Death of an Adept

Chapter Seventeen

ADAM woke with a start in the twilight hours before the dawn of the new year, the previous night's sense of well-being shattered by a potent and troubling dream that fled as soon as he opened his eyes.

It was far too early to rise - perhaps as early as seven, by the light - but the Frasers' Hogmanay party had still been in full swing at two, when Philippa finally had pleaded jet lag for Adam and his newly declared fiancee and begun trying to engineer their escape. Three o'clock had come and gone by the time the three of them crept home, the patient Humphrey at the wheel of the Range Rover, and the clock in the downstairs hall had just begun striking four as all of them retired to their respective beds.

Now Ximena lay curled at Adam's side, her dark hair spilling like silk on the pillow, looking happy but still exhausted; he would not think of disturbing her much-needed rest.

But the dream that had shattered his own sleep continued to haunt him, even as he tried to recapture some of its sense - more a residual of foreboding than anything specific, but he seemed to recall snatches of imagery featuring standing stones, and smoke writhing among the stones like tentacles.

Moving carefully to avoid waking Ximena, he rolled over and stole a glance at the clock on the bedside table. The discovery that it was barely six o'clock made him groan inwardly. He lay awake for a while, pondering the possible significance of the dream, but when no ready explanations presented themselves, he did his best to push his speculations out of mind, at least for the time being, and willed himself back to sleep.

Even when he woke again, however, the emotional impact of the dream remained curiously memorable in contrast to the vagueness of its imagery - so much so that he found himself unable to dismiss the experience out of hand. Over a solitary brunch of bacon, eggs, and tattie scones in the breakfast room - for Ximena and Philippa were still abed - he went searching through the newspapers for some clue that might shed light on the mystery. Finding nothing there, he reached behind him for the phone and tapped out McLeod's number.

The inspector was on duty at police headquarters, having volunteered for holiday duty so that some of the junior officers in his division could take the time off to be with their families.

"Adam! Welcome back - and congratulations."

"Thanks very much. Listen, Noel, I've got a question for you," Adam said, when the two men had exchanged New Year's greetings. "Did anything unusual happen last night?"

McLeod gave a snort of derisive laughter. "Do you want the whole catalogue of events, or just my personal favorites?"

Adam found himself smiling, for New Year's Eve in Scotland was probably the most riotous holiday on the calendar.

"Actually," he said, "I was thinking in terms of historic landmarks. Were there any incidents having to do with any of the national monuments hereabouts?"

"Well," McLeod offered, "some lads on leave from the naval base at Rosyth got themselves arrested for trying to hang a life-sized blowup model of Madonna from the chimney of John Knox's house."

At any other time, Adam might have been amused by what was obviously nothing more than a high-spirited prank.

"Actually, I had in mind something of a more serious nature," he told McLeod. "Not necessarily in this jurisdiction."

"Ah. I gather that Philippa's briefed you about Callanish."

"She did. I've no notion that this is necessarily related."

"Well. I'm not aware of anything," McLeod said, after a taut pause. "Give me a minute, though, and I'll run a check for incidents elsewhere."

"Thanks. I'll hold on."

McLeod was gone only briefly. "No, there's nothing on the books. Anything I should know about?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing," Adam said lightly. "I had some odd dreams last night - nothing I can put my finger on. It could well have been a bit of a hangover from the Erasers'

Hogmanay party, coupled with jet lag. Thanks anyway for checking."

After Ximena and Philippa had come down for lunch, Adam took Ximena out to the stables to inspect her Morgan. The battery was dead, or they would have taken it out for a spin. They settled for a drive in Adam's Jaguar instead, and spent part of the afternoon deciding on what would be necessary to get the Morgan back on the road. When they returned, in time for tea with Philippa, a message was waiting for Adam to ring McLeod at the office.

"Hello, it's Adam," he said, when McLeod had picked up his direct line. "You rang?"

"Ah." The word conveyed a world of expectation. "There's been an interesting wrinkle on your 'hangover' theory this morning."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Shortly after you rang, I had a call from young lolo MacFarlane, out on Lewis. He's the chap who was first on the scene at Callanish. It seems he also had some unsettling dreams last night. He said he hoped I wouldn't think he was crazy, but he could best describe it as 'a disturbance in the Force.' He says he thinks something terrible happened last night. He doesn't know what or where, but it was somehow connected with what happened at Callanish."

"I see." The information tended to confirm what Adam himself had picked up, but was no more helpful. "Do you intend to talk to him again?"

"I don't intend to go back to Lewis, if that's what you mean. Unfortunately, 'a disturbance in the Force' isn't very specific, and you aren't much more help. We'll just have to wait and see what else develops. I thought you'd want to know, though."

"Thanks, Noel. I appreciate it. Keep me posted."

Following the long New Year's weekend, Ximena took up her new appointment at the Royal Infirmary and Adam plunged into catching up on professional commitments put on hold while he was in America. Taking over management of the domestic concerns of Strathmourne House, Philippa focused her primary energies on helping the couple make plans for their formal nuptials, which were officially scheduled for the first Saturday in February.

Meanwhile, the news that Sir Adam Sinclair was shortly to marry Dr. Ximena Lockhart was given pride of place in the society supplements of every newspaper in Scotland, and was the cause for disappointed sighs by many an Edinburgh matron who had hoped her daughter might catch the eye of one of Scotland's most eligible bachelors. Following the public announcement, a flood of notes and letters of congratulation began to pour in to Strathmourne, as Adam's many friends and associates, contacts, and colleagues from far and wide took the occasion to express their heartiest good wishes.

"You have an amazing variety of friends," Ximena marvelled, casting a wondering eye at the array of correspondence strewn across the breakfast table between them. "As near as I can tell, you seem to be on a first-name basis with everyone from the senior curator of manuscripts at the British Museum to the governor of Edinburgh Castle to the head lama in charge of the Buddhist Retreat Center on Holy Isle. How on earth did you get to be so well-acquainted with so many different people in so many walks of life?"

Adam chuckled. "Some of the connections I owe to my family, of course. As for the rest - " He shrugged. "I am a Jungian analyst. Cultivating an attitude of cultural eclecticism is one of the hallmarks of Jung's approach."

"That still doesn't explain where you get the time," Ximena said. "One of these days, you're going to have to let me in on the true secret of your manifold successes."

Though obviously playful in spirit, her choice of words cost Adam a faint twinge of conscience, for it reminded him, however indirectly, that there were still truths about himself that he had not shared with his new wife.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" he replied, trying to keep his tone equally light.

Ximena looked up from pouring herself a fresh cup of tea, something a little forced about her air of innocence.

"Of course I want to know," she told him. "After all, we did vow a mutual sharing of worldly goods - hardly a week ago, as I recall. I believe that includes any and all skeletons lurking in the closets around here."

Adam managed a rueful smile. "You don't scare easily, do you?''

"Not as a general rule. But I do get concerned now and then for your safety - and not without cause, I think."

"Psychiatry is not generally regarded as a high-risk specialty," he said, hoping to divert the conversation.

"No, but most psychiatrists confine their professional activities to the nice, safe environs of the consultation room," she retorted. "You don't talk about it much - and I haven't pushed - but I know you donate no small portion of your time to helping out the police whenever they have a case that smacks of the bizarre. I gather that you regard this kind of work in the light of a special vocation - but I also know that it can be potentially very dangerous. When we both nearly got blown up on our very first date, that became abundantly clear.

"I'm not going to ask you to explain about that," she added, holding up a hand to silence any interruption. "I respect the fact that you can't talk about a lot of what you do. That being the case, I'd like to propose a bargain."

"What kind of bargain?" Adam asked cautiously.

"A sort of exchange of courtesies. It works like this. I won't make any attempt to interfere with your enforcement work, if you'll promise to keep me informed about what you're doing."

"Within limits, I'm certainly willing to do my best," Adam agreed.

"I'm not asking that you tell me everything," she reiterated. "I expect that, in its way, the issue of confidentiality is just as sacrosanct for law-enforcement people as it is for physicians - or priests, even. What I do ask is that you tell me as much as you can. That car bomb at Melrose was planted by someone you were chasing on behalf of the police. I don't even want to know the details, at this remove," she added, shaking her head and holding up her hand again. "But if this is a regular feature of your lifestyle, I'd at least like to be given fair warning."

Adam stared at her for a long moment.

"My life usually isn't that physically dramatic," he said at last. "But there is a lot more to the truth than you realize."

"How much more?"

Adam chose his words carefully, well aware that this conversation could make or break their future relationship.

"The crimes that demand my talents as an investigator aren't simply those involving some degree of psychological abnormality on the part of the perpetrators," he said tentalively. "Every now and then a case comes to light which can only be explained in terms of - let's call it the paranormal."

When she only cocked her head in question, Adam went on.

"When that happens, a solution can only be found by utilizing extraordinary methods of investigation. And that means calling in a special investigator - someone equipped with more than the usual range of investigative talents."

Ximena's eyes widened slightly. "You mean someone gifted with extrasensory perception?" She paused a beat. "Are we talking about Noel McLeod - or you?"

Adam gave a noncommital shrug, declining to answer the question directly.

"I know it has a sensationalist ring to it, but let me assure you that such faculties do exist. And wherever they manifest themselves, they provide us with valid information concerning the nature of experience."

Ximena was studying him closely. "What exactly are you trying to tell me? That you're some kind of psychic?"

"I suppose that's as accurate a term as any," Adam conceded, "though we both know what that could mean in professional terms, if it were ever to become public knowledge. The fact is, I owe a great deal of my success in treating the mental illnesses of my patients to these special talents.

"But that's only part of the story," he went on. "You've already noted how often I work with the police on a consultancy basis. What you don't know is that I have certain… obligations as an enforcer in my own right."

A furrow appeared between Ximena's winged eyebrows. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"Bear with me, darling. This isn't easy for me either," Adam said quietly. "Let's just say that the possession of special perceptive abilities automatically carries with it a certain burden of responsibility."

"And?" she said, when he did not immediately go on.

He drew a breath, steeling himself for further disclosures.

"I'm by no means the only one to wield unusual talents of this sort. Unfortunately, not all those who possess such talents are also possessed of a sense of ethics. On the contrary, there are more than a few exceptional individuals out there who are prepared to use their gifts for wholly selfish purposes, often to the extreme detriment of others. And that cannot be permitted, if the balance of enlightenment in the universe is to be maintained."

"Balance of enlightenment?"

Adam groped for the words to explain, heartened by her reaction thus far.

"There is such a thing as a Higher Law in the universe - a code of spiritual morality which is, itself, a reflection of the Divine Will which instituted it. This Higher Law is the foundation upon which all other moral and ethical codes of human conduct are based, whether consciously or unconsciously. When human laws are broken, it's up to human authority to seek out the perpetrator and render justice. Police and judicial agencies carry out that function.

"Similarly," he went on, "when someone transgresses against the Higher Law, that infraction demands a response from a higher authority, if the balance of the cosmos is to be maintained and restored to harmony. Conventional detection methods usually fall short when investigating such crimes - and those who operate in contempt of the Higher Law are often quite adept at covering their tracks. Dealing with such offenders requires the intervention of individuals wielding comparable gifts. In other words," he finished bleakly, "it's up to me and those like me to find them, stop them, and require them to make whatever restitution is owed to re-establish the balance of order."

"Me and those like me" Ximena repeated softly, her eyes wide with wonder. "Does that mean you actually work within an organization?"

"It does," Adam admitted. "That's one of our greatest safeguards. As long as you work with a team, you reduce the temptation to become a law unto yourself."

Ximena was silent for a long moment as she assimilated this. Then abruptly she asked, "Does Philippa know anything about all this?"

Adam could not restrain a smile. "Philippa is the one who trained me."

This disclosure startled Ximena as nothing else had done.

"My God!" she exclaimed. "Who else is involved in this work? No, don't tell me - let me guess: Noel McLeod, certainly. And Peregrine Lovat as well?''

Adam nodded. "Correct on both counts. But please don't ask me to tell you anything more. It isn't that I don't trust you to keep a secret. But we do have our share of enemies."

"Like the ones who blew up your car at Melrose?"

"Among others," Adam said bluntly. "Their methods don't stop there. There are many forms of violence, not all of them physical. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep the risks to a minimum, for the sake of all concerned."

A long silence fell between them. Then, at last, Ximena spoke, her face a little strained.

"I seem to have gotten far more than I bargained for."

"I know," Adam said, "and I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."

"Yes, you should have," Ximena agreed, a faint smile curving her lips. "But now that I think of it, you've been feeding me hints about this for quite some time now, haven't you? It isn't your fault it's taken me this long to really hear what you were saying."

"If it's more than you're prepared to take on," he said, "you're still free to back out."

"Do you want me to?" she replied.

Slowly he shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

"No," he said softly.

"Then I'll stay," she whispered - and sealed the declaration with a kiss.