry broke off, his breathing becoming more rapid, his voice going hoarse.

"Backing off, shouting for help… trying to escape, but I'm caught and pinned. No! Let me go! One's got my medallion, choking me! Frantic to get away, but I can't! Something wet clapped over my face - can't breathe! Chemical smell - cloying… dizzy… falling…"

"That's enough, Harry," Adam ordered, his hand tightening on the counselor's wrist. "That part is pretty clear. Let go of it now, and backtrack for me. Run the film in reverse and freeze-frame on the men in black. Do you have them?"

Slowly Harry's head nodded.

"Good. Now look at them carefully, and tell me everything you can about them."

Slowly, haltingly, Harry complied, now able to render a more dispassionate description of the images fixed before his inner vision. Adam and McLeod watched silently as three faces emerged from under Peregrine's pencil, shaped by Harry's narrative; but when McLeod opened his mouth to comment, Adam shook his head and held up a restraining hand.

Not until he had brought both Harry and Peregrine back to normal waking consciousness did he take the sketchbook and turn to the second of Peregrine's sketch portraits: that of a hard-faced man with Nordic features and a crewcut. It was a visage that all of them recognized, though Harry had seen only sketches.

"Him again," McLeod muttered. "Whoever he is, Raeburn's got him working overtime."

Harry ran the back of his hand across the lower half of his face, still looking a little haggard.

"I wouldn't know about that," he said, "but it was chloroform they used to nail him with. I recognized the smell."

"That would be in character," Adam said, nodding. "It's a favorite M.O. with the Lodge of the Lynx."