"Strategic division of labor," Tommy said. "The idiots at SSA and Valhalla might seem like, well ... idiots, but they aren't complete idiots. Divide up the labor and make sure the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing."

"But somebody has to know the big picture," Camille interjected. "Look at that fuckhead Kissinger. He was at both facilities. There have to be others like him."

"Someone has to know the big picture," Tommy concurred. "We just need to find that someone. Likely, anyone there who might've had information about The Farm has been relocated."

Tommy's trip to the facility adjacent to The Range had been a complete bust. Once past perimeter security, he'd moved around the place freely, and had spent several hours the previous night snooping about and chatting-up the cadre, hoping to elicit information. But he'd been unable to discern anyone who knew about The Farm. In fact, few with whom he'd spoken even had a clear idea what was done at The Range, a facility located mere miles away.

"My vote is for your new friend, Meeker," said Sam as he sat down at the table.

It was good to see Sam up and moving more easily, but Tommy could tell the Chicagoan faulted himself for not getting his mitts on Kissinger before fleeing The Range. The rough old cob always demanded too much of himself—he and the girls barely had escaped with their lives. It was the same way that Sam blamed himself for Amy. Her abduction had been like a millstone around his neck.

Still, things had begun to change. Tommy looked over to where Sam sat next to Camille. The two had bonded during the past week, and Sam's connection with the girls already was so thick you could scoop it with a spoon. Around Camille and the girls, he was every inch his old buoyant self, but without the swearing.

"I agree," replied Tommy, setting aside his sentimental thoughts. "Or Ms. Chaney."

"That opens a whole new door into the terrible," said Sam. "I know we can't turn to law enforcement for help, but do you think choking out a few politicians is going to get us anything other than our names and pictures on the 10 Most Wanted list?"

The small group had discussed from every conceivable angle the possibility of seeking a legal or political solution to the problem. The conclusion to which they had come, time and again, was that the conspiracy was too big. It obviously involved many hundreds of people in the military, government, and business, if not many thousands. It was very unlikely anyone in high elected office didn't know what was being done to the Gifted, even if those people didn't actively participate.

And as amused as Sam had been by Tommy's ultimatum to the director of the SSA, both he and Camille had pointed out that Tommy's action might well have been their act of crossing the Rubicon.

Sam was angry, but he was also practical.

"Let's get Amy back,' the old vet continued. "Then we can make political statements." It was Sam's final word on the subject. Looking into the living room, where the girls were eating fruity cereal and watching something age inappropriate on the television, Sam began to call out.

Celia appeared before he could speak, uttering her customary, "Yup."

Earlier questioning had revealed the girls knew nothing of Amy—the Farm was large, and apparently highly compartmentalized—nor did the children have any idea where The Farm was located, except to say it was, "In the middle of motherfucking nowhere."

Sam's new enquiries, asking whether the kids had recalled anything new, where met with a simple, "nope," from Celia, who glanced suspiciously at Tommy before edging closer to Sam.

The girls looked to Sam as if he were a father-figure and minded his every word. In just the last day, Camille and the children had connected, and the two young ones seemed to coo over the way the tall woman doted on them.

From Tommy's arrival earlier that morning, until now, the two girls had looked at him as if he were a large and especially frightening dog Sam and Camille allowed to go about the house without leash or muzzle. Neither had said a word to him and often stood stock-still when he entered the room. It had started with Celia and transferred to Lydia.

She can't read my mind, and it frightens her, Tommy thought. Or she can, and it frightens her more.

"How well can you read minds, hon?" Tommy asked the child.

Her eyes widened, as if he'd asked her a trick question, and she glanced swiftly to Sam.

It was the first time Sam seemed to notice anything amiss. "It's okay, puddin' ... you can answer."

Celia started by saying that she had a difficult time reading many people's minds. "They're just too stupid," she said. She compared the experience to trying to read a newspaper someone had stuck in a blender. She could make out occasional stray thoughts, ideas, and emotions from such folks, but it usually was too confused to make real sense. The smarter someone was, the easier time she had reading them. Very smart people she could read like a book.

But, even then, she could only read the thoughts a person had in mind at a given moment—memories of any kind were completely beyond her ability to discern. The youngster explained that she need only be within 50 or 60 feet of a person to pick up on his or her thoughts, a process that required very little concentration and no physical effort.

Tommy couldn't suppress a laugh when the girl said, out of the blue, "I called Camille the other day because she was the first person Sam thought of after he woke up."

After that, the kid gabbed for some time, apparently picking up on the unasked questions of Camille and Sam. Throughout, she made the occasional uncomfortable glance in Tommy's direction and slowly edged closer to Sam, until she was nearly in his lap.

It turned out that the urchin hadn't always been a mind reader. The people who originally had kidnapped her ostensibly had done so because Celia could detect the presence of others, much as Tommy could. Her mind-reading Gift hadn't expressed until after arriving at the Farm, and her first realization upon reading the mind of a medical assistant was that the staff would transfer her to the dreaded "test group" if they discovered she'd manifested such a powerful Gift. That terrifying prospect had convinced her to hide her Gift from all save Lydia.

At no point did she respond to any thought from Tommy, even after he began thinking specific questions. Upon realizing she couldn't read him at all, he mentally shrugged. He'd acquired many Gifts in his life, some of which had unintended side effects. Perhaps this was one.

"Why don't you go watch your show, hon," Tommy said as gently as he was able.

This time, Celia minded him and dashed off at a full run.

"She is off-the-charts powerful," he said after the girl had left.

Camille smiled her shy smile. "How can you tell?"

"Well, contrary to what you read in comic books, mental Gifts usually aren't very impressive. When they are, it's often because they've taken a lifetime to develop." He turned to Sam. "Do you remember a guy back in the 70s the tabloids called the 'Notorious Svengali'?"

Sam laughed and buried his head in his arms on the table, before answering with a weary, "Yes."

Tommy glanced back to Camille. "This guy was some sort of a bank robber, jewel thief, criminal mastermind ... or so he fancied himself. He claimed to be an Austrian duke and had the ability to control people's minds. But the Gift really wasn't as powerful as the rags made it out to be. He could influence the mind of a single person at a time and, even then, could only get that person to do something to which they already were inclined."

"Of course, he really wasn't a duke, Austrian or otherwise," Sam exclaimed.

"No." Tommy laughed. "God no. He was the son of a dentist from Cincinnati, named Lance Fossbury, who began developing his Gift so he could get a date. I don't mean to undercut the guy. He was an amazing social engineer and conman who had this knack for convincing people to do what he wanted and then would use the Gift to give them that last little nudge. But I met the guy a few times back in the day, and I'm fairly certain he died a virgin."

A laughing Sam began howling at that point.

"No, really," Tommy continued, "he was a passably nice fella once you got to know him, but his Gift required so much concentration that he couldn't use it in most settings. Worse, it required incredible work, hard study, and deep focus over many years to develop. He had very little time for anything else, including much of a social life. But here's the point: he was one of the great Gifted mentalists of his age. And he truly and honestly was mentally strong and disciplined."

Tommy waited for a moment to let Sam recover. "Even Amy, who is particularly strong and disciplined, can look two or three minutes into what she calls a person's 'possible future.' That's after a lifetime of daily training and exercise." He paused to let it sink in. "Celia can clearly read another human mind with effectively no training. Even if it's only some people's minds, it's impressive. With work, she could be amazing in the years to come."

"I'm amazing now," came a surly cry from the living room.

"So am I," said another sleepy voice.

The act of petty eavesdropping set off another round of laughter.

"You two must be smart," said Tommy, looking back and forth to Sam and Camille. "She reads you guys like a book."

Sam looked at him as if something had occurred to him.

"If we could get her within 50 feet of Meeker or Chaney ...," Tommy continued.

"No." Sam said flatly. "No. We're not putting those children in the line of fire."

"Sam, 50 feet .... It could be in a public restaurant."

"Wait," said Camille. "Celia said she couldn't look into someone's memory."

"I'll walk right up and ask one of them where The Farm is," replied Tommy. He knew he could not, and would not, seek Celia's help without Sam's support. "It would save me from having to choke a politician."

Sam looked like he might speak. He had that sour-grape look again. These girls were his sacred trust now.

"I'll think about it," he said after a few seconds. "It would have to be a no bullsh ... no BS, honest to Johnson, zero-risk environment, and Celia would have to be ...."

"I'm onboard," came a sleepy voice from in front of the living room TV.

Sam squelched another chuckle. "And you need to come up with a plan, a real plan. No more of this fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants nonsense."

Tommy agreed. They'd been lucky so far. There would be no gambling with the children.

"But that leaves one problem," said Camille. "How do you get near a guy like Meeker in a public place? In a safe, controlled environment? It could take months."

"It won't, if I invite him to dinner," said Tommy.