by Ian Somers
I loomed over the unconscious detective then placed my hand on his pallid forehead. The last time I’d carried out a time-scan, my entire life had been altered. I’d become one with Edward Zalech and part of who he was had been passed into me. Even his mechanical laughter still echoed in the darkest reaches of my brain whenever I meditated. Time-scans were incredibly dangerous, but sometimes they could save lives. That last time-scan of Zalech’s mind had brought me to the brink of insanity. It had also saved Cathy’s life. It had been worth the sacrifice. This would also be worth the risk if it led to the capture of the mysterious Malcolm Wilson.
The detective’s skin was cool and damp when I laid the palm of my left hand on his forehead. One wouldn’t have to be gifted to sense he was at death’s door. I shut my eyes and concentrated on the physical connection between us. The time-scanning gift slowly rose and I felt a shade of the man’s inner self reaching my thoughts. I sank into a trance and my mind felt like it was floating down my arm and into the detective’s head. I felt cold when our minds touched. I was sensing that the life within him was dwindling. He was almost dead – as was his brain and the precious memories within it.
Without warning there was a bright flash and my eyelids peeled back to reveal a medical team lurching down on me. Lights were being shone in my eyes. This was the detective’s last conscious memory. I heard the voices of the nurses who hurried about the room. I felt the agonising pain in the stomach and across the ribs. Something cold was pressed against the chest.
This was of no use to me. I started to rewind through the detective’s memories. As I went further back through time, there were flashbacks of being in the back of an ambulance. I heard a woman screaming. The detective was staggering through a hallway in a hotel, blood on his hands as they clutched his stomach. A door. A hotel room. Several dead men lying on the floor, their heads blown apart, blood sprayed over the walls. I slowed the time-scan to a complete stop, so that there was a still image before my eyes.
The detective had just fallen to the floor, the pistol still in his hand, a searing pain in his stomach, his murdered comrades lying either side of him. He had turned to the only door in the room and there was a man passing into the hallway beyond. The man was looking over his shoulder and grinning. Malcolm Wilson now had a face. He was slender, dressed in a black suit, had sharp facial features and his raven hair was slicked back. Wilson had just used his gift to kill five men and had casually walked away, but not before turning to laugh at the sole survivor as he crashed to the floor.
The bastard, I thought. There was no doubt now that this was a cold-hearted killer who had to be stopped. I was glad I’d play a part in his downfall.
Now, with renewed determination, I continued scanning into the past. It didn’t take long for the entire experience to be altered. I had now scanned to the point where Wilson’s mind had taken over the detective’s body. I was scanning Wilson’s actions and feelings and thoughts.
There was no hesitation in killing the five detectives. Hardly any feeling, except a slight hint of amusement that they were gunned down by their colleague’s hand.
I slowed the scan once more and then a thought came to me. Wilson was lifting the gun, just about to fire the first shot, when he pondered his next move. I had caught him. He would never have guessed a time-scanner would have rummaged through his wicked thoughts and plans.
Wilson was thinking about travelling to Dublin once he was out of the hotel and the cops were all dead or immobilised.
‘What’s the point in hiding when the cops keep tracking me down!’ Wilson thought. ‘It’s high time I visited Brofeldt!’
This was followed by a fragmented thought – one that he was barely conscious of. He pictured the street that Brofeldt lived on. A hotel called The Windmill stood tall over a busy street. A block of apartments stood opposite. Wilson was a crafty killer, no doubt about it, but he wasn’t as crafty as I was. I’d just as good as caught him.
‘Ross!’
‘Hang on, Hunter! Give me a few more seconds.’
‘Ross, are you all right?’
Light was spilling into the hotel room, chasing the figures of the detectives into nothingness. Wilson’s mind became distant and intangible, moving further and further away from the time-scan. The light became painful to look upon and I fell back and landed in long grass. What the hell was going on? I raised my hands and pressed them against my temples. My skull felt like it was shattered into a million pieces.
‘Ross, are you all right? Speak to me.’
‘It’s okay, Romand,’ I replied. ‘Just a headache.’
I looked up to see my old mentor reaching down and dragging me to my feet. I looked around, seeing the Atkinson house in the distance, the lush fields stretching for miles, the warm summer sun on my face, and my dead mentor holding me steady.
He stooped to look me dead in the eye and frowned. ‘Don’t worry. These headaches will pass in time. This can happen to some of the gifted wh–’
‘Bentley, snap out of it,’ Hunter demanded. He was dragging me away from the bed towards the cabinet near the window of the hospital room. I could barely think straight and was still looking around the room for Romand.
‘Snap out of it,’ Hunter whispered in my ear as we stood next to the cabinet, hiding us from the door. ‘We’re in big trouble, Bentley. Wake up.’
The word trouble did bring me round. The room sharpened into focus. My thoughts were my own once more – and were in the present and not the past. The vision of Romand and the Atkinson house quickly fizzled away and I became instantly aware of loud voices in the corridor outside.
‘What the hell is going on?’ I asked.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Hunter whispered as he jabbed me in the shoulder. ‘There’s something going on outside!’
‘Outside …?’
I could hear raised voices in the hallway. The cops were shouting out orders: ‘Stop where you are,’ and ‘Hands in the air’. It appeared an unwelcome visitor had decided to pay their last respects to Detective Clarke.
I was about to suggest to Hunter that we try to escape through the window when one of the cops outside screamed at someone to get down on their knees. This was followed by the other cop barking more orders. Then there was a heavy thump before a single gunshot, which was followed by another thump. Then silence.
Hunter told me to remain silent then waved one arm in the air as he weaved a cloak to render us both invisible. Seconds later the door swung inward and a tall, slender woman with mahogany skin, high cheekbones and bright green eyes entered the room. She had the look of a model but her clothes looked distinctly military – heavy desert boots, beige combat trousers, a black tactical jacket and what looked like a metal gauntlet wrapped over her right hand and forearm.
She waited in the doorway for a moment and glanced about the room with cautious eyes. By now I figured she wasn’t on our side; Hunter hadn’t recognised her and that meant she wasn’t a Guild member. We were in the company of an enemy assassin.
I looked to Hunter as the woman moved towards the bed. He gave me a short shake of his head, indicating that we weren’t to intervene. I was experienced enough to know why he was going to allow her to carry out her work. We were in a life and death situation and we would gain the advantage if we knew what gift she had. The only way to do this was to allow her to use her gift on the detective. We were sacrificing the stricken man, but it would probably save our lives.
It didn’t take long to identify her gift. She flicked out one hand, and in an instant my precognitive gift was unexpectedly awoken from its long slumber as I sensed that she was about to use psychokinesis to crush the detective’s skull. I acted out of instinct, rather than bravery or common sense, and fired a shot of kinetic energy directly at her. The lamps in the room were blown by the force of my attack, casting the room into shadow. There was still enough light to see that I had saved the detective, but had failed to injure the mysterious female assassin. She had somehow de
flected my attack, which is probably why the lights were smashed.
Hunter sprang into action as soon as she made for the door, and brushed me aside as he pounced forward. His invisibility cloak faded as he prepared to attack and the assassin turned to face the big Scot as he bore down on her. She hadn’t the time to strike him before he fired enough electricity at her to ground an elephant. I was expecting her to be fried. Instead, she simply raised her right arm and the cloud of electrical sparks was drawn into the gauntlet that she was wearing. This took us both by surprise and allowed the assassin to go on the offensive.
She shot a wave of energy across the room that threw Hunter up against the wall. I was still feeling drained from the time-scan and wasn’t able to protect myself. The wave of energy stuck me in the chest and I was blasted against the window frame. I crumbled to the floor with pains shooting across my back and shoulders. The air was knocked out of my lungs and I struggled to draw breath. I tried to raise myself off the floor but all I succeeded in doing was falling flat on my face.
Hunter took the fight to the assassin by using his light-tuning gift to create a sphere of blinding light above the bed that quickly filled the small room. The assassin was momentarily stunned and Hunter attacked with his other gifts. This should have been enough for him to gain the upper hand, but thanks to the unusual gauntlet, the mysterious killer seemed almost immune to his repertoire of offensive manoeuvres.
I heaved in a deep breath and grabbed hold of the window sill to lift myself from the tiled floor. By the time I was upright Hunter was pinned to the wall and was unable to move. The assassin was using a crush layer of psychokinetic energy against him – a very advanced technique – and he couldn’t withstand it much longer. I felt terribly weak. My legs could barely hold my weight and I was struggling to summon my gifts.
I had to help Hunter in any way that I could. I summoned energy into my body and released it in the direction of the assassin. I thought it would be just enough to catch her attention. This was why I was so shocked to see her catapulted through the concrete wall into the corridor, her body a mangled mess of limbs, bones and blood. What was happening to me? I had lost all control over my gifts. One minute I couldn’t muster enough strength to get off the floor, the next I was able to attack with a power I didn’t think was possible.
Suddenly there was an crippling pain in my head and I had some sort of blackout. The last thing I remembered was Hunter picking me off the floor and dragging me out into the corridor past the remains of the woman.
CHAPTER SIX
A Killing in St Petersburg
When I came to we were in the 4x4 driving hard along a dark country road. I sat up straight and examined the rear view mirror to see if we were being chased. We weren’t. Ours was the only vehicle in sight.
‘What happened to me back there?’ I asked Hunter.
‘I was hoping you would tell me,’ he replied without taking his eyes off the winding road ahead. ‘You were acting real strange during the time-scan, mumbling to yourself, and twitching all over like you were having a nightmare. Then after you killed the assassin you lost consciousness and started mumbling again.’
‘What was I mumbling about?’
‘You kept repeating a name …’ Hunter took a deep breath as he looked to me. ‘You were calling out for Romand.’
‘It must have been a dream. It had to have been.’
‘What?’
‘Back when I time-scanned the detective, I found myself in the fields at the back of Atkinson’s house with Romand. I fell to the ground with a crippling headache and he was telling me everything would be all right. It was so real, like a memory, but it’s not a memory at all. I don’t remember it ever happening.’
‘Bentley, I hope this doesn’t sound selfish, but you’ll have to contemplate this little mystery at another time. There are more pressing matters at hand.’
‘You’re damn right there are!’ I said, pointing a finger at him. ‘You said this would be a straightforward task with little or no risk involved. All I had to do was scan a dying man and we’d be on our way home. Then out of nowhere there’s an assassin killing cops and she almost killed us. And by the way, I got lucky with the shot that killed her. Real lucky. I can’t even figure out how I did it. I was barely able to stand, let alone kill someone. I can’t understand how I managed to summon the strength to kill her. Tonight has been an absolute disaster.’
‘Calm down.’
‘No, I will not calm down. That was not an attack by some lone amateur. She had the better of us – both of us – and we were extremely fortunate to have walked away from that hospital. That woman was a highly trained assassin.’
‘I couldn’t foresee an assassin of that quality being sent there,’ Hunter said as he repeatedly thumped the steering wheel. ‘Hell, I didn’t think that anyone would want to kill that man.’
‘You got it wrong, Hunter. We stepped into something much more important and dangerous than it seemed. I should have known Golding was involved in this. In fact, I did say he would be involved.’
‘Golding? Why do you think Golding is involved?’
‘You saw that contraption on her arm. It sucked up electricity and psychokinetic energy like a vacuum cleaner. There’s only one place that produces hi-tech weaponry for the gifted. Golding Scientific. I told you Golding wouldn’t be keeping a low profile. He never does.’
‘I’m still not convinced he was behind the assassination.’
‘Allow me to convince you. Here’s my new hypothesis: Golding must have employed Wilson and placed him in the British Ministry of Finance. When Wilson was found out and went on the run, Golding sent out assassins to protect him. That’s what happened in Liverpool. Wilson was told to keep a low profile, which is why he ended up in the west of Ireland, but by chance he was spotted by the police. When they tried to arrest him, he used his gift to kill them. Golding then sent in assassins to clean up Wilson’s mess by making sure that detective would never recover and make a statement about what really happened in the hotel. It all makes sense to me now.’
‘You have a vivid imagination, Bentley.’
‘Face it, Hunter. I was right and you were wrong.’
‘Perhaps I was …’
‘There’s no perhaps about it! And I swore to myself that I would never take another human life after what happened last year. I don’t want to be a killer. I left all that behind when I left you and the Guild behind. Then you’re back in my life for one day and look what it’s cost me. I have another death on my conscience. Damn you, Hunter!’
Hunter looked defeated for the first time since I met him. A young assassin had almost killed him, his assessment of the situation surrounding the detective had been so flawed that it almost cost us our lives, and he placed me in a situation that forced me to kill a young woman.
I was furious with him for dragging me into such a perilous circumstance, but there was no point in rubbing his nose in it. Hunter was a proud and brave man and he didn’t need me, of all people, picking out his weaknesses. After all, I’d made some huge mistakes in the past that had almost gotten him killed, yet he never gave me a hard time about it. I tried to contain my sense of anger and remorse, and to break a very uneasy silence that was growing.
‘I guess no one would have predicted an assassin would show up,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘It was just bad luck on our part. It’s not entirely your fault.’
‘No,’ Hunter said. ‘I messed up. I should have suspected Golding would be involved. Maybe you were right about me retiring. I wouldn’t have been so foolish a couple of years ago.’
‘Only you know if it’s time to hang up your spurs,’ I replied. ‘You’ve sacrificed a lot for the Guild over the years. You shouldn’t sacrifice your life for them by remaining on this investigation alone. It’s dangerous. As soon as we’ve parted company you should contact the Palatium and tell them Golding is behind all this, and that skilled assassins with fancy new toys are running with Wilson. I
’m sure they’ll send help.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘You’ll what?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Have you a death wish or something? You have to call for assistance. You can’t face these people on your own, Hunter.’
‘I will only call for assistance after I know more about the case and who Wilson really is and what he wants.’
‘You’re as stubborn as a mule!’
‘No, I’m patient. Now, tell me what you saw when you time-scanned that detective. Did you get inside Wilson’s mind?’
‘For a brief moment, yes.’
‘And …?’
‘Wilson is not simply a spy. He’s a twisted murderer who takes a casual sort of pleasure in taking people’s lives. He actually found it amusing when he saw the puzzled expressions on those detectives’ faces as their friend inexplicably turned his weapon on them and started shooting. Why on earth are so many gifted people deranged?’
‘I’ve always believed that the human mind isn’t fully capable of handling these powers. The gifts are unnatural. In some cases people can deal with having a gift and go on to live relatively normal lives. Others can’t handle being so different and snap.’
‘I think there’s a good chance that I might be snapping. I’ve had a real hard time dealing with it all this last year, Hunter. I didn’t tell you before, but I’ve been seeing things.’
‘Seeing things? What things?’
‘Ghosts … I know there’s no such thing. What I’m seeing must be hallucinations brought on by the stress of what happened last year. My mind is seriously screwed up.’
