by Matt Stark
Sam shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the familiarity. When was Stone going to get to the point?
“I’m telling you this because what you’re about to hear will be difficult to believe. You have to know it’s coming from someone you can trust – a friend.”
Sam wasn’t sure of either. Stone leaned forward and spoke deliberately.
“You were a very successful MI5 officer – but still just one of many. Then something extraordinary happened to you.”
Sam fixed his eyes on Stone. “Go on.”
“About a year before you disappeared we heard another ISIS-inspired group were planning an attack on a prime site in London. We’d arrested one of the cell members – let’s call him Fared – and had been interrogating him for five hours, but gotten nowhere. We’d run out of time. The attack was due in the next couple of hours. We knew Fared had the information we wanted but hadn’t been able to break him. With time we would have, but like I say we didn’t have that luxury. You were in hospital. You’d just had your appendix removed. But you knew Fared, and persuaded me to let you speak to him. You were our most experienced interrogation officer – and our most effective. You had a knack of getting people to open up. So I agreed.”
Sam leaned forward. He couldn’t help himself.
“What happened?”
Stone pursed his lips.
“We were all watching the interrogation on CCTV. You asked him where the attack was and he didn’t answer. Then you just got up and left. I thought you’d given up.”
“But I hadn’t?”
Sam was leaning so far forward now he could smell the whiskey on Stone’s breath.
“No, you came into the observation room and told me you had the location. You said he’d just told you, blurted it out before you even had a chance to press him.”
“But you just said…”
“I told you he hadn’t said a word, but you didn’t believe me until I played back the video footage.”
Sam frowned. This was changing from interesting to weird.
“This isn’t making any sense.”
“That’s what I thought. But we checked out the location and you were right. We found the cell and stopped the attack.”
“What? How could I have known?”
“That was the multi-million-dollar question, Sam. Unfortunately you couldn’t answer it. So you were arrested.
“What?”
“I had no option. You had to be working with the terrorists. There was no other way you could have known.”
This was turning into a complete mind-fuck.
“But I would never have done that.”
“I never wanted to believe you did, Sam. But the facts were against you. You were on your way to a long prison sentence, before we tested you. It was then that I knew something extraordinary was happening.”
Sam ran his fingers through his hair. He was totally lost now.
“Can you please start making some sense, Stone?”
Stone pulled out a silver hip flask from his inside jacket pocket. He unscrewed the top and gestured toward Sam’s half-empty glass of water.
“A proper drink?”
Sam nodded – wondering why the head of JIS needed a drink to tell him his secret.
“One of our boffins, Brian Stiller, insisted on getting an MRI of your brain.”
“Why the fuck would he want to do that?”
“Chance in a million. He’d been running an experiment and all of his equipment had gone haywire at precisely the same time you were in with Fared. He didn’t let me in on his reasons, probably because he thought I’d never believe him, but hinted that the results just might save your skin. So I got you transferred to the lab. You had EEGs, CTs, and MRIs, genetic profiling – the works as our American friends say.”
“And?”
“Brian had never seen anything like it. Your readings were off the scale. Particularly in the hippocampus. The area of the brain associated with memory, emotion and higher mental functions.”
Sam had no idea where this as going with this, but Stone looked fired up. Sam couldn’t tell whether it was fear or excitement, but it made him feel very uneasy.
“You’re still not making sense, Stone.”
Stone took a gulp of his whiskey. He looked Sam in the eye. It seemed to Sam like he didn’t want to.
“The suspect hadn’t said a word, Sam. You read his mind.”
Sam fell back in his seat. There was a very long pause. The only sound in the room was the spinning of the fan. He’d been ready for a whole range of explanations, but not for science fiction.
“You’re fucking nuts, Stone,” he said finally.
“I know it sounds crazy – it did to me the first time I heard it, but it’s true.”
“So let’s get this straight. You’re actually saying I’m telepathic?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then why don’t I just read your mind and bypass all this cat and mouse we’ve been doing for the last thirty minutes?”
“Because right now, Sam, you’re not. After your leg surgery we scanned your brain. There was no unusual activity.”
“So I’m not telepathic now. That’s convenient.”
“Sam, before you were captured you were. And you used that ability to save countless lives.”
“How?”
“Think of the advantages a mind-reading intelligence officer would have. For the year before you were taken you were our greatest asset, Sam.”
“So you just wheeled in suspects and I read their minds.”
“Yes. But that wasn’t your only ability. Have you heard of clairvoyance?”
“Only at the circus.”
Stone ignored the jibe. “It’s the ability to locate a person using their unique mental signature – at least that’s how it’s been explained to me. I can’t say I understand it, Sam, but it has been incredibly useful to us.”
“How?”
Sam hadn’t wanted to ask because it would only encourage Stone to keep spouting this bollocks, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Within a ten-mile radius you could find a suspect. All you needed was something linked to them: a picture, a wallet, anything that had been in their possession. And I need you to get that ability back, Sam, so we can stop New Dawn’s next attack.”
Sam stared at him feeling like Alice in Wonderland.
“This is science fiction, Stone.”
Stone shook his head. “Despite what the general public think, telepathy is a reality. We’ve known it was a theoretical possibility for years. Think about it. How different is the ability to read minds from any other sense? If you knew nothing about vision or hearing wouldn’t they seem incredible?”
“Come on, Stone.”
“How are you seeing me, Sam? Electromagnetic radiation, otherwise known as light, is bouncing off the cells in my skin, focussed through your pupils onto your retina, where it is converted into an electrical impulse that travels to the occipital lobe of your brain. Then hey presto, your brain converts that jumble of electrical signals into an image of me. Doesn’t that sound like magic?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Telepathy is just another sense. One we all have the potential for.”
“So why me? What makes me so special?”
“The JIS boffins tell me you have a mutation on Chromosome 5. It codes for a protein that switches on an area in your hippocampus. All I care about is what it allows you to do.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He fully expected Stone’s face to break into a smile at any moment, and for him to say it was all one big joke. He’d been a contestant on some warped version of Candid Camera. Hidden cameras had followed his every move since Regent’s Park. Millions of captivated viewers had watched from their homes, entranced by his escapades. Stone would pull out a microphone from his jacket, and pin it to Sam’s shirt – apologizing for putting him through the mill, but reassuring him that it had made wonderful TV. But o
f course that wasn’t going to happen. For one thing, as far as Sam knew contestants on TV shows didn’t have their minds wiped.
Sam looked down, just to break eye contact with Stone for a second. This was so far out of his frame of reference he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t have a closed mind. He could believe humans would continue to evolve. But telepathy? If it was possible it would be hundreds or thousands of years away. It had to be bollocks. He was embarrassed to be even considering it.
But the only problem was: Stone was serious. He believed it. And why would he lie? Sam’s reaction was totally predictable. If Stone wanted his help this was the worst way to go about it. And Stone would have known that. It would have been far easier to tell Sam a different story. Unless of course it was true. Even though this whole situation seemed crazy Sam had to pretend it wasn’t. He had to keep moving forward or the fear inside him would take over.
“Okay, Stone, let’s imagine I believe you,” he said, feeling like a fool. “Why can’t I read your mind now?”
“We don’t know yet. It might have something to do with Beijing, and your reaction to what happened there – the PTSD, the memory loss. We just don’t know.”
Stone licked his lips. “Have you noticed anything?”
“Like what?”
“It’s possible your ability isn’t completely off. You may have a kind of intermittent fault. We have to assume the Chinese didn’t know about your ability or they never would have agreed to hand you over. That may have been because for the majority of your time in Beijing you weren’t telepathic. If they knew what you were the Chinese government would want you back, no question. Maybe they found out before the exchange. So you might have picked up something since Regent’s Park.”
Sam remembered the girl’s voice that had stopped him dying from hypothermia in Regent’s Park.
“Like what, voices?”
“Yes – or maybe something more subtle. You wouldn’t have been looking for it, so you might not have realized what was happening, and of course you were shocked, injured and disorientated.”
Sam took another sip of water. Had he picked up her thoughts telepathically? He supposed it was one explanation, but so was a hallucination. He was just about to tell Stone anyway, when the craziness of what he was about to say hit him.
What was he thinking? A JIS agent, okay – it was a little farfetched, but considering everything that had happened since yesterday, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. But a superhuman with special abilities? He’d lost his memory, not his fucking sanity, or his ability to reason. No, he couldn’t accept it. It was just too incredible. Being told you were Superman when you couldn’t even remember what you were doing last week was a sick joke.
He slammed his fist on the desk, “This is bollocks, Stone. I’m no more telepathic then you are. I don’t know why you’re spinning me this crap but I’m in no mood to be your fool.”
I’m losing him.
Sam jerked. “What did you say?”
Stone looked puzzled. His lips were tight.
If Sam can’t help us the blood will be on my hands. I should have forced Hawkins’ hand months ago.
Stone hadn’t moved his lips.
“Who’s Hawkins?” said Sam slowly.
Stone frowned, looking confused.
“The Home Secretary.”
Sam’s brain was struggling with the contradiction. Stone’s lips hadn’t moved. But Sam had heard him. He didn’t want to admit it, then finally realized he had no choice. His face went slack. Jesus, it was true. Stone must have cottoned on; his eyes widened, and he leaned forward, excited.
“It’s back?”
Sam shook his head. “No, it was but it’s gone now.”
For a brief moment Sam had been telepathic. He’d heard Stone’s thoughts but also a background hum from minds in the rest of building. Then, as quickly as it had come, it shut off. But Sam was convinced now. Stone had been telling the truth.
“Sam,” said Stone, talking fast now. “I need you to concentrate on getting your ability back. We’ll carry on the search for New Dawn. If and when you’re able, you can help.”
Sam raked his hand through his hair. He’d heard Stone’s thoughts. Stone had been telling the truth. It was a lot to take in. No, that was the understatement of the year. Sam had gone from a man with no memory and no identity to an elite MI5 intelligence officer, then to some kind of superhero, a mutant, an evolutionary freak able to read people’s minds, to pick out a terrorist in a crowd of thousands by listening for their brainwaves. He didn’t want to believe any of it, but what choice did he have?
He looked at Stone’s hopeful face.
“I’ll try, Mr. Stone.”
Stone leaned over the table and grabbed hold of Sam’s hand, pumping it hard.
“Good man. Welcome back. We’ll get you back to your old self in no time. And please, Sam, call me Peter – like I say, we’re old friends.”
Sam forced his lips up into a half-hearted smile. He wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 11
“Yes, I take full responsibility.”
“And you know it’s against medical advice?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, sign here... and here.”
The doctor gave Suzie one last disapproving look then picked up the disclaimer form and left. When he was out of sight Suzie grimaced and rubbed her shoulder. God knows why they were making so much fuss. The Kevlar vest stopped the bullet. Her shoulder and chest were sore and bruised, but essentially she was fine. Anyway, she had far more important things to worry about. Peter had finally made an appearance two days ago and told her Sam was alive. She’d asked to see him but Peter said no.
“Sam is at a delicate stage in his recovery right now. I can’t risk destabilizing him.”
Of course that was bullshit. For reasons best known to himself Peter wanted to keep Sam and her apart. Not only that but he wouldn’t even let her go back to work. She was to spend a week in the JIS infirmary, before recuperating at home, because “I want you fully recovered before you come back.”
More bullshit. She picked up her already packed bag from the bedside table, left the infirmary and headed down the corridor. Peter’s office was on the other side of the JIS complex. Halfway there she decided to stop and get a coffee in the staff canteen. She needed to think.
A minute later she was sitting in a corner booth with a double espresso.
Sam had been damaged. But she could help him. Peter had to see that.
An unruly lock of blond hair fell over her face and she shoved it back behind her ear, and sighed.
She also wanted to go back to work. She was a talented agent, and Peter needed her. She’d been out of the loop since she’d met up with Sam. After the shooting they’d brought her straight to the infirmary, but she’d known another attack was imminent, and wanted to be involved – not stuck at home watching daytime TV. She already felt guilty laid up in the Infirmary when she was fit enough to help.
She pinched her left earlobe. Then she took a sip of strong black coffee, savouring the bitter taste.
Yes, she had personal reasons for seeing Sam but it was more than that. Sam was the key to stopping New Dawn. But he was broken. And Suzie knew she could fix him. She’d hated lying to him at Euston about who she really was. And now she wanted to tell him the truth so they could make a fresh start. Sam might not be able to remember her yet, but he would. Whatever had been done to him she could undo. He’d get his memory back and things would be the way they used to.
She took another sip of coffee.
She hadn’t always felt like this. After the initial shock she’d gone through a smorgasbord of emotions ending up with a burning rage. She knew Sam had to go to Budapest – it was his job. She would have done the same if she’d been ordered. But that hadn’t stopped the rage when he disappeared. He’d left her behind, then got himself caught and disappeared for ten freaking years. If she was honest she blamed him and Peter and the damn
service for sending him there in the first place.
She pinched her ear – harder this time.
Fuck.
She’d never liked to swear. Sam had always thought it was funny. “You’re prepared to kill, lie and cheat for your country but you won’t swear.” “It’s just the way I was brought up,” she’d say. But swearing had come much easier since she’d lost Sam.
She dug her nail into the soft earlobe. It was a bad habit but the physical pain was easier to bear than the emotional. After thirty seconds she let go.
He promised he’d be with me always. Suzie knew now these thoughts weren’t fair or even rational. But it had taken two years of therapy with a JIS psychiatrist to see it. Nowadays she wasn’t angry. But back then she hated Sam.
She held the coffee cup with both hands, allowing the heat to calm her.
Of course Sam wouldn’t have had to suffer like this if Peter had listened to her. Sam was special and his abilities were invaluable but Peter had sent him on too many operations, and ignored the signs Sam was burning out. She’d pleaded with Peter not to send him to Budapest. But Peter hadn’t listened.
When she’d heard Sam was back all she wanted was to see him, so they could make a fresh start. Even when she heard he’d lost his memory she hadn’t been fazed, because she knew she could fix him. She hadn’t even minded that her first words to him after ten years would be a lie. But when Peter had said they couldn’t meet she reached her limit. She and Sam had suffered enough. She was going to see him, and she was going to fix him.
Chapter 12
Sam was sitting opposite Peter in his office – two steaming coffees in front of them.
He gestured at the New Dawn file on the desk. It was open, showing pictures of the Leicester Square attack.
“This seems a little thin. What else do you know about them?”
Peter shrugged.
“Like I say, they’re ISIS-inspired. A small group – no more than ten active members.”
