Sam pointed to the scar behind his ear. ‘Hey, at least I’ve got a good excuse.’
14
Sam watched Lewis jog off, hurdling the larger puddles on the pavement. He was about to close the front door when he noticed a dark car parked on the other side of the road. The windows were blacked out, but its headlights shone through the drizzle. The door opened and a figure wearing a long coat stepped out. Sam squinted in the gloom. The figure – a man – raised an umbrella and crossed the road towards him, then opened the gate to Sam’s house and strode up the path. For a second Sam felt the urge to slam the door and run inside. The man stopped and shook his umbrella, spraying water everywhere, then lowered it.
‘Mr Steele,’ Sam said. ‘W-what are you doing here?’
Steele gave an awkward smile, as though it was uncomfortable to twist his face into this unfamiliar shape. ‘I came to thank you,’ he said. ‘It appears I’m in your debt, Sam. Your warning saved many lives today, quite likely my own included. My office is in that building. My work means I’m not always there, but today I was.’
Sam fought to keep his jaw from dropping open. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, ‘but you didn’t need to come all the way over here just to tell me that.’
‘Yes, well...’ Steele removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiped his forehead and peered over his shoulder at the car. ‘Actually, there was something else. If you could spare a few minutes, there’s someone who’d like to meet you.’
‘Really, who?’
Instead of replying, Steele stepped to the side and raised his umbrella again, waiting for Sam to join him under it. Sam hesitated, a stab of apprehension in his gut, but he wasn’t going to get any answers stood on his doorstep, so he slipped on his shoes and followed Steele out into the rain. Steele led him across the road, opened the back door of the car and motioned for him to get in.
Whatever Sam had expected, it definitely wasn’t the prim old lady he found sitting there with her hands folded neatly over the pleats of her tweed skirt. She looked like a baby bird, so small and fragile, and it crossed Sam’s mind that Steele had brought his mother to meet him. Sam glanced to Steele for an explanation, but he closed the door and remained out in the rain.
The woman removed her half-moon spectacles and left them dangling on a cord around her neck. ‘My name is Lara McHayden,’ she said. ‘I do apologise for dragging you out in this drab excuse for an evening, but after I’d grilled Steele over his source he finally spilled the beans, so to speak.’
‘You work for him?’ Sam asked.
She chuckled and shook her head. ‘No, not exactly. As of today he works for me. Steele tells me you’re a survivor of British Airways Flight 0368?’
Sam lowered his gaze. ‘That’s right. My parents were also on that flight.’
‘I’m truly sorry to hear that. I understand you were injured?’
‘A few broken bones, but they’re healing.’
She pointed to the scar on the side of Sam’s head. ‘And what about that?’
‘A piece of metal pierced my skull and got stuck in my brain,’ he said. ‘They had to operate to remove it.’
‘And how’s that healing?’
‘Not so well. The doctors say I’ve developed post-traumatic epilepsy.’
‘Fascinating,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘From a purely medical perspective, that is. Anyhow, I wanted to thank you in person for what you did today.’
‘It said on the news that the bomber was shot,’ Sam said. ‘Was it the man I saw on the plane?’
She produced a photograph as if from nowhere and handed it to him. It showed a man sitting at a table on cobbled terrace overlooking the sea. He was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt with a flamingo print. Although he looked several years younger and had a floppy moustache, there was no mistaking those eyes; it was the man from the plane.
Sam’s hands started to shake. Suddenly he wanted the photograph nowhere near him, as if he might be contaminated by touching the man’s image. He half-passed, half-threw it back to McHayden.
‘Is that him?’ she asked.
Sam nodded and looked up. The photograph had vanished back to wherever it had first appeared from. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ Sam said. ‘Do you know who he was?’
‘Only too well, I’m afraid to say. Esteban Haufner.’ She pronounced the name as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. ‘He was a foreign operative for MI6. Three years ago, Haufner was working out of Guatemala, monitoring the activities of drug cartels operating in the area. He went missing on a routine surveillance operation and failed to return to his rendezvous point. After several weeks he was presumed killed in action. Until today, that is.’
‘You mean he worked for the government?’ Sam asked, unable to quite believe what he was hearing. ‘Why did he do it then?’
‘We can only assume that he must have been turned at some point – a double agent. Regrettably, it isn’t the first time such a thing has happened.’
‘Turned? But who by?’
‘That we don’t yet know. However, after today, the answer to that question has become a top priority.’ She paused, lifted her spectacles to her face and peered at Sam, weighing him up. ‘Tell me, are you a patriot?’
The image that came to Sam’s mind was of a beer-swilling lout in an England football shirt. He hesitated, unsure of the right answer.
‘What I’m trying to ascertain is whether you love your country. Would you do what it takes to protect Britain and our allies from those who mean to do us harm?’
‘Well, yeah, of course.’
‘Then what I need to know is how you came by the information you passed to Agent Steele this afternoon.’
‘I…I…you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Try me,’ she said. ‘I have a particularly high threshold when it comes to the unbelievable.’
Lewis had just warned Sam not to tell anyone about his vision, but he got the feeling McHayden would smell a lie a mile off. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I know how bonkers this sounds, but I had a seizure this afternoon, during my dad’s funeral, and I saw what was going to happen before I called Inspector Hinds.’
‘Go on,’ she said in a voice like a purr. ‘You can trust me.’
‘I saw what was going to happen before it had happened. Like a hallucination or something.’
He waited for McHayden to laugh, but her face remained straight. ‘Do you mean that you witnessed the bombing?’ she asked.
‘No, not exactly. I saw what was going to happen from my own point of view later this evening. I was back home and there was a report on the news. There was surveillance footage of the suspect – of Esteban Haufner – and I recognised him from the plane. When I woke up I knew had to do something, so I rang Inspector Hinds as fast as I could. I suppose she must have told Agent Steele what I said.’
McHayden lips curled back in a smile. ‘So, there is another.’
‘Excuse me?’
She unclasped her hands and smoothed her skirt. ‘If what you tell me is true then that would be quite a useful talent, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘A talent?’
‘My dear boy, because of you Esteban Haufner is dead. What you did today saved countless lives and, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, brought a small measure of justice for your father.’
Much as it pained Sam, there was no denying the pleasure he’d felt upon hearing of Esteban Haufner’s death.
‘What I’d really like to know,’ she went on, ‘is if you think you could do it again?’
‘What, have another seizure?’
‘Precisely.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been prescribed medicine that’s supposed to stop them.’
‘Jesus wept! And why on Earth would you want to do a thing like that? If you could control your episodes, then you might be able to help us track the people Haufner was working for. Think of what might be possible if we could harness your
ability.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly call it an ability,’ Sam said. ‘It’s only happened a few times and it’s not like I can control it.’
‘That may be something we can look into. How would you feel about exploring the matter further?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
McHayden smiled again, her face creasing into craggy terrain of wrinkles, and passed Sam a business card with her name and address printed beneath the crest of the Security Service: a dragon in the centre of a ring of portcullises and roses. ‘I’d like you to visit my office next week so we can discuss things in more detail. Shall we say…Monday at four o’clock?’
‘Fine,’ he said, ‘four o’clock, Monday.’
‘Splendid!’
She rapped the window with her knuckle and Steele opened the door again. He waited for Sam to get out, then closed the door and climbed into the front seat.
As the engine growled into life, the back window wound down halfway and McHayden leaned out. ‘One last thing,’ she said. ‘The nature of what we’ve just discussed is a matter of national security. If you’re serious about working with us then I need your word that the details of this conversation will go no further.’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Sam said.
She gave a brisk nod. ‘Good, until Monday then. And please be punctual, if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s lateness.’
The window closed and the car pulled away.
Sam stood watching the taillights retreat into the night, oblivious to the rain pouring down around him.
Chapter IV
Mastery and Control
1
July 1969
Lara lay on her back in the bunker of the 18th hole and gazed up at the countless pinpricks of light filling the night sky. A shower of green blossomed over a copse of trees to the north, followed by a pop and a fizz as the sound of the firework reached her. She scooped a handful of sand and let the grains sift slowly through her fingers.
‘Were you okay in there?’ Isaac asked, handing her a champagne flute. Muffled laughter drifted over on the warm breeze as the last partygoers made their way from the clubhouse. ‘I can’t stand these corporate events.’
Lara rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow. So far it had been the most magical evening of her life. Two months earlier, Isaac had taken on a part-time consultancy role at Bereck & Hertz, the pharmaceutical company, and had asked Lara to their Gala Independence Day Dinner. He’d bought her a strapless black gown, which was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn, and a silver brooch embedded with pearls that probably cost more than her yearly salary. Tonight, Lara had eaten lobster for the first time and drunk enough champagne to make her lightheaded.
‘It was wonderful,’ she said. ‘And so were you, Isaac. I never realised you knew so many people.’
He filled his own glass. ‘I doubt if I’ve met half a dozen of that crowd before today.’
‘Still, they all seemed to want a piece of you. A girl could get jealous, you know.’
She could make out him blushing, even in the dark.
‘You’ve got nothing to be jealous about, Lara.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ He raised his glass. ‘Happy Fourth of July.’
‘You too,’ she said and clinked her glass against his. ‘I could get used to this kind of treatment.’
‘You may have to. From what I gather these parties are regular fixtures in the Bereck & Hertz calendar.’
Another firework exploded beyond the trees, yellow this time. Isaac stared over the golf course long after the last golden sparkle had dimmed and settled out of sight. He seemed to have grown increasingly withdrawn over the last few weeks and prone to bouts of introspection.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Lara said.
‘Huh?’
‘What’s on your mind?’
Isaac stared away again, looking like he was holding back. Eventually he sighed and turned to face her. ‘I can’t shake the feeling that there may be other applications than purely military.’
‘Tetradyamide, you mean?’
He nodded and took a sip from his glass. Tetradyamide was Isaac’s first assignment at Bereck & Hertz. The drug had the effect of slowing the passage of perceived time in users. The military, immediately recognising the benefits of improved speed and reactions, had commissioned Bereck & Hertz to push Tetradyamide through the research and development pipeline so that trials with American service personnel could begin while there was still a war to fight. ‘Its potential is quite staggering,’ Isaac said. ‘I really think it could help Michael.’
‘Michael?’
‘It steadied his neurological activity during the tests we did last week.’
‘You mean you’ve already given it to him?’ Lara sat upright and glared. ‘How could you, Isaac? He’s my patient!’
‘And I’m your supervising physician.’ There were more bangs in the distance. ‘Tell me what’s worse, Lara, trying doing something that might help, or sitting on our hands until he kills himself?’
‘Is it ethical? The stuff’s not even signed off yet.’
‘If there’s any heat – which there won’t be – then I’ll take it. Don’t flip your wig, baby, he’s government property.’
Lara shook her head. ‘You’re beginning to sound like one of those protesters.’
‘You dig?’
She finished her glass, scooped up her heels and stood. ‘Not really. Are you sure you’re okay to drive?’
‘Never better, Daddy-O.’
‘Really, Isaac, that’s enough now.’
He grinned, got up and swept the sand off his tux before taking her hand. Another firework exploded high above. They watched the last sparks fade to nothing, then turned and walked back to the clubhouse.
2
Present Day
Sam arrived forty minutes early for his appointment, which was no bad thing because he was still uneasy on his feet without crutches. It had been difficult persuading Chrissie to let him out. Although Sam knew his sister meant well, he thought he might lose the plot if he heard the words ‘just checking how you’re doing’ one more time. Chrissie had collected his prescription the day after the funeral, travelling the extra distance to find a pharmacy open on a Sunday, and was insisting that Sam take his epilepsy medication. The pills made him feel slow in the head, sort of like his brain was covered in bubble wrap but, short of revealing what Dr McHayden had told him, he couldn’t think of a convincing reason not to take them, so had resorted to hiding them under his tongue and spitting them out when Chrissie wasn’t looking.
He took his time as he walked up the bank of the river Thames, watching the dirty brown water swirl below. Although it wasn’t rush hour yet, the pavements were crowded and slippery with rain. People in suits hurried by on either side and at one point Sam had to squeeze through a large group of Spanish students, all wearing matching orange backpacks. Eventually he reached the address on Dr McHayden’s card: an imposing stone-fronted building decorated with intricate carvings. As he crossed at the lights, Sam realised it was the same building he’d seen on the news the other night, when in an alternate reality it had been no more than a bombed-out shell. It stretched for an entire block, and was set back from the road by a lawn behind a low wall. A pair of revolving glass doors stood under an archway halfway along. Sam entered a gaping lobby where the statues and stone were replaced by glass and steel. His shoes squeaked over polished marble as, feeling clumsy and exposed, he crossed the empty floor towards a security desk.
‘You missed the last tour,’ said a guard behind an x-ray machine and metal detector.
‘I’m here to see Dr McHayden,’ Sam told him. ‘She’s expecting me.’
‘Oh, official business, is it? Your name?’
‘Sam Rayner.’
Humming, the guard ran his finger down a list on a clipboard. ‘Ah, here you are,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll ring up and have someo
ne come to collect you.’
He prepared a visitor’s badge and then handed it over. As Sam struggled to clip it to his jacket pocket, the lift doors on the other side of the metal detectors opened and Steele stepped out. He was immaculately dressed again, this time in a navy three-piece suit. Sam’s mind whirred with questions as Steele showed him to the lift. More than anything he wanted to ask what Dr McHayden had meant when she’d spoken about harnessing his ability (although whatever was happening to Sam felt more like a disability than anything useful) but Steele stared directly ahead as they rode the lift to the third floor, making any attempt at small talk too awkward.
They exited onto a long corridor lined with a thick carpet that dampened the sound of their footsteps. Steele led the way past a row of glass-fronted offices, many with blinds drawn to obscure the view of inside. At the end of the corridor they reached a door with Dr Lara McHayden inscribed on a brass plate. Steele knocked and, as Sam followed him in, McHayden looked up from behind a large, varnished wooden desk, pointed to a leather chair on the near side and lowered her glasses.
Sam sat down and glanced about the room. It was lined with dark panelling that matched the wood of McHayden’s desk. A drinks cabinet stood against the far wall, separating a pair of tall bookcases that stretched from ceiling to floor and gave the room the musty, comforting smell of a library. A collection of framed qualifications and certificates hung on the wall behind McHayden’s desk, as well as several photographs. There was a recent one that showed her shaking hands with the Prime Minister. Next to that was an old, faded print that was slightly out of focus. It had a white line running down the middle where it had once been folded and showed a young man and woman in white coats relaxing against a desk in what looked like a hospital. The man had thick black hair, tanned skin and a curved nose. He was laughing at some long-forgotten joke, his head tilted back and his face creased with joy. The woman was much shorter, with freckles and light hair, and was gazing up at the man with adoration in her eyes. There was something familiar about her, and after a moment Sam realised it was Dr McHayden in her youth.
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