Read Online The Paladin Prophecy by Mark Frost - Free Book Online Page B

and your pops got hooked up, ’kay? Promise me now. I wanna hear from you.”
    “You will.”
    “ Vaya con Dios , my friend,” said Nando.
    “And you tell Lucia and Angelita for me that they should be very proud of their dad,” said Will as he climbed out.
    “Thank you,” said Nando. “Wait, I don’t think—I never told you my daughters’ names, man.”
    “No?” said Will as he waved and walked away.
    “Okay, that’s a little strange, man. How’d you know that? Hey, how’d you know that?”
    Will just shrugged. He actually didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He shouldered his duffel and headed for the terminal.

#28: LET PEOPLE UNDERESTIMATE YOU. THAT WAY THEY’LL NEVER KNOW FOR SURE WHAT YOU’RE CAPABLE OF.
    Two minutes after Will went inside and Nando drove away, a black sedan pulled up to the curb.

DAVE
    As Dr. Robbins had promised, Will’s reservation to Denver was in the system at the ticket counter. She’d also booked a connecting flight to Chicago, on another airline, that left Denver about midnight. Will showed the agent his passport. She handed over his boarding passes without any questions.
    He stopped at a gift shop before security and bought a cheap black carry-on, a gray sweatshirt, and a blank baseball cap. In the men’s room, he changed into the sweatshirt, took everything out of his duffel, and packed it into the new bag. He had just enough room left to stuff the duffel inside before zipping the new bag shut. He pulled on the cap, checked himself in the mirror, and walked back out.
    The terminal was nearly deserted; he was booked on one of the last flights out. Will showed his pass and ID to a weary female TSA guard at the security entrance. She glanced at him, stamped his pass, and waved him between a set of ropes that led around a corner. Will had only been on a plane twice and not since before 9/11, when he was a little kid. Whenever his family moved, they always traveled by car.
    A stack of plastic trays waited beside a long stainless-steel table that fed a conveyor belt through the X-ray machine. The businessman ahead of him slipped off his loafers, watch, and belt, dumped them in a tray, and laid his coat on top. He set his carry-on, cell phone, and laptop in a second tray and nudged them onto the conveyor. The tag on his carry-on read JONATHAN LEVIN.
    Will stepped to the table and copied the man’s moves. Levin waited behind a white line in front of a metal detector. He handed his pass to the TSA guard manning that post, a scrawny redneck straight out of a country-western song, with squinty eyes and tattooed ropy forearms. He looked from the pass to the man a few times, taking his job way too seriously, then handed back the pass and waved Levin through.
    Will looked behind him. Two men in black caps and jackets were walking toward security, looking around. They hadn’t spotted him yet.
    Will tugged down his cap and stepped to the white line.
    Maybe it’s a random check and they don’t know I’m here. Maybe they can’t follow me once I get through security .
    As his trays entered the X-ray machine, he remembered he’d left his Swiss Army knife and the metallic bird in his bag. Both would start a conversation he couldn’t afford to have. He looked at the young female attendant watching the X-ray monitor.
    Trust your training .
    When Will was little, younger than five, his parents discovered that he had an unusual and startling ability—he could “push pictures” at people from his mind straight into theirs. His mom first realized it when images began popping into her mind—a toy, a drink, a cookie. Ultimately, she realized Will was trying to tell her what he wanted.
    Since then, his parents had worked with him to develop the skill, as a game at first, then more seriously. They had also taught him never to use his power on anyone, because it was ethically wrong and because it violated Rule #3: DON’T DRAW ATTENTION TO YOURSELF.
    Unless he was in extreme danger. Like