"Morrow Valley, New York State, gentlemen," Mr. Edwards said, pointing to the newly descended map.
"They check in, but they don't check out. Anybody."
Leone checked his tablet and made a few swipes. The reactive map changed to display a mosaic of headshots.
"Including our own agents, the people Tillinghast claims it has no record of and various locals who haven't spoken to relatives on schedule, AND the relatives who've gone there to check up on their local family, we've lost -or someone's stolen- over TWO THOUSAND people."
"Two thousand." Edwards slowly shook his head. "It's bad enough we're embarrassed by this mess, but to have no handle on it, no way to crack it, to lose half our field agents... In one pissant little town in New York..."
"I think it's telepathic," Fremont said. "Whatever, whoever, is behind this is telepathic or in some way knows the intent or the purpose of people. It knows what they know or why they're there and bam! it grabs them."
Mr Edwards pointed a finger at Fremont.
"Fremont is on to something here."
"Could be," Leone said. "But the problem is that means we need to send in an agent who doesn't know he or she IS an agent. At least not on any conscious level..."
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