But don't tell anybody I'm not. It's a secret."
Pottgeiter looked troubled. For a moment, he seemed to be wondering if
he mightn't be wrong and Hauserman and Whitburn and the others right.
"Max, do you believe in me?" he asked. "Do you believe that I knew
about Khalid's assassination a month before it happened?"
"It's a horribly hard thing to believe," Pottgeiter admitted. "But,
dammit, Ed, you did! I know, medieval history is full of stories
about prophecies being fulfilled. I always thought those stories were
just legends that grew up after the event. And, of course, he's about
a century late for me, but there was Nostradamus. Maybe those old
prophecies weren't just _ex post facto_ legends, after all. Yes. After
Khalid, I'll believe that."
"All right. I'm saying, now, that in a few days there'll be a bad
explosion at Reno, Nevada. Watch the papers and the telecast for it.
If it happens, that ought to prove it. And you remember what I told
you about the Turks annexing Syria and Lebanon?" The old man nodded.
"When that happens, get away from Blanley. Come up to the town where
Northern State Mental Hospital is, and get yourself a place to live,
and stay there. And try to bring Marjorie Fenner along with you.
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