"I know," I agreed. "But there is more to the story. Pheola is a precog as well. She says that one of the clots will break loose on the nineteenth, and that Maragon will have an attack. I want to make sure he is over here, in a hospital bed, with you on hand, when it happens."
"You Psi's!" he said. "Do I have to take this seriously, that this woman can tell the future?"
"Yes, you do," I said. "One of our other PC's confirms it."
"That just doubles the creepiness," he said. "How can I manage it, even if it's true?"
"Tell the old goat that more detailed examination of his EKG makes you want him in for observation. Even Maragon listens to doctors. Tell him whatever it takes to get him to bed that morning. You might even bring him in the night before."
Doc Swartz shrugged. "I guess I'll have to play your game," he decided. "But this had better be good!"
I never did learn what Doc Swartz told the Grand Master, or how much the old goat suspected. But I learned from my hospital sources that Maragon was scheduled to enter the heart clinic the night of the eighteenth for "tests."
I let Pheola set the timing for us, and we showed up at his room around ten on the morning of the nineteenth, shortly before Pheola predicted his heart attack would occur.
The old goat was sitting up in bed as he was being examined by Doc Swartz and another sawbones. Leads from the EKG led from his chest and wrists. He fired one scorching glance at the two of us.