“We’re getting off track here,” Victor said. “All right, Rancourt, I’ll bite. What’s worse than having to hunt down monsters?”
“That’s the rest of the bad news,” Harlan said. “I don’t know. You were right, the Vortex team was playing with forces they did not understand. We’ve learned a few things about paranormal physics since Bluestone was shut down, one of which is that paranormal energy tends to hang around for a long time. Decades. Centuries. That old lab must be very hot.”
“Like the Fogg Lake lab,” Lucas said.
Victor slowly shook his head. “Whatever was going on at Vortex was a lot more dangerous than what was happening at Fogg Lake. That was why they tried to erase every scrap of evidence about it when they shut it down. Whoever took charge of that project did one hell of a thorough job.”
“ ‘Thorough’ is one word for it,” Harlan said. “ ‘Ruthless’ is another. If any of the Vortex staff survived, they did such a good job of hiding that neither my grandfather nor my father could find them, and trust me, they both looked—hard.”
“If Vortex was creating monsters, they must have been using some sort of paranormal tech,” Lucas said. “If the machine was not properly deactivated when the lab was destroyed, we should assume, until proven otherwise, that the device is in working condition.”
“Even if it isn’t functional,” Victor said, “we all know there will be no shortage of ambitious fools who think it can be made to operate again. And that means people will get killed.”
Lucas’s mouth tightened. “Harlan is right. We don’t have any choice. We need to combine forces to find Vortex. I’ll call security and get a team together—”
“No,” Harlan said. “Not yet. I don’t need a lot of your security people. They’ll get in the way and draw too much attention. Put the team on standby. First, I have to secure the cooperation of the oracle. Everything depends on her.”
Victor drummed his fingers on the desk. “What makes you think Olivia is the descendant of the woman in the painting, Rancourt?”
“I can’t be absolutely certain,” Harlan admitted. “But the odds are she’s the granddaughter of a woman named Grace Goodwin. According to my grandfather’s private files, Goodwin was identified as a researcher who may have been on the Vortex staff.”
“Your grandfather’s private files?” Victor snorted. “What the hell happened to them?”
Harlan shrugged. “Don’t tell me you were naive enough to believe the files you found in my father’s office were all of the Rancourt records.”
Victor’s mouth twisted. “We knew there was a high probability the Rancourts had hidden a few secrets.”
“My grandfather began collecting the private files when he established the Foundation,” Harlan said. “My father continued the practice. I inherited them.”
“Where are they?” Victor growled.
“Let’s talk about that some other time. Priorities.” Harlan opened his phone and pulled up the photo of another painting. “I want to show you something.”
He put the phone on the desk so that Victor and Lucas could both see it. They reacted very much as he had expected: Intrigued and curious at first. Then comprehension struck with the force of a bolt of lightning.
“Another oracle painting,” Victor said. “Looks like it was done by the same artist who did my Vortex lab picture. Same warning. Here there be monsters.”
“I think that was the artist’s signature,” Harlan said.
Lucas looked up. “Where did you get this?”
“Long story,” Harlan said. “Some other time. I need to get to Seattle.”
“How do we know you didn’t come here asking for our cooperation because you think you’ve figured out a way to regain control of the Foundation?” Victor asked.
“I’m already in charge, remember?” Harlan said. “The Foundation reports to the director of the Agency for the Investigation of Atypical Phenomena. That would be me.”
“Thought we made it clear,” Lucas said. “The Foundation is an independent corporation.”
“With one client—my agency.” Harlan picked up his phone and slipped it into his coat pocket. “For what it’s worth, I don’t trust you, either. But I suggest we work out the details of our association some other time. At the moment we’re stuck with using each other. This is one of those ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ situations.”
“Maybe,” Victor said. “Regardless, there’s something we should talk about before I make that call to Olivia LeClair. Do you know a woman named Larissa Whittier?”
Harlan ignored the chill in his gut. “Skilled at making paranormal poisons. Murdered a couple of people, tried to steal some dangerous artifacts that belonged to my grandfather. Attempted to destroy two generations of the Chastain family. Motive—revenge. She’s currently in a fugue state in a locked ward at Halcyon.”
“I see you’ve read the classified report,” Victor said. “I asked you if you know her.”
“Never met the woman,” Harlan said. “The Rancourts aren’t a close family.”
Victor and Lucas went very still.
“You do know who she is, then?” Lucas asked.
“Imagine my surprise a few days ago when I discovered I had a half sister,” Harlan said. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll take the Foundation jet to Seattle this evening. Call the oracle. Tell her I want to see her in her office first thing in the morning.”
“You can fly commercial,” Victor growled. “Plenty of time to get to Seattle before the meeting with Olivia.”
“I don’t want to waste time sitting around an airport.”
“Do you have any idea what it costs to put the company plane in the air?” Victor muttered.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Harlan said. “I’m the guy who approves your budget now, remember?”
Lucas grimaced. “Who knew a Rancourt had a sense of humor?”
“I wasn’t joking,” Harlan said.
Victor groaned. “I’ll call Olivia, explain the situation and make sure she knows the Foundation security team in Seattle will protect her as long as you’re working with her.”
“Make the call and tell her who I am and to expect me, but I told you, we can’t risk a security team, not even the one in Seattle,” Harlan said. “Pulling in security would send up red flags to anyone who is watching. We need to keep this close.”