He yanked her around another corner. Up ahead she saw a wall of impenetrable green foliage studded with needle-sharp thorns. Another intersection. Spode paused briefly. She realized he was using an object that looked like a small penlight to chart a course through the maze. The device emitted a narrow beam of energy. He started to turn right. The light abruptly disappeared. He turned in the opposite direction. The light grew strong again.

“What is this place?” she said.

“Welcome to my memorial garden,” Spode said, steering her around another corner. “My father started it. When he died I took over.”

Olivia took a closer look at the topiaries. “These plants have been shaped to look like crypts and funeral vaults.”

“It’s my art.”

“Who, exactly, are you memorializing here?”

“Each of these vaults represents a successful mission,” Spode said. “The earliest topiaries mark my father’s work. The rest are all mine.”

She looked around, horrified. “Do you even know how many people you’ve murdered?”

“They were missions, not murders,” Spode snapped. “I do not kill for sport; neither did my father.”

“Money?”

“My father was a professional. So am I.”

“Right. So it’s the money.”

Spode steered her through another intersection. She tried to focus on the glowing green corridor. It was like moving through a multidimensional kaleidoscope. The greens were violently green. Each leaf sparked with the acid-and-neon-light characteristic of the paranormal. Mushrooms of all shapes and sizes illuminated the shadows of the vaults and crypts in ominous colors. Orchids twisted amid the foliage, the blooms resembling the open jaws of snakes.

She knew how to handle heavy energy, thanks to growing up in Fogg Lake, but she had never dealt with anything as disturbing and disorienting as the fierce storm of hot psi that swirled within the towering green walls of the maze.

“You do realize you’re a serial killer,” she said. “So was your father.”

To her surprise, Spode seemed to find that amusing. “Tell that to the intelligence agencies, global corporations and heads of state around the world who were my father’s clients and are now mine.”

“Okay, you’re a serial killer who bills for his services. That makes such a difference.”

He used his grip on her arm to give her a short, rough shake.

“Bitch. If I didn’t need you . . .”

“You’d kill me free of charge. I get it. You still haven’t told me what I’m supposed to do with the camera.”

“You have two missions. First you must shut down the Vortex machine. It’s in a meltdown.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The machine has become unstable. It’s in a runaway mode.”

“And if I don’t stop it, you and your monster wannabes will die?”

“So will you. Everyone on this island will die, and there’s a high probability that’s just the beginning.”

“What?”