Delaney smiled nervously. "Control isn't quite the word to use. The Center is an independent organization."

"We own it, don't we? We run it, don't we?"

"We own it, Alex. We don't run it."

"Then maybe it's time that we did. Who the hell do these people think they are?"

I said to Sammy, head-to-head, This jackass is beginning to irritate me. Do you mind if I tap him?

Be my guest, Sammy said disgustedly. He doesn't deserve any courtesy. We might as well all go in.

The five of us went into Jessup's head, and rummaged around. He had a disorderly mind, but at the very front of it was the name of David Ogden. Something about the lockbox on the table. And some files. And some code names: Gemstone… Sextant… Madrigal…Domino. And binding it all together was a solid block of ice-cold fear.

We came out of Jessup's head, and Vince said, This is one unhappy dude. He's so scared he's shitting peach pits.

Martha, who looked for good in everyone, asked, Do you think that's why he's acting this way? Because he's frightened?

Don't give him any points, said Snake. He's acting this way because he's a prick.

Delaney was trying to calm Jessup down. "You have to understand that you can't deal with these people the way you can with Agency personnel. They are very highly strung, emotional, artistic…"

"Artistic." Jessup spat the word.

"… sensitive people. That's what they're called, and that's what they are. They're sensitives. Because of what they can do."

"I've heard about what they can do, and I don't believe half of it. God damn witch doctors. Remember, this was your idea, not mine."

Delaney shrugged. "If you can think of a better way to handle the situation…"He let the sentence hang.

"No, I can't. You know damn well I can't. That's why I'm sitting here dealing with these… these…"

He never got the word out. Snake stretched lazily, and said, "You're not dealing with me, chum. Sammy, if those goons against the wall are staying, I'm leaving. I want to get in some racquetball, anyway. How about it, Vince?"

"Sounds good," Vince told her. "You ready to get your ass whipped?"

"In your dreams," she said.

Martha stood up. "I have a ton of papers to grade."

I yawned widely. "And I've got some sleep to catch up on."

Jessup looked around wildly. "What is this? What's going on?"

"What's going on is this," said Sammy in his mildest voice. "You're apparently afraid of something. In fact, you're filled with fear."

Jessup stared at him.

"Now fear is a reasonable excuse for bad manners, but if you want to talk to us about the files that David Ogden left behind, you'll have to get rid of your security people. If not, then this meeting is over."

Jessup looked as if he had been slapped in the face. He stared at Sammy helplessly. He had heard about sensitives, but he had never actually seen one in action. More than that, he had never fully believed that we existed. When he had thought about us at all, he had thought of us as carnival tricksters. Now he was face-to-face with the reality. Either there had been a massive breach of security, or he was sitting in a room with five people who could pick his brains at their leisure. I almost felt sorry for him.

He recovered nicely. It took him a moment to regain control, a moment of slow breathing and concentration, and then he went back in the saddle. He turned to the cold young men, and said, "Out. Wait for us at the gate."

"On the other side of the gate," Sammy added. Once they had filed out of the room he put on that meek and mild voice of his again, the one he used around appropriations time each year. That was why he was running the show. He could do things like that. "Mr. Jessup, we started off on the wrong foot here, and I don't want the situation to get any worse. With all respect, you have something to tell us, and we're ready to listen. Please go ahead."

Jessup nodded. He recognized the oil. It was a commodity he dealt in every day. "How much do you know already?"

"Only what you've been thinking about during the past few minutes. No details."

Jessup frowned as another thought struck him. "What's happening now? What sort of privacy do I have?"

"Total privacy," Sammy assured him, lying casually. "What I did before, I did as a demonstration, and to save us all some time. No one is working on you now."

"You can count on that," Delaney rushed to say. "These people have their own code of conduct, and they stick to it." He realized how lame that sounded. "Most of the time."

Most of the time, echoed Vince, and we laughed silently.

"So," said Sammy, prodding. "Tell us about David Ogden."

He told us. He started slowly, but picked up speed as he went along. He told us much that we already knew: about Ogden 's illness, the inoperable tumors in his brain, the weeks in the hospital when he lay in a coma, and the final release. Then he told us about the lockbox that had just been opened.

"Frankly, a mistake in judgment was made," he said, staring at his hands. "The box should have been opened earlier, but we assumed that it contained only personal papers. There seemed to be no need for an indecent haste. As I said, that was a mistake, and we're paying for it now. In addition to several highly personal items, the box contained four file folders that…" He broke off for a moment. "You say that I'm frightened, and I admit that I am. The contents of those folders could seriously compromise the credibility of the Agency. They might even threaten the composition of the Agency as we know it today."

He looked around to see if we were properly impressed. I wasn't. It sounded like a case of the keys to the Men's Room, an internal Agency flap. Someone, probably Ogden, had dropped the ball somewhere, and the Agency image would suffer if the story got out. I felt like yawning again, and not only because I had missed a night's sleep.

"These files," said Sammy. "What do they contain?"

"Four blank case folders. In each one is an assignment to an agent who is identified only by a code name. The assignments apparently were made just before Ogden entered the hospital. The assignments are… bizarre, to say the least."

"Do you intend showing them to us?"

"I do, yes, but before we get to that I'd like to explain my position here. Ever since this situation came to light, after the lockbox was opened, an executive committee has sat in almost continuous session to consider what action should be taken. Several plans were developed, and all of them were discarded for reasons that will become apparent. It was Roger Delaney here, who suggested that we bring you people in on the problem, and, frankly, I must tell you that I was against the idea. I don't really understand what it is that you people do, or how you do it, and I have to admit that you make me uncomfortable. But as Roger has pointed out, we've run out of options. You'll understand that better after you've seen the files. For the moment, you're the best bet we have."

We all nodded understandingly, but that doesn't mean that we were giving Jessup our undivided attention. While he was making his statement, Vince and Snake were silently arguing the relative merits of racquetball and squash, Martha was considering the possibility that Jessup's ill temper was the result of a high-fat diet, Sammy was wondering if he might be able to maneuver a budget extension in return for the favor that was about to be asked of us, and I was thinking about security. Like everyone else in his line of work, Jessup was obsessed with the concept, yet he had mentioned an executive committee, which meant that between seven and ten people already knew about the Ogden files. Then there were the three heavyweights that he had brought with him, and now he was about to entrust the deep dark secret to five of the most irresponsible people I knew. Between fifteen and twenty, by my count. I once had to deal with Carlo Marcello, the Cosa Nostra boss in New Orleans. Carlo had a sign on the wall of his office, that read: THREE PEOPLE CAN KEEP A SECRET IF TWO OF THEM ARE DEAD. Old Carlo knew what he was talking about, and he was only two-thirds right.