Whirlwind by Charles Grant

be the first to die because they’d witnessed a religious event meant to be secret.” She held up a knife like a finger. “Possible, I said, Mulder. Possible.”
    â€œOkay. Possible.” And she smiled.
    â€œLikely?”
    He smiled back. “Don’t push it. I’m still working on possible.”
    She started to speak, changed her mind, then changed her mind again. “But what about Paulie Deven? Don’t you think it’s stretching things a little to assume he saw something, too? Which he would have had to do, if you’re going to keep him with the Constellas.”
    â€œWhich means?”
    â€œMulder, it means there’s no connection between the victims and the ceremony. A horrible coincidence, nothing more.”
    â€œAnd the…” He stumbled several times, making her smile, before he managed, “Sangre Viento?”
    He winced when he heard himself; his Spanish was still lousy.
    The waiter brought their meal, and he stared at the strips of meat, the vegetables, the salsa in the side dish, practically feeling the heat of the spices without even getting close. He knew he wouldregret this later, and after his first taste, knew he would have to stock up on a supply of heavy-duty antacids if he wanted to get any sleep. The trouble was, it was so good, there was no way he wouldn’t eat it.
    Scully, on the other hand, popped a small jalapeño into her mouth, plucked the stem from between her teeth, and said, “Not bad, not bad.”
    The Sangre Viento aside for the moment, he was pleased to hear that her reaction to Sparrow was the same as his. Yet neither could think of a good reason for the act, nor could they believe the man actually thought he was fooling anyone with it. It was too broad, too born of bad movies and worse television. That led them to wondering, his feelings for Annie aside, if he was somehow involved, or just a lousy cop trying to cover his ass, make them feel sorry for him so whoever he had to answer to wouldn’t take his badge.
    â€œA little farfetched,” she judged when the table had been cleared and coffee served. “Not that we haven’t seen it before.”
    â€œThis isn’t it. I don’t know what it is, but this isn’t it.”
    â€œNeither is that blood wind thing.”
    He opened his mouth, closed it, picked up a spoon and tapped it lightly against his thigh. “How can you be so sure?” He propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and clasped hishands in front of his mouth. “There are any number of recorded so-called unusual phenomena associated with meetings, especially religious, where the emotional intensity and concentration are abnormally high.”
    â€œAll of them recorded by the people who were there, not by outside observers.”
    â€œThey, these priests, were in a kiva. An underground chamber whose only exit and entrance, and source of air, is a single hole in the roof. There may have been herbal drugs, peyote maybe, something like that. Six days and six nights, Scully, and they all focus on a single thing—the man they’re investing with their knowledge. Their history. With their power over the people they have to live with.” He rocked forward, hands dropping to the table. “Can you imagine what it must be like? Day in and day out? All that energy building up there?”
    Scully didn’t answer him for a long time. She sipped her coffee, stared out the window, glanced around the otherwise empty room. She was about to reply when a woman appeared in the archway entrance. Short, stocky, in a severe summer-weight suit; her graying black hair pulled back into a bun. Her left hand held a purse tight to her side.
    Mulder watched her hesitate, then march across the room toward them, no nonsense, all business. When she reached the table, she nodded a greeting.
    â€œYou are the agents from Washington?”
    â€œYes,” Mulder answered. “And