Page 64 of Prodigal Son

Fox whistled. “I’m starting to see a pattern: all of you are insane.”

Abe and Devin each stood at a cabinet, drawers pulled out, full of so much paperwork they sagged.

“Clear the house,” Eden instructed Evan, and went to join Abe.

Fox stayed rooted in place. “What is all this?”

“Apparently,” Devin said, “over the last thirty-some-odd years, while the rest of us were trying to live normal lives–”

Abe snorted. Of the thirteen, the man with nine kids from nine women didn’t count as “trying to be normal.”

Devin made a face and kept going. “Norris was keeping track of each of us, and saving every newspaper clipping, coupon, flat rental advert, and library circular that he thoughtmightmake mention of us, Project Emerald, and government conspiracies.”

“And alien abductions, too,” Eden said, peering over Abe’s shoulder at the yellowed newspaper he held in his hands. “I’m not one for slandering the dead, but…”

“No, Norris has been out of his gourd for a long time,” Abe said. “But it had been getting worse lately.”

“Wait, I thought you hadn’t seen him in a while,” Fox said, frowning. He wanted to walk over, to see what sort of nonsense they were all three leafing through – but he also really, really didn’t. “How soon is recently?”

Abe shrugged and kept rifling. “About two weeks, maybe? We kept in touch off and on. I’d call him, check up on him, and he’d always want to start reminiscing about the past. That was when I would make my polite excuses and hang up.”

“And you didn’t think you ought to tell us this?”

“I knew where he lived.” Abe shrugged. “That didn’t tip you off?”

“I assumed that was just your magic spy voodoo whatever.”

Abe finally paused and lifted his head. Sent Fox the barest scrape of a wry smile. “Charlie. After all you’ve done in your life, all that you’ve seen, you don’t really think that I’m a better spy than you, do you?”

“I…” The room shifted around him; maybe the world tilted.

Abe went back to the file folders in front of him. “There’s too much here to properly sort through. Some of it might be valuable, but most of it’s just rubbish.”

Fox took a deep breath – a mistake given the stink of this place – and rubbed some of the tension out of his neck. “Abe’s right.” And someone had to decide what they were doing next; the only thing here worth finding was Norris, and that was a warning that they needed to hurry. “We can’t look through all this, and it probably doesn’t matter anyway.” His balance returned as he gave directions. “We gotta call this in, and get back on the road. Eden, do you have a contact who you can trust? All this” – gesture at the cabinets – “needs boxing up. There may be something in it that can help our case when this eventually all blows up and makes the papers.”

She nodded and reached for her phone. “Yeah. On it.”

“Dad, you should–”

“Guys!” Evan called from deeper in the house. “You should really come see this!”

The bedroom was situated off the kitchen, and the dirty linens brought a whole new aroma into the mix. But the most notable thing was the collection of maps. Huge, blown-up maps of London and its surrounding suburbs. Addresses circled in red.

“This is…” Evan said, “some real serial killer shit.”

“Said the sniper,” Eden quipped.

Abe stepped up to one and reached to touch one of the circles, hissing through his teeth.

“What?” Fox asked.

“I know this one. It’s Morgan’s place.”

“Then let’s head that way.”

“No, he won’t be there, not now. But I know where he might be.”

Fox paused, on their way back to the van, and looked back at the sad little shack in the middle of a muddy field, its herd of rampant goats. Eden had in fact called a former colleague, someone she trusted to handle the whole thing correctly and respectfully. Norris was dead; there was nothing they could do for him, and staying here, losing time while there were others still alive, getting their prints and DNA all over everything – that would be folly.

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