The Psychonaut_Book 1

by Tom G. H. Adams

  Merrick looked at his watch and realised he was over an hour late for his date with Lotus.

  Fuck—this whole deal with Karapetian has screwed everything up.

  He left the two men in the study and was met by another on the steps. The driver wore a leather jacket. He looked in his thirties and sported a soul patch which would make George Michael proud. His jaws constantly maneuvered a piece of gum across his mouth like a camel chewing grain.

  “Looks like I’m your chauffeur for the evening,” the man said in a cockney accent. “I’m Albany by the way.”

  “You driven anything like this before?” asked Merrick.

  “Not of this vintage, no.” The man cast an admiring eye over the Merc. “But I’ve been at the wheel of many a high performance motor. Aston Martins and TVR’s mainly.”

  “Just be careful on the bends. There’s no ABS and it’s a rear-wheel drive.”

  “No problem,” he said as they climbed in.

  Once on the road, Merrick hastily called Lotus. It cut to voice mail so he left a message. He leaned back, frustrated, and closed his eyes. The drug still spaced him out and he found it disconcerting that the windscreen seemed to keep flicking between photo-negative and lava lamp mode.

  Albany respected his silence, and by the time they reached the outskirts of London, Merrick felt human again.

  “So, this Syncretic Order then,” Merrick said, “I take it you’re on the payroll?”

  “You could say that,” Albany replied. “To be honest, it’s less of a company and more of a family.”

  “Sounds cozy.”

  “Far from it. When I say ‘family’ read Sicilian.”

  “They’ve got their hooks in you?”

  Albany looked at him. “Are you a fan of the Eagles?”

  “More into hard rock than soft rock. But I know most of their greatest hits.”

  “Then you’ll be familiar with that line at the end of Hotel California?

  “Yeah, something about checking out but never leaving.” The comparison didn’t do anything to ease Merrick’s mind. He decided to change the subject. “What talent were you recruited for?”

  “I’m a counterfeiter, specialising in the acquisition of art and ancient artefacts.”

  “You acquire these illegally?”

  “You ever hear of a legal counterfeiter?”

  Merrick chuckled. “You must have a bright future ahead of you, judging by our Mr Karapetian’s expensive tastes.”

  “No. I’m the black dwarf of the order. I have a very bright past,” he said smiling. “I bungled my last job. Nearly led to the Order being investigated by the Serious Fraud Office. So my duties are now confined to general dogsbody-like stuff.”

  “Sorry that I’m the bone to your St. Bernard.”

  “No need to feel sorry for me. Our kind are Outcasts, so there’s nowhere else for me to go. At least I get good board and lodging.”

  Albany brought the Landaulet to a halt outside Merrick’s apartment.

  “I’ll drive it into the underground park,” said Merrick. “Are you sure you can get back okay?”

  “No worries,” Albany said as he walked back the way he’d come. Then, as if thinking twice, he stopped and turned to face Merrick again.

  “You do realise what you’re getting into, don’t you?”

  Merrick scratched his head. “I don’t know that I do.”

  “Just watch your back. Lazlo Karapetian is a different character underneath all that cultured exterior, and he’s not the only player in the game. There are others, with far cruder methods. And make no mistake, they’d all slit their grandmother’s throats to get what they need—and feel nothing.”

  He turned on his heel and walked off, singing “On a dark, desert highway ... ”

  ~~~

  Chapter 10

  As long as it’s not about love

  After Merrick had locked both doors on the Merc, he walked half way across the basement parking area and stopped, his shadow cast long underneath the low-level strip lighting. He needed to try Lotus’ number again, but was he in the right frame of mind to speak to her, given the disorienting events of the day?

  Cognitive dissonance. He was familiar with the term. The mental stress experienced by someone who holds two or more contradictory beliefs at the same time. He’d started the day as a skeptical atheist. Since then, he had seen first hand the observational evidence of mind over matter, transport between parallel worlds, and the existence of supernatural beings. It was enough to unhinge the minds of some, yet he had held firm. Now he was asking himself why? It was as if a sun-dried, ancestral corpse had stirred in his memory, clutching ancient parchments that revealed long-unacknowledged truths about himself. Karapetian had called him a Psychonaut, yet he had always classified his peculiar talents under the categories of economics, psychology and that most evasive of terms, intuition.

  What disturbed him more was that he was not in control. Events had overtaken him, undermining his usual confidence. He felt like the Captain of a schooner, hands on the wheel in a raging sea. However much he strained to keep the ship on a predetermined course, the currents and waves conspired to dash him on the rocks of circumstance. This was not a familiar state of mind.

  His thoughts turned again to Lotus. He tried to picture her face but couldn’t. Instead, he remembered incidental things: the stolen necklace, her crooked smile and her lisp. His empirical mind analysed this as infatuation, the result of irrational brain hormones affecting his judgement and infusing his faculties with their madness. In the final analysis, he was a mammal at the pinnacle of evolution, yet the urge to procreate was instilled in his DNA—this was all it was. He just needed to get some perspective.

  Against such pragmatism, he weighed the euphoria of his experience with the Syncretic Order. It released a different mix of hormones. The thrill of wielding power that few possessed was tinged with the anxiety that he was a mere initiate. A little power and a little knowledge was dangerous, and there was no doubt he’d crossed a line—with potentially disastrous consequences. A primordial force was now stalking the world—and he had unleashed it. But Karapetian had made errors too. Perversely, this gave Merrick some licence. It meant that Karapetian didn’t hold all the cards and, should there be a conflict, it was a weak point he could exploit. He turned his mind to the presence of another player, as Karapetian had put it. This was disconcerting, and he couldn’t ignore Albany’s warnings about both orders.

  The sound of the electric garage door announced the arrival of another resident and jarred him from his meditations. He walked in a daze to the stairs.

  Back in his apartment, the phone was waiting with its answer machine light flashing. There was only one message so he pressed the playback button.

  “Hi Merrick, Dom here,” crackled the recording. “What’re you playing at you fucking spanner? Harris-Billinger offer you a retainer that Prince Andrew wouldn’t turn his nose up at, and you kick it into touch. You ought to—“

  Merrick hit the delete button and stepped into the kitchen to get himself a coke.

  He sank into the thinking chair and pulled out his mobile. Punching in Lotus’ number, he sighed and tried to think of how he might begin. After three rings she picked up.

  “Hi there,” she said.

  “Lotus. Hi. I don’t know what to say. I’m not usually this remiss, I mean this isn’t like me.”

  “Who is this please?” she said, a strange formality in her voice.

  “It’s Merrick. You know, we met yesterday and we...”

  “Ah yes. I remember.” You’re the Luak lover who likes to fuck in toilets.”

  “Hey wait a minute, that’s not fair, it was your idea to ... ”

  “Yeah, yesterday I was full of ideas, and today you’re full of shit.”

  Merrick winced. “Look, I know you’re upset. You’ve every right to be.”

  “Me? I’m not upset, I’m absolutely fine.�
��

  Pete had warned him about a woman’s use of the word fine.

  “F.I.N.E. stands for fucked-up, insecure, neurotic and emotional,” he’d said. “You’ll come to less harm clearing mines in Iraq—tread carefully my friend.”

  Flashing lights and sirens sounded in Merrick’s head now. He didn’t need a third eye to detect the situation had escalated quickly. She was well pissed off. He had to limit the damage.

  “Lotus, I’m holding up a white flag here. Just let me come round, I can make this better.”

  “Nothing can make it better,” she said. “Good-bye Merrick.”

  The phone went dead.

  “Shit and double-shit,” he said and threw the mobile across the room. The projectile toppled a glass vase to the floor, smashing it into dozens of pieces.

  “Triple shit,” he said.

  ~~~

  Bright sunlight beamed through the Funky Civet’s window. It glinted harshly off the glass counter Merrick was sitting at. The croissant arrived with a steaming cup of coffee but it did little to lighten his mood.”

  You look like shit,” said Charlie, a stained tea towel draped over his folded, Popeye arms.

  “Do you charge extra for the compliments?”

  “Not for my regulars. Even the ones that scare my other customers away with their rutting. Just consider it part of the service.”

  Another look at Merrick and Charlie knew better than to prolong the conversation. He disappeared back into the kitchen.

  He hadn’t had a good night. Snarling red apes inhabited REM-fuelled dreams, together with Karapetian’s eyes, and the figure of Lotus running away down helical corridors—always out of reach.

  He tried to think of reasons to dismiss her hysterical behaviour and move on, but couldn’t. He’d fucked up on all fronts, yet Lotus’ rebuff now stiffened his drive to invest energy in Karapetian’s world. The Hierophants valued him, and the prospect of playing a part in a momentous secret revolution fed the excitement. He’d have to be cautious, but he rallied his mental resources like steel rods in the concrete of his resolve, and pulled out his mobile. A text alert flashed over the screensaver. A message from Pete saying he’d waited at the squash court for over half an hour and where the hell was he? Another appointment he’d forgotten.

  Never rains but it pours.

  He cleared the screen and punched in the number Karapetian had given him the previous day. Karapetian picked up.

  “Merrick, I’m pleased you called back.”

  “I thought of giving you a poke on facebook but thought better of it.”

  “Hah. I see you’ve retained your sense of humour after yesterday’s events. Have you given more thought to my offer?”

  “Yeah, as they say in the boardroom—I’m in. At least for now.”

  There was a pause at the other end. “You have to understand, there can be no freelancers in our order. It’s an all or nothing decision.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Merrick had learned that everything was negotiable, but it didn’t prevent a twinge of disquiet from waking up in his gut.

  “This is rather timely. I’m going to be in London this afternoon and I’d like you to be present at a meeting I’ve set up.”

  “Okay, who’s it with?”

  “You remember I spoke about other interested parties?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, there’s another order. They’re simply called the Ukurum. They’re headed by a man called Jagur Shamon.”

  “Sounds exotic.”

  “That’s one way of describing him. The name comes from the Turkmenistan word for abyss. His Order follow what we call the left hand path. You might refer to this branch of magick as satanism, but that’s a misnomer. Lucifer would never approve of his motivation or methods.”

  “What methods are we talking about here, Lazlo? C’mon, if I’m in now, I need to know what we’re up against.”

  Karapetian cleared his throat. “They include torture, both mental and physical, blood sacrifices and use of the will in extraordinary coercion.”

  “They don’t sound pleasant. Where do they stand with the law?”

  “Like ourselves, they have considerable resources and have been in existence for many centuries. Believe me, secular law-enforcement is a non-starter. The only thing that limits their influence is the presence of our order. Anyway, it’s Shamon himself who approached us. We’re meeting on neutral ground at Bethnal Green. There’s a decommissioned gas-holder there. Goodness knows why he chooses these places, other than the fact that they’re designated as mage-locked.”

  “Sorry, mage-locked? Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  “Offensive magick isn’t permitted at these sites, although no one has tested their efficacy. Besides, it’s considered bad form to engage in combat at such meetings, however hostile.”

  “Are you sure you can trust to these principles? I remember the gateway debacle—you thought you had that under control too.”

  “I understand your suspicion. But, if you knew the history and lore of our orders you wouldn’t balk so. There hasn’t been an infringement of these rules—ever.”

  “Any idea why he wants to meet?”

  “When rival orders set up something like this, it’s usually to make an announcement or to try and strike a deal. It could be significant given the developments in syncretic politics recently. I’d like you along to gauge reactions and assess his motivation.”

  Merrick turned Karapetian’s words over in his mind. “Won’t he deflect or protect himself from any probing on my part? I notice that you’re pretty immune from such interference.”

  “He won’t be expecting it,” said Karapetian. “So I’m hoping his guard will be down. You have to understand that your skills are quite unique. There hasn’t been a Psychonaut active since the nineteenth century. Nonetheless, you’ll need to be subtle. Jason detected your abilities easily when you met yesterday—so proceed cautiously.”

  “Right. So it looks like you’re throwing me in at the deep end.”

  “Maybe, but with several buoyancy aids to help. There’s going to be a group of us, and one of us can create a type of mind-camouflage so you can work undetected.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. When exactly is it happening?”

  Karapetian gave him the street name and time of the meeting, which Merrick noted down.

  “I’ll be in a black SUV. Meet me half an hour early,” Karapetian said.

  “One more thing before I sign off,” Merrick said, “is there any update on the Simiatan situation?”

  “Very little. It’s as we feared. The beast has gone to ground, but we’ll detect it if there’s a reappearance. Such entities disturb the ether violently when they interact with others. Especially this side of the gateway. We’ve got our best people monitoring the situation.”

  Merrick imagined Karapetian’s Order like a hydra, possessing tentacles that infiltrated all levels of society on a global scale. This should have been reassuring, but a part of him rebelled at the thought of an organisation like this wielding so much power.

  “I’ll be there,” he said and disconnected the call.

  As he got up from the counter, it crossed his mind that he ought to ring Mike. At least to let him know what had transpired. But how much should he tell him? There was no doubt Mike would think he was one slice short of a sandwich if he told him everything. He also had doubts about the legal position of his affiliation with the order. It wasn’t like there were any UK laws covering mastery of other dimensions, but Mike could be a conformist stuffed shirt sometimes. He might feel obliged to share Merrick’s activities with the establishment, and he didn’t want that. Plus, the tug in the background of his mind was more insistent now. He couldn’t define it, but he did trust it. The main reason he had risen to the secular heights he had, was down to his talent. He saw himself as Alexander, turning Bucephalus towards the sun—on the precipice of s
omething much bigger than his limited world had allowed thus far.

  What was it Alexander’s father had said to him?

  My son, you must find a kingdom big enough for your ambitions. Macedonia is too small for you.

  He hoped he was treading in Alexander’s footsteps, rather than Pyrrhus’.

  ~~~

  Chapter 11

  Atom and evil

  It was overcast when Merrick arrived at Bethnal Green. The dull, galvanised sky imposed its bleakness on the rust-coloured, forsaken gas-holder.

  Monument to a bygone age, Merrick thought. In its shadow he saw Karapetian’s black, polished SUV parked in the lane ahead. There were no other vehicles.

  Merrick approached the slug of a car, casting his eyes about for anything suspicious. As he got closer, a rear door opened and Jason got out, motioning him to climb in. His physical sense picked up the smell of valeted upholstery. The third eye detected adrenaline and cortisol.

  Albany was the driver and greeted him with a nod as Merrick settled into the back seat. Karapetian also gave an acknowledgement and introduced him to the remaining occupant.

  “This is Celestia Barone,” he said. “She’s spending some time with us after a two year sojourn in Tibet.”

  Merrick shook the hand of the black-haired woman and noted her angular features.

  “Glad to make your acquaintance,” she said in a French accent. “Lazlo has been telling me all about you.” Realising this woman was no doubt more than she seemed, Merrick didn’t prolong the handshake, but he still caught a glimpse of her mind-set. Fiercely determined, mentally dominant, yet composed as a mill pond. Underneath, a rip-tide lurks.

  “I hope he included my flair for flower arranging and obsession with glam rock,” he said with a smile.

  Her mouth curled. “I’m told you bring levity to grave situations.”