The two men shook hands until the henchman directed Psimon back to his chair.
Psimon returned to his seat and Chatham too sat down. He could not take his eyes off Psimon. He was younger than he had been expecting but apart from that he looked just as he sounded on the phone; a pleasant young man, with a knowing smile in his eyes. Considering the predicament he was in he did not seem particularly concerned, although Chatham could see signs of tension and nervousness in his body.
Strangely, Chatham found that he was not disappointed.
‘Yes,’ said the Chief Constable in an attempt to take control of the situation. ‘I believe you are acquainted with Mr Chatham.’
‘We have spoken on the phone,’ said Psimon, giving Chatham a nod of acknowledgement.
‘Quite,’ said the Chief Constable who seemed to think, that for someone in his position, Psimon was altogether too relaxed. Maybe some introductions would instil a more fitting sense of propriety.
‘My name…’ he began but, to everybody’s astonishment, Psimon cut him off.
‘I think introductions should wait until Mr Brennus can join us,’ said Psimon.
Chatham almost choked at Psimon’s front. Did he have no idea of how serious his situation was?
The Chief Constable reddened and the Chancellor muttered something under his breath, while Admiral Grant’s eyes fixed on Psimon like two unforgiving stones. As far as first impressions go, Psimon was not doing very well at all. But he did not appear to be intimidated. He faced them all down.
‘I will answer none of your questions,’ he said looking at each of them in turn. ‘Not a single one, until Mr Brennus is sitting here beside me.’
The Chief Constable practically steamed in his chair but he seemed to realise that this intransigent young man was telling the truth. Drawing his fingers firmly across his broad brow he nodded to the Special Branch henchman in the corner of the room. The man left the room and what descended was about as awkward a silence as it was possible to get.
A minute or so passed and Psimon turned to Vice Admiral Fallon as the door opened and Steve was escorted into the room. Another chair was found and Steve was invited to take a seat next to Psimon.
‘Vice Admiral,’ said Psimon suddenly, as Steve sat down beside him. ‘I wonder if I might ask you a question?’
The Vice Admiral glanced at the men sitting beside him before giving Psimon a curt nod.
‘Imagine if you will,’ said Psimon, ‘that someone was going to kidnap you and hold you against your will.’
The Vice Admiral’s eyes focussed sharply on Psimon as he spoke.
‘They will hold you captive and never let you go. To your friends and family, to everything you hold dear in life, you will be as good as dead.’
The Vice Admiral’s eyes narrowed threateningly.
‘Tell me,’ said Psimon. ‘What would you do to prevent this from happening?’
‘Anything,’ said the Vice Admiral.
‘Anything?’ asked Psimon.
‘Whatever it took… I would not let it happen.’
Psimon slid a sideways glance in Steve’s direction. ‘Thank you,’ he said
‘All right,’ said the Chief Constable in an angry, sarcastic tone. ‘Now that we’re all together.’
Psimon gave an acquiescent nod.
‘My name is Chief Constable David McCormack. The Chancellor of the Exchequer I’m sure you recognise. And this is Richard Chatham from MI5.’
He turned to the two naval officers.
‘This is Admiral Grant of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, and Vice Admiral Fallon, Commander of U.S. Fleet Forces Command, and former Chief of U.S. Naval Intelligence. He speaks on behalf of the American Government.’
Steve looked at Vice Admiral Fallon. Fleet Forces Command was the name given to that part of the US Navy responsible for operations in and around the Atlantic Ocean. It was one of the most powerful military bodies in the world.
‘And now, if you please, we will be asking the questions.’
Psimon met the Chief Constable’s hard, unpleasant gaze but in his mind he heard his mother’s voice…
‘They will fear you,’ she had said.
‘I will help them understand.’
‘They will try to control you.’
‘Yes... They will try.’
‘Do what you have to do,’ she had told him.
And he would.
Chapter 22
HMS Vigilant (S30)
North Atlantic Ocean
Commander Douglas Scott was embarrassed, angry and deeply concerned. It was over an hour now since the monitors had shown an unprecedented spike in the reactor’s primary cooling system and the chief of the watch had been forced to activate the emergency blow, bringing the submarine to the surface with explosive force. Over an hour and the engineers still had no idea as to what had caused the problem. And now it appeared that there was also a problem with the submarine’s ballast system. The inlet valves were letting in water and the compressed air cylinders, used to purge the tanks, appeared to have seized.
The sub was slowly sinking.
‘Was it the emergency blow?’ asked Commander Scott, clearly exasperated by the lack of progress.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ replied the chief engineer. ‘But surfacing like that puts a good deal of strain on the systems.’
Commander Scott rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.
‘And the reactor?’
‘Seems okay now. But that heat spike was like nothing I’ve ever seen.’
The chief engineer sounded distinctly defensive.
‘There’s no way we could ignore it, Captain,’ he said.
‘No, Jeff. Of course not.’ The captain’s tone was mollifying. ‘Everyone has acted just as they should. It’s just so damned embarrassing. We’re barely a day into this exercise… The Yanks will think we’re a bunch of incompetents.’
Commander Scott straightened up and cast his eye over the attack centre. The anxiety in the air was palpable and everyone looked to the captain to see what they should do next.
‘Suggestions!’ he said, turning back to the senior members of his engineering crew.
‘We can replace the valves on the air cylinders. Put divers in the water to examine the inlet valves.’
‘And the cooling problem?’
‘We’ve run the diagnostics,’ said the chief engineer.
‘And?’
‘Inconclusive. We’d need to wait for it to happen again… see if we can lock it down then.’
‘Great,’ said Commander Scott sarcastically. ‘Wait for the reactor to hit meltdown and we can identify the problem.’
The sense of failure in his crewmen’s eyes was not an easy thing to behold, and the thought of losing the sub to a mere technical problem was almost impossible to comprehend.
‘Can we make port?’
‘Not if we keep taking on water at this rate.’
‘How long do we have?’
‘An hour… maybe two.’
Commander Scott pushed his hands through his hair.
‘Send out a team,’ he said. ‘Tell them to weld the inlet valves shut. Seal them up with anything they can get their hands on.’
He felt like he was taking part in some ‘scrap yard challenge’ for a low budget television channel, not commanding one of the most sophisticated ocean going vessels in the world.
‘And comms,’ he said turning to the communications officer. ‘Contact Force Command. Tell them we have a DISSUB emergency and request contingency plans for evacuation of the entire crew.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said the young communications officer, trying to work some moisture into his dry mouth.
Commander Scott listened while the unthinkable message was relayed. Then he watched as the young man at comms queried something that Force Command had told him.
‘What is it?’
The young officer turned towards him and slid the earphones back from his head.
&
nbsp; ‘Message received and understood, sir,’ he said.
‘And…’ asked Commander Scott.
‘It’s not just us, sir,’ the officer said. ‘It seems there’s another sub experiencing similar problems.’
‘Good God,’ said the Commander. ‘Which one?’
‘The USS Carolina, sir. It’s one of the Americans’ Virginia Class attack subs.’
‘The Carolina,’ thought Commander Scott. ‘That’s Philip Kern’s boat.’
Chapter 23
The mood in the secure interview room was charged with disbelief.
‘And you expect us to believe that?’ said the Chief Constable with contempt.
‘You have no choice,’ said Psimon. ‘It’s the truth.’
‘Psychic,’ thought Chatham incredulously. ‘Nonsense! And yet…’ he mused. ‘It would certainly explain a great many things.’ And strangely, if it were true, it would make him feel a good deal happier about the security of MI5. ‘Then again, he reflected, his thoughts racing ahead. If it were true then nothing would be safe; not a secret, not a password, not a personal private thought… ‘Christ,’ he thought. ‘That would be terrifying…’
‘Yes, Mr Chatham,’ said Psimon, fixing Chatham with his stone-grey eyes. ‘It would be terrifying.’
Chatham’s blood turned to ice.
‘And frightened people do frightening things,’ Psimon added.
The rest of the ‘inquisition’ looked at Chatham who had turned markedly pale.
Psimon’s gaze moved down the line from one scornful face to the next.
‘Dangerous? Vice Admiral Fallon,’ said Psimon. ‘Not unless you give me cause.’
The Vice Admiral raised a menacing eyebrow.
Psimon continued down the line.
‘No, Chancellor. You could not use it to your advantage.’
‘Bullshit is not what I would call an intelligent response, Admiral Grant.’
‘And, Chief Constable McCormack, if you think this is a ‘waste of time’ then I wonder that you are bothering to hold me at all.’
The room echoed with a stunned silence.
‘Take that, you tossers!’ thought Steve with just the hint of a smile on his stern face.
Psimon allowed the impact of his impossible insight to sink in. He saw the fear and insecurity in their eyes; the crumbling of their conviction that this could not be true. These men were not accustomed to the sensation of vulnerability. It was not a feeling they found comfortable, although some dealt with it better than others. Mr Chatham, for instance, seemed as much fascinated as he did threatened. As for the others… shock and surprise quickly gave way to fear and paranoia.
Psimon knew what was coming next.
‘Are you trying to intimidate us, young man,’ said Admiral Grant suddenly. His voice, like his face, had a gravelly quality to it.
Psimon held the admiral’s implacable gaze.
‘Do you think you can impress us with Victorian parlour tricks; a quick display of pocket-book psychology.’
Psimon said nothing. Despite having known what to expect, he looked disappointed.
‘Just who the hell do you think you are talking to?’ the admiral ground on.
With the exception of Chatham, those seated on that side of the table seemed to sit up straighter as the admiral took the helm.
‘You seem to have no comprehension, whatsoever, of your situation.’
‘You are in a great deal of trouble,’ added Chief Constable McCormack. ‘The best thing you can do is tell us exactly how you breached MI5 security, why you did it, and the names of anyone else involved.’
Psimon looked from one to the next. They wanted answers; something they could understand. He could not give them that.
‘You have to understand the implications of what you did,’ said the Chancellor in a more conciliatory tone. ‘The figures you gave me were accurate to the last detail. No one makes forecasts with that level of certainty. Forecasts work on trends, patterns, complex mathematical algorithms but never with such precision.’
The Chancellor’s face effectively portrayed the dismay that he was feeling inside and Psimon almost felt sorry for him.
‘Do you have any idea of the consequences of predictions like that?’
His wide eyes appealed to Psimon.
‘It would be disastrous!’ he stated. ‘Trust and co-operation between nations would collapse. The normal flow of international trade would be devastated.’
He threw up his arms as he voiced the fears that had struck him like a thunderbolt over breakfast this morning. Now his eyes beseeched Psimon.
‘I’m not talking about a blip on the stock exchange,’ he said with quiet forcefulness. ‘World recession, depression… that would be the least of it.’
‘I know,’ said Psimon so quietly that only Steve heard him.
‘Wars have been started over much, much less,’ the Chancellor concluded as if he could not believe how irresponsible Psimon was being.
‘I know,’ said Psimon.
He spoke louder now, and to Steve’s surprise there was something like contrition in his voice.
‘That’s why you were the first person to know about it. That’s why I have asked Mr Chatham to arrange a multinational symposium to examine the ramifications.’
All eyes turned to Richard Chatham.
‘Err, yes,’ said Chatham recovering quickly from being put on the spot. ‘Twenty-seven specialists from thirteen different countries. They have been invited to attend the convention to err…’ His words petered out.
Psimon came to his aid.
‘I possess abilities that I do not understand.’ He looked up at the wall of rapt faces. ‘I am the first person to possess such abilities,’ he went on. ‘I am the only person to possess such abilities… but I may not be the last.’
Psimon’s grey eyes were as fathomless as the sea.
‘The world needs an opportunity to understand these things. To see what consequences they might have.’
There was no need to try and speculate on what these ‘consequences’ might be. The fears raised by the Chancellor had been but the tip of the iceberg.
Despite the varying degrees of disbelief, indignation and outright hostility emanating from the questioning panel, Psimon certainly had their undivided attention. He took a deep breath.
‘That is why I have decided to put myself forward for study… to donate my body to science.’
As Psimon said this he pointedly refused to look at Steve.
The line of questioners were suitably stunned.
‘All I need from you is your assurance that I will not be followed, detained or in any way constrained until the commencement of the symposium in four days time.’
Psimon looked at the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
‘But first, Chancellor,’ he said, ‘I need your signature on the immunity for Mr Brennus. I understand that you have been authorised to endorse it in the absence of the Prime Minister.’
Chatham quickly flipped open his briefcase and slid the immunity documents in front of the Chancellor. He turned to the last page, indicated the blank space that awaited his signature, and laid a pen across the page.
Steve turned in his seat to look directly at Psimon. He certainly knew nothing about this!
The Chancellor stared at the documents before him. This was not the way he had expected this meeting to go. He had expected to encounter a frightened young man, thoroughly intimidated by the weight of power ranged against him.
And yet... If what this ‘Psimon’ was telling them was true, then they needed to know more. They needed to know everything. And if granting Mr Brennus immunity was the way to ensure full co-operation then it was surely a small price to pay.
The Chancellor’s hand twitched as he considered signing the form. Then he caught himself. What if this was all a load of nonsense? What if this was a smoke screen for something else; something more plausible, something unlawful. Surely that was more likely; surely genuine
psychic ability did not really exist.
Psimon watched as the Chancellor talked himself back from the brink of the believing. Even after all these years, he could still understand people’s doubts. It was just that now he could no longer afford them.
Psimon looked down at the pen.
The Chancellor had come to his senses. This young man should not be calling the shots. He represented the British Government for God’s sake. Admiral Grant was right; this was all just bullshi…
The pen rose up from the table and the Chancellor’s burgeoning assertions were scattered to the winds.
The pen hung in mid air, point down and rotating slowly as if it were hanging from an invisible thread. But there was no thread, only incontrovertible proof that Psimon was telling the truth. The pen angled itself to suit the Chancellor’s hand, poised to write.
Almost unconsciously the Chancellor reached out to take the pen. His fingers closed around it and he felt the vaguest sensation of having taken it from another’s hand. The point hovered over the dotted line. Then the Chancellor made to write…
‘That’s enough for me,’ said Vice Admiral Fallon suddenly.
He turned to Admiral Grant who gave him a small nod of concurrence. Then he looked at Chief Constable McCormack who raised a hand to one of the Special Branch officers. The henchman gave a stiff nod and immediately left the room.
Both the Chancellor and Mr Chatham looked concerned and surprised at this development. It was clear that some prearranged agreement had been put into action. The Vice Admiral glanced at them both before he spoke again.
‘The detainees are to be transferred to a high security military facility without delay,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘They will be kept in isolation until we convene a specialist team to question them properly.’
‘On whose authority?’ asked the Chancellor.
‘On the authority of the American President,’ said Vice Admiral Fallon. ‘And that of your own Prime Minister.’
The words echoed in Psimon’s ears but he did not really hear them. Once again he was absented from this place; the light of his mind casting shadows of himself, shadows that were present elsewhere.
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