Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective by Don Pendleton

of a better explanation, at the time, I decided that the
interference could be the result of special properties of this
particular Indian area, and I made a mental note to look into that
closer one day.
    At any rate, I lost my
lock on Jennifer and I did not get it back. Don't ever bet your
life on a psychic's infallibility—and do not ever trust any psychic
who claims to be one hundred percent all of the time. The thing
simply does not work that way. We do not command it. It commands
us, and we can only humbly respond; start feeling arrogant about
"the power" and you lose it damned quick. Keep that in mind during
your own tentative explorations into psychism, and particularly
keep it in mind when consulting any self- proclaimed
"psychic."
    So—I was running on my
own, at night, in unfamiliar country, when I began the ascent up
Palomar Mountain, over six-thousand feet to the peak, from near sea
level—a winding and twisting two-lane blacktop with numerous
switchbacks. Moreover, I began to note patches of snow as the climb
continued, then banked snow along the edges of the road, and icy
spots on the roadway itself. So there was really no thought toward
any attempt to overtake Jennifer; I was simply trusting the earlier
reading that Palomar was the destination, while taking great care
that the Maserati make it all the way without incident.
    I did not encounter a single vehicle along
the way from the moment I left the state highway and began the
climb along the country road up the mountain, nor were there any
signs of life whatever until I hit the national park area at the
five-thousand-foot level. At that point, a small rustic complex
housed a cafe and market, both closed for the night, and a roadway
signboard informed me that I was still six miles from the
observatory. I pulled into the parking area and lit a cigarette,
got out of the car and stretched my legs, wondering what the hell I
was going to do when I reached the end of the road; I had given no
thought to that, had never been to Palomar before, really knew
nothing about the place.
    I did know that Cal Tech
(the California Institute of Technology) owned the facility, and I
recalled reading something to the effect that the Carnegie
Institution shared administrative responsibilities and had
something to do with research priorities. The 200-inch Hale
telescope which had been installed there during the 1940s had been
the world's largest optical instrument until just recently, when
the Russians completed a 236-inch reflector; Palomar, though,
continued to be the free world's chief "eye on the heavens,"
capable of "seeing" to the edge of the known universe, more than
one billion light-years distant.
    So much for that, what I knew about Palomar.
I had no idea whatever of the layout of the physical facility.
Accessibility, security... none of that.
    While I was stretching my legs and wondering
about things like that, a woman came out of the market and locked
the door from the outside, looked at me, at my car, back at me
again in some quick sizing-up, then called over to me, "Sorry,
we're closed."
    I replied, "Yes, thanks, I noticed your
sign. Just stretching the legs."
    She observed, amiably, "Cold tonight."
    I said, "Sure is."
    She continued to stand at the door, watching
me with probably more curiosity than anything else. "Observatory is
straight ahead," she informed me.
    I said, "Thanks. I was
following Dr. Harrel. Guess I got a little behind. Lots of ice,
back there. Be careful, if you're heading that way."
    "Oh no, I live on up the road," she replied.
"A car went by just a couple of minutes ahead of you, so you're not
far behind." She was moving toward the far side of the building; I
presumed she had a car parked back there somewhere.
    I called after her, "People actually live up
here?"
    She laughed as she
returned that one and disappeared around the corner. "More than
you'd think."
    More than anyone would think, yes. I could
not remember when I had felt more isolated