The senator knew of a similar scenario around that same time. A number of other governments were involved in the study of various aspects of the paranormal. The mission: to evaluate through reverse engineering how vulnerable to psychic spying U.S. intelligence agencies and their secrets were. This was done to such a degree of accuracy that Department of Defense and Army officials decided to change the emphasis from assessing vulnerabilities to collecting intelligence information via the paranormal against America’s Cold War adversaries. The senator also knew that years after that, before the first book written by a psychic spy was about to go to print, this secret Department of Defense program got cancelled and the book debunked before its release. The senator knew why. He knew the media attention had the potential to blow the lid off government secrets regarding its history of paranormal inquiries.

Dean and Ledge had been friends. But as soon as all that came down, Ledge got as far away as he could from his reputation being tainted. Career trumped friendship. But ever since Julian’s return, Jack Dean hadn’t been far from Ledge’s mind.

Ledge made his way up the stone steps to Dean’s red brick, Baltimore City Row Home, and rang the bell.

Dean answered the door, a cane in hand. He looked older than Ledge remembered. But the tweed jacket on his broad shoulders, Ledge didn’t forget.

“You’ve aged much better than I,” Dean said, full voiced and pompous. He’d always spoken loud and with authority. “Come on in, Paul.”

Ledge followed Dean into the living room.

“How’s Emily?” Ledge asked.

“She’s in Milan for a trade show.”

“She’s still doing well. Good for her.”

“Me too. She saved me when I tried to take my life all those years ago. Isn’t that what your children are supposed to do? What friends are supposed to do?”

The accusation made Ledge bristle.

“But let that be water under our burnt bridge,” Dean added.

“If you want me to leave, Jack…”

“Don’t be an ass.”

He struggled to sit on the sofa.

Ledge moved to help.

Dean waved him off.

Ledge sat down and smiled.

“Missed me, huh?” Dean said.

“You have a way of never going away, Jack.”

“Yep. A way that’s assured my isolation. I could be the King of Molokai.”

“What?”

“It’s where they toss the lepers.”

He adjusted on the sofa with difficulty.

“Fucking arthritis.”

He took in a deep breath and let out a low growl. “So…”

Dean folded his arms and waited.

Ledge hesitated, unsure how to begin.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know, Paul. Or, do you think I’d think you’re crazy?”

“I don’t know you’d ever think anyone was crazy, Jack.”