Isidore sighed gustily and hit the off button on the remote control. Swinging his long legs down from where he had propped them up on the coffee table, he swept Gabriel a bow. ‘Fear not, O great one. Your trusty servant has delivered. Lookee here. I think this might do it.’
Isidore started tapping away at the keyboard and as always Gabriel was captivated for a moment by the speed and skill with which Isidore engaged with the machine in front of him. Truly great hackers were like magicians. They could penetrate so deeply into the brain of their computer, they seemed to will it to respond to their thoughts, turning the relationship between man and machine into something telepathic, not mechanical.
Isidore leaned back in his chair. ‘OK. I banged together a nifty Trojan virus. But you told me the sisters have DDD antivirus on their machine, which is a real pain. DDD is a good product, man. It’ll sniff out most Trojan viruses without even trying.’
‘Tell me this has a happy ending.’
‘Of course it does. My genius goes unbowed in the face of challenge. I have devised one son-of-a-bitch DDD-buster. It’ll knock it out completely. I’m calling it DAVID.’
‘As in David versus Goliath? How original.’
Isidore smiled pityingly. ‘You’re just jealous.’
‘Well, what are we going to do if they discover their DDD is no longer running? They’ll be immediately suspicious. I don’t want them to even suspect we’re in there.’
‘Ah. Again you underestimate me. I have added a brilliant feature to DAVID. As soon as it kills the DDD, it will add a fake icon to the taskbar to give the illusion that the DDD is still alive and breathing fire. Now, how cool is that?’
Pretty cool, Gabriel had to admit.
‘So,’ Isidore continued. ‘I’ve done my part. Now it’s up to you. How were you planning on sending it? If these women are sophisticated enough to have DDD on their machines, methinks they’re not naively going to open an attachment from someone they don’t know.’
‘Well, maybe they can be tempted. I’ve drawn up a fake letter pretending to be someone looking to sell a very rare Congolese Makishi mask and asking Minnaloushe if she’s interested. Along with the message, she’ll have to download a photograph of the mask. She’ll bite, believe me.’
‘And then? When she wants to buy and finds out there’s no mask?’
‘Simple. We’ll just send her a message saying she’s too late and someone else has already bought it. That must happen all the time. Why would she be suspicious?’
‘Where did you get a photograph of a mask?’ Isidore asked curiously.
Gabriel grinned. ‘Lifted it from an old V&A catalogue.’
‘Devious.’ Isidore nodded solemnly. ‘I’m proud of you. Well, that takes care of the diary. You’ll be reading those pages in no time. The other one is of course the real problem.’
‘The Promethean Key.’
‘Yip. As the host computer in this instance is not connected to the Internet, you’re personally going to have to install a hardware keylogger to get inside, old son. Sorry.’
Gabriel sighed. Hardware keyloggers were a nuisance. The only way to install them was to have physical access to the computer itself. Which meant that when he had dinner with the women at Monk House, he was just going to have to hope that they left him alone in the room long enough to install the damn thing.
‘Don’t despair,’ Isidore said brightly. ‘At least you won’t have to struggle with a clunky inline logger. I’ve managed to find you a smashing little custom-made keyboard spy. Cutting-edge, man. You won’t be able to buy this baby off the shelf. I got lucky: the guy I borrowed this from is a fellow wizard at Dreadshine and he owes me a favour.’ He handed Gabriel a small rectangular box. ‘Here you go. Take good care of it. Unless you want my friend Aaron to pay you a visit. And believe, me he has shoulders like a house.’
‘Thanks.’ Gabriel slipped the little box carefully into the pocket of his jacket. ‘I’ll put it to good use tomorrow night.’
‘So what’s happened so far?’ Isidore asked eagerly. ‘Any leads on our boy?’
Gabriel looked at Isidore’s enthusiastic face. Should he tell him about the ride he had slammed the day before? Usually he was pretty reluctant to discuss the topic of remote viewing with anyone who was not an RV himself—the incredulity, the ignorance, was wearying. But Isidore, despite his flakiness, was no idiot.
As he described the ride, Isidore listened with commendable solemnity. But when Gabriel stopped talking, he let out a massive whoop. ‘Man oh man. This is…’ He searched for an appropriate word, finally gave up. ‘You know, I still can’t get over the fact that you’ve been scanning the thoughts of a dead man. How creepy is that?’
‘They’re not the thoughts of a dead man, Isidore. Robert Whittington was still very much alive at the time. And as these thoughts are still part of the psi space—the consciousness field—I can slam the ride.’
Isidore nodded knowingly. ‘I know all about psi space now. Did I tell you I hacked into some military files at a site in College Park, Maryland? Those guys wrote a lot about psi space during the time the US government sponsored the STARGATE project. Really wicked stuff.’
Gabriel looked at him warningly. ‘You’re playing with fire. If they catch you they’re going to bury you with their Patriot Act.’
‘Oh, please. Catch me? I’m a ghost. They’ll never catch me. Besides, what’s so dangerous about knowing about psi space? The way I understand it, it’s like an information storage medium. Like mind data stored in some quantum consciousness computer, which RVs can access because they have knowledge of the password.’
Gabriel couldn’t help but smile. Trust Isidore to come up with an information-based analogy.
‘What I do want to know, though, is whether you ever blank out on the password. I mean, do you always manage to interface?’
Gabriel thought of Frankie. Mr Super Remote Viewer. But even Mr Super Remote Viewer failed at times. And the results could be devastating.
He looked up to find Isidore watching him curiously. He shrugged. ‘With varying degrees of success. It’s not what you would call an exact science. The impressions I get are more often than not very vague. Sometimes they’re so scattered, they’re unusable.’
‘But when you slammed the ride through Robbie’s mind the details weren’t vague at all, right?’
‘No, but it was nuts. What this kid saw just before he drowned is simply not possible. I mean, he was walking through a house with millions of doors. How likely is that? Usually in a ride, you see things partially. You know, bits and pieces—blurred impressions. This ride was as detailed as a film reel. But it makes no bloody sense whatsoever.’
‘Maybe Whittington was doing drugs.’
‘Frankie suggested that as well. I still don’t think so.’
‘OK, what about the second ride? When you climbed into the mind of the lady with the crow? Or, rather, she climbed into yours.’ Isidore smiled. ‘Lady with the crow. This is straight from Dungeons and Dragons, man. I can’t get over how cool it all is.’
Gabriel hunched his shoulders in irritation. ‘I don’t find it cool that Robert’s killer is also a remote viewer herself.’
‘Yeah. Sort of takes away your advantage, doesn’t it?’ Isidore struck a gladiatorial pose. ‘The battle of the RVs. Mind versus mind!’
‘This is not a computer game.’ Gabriel looked at Isidore with exasperation. So much for an inspired exchange of ideas. He should have remembered that in Isidore’s life the boundaries between reality and virtual reality were pretty iffy. What happened inside the virtual space of Dreadshine was just as relevant to Isidore as the experiences he had daily in the bricks-and-mortar world. More so, probably.
‘Anyway, I can’t sit around here all day.’ Gabriel got to his feet. ‘I’ll email you the letter and photograph for Minnaloushe later today. Get DAVID in there and send her the message. Let me know as soon as she opens the attachment, OK? I’m very curious to know what’s inside t
hat diary.’
‘Sure thing. I can’t wait for a peek myself. A diary written by one of those two women is sure to be hot stuff. Not,’ Isidore added virtuously, ‘that I’m motivated by anything other than a desire to find out what really happened to poor Robert.’
But as he let Gabriel out of the front door, Isidore suddenly turned solemn. ‘Will you watch your back, man?’
Gabriel glanced at him, amused. ‘You too? Frankie got all mushy as well. But I wouldn’t have expected it of you. You’re actually worried for me? How touching.’
‘Seriously, Gabe. The woman is a killer. And she’ll want to get inside your head again. You’d better be prepared. Will you be able to pick up when she tries to scan you?’
‘Definitely. I’ll recognise her immediately.’ Gabriel smiled a little grimly.
When he was still at Eyestorm he had received more than sufficient training in that regard. Alexander Mullins had insisted that the RVs at Eyestorm scan each other as a matter of course. It was fair to say that Gabriel had always disliked that part of the training intensely. To allow someone to walk through your inner eye was a hard thing to do. As soon as another RV entered his mind, his skin would crawl and the sweat would break out hot on his skin. The impulse to clamp down was always irresistible.
But the one thing the scanning exercises had taught him was that every RV had a different ‘signature’. He could always tell who was trying to probe his mind. The imprint an RV leaves on the host mind is unique: formless, colourless but unmistakable. Oddly enough, he had always associated it with smell. Frankie’s fragrance, he remembered, was like pine needles. Like a breeze. Whenever she entered his mind, it felt fresh. The woman who had entered his mind the night before had a different signature altogether. Musk, frangipani. Very powerful.
He looked into Isidore’s anxious eyes. ‘Don’t worry. If she tries to scan me again, I’ll recognise her and I’ll block her.’
‘You’re sure you’ll be able to do that?’
Gabriel nodded emphatically. ‘Absolutely.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘No sweat.’
Entry Date: 8 July
Great excitement!
G. is a remote viewer. M and I have hardly talked about anything else since we made the discovery.
On the one hand, it was like opening a package and finding a fer-de-lance inside. On the other, the challenge ahead stirs me like an erotic dream. A snake can be charmed. It is only a question of choosing the right music…
Admittedly, the shock was overwhelming at first. But now that we’ve had a chance to think it through, we realise this is the sign we’ve been waiting for.
G. is a viewer. I wonder if he knows how amazing he is. He represents the next step in evolution. Multisensory man.
Think of the possibilities.
Think of speed. Lightning. Ekstasis.
And danger. This could be dangerous.
Which is why we must allow some time to pass before attempting another scan. G. will be on his guard now. We need to get him to relax. Lower his defences. And, the next time, the scan will be as delicate as Goliath moving on silk. No imprint. A phantom ghosting through his thoughts.
G. is coming to the house tomorrow night. We both can’t wait to see him again. The three of us are about to embark on a wonderful journey, our true names forever linked.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gabriel climbed the steps to the front door of Monk House and placed his finger on the bell. The peal was long and melodious. As he waited, he shifted from one foot to the other. The bunch of flowers in his hands felt awkward. He was sweating gently, as much from the heat as from nerves.
He suddenly wondered if he was dressed correctly. He had decided on jeans, a white shirt and a jacket. The jacket was Armani but maybe he should have dressed more formally? For all he knew, this was a dinner party and the other guests would be all dolled up in their glad rags.
Why was he so nervous? Timidity was not exactly a quality he associated with himself, but where these women were concerned he felt as clumsy as a teenager. It probably didn’t help that he was also overly conscious of the keyboard spy in the inside pocket of his jacket. Every time he moved, he could feel the little tin box where it rested on top of his heart.
Nothing stirred inside the house. The porch light was not on and the front windows were dark. The house seemed deserted. For a moment he wondered if he had got the day wrong.
But then the fanlight above the door lit up and light steps approached the front door. The next moment it swung open and Minnaloushe Monk, dressed in a frothy black skirt and a gossamer-thin blouse, smiled at him. She looked gorgeous: all peaches and cream and wanton hair.
‘Gabriel.’ She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were soft. ‘For us? Thank you, they’re lovely.’ She brought the flowers up to her nose. ‘I love freesias.’
Despite her professed delight, it suddenly occurred to him that another gift might have been more appropriate. Wine, maybe. Or chocolate. Bringing flowers to this house was like bringing ice to Antarctica. Following her into the entrance hall with its tightly packed potted plants, he was reminded that there was already more than enough foliage to go around.
And he had forgotten about the roses. He stepped into the living room and the scent of roses was everywhere. It came from the alabaster bowls with their overblown blooms and also drifted in—thick and sultry—through the French doors that were open to the garden. The fragrance hovered in the air, settled on the furniture like an invisible shawl.
Morrighan got up from the large peacock wicker chair where she had been sitting. She was wearing a simple white linen shift. Bare feet. Her black hair fell freely on her shoulders. She looked younger and more approachable. Still beautiful. This family had some bang-up genes.
‘Welcome.’ And from her, too, a kiss: lips barely brushing his cheek. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’ She gestured at one of the wing-backed chairs. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Gin and tonic, if you have it.’
‘Of course.’ She moved over to a heavy oak chest and opened the doors. Inside were glasses and an array of liquor bottles.
‘Red wine for me,’ Minnaloushe said. She looked at Gabriel. ‘Excuse me for a minute. I just want to put your flowers in water.’
‘And check on the lamb, will you?’ Morrighan glanced over her shoulder. ‘Turn it down a little.’ Handing Gabriel his glass, she said, ‘It’s just the three of us tonight but Minnaloushe and I felt like pulling out the stops. So we’re having lamb with pesto sauce for our main. Lobster ravioli for starters. I hope you brought along an appetite.’
‘It sounds wonderful.’
Morrighan nodded. ‘Setting modesty aside, we’re pretty good cooks.’ She walked back to the deep-seated chair and sat down again, slender feet tucked in underneath her. ‘Anyway, cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ He took a sip of his drink. Perfect. Not too heavy on the gin. Just the way he liked it.
He looked around him. The room tonight looked inviting. It was lit by a large number of candles, the tiny flickering flames winking from shelves, side tables, even the floor. The objects in the room seemed to shimmer. The compasses and the astrolabe were burnished brass. The bell jars gleamed. In that dimly lit room, the pale bird skeletons seemed no longer startling, but had acquired a fragile beauty. Even the masks on the wall had lost their aura of menace and appeared whimsical rather than weird. The only discordant note was Goliath, still looking decidedly unfriendly inside his glass box.
Minnaloushe came back into the room. She flopped onto the velvet sofa and reached for her wine glass. ‘Things are under control in the kitchen. We’ll be able to eat in another half an hour or so.’ Turning to Gabriel, she smiled. ‘We should really have champagne tonight to celebrate your jump the other day. Morrighan tells me you took to it like a fish to water.’
She had a way of looking at you with such attentiveness, it could lead you to believe she truly was enthralled by your presence, Gabriel thou
ght. An impression intensified by that breathy, whispery voice. He wondered how many guys had fallen for it. No doubt they enjoyed the fall.
‘It was fun.’ He turned to Morrighan. ‘But I had a good coach.’
‘Thank you, kind sir.’ Morrighan smiled and lifted her glass in an abbreviated salute.
He returned their smiles, wondering all the while who had visited him earlier that week. He had shared a very intimate experience with one of these two women only two nights before. One of them had entered his mind. You couldn’t get any closer than that.
But if he had hoped to pick up an echo from one of them, he was disappointed. The conversation flitted aimlessly and harmlessly from one topic to another. Books, films, the situation in the Middle East. The kind of conversation you could find at any dinner party. The women were charming, stunningly well read, wittily opinionated and nicely appreciative of his company. And he didn’t get that creepy sense that they had some kind of hidden agenda. They were even remarkably forthcoming about themselves, talking easily about their childhood.
‘When we were girls we hated each other,’ Minnaloushe said cheerfully. ‘Everything was a contest between us. Boys, school, everything. Morrighan was a brat. Impossible to live with. Quite a violent little girl, actually. I can show you the mark where she threw her hairbrush at me once. It left a scar.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Morrighan elevated an eyebrow. ‘And you? Spoilt little princess. You were Daddy’s girl. Mummy’s too. And so manipulative. What Minnaloushe wanted, Minnaloushe got.’
Gabriel looked at them with astonishment. ‘This is unexpected. Somehow I pictured you as almost twins. Best friends since birth. Inventing a secret childhood language just for the two of you. That kind of thing.’
Minnaloushe laughed. ‘Not at all. Things got so bad between us that my parents decided to send us to different boarding schools. Throughout most of our childhood we only spent holidays together. And those were pretty tempestuous, believe me.’
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