“I’m willing to go through the ceremony you think you need to prove to everyone here how important you are. But I know Kurt told you all I need is a fucking pen and some paper.”

“That’s in there too.”

“You guys with small hands,” she mumbled as she went into the room.

A world-weary tech attached a series of wires to Catherine’s temples and wrists. She knew whatever she saw wouldn’t be transmitted to a computer, however advanced they believed their technology had gotten. She had refined a way to blur her thoughts when needed.

Catherine’s mind began to see images. They materialized as they always had, ever since she was child. Her unbending focus on a name, a face, and a location, meant images emerged that informed and directed her as to what had escaped the quotidian mind.

Right now what emerged was a room and a man. Was it Hashim? She couldn’t tell. This man had no beard and wore a suit. But his eyes. Yes. She knew those eyes, and had the searing recognition it was without doubt Hashim.

She surveyed the room he was in and landed on the name and address of the hotel on the pad of paper on the nightstand next to the bed.

The next thing that happened was the overwhelming impulse to protect him. The traitorous thought locked her in an internal struggle. She knew she needed to give the government something; otherwise they and Vickers would solidify their disbelief in her ability.

She sketched what she saw on the wall of the hotel room. A reproduction of a generic pot of flowers that hung over the bed.

She pulled off the wires attached to her temples and wrists.

Vickers clicked the intercom.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She had no idea what was going on with her, only that Hashim needed refuge. That was the last thing in her mind before she shut it off.

Unsettled, she headed for the door and tried to open it but it was locked.

“Let me out, Eric.”

A second later the door clicked open.

Vickers stood there.

“What have you got?”

“This isn’t room service.”

Vickers pushed past her and entered the room.

Catherine lingered in the hallway, not sure what her next move would be.

Vickers went to the desk and saw the sketch of the pot of flowers.

“She get anything?” the tech guy said to Vickers through the intercom.

“Fucking flowers,” Vickers said as he presented the drawing to the camera. “Told you this was bullshit.”

The tech looked at the image on his computer screen.

“Eric. I think she gave us something.”

“What?”

“I know those flowers.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That stupid reprint is in every Holiday Inn. Credit my multiple divorces for that piece of information.”

Catherine’s body tensed when the tech make that connection.

“As I said, it’s bullshit.”