Chapter 55
DR. DORION MAGNUS, HAVING completed his premeditated parry and riposte, sat back in his chair and gazed upon the pale face of the FBI agent seated in front of him, mind filled with interest and speculation.
This man was, quite certainly, the most unusual person he’d ever encountered, and he was intensely curious to explore his mind further.
Magnus was a passionate fencer, and he often employed fencing metaphors when engaged in a bout with another’s mind as a way to express to himself what was happening.
He glanced at the brass clock on the opposite wall, noting as he did so that the time for the flèche—the leaping attack—would soon arrive.
Precisely how soon, he could not be sure, but in the meantime he would disengage and give distance…
while amusing himself. He had observed that during their conversation Pendergast, ever alert to his surroundings, had been studying the contents of his glass cabinet.
He could use that as a distraction to pass a minute or two.
“Agent Pendergast, I see you eyeing my display case. It contains a handful of mementos that mark the greatest turning points in my life. That Guarneri violin, for example, given me by the concertmaster of the New Orleans Symphony upon his retirement—it serves as a mordant reminder of my foresight in deciding to become a doctor instead of a musician. The scalpel lying next to it on a bed of felt, used in my first operation; the odd photograph and bauble—they all document, in one way or another, the steps that brought me to where I am today.”
And Magnus knew that he knew.
Pendergast turned to Chambers. “It’s time to go.” He said to Magnus. “We will see our way out.”
“Not quite yet, sir,” said Magnus, also turning to Chambers, his mind now catching the currents and eddies of thought from the senior agent instead… like a radio dial changing stations mid-song. “Agent Chambers, I request you arrest your partner for murder.”
Chambers remained frozen in his chair. Magnus could see his mind swirling with warring beliefs, and—choosing his words carefully, so they remained in sync with Chambers’s changing thoughts—he spoke in a low voice.
“You’ve known for some time that your partner was abnormal.
There is a genetic disposition in his line for violence and crime.
Did you know a mob burned down his family’s mansion on Dauphine Street, killing both his parents? ”
More suspicions and doubts blossoming in Chambers’s mind, and he watered them. “You must have harbored suspicions about his sanity before now.”
“Agent Chambers!” said Pendergast sharply. “It is time to go.”
Looking now once again at Pendergast, Magnus could feel the man’s deep alarm.
Without surprise, Magnus saw the man’s hand had crept to a spot only inches from his hidden sidearm.
Magnus knew that in any quick-draw contest, Pendergast would put a bullet between his eyes before he could even touch his own sidearm.
Thankfully, that was not going to be a problem.
The clock—his friend in this contest—was ticking.
What Pendergast did not know, could not know, was that the terrible deed that filled the man’s mind with anxiety was already done… and couldn’t be reversed.
“Why so anxious to leave?” Magnus asked Pendergast, picking up on Chambers’s thoughts of panic, alarm, and betrayal.
“Is it the horror of being unmasked? Or the fear of punishment? Those aren’t the kind of things, it seems to me, you’d recoil from.
No: it would be the disgrace that would unman you most.”
Pendergast had risen from his chair, but Chambers remained seated, his mind still in utter turmoil—grappling not only with his accusations but the even stranger, more outré exchange that was playing out between himself and Pendergast.
“Chambers,” said Pendergast, a note of urgency in his voice, his hand now actually touching his holster and silently undoing the keeper. “Get up. We’re leaving. Now.”
Magnus glanced again at the clock. The flèche was only seconds away. He could sense, almost as if it was his own, the consternation and confusion in Chambers; feel the rapid hammering of his heart.…
Yes. Increase the blood flow, dial up the circulation, bring on the crisis that much quicker.
“Chambers!” cried Pendergast.
Chambers finally staggered to his feet.
Now: the flèche. “So, Chambers!” he said. “Your partner warned that I might toy with you. Is that right?”
Something new had entered Chambers’s mind: the physical aura, the strange white glow, that precedes a seizure. There was no need to look into his mind any longer; that battle was already won. But it was no longer about need. It was about enjoyment.
Magnus tilted back in his chair. “And I have!” He laughed.
“It’s been amusing, toying with your miserably suspicious little mind.
You see, Chambers, I’m the one who visited Telligren that night.
I’m the one who administered the drug! I’m the murderer of Telligren!
How delightful to make you think your very own partner might be the murderer—or was that already a suspicion deep down? ”
Pendergast was about to draw his weapon, but it was too late.
Chambers gave a guttural cry and clutched his chest. Abruptly, his body went rigid as a board, toppling over backward as the muscles of his legs seized up.
He thudded to the floor like a fallen tree, and then his body bowed upward into a hideous, juddering arch, his head and heels hammering on the wooden floor in a lethal staccato.
And in that instant of impeccable distraction, as Pendergast moved to assist his partner, Magnus drew out his .
45 and took a brisk step forward, pressing it against Pendergast’s head as his other hand pulled out the agent’s firearm, conveniently unsnapped and half withdrawn.
He quickly stepped back, both weapons aimed. “Keep your hands in sight,” he said quietly.
Pendergast raised his hands. The trap had been laid, and then sprung, to perfection. The agent’s mind was now as dark as night—while his partner, Chambers, writhed and choked on the floor.
The door opened and three crew members entered, each carrying an AR-15. They spread out, covering Pendergast.
“There’s nothing you can do for him,” Magnus said.
“I’m a biochemist, remember. Poor Chambers received fatal dose of a V-series nerve agent in his morning coffee, carefully calibrated to time his seizure to this moment juste.
” He glanced at his watch. “Twelve minutes to five—a few minutes later than estimated, but you must admit very accurate, nevertheless. After all, I had to approximate certain variables of his height, weight, and metabolism.” He put the two handguns on the desk.
“You see, Agent Pendergast, I realized it would not be an easy thing to get the drop on you—to evade your preternatural alertness and your innate caution. The seizure and collapse of your partner was one thing I realized I could count on to distract your attention—for just long enough.” He turned to Chambers, who was now rigid on the floor, his eyes popping from his head, his face deep scarlet, the blood vessels pounding in his rigid neck.
“Did you perhaps find that Guatemalan dark roast a bit rich this morning, Agent Chambers? Yes? No? Cat got your tongue, it seems?”
Magnus now brought his manicured fingers together with a self-satisfied smile as he watched Chambers expire, the agent’s eyes filming over, the pulsing of blood in his neck fading away. All grew quiet in the little study at the stern of the boat.
Magnus enjoyed the silence, allowing it to linger for a moment before speaking again. “Jean-Pierre? Paul?”
Two of the three men came to attention, while the third kept his weapon trained on Pendergast. “Yes, sir?” one said.
Magnus waved at Pendergast. “Please escort this gentleman belowdecks and lock him up in the darkest, filthiest, and most secure hold. There are several next to the bilges that should do: just make sure it’s one he can’t escape from.”
The two men nodded.
“Jean-Pierre,” Magnus said. “Take charge. The fellow’s well trained at close-in military operations, so don’t take any risks. Paul, you hang back just a little in case he causes trouble.”
The man named Jean-Pierre slung his AR-15 over his shoulder, while Paul nodded and backed away, weapon at the ready.
“If there’s any difficulty, shoot out his kneecaps—but don’t kill him. I have a feeling I might want to toy with him some more… later. And then wrap some weights around his friend, here, and—once we’re in the deep channel south of town—throw him overboard.”
And as he spoke, the boat’s great engine chuffed into life, a bell rang, and the creaking of the stern paddle started up, the sound of churning water coming through the windows. The great river steamer Fant?me began to move.