Page 83 of The Presidents Shadow

AS SOON AS the conversation with Laksa has ended, Margo says to me, “He’s scared, isn’t he?”

I am not surprised at her intuition—she’s always been remarkably accurate with her emotional insight. But I sense that Margo herself is nervous, as if she is as frightened as Laksa.

“Lamont, look at the situation,” she continues.

“We know a lot more about Ambrose than we did a few minutes ago. But it’s also true that Ambrose knows a lot more about us, about our incredible intrusion on his plans.

And when he learns Laksa isn’t dead, he’ll know someone has foiled him—and that we’re tightening a noose. ”

“Of course, you’re right, Margo,” I say. “I’ve thought from the beginning that Laksa could end up being a victim in all this, but I guess I put that aside because I was so pleased that we succeeded in locating Terrageddon. Isn’t that the larger goal, and worth it?”

I realize, of course, that while I am the cause of Dr. Laksa’s jeopardy, I can also be the source of his safety. I know that Laksa cannot be protected by guards with guns or locked rooms with steel-and-granite walls. A madman like Ambrose will track down Laksa easily. He will destroy him handily.

So I try mightily to connect with the most dependable source of safety in the world. I send psychic signals with my greatest possible strength of concentration. Margo can sense what I’m seeking. She does not cower, but she does close her eyes and hold my hand.

I am not certain if it’s taken a minute, an hour, or even a lifetime for a successful mental connection to be made. But when the powerful process of double presence finally occurs, I see Dache standing before me.

“Your wise and good friend. Laksa. About him you will speak, and I will listen,” he says in a voice that is at once strong and soothing.

I begin.

“We owe him his safety. He deserves that. And we deserve his wisdom, his knowledge.” Dache gives no response, so I continue.

“Laksa will only be safe if he is in your care. With the power of shape-changing and your stunning instincts for sorting good from evil, you can cross the guarded borders with him; you can guarantee Laksa’s safety. Then the remainder of us can swiftly begin our work.”

Do I see Dache nod? Is he even moving? Do I hear something, anything? Is there even a murmur of agreement? I wait, and Dache remains still and silent.

Finally he speaks. “You have spoken. I have listened. I will comply.”

Then he pauses once again. He has only one more word to speak.

“Tibet,” he says.

I nod. I know there is one place Dache can keep Dr. Laksa completely safe. The great monastery hidden in the mountains of Tibet where I once trained. Unfindable and untraceable. The presence of Dr. Laksa will not be detected by Ambrose and cannot invite his fury onto another unsuspecting location.

Dache dissolves into another world. Now the room is empty except for Margo and me. Yet even in Dache’s absence, the great man’s aura of hope and strength remains.