She woke, screaming.
Chapter Five
Geordie hated conference rooms. Big tables, hot air, and not enough coffee pretty much summed up his life experiences of them. This one at Sheddlestone Hall had one very minor advantage over the others he’d sat in, and that was the view. Six floor to ceiling windows gave panoramic outlooks of the Hall’s landscaped gardens. Late summer, harvest time close, and the trees beginning to bear fruit or seed pods. He could sit up here and drink in the vista forever. A bit of peace in a chaotic, violent world.
Unlike the conference room.
Four people tried to talk at once and Norma Johnstone, chair of the discussion, had lost control. Geordie sighed and rubbed his eyes. Sometimes, dealing with people who wore suits was a lot more trying than facing down a man with a gun or a demon with a hunger for human flesh. Looking up, Geordie caught Daisy’s eye. She gave the tiniest of shrugs as if to say, ‘I know how you feel’.
With another sigh looming, Geordie decided enough was enough. He pushed his chair back and stood. The voices faltered. Geordie wasn’t the tallest guy around, but he had a presence that others noticed. He looked from face to face, concentrating on the two idiots from the parapsychology department who were arguing over the minutiae of Alex’s vision.
Geordie let the silence lengthen until he said, “Are we finished?”
The two men stared at him. One of them, the younger one who seemed to believe he was God’s gift to the science of parapsychology said, “We haven’t started.”
“I’ll tell you what you’ve started,” Geordie said. “You’ve started giving me a bleeding headache.”
“We were discussing the best methods of researching the vision that Alex claims to have had,” the younger man said.
Geordie silenced him with a glare. When it seemed the parapsychologist wasn’t going to speak again, Geordie said to Norma, “Alex had the vision. Daisy and I were there and witnessed it.”
“Well, you couldn’t have ‘witnessed’ it since it occurred in the limbic system of Alex’s brain.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the parapsychologist went pale.
Geordie tried hard not to want to punch the guy. He was somewhere in his late twenties, with dark hair long enough to be tied back in a ponytail and a thin, pale face that sported a wispy goatee beard. From the corner of his eye, Geordie saw Daisy lift a hand into the air.
“Geordie,” she said. “I think what Ryan meant to say was that we could only see the physical effects the vision had on Alex. Not the actual vision itself.”
“Yes,” Ryan’s voice had risen a couple of octaves. “That’s what I was trying to say.”
Geordie made a sound that resembled the growl of an angry dog. “Whatever,” he said. “But the fact remains you are arguing over something that a few months ago we would have trusted as the truth. What’s happened around here?”
“Derek,” Norma said, using Geordie’s birth name. “Please sit down. Your actions could be seen to be threatening.”
“That’s because they are,” Geordie muttered under his breath.
Norma ignored him, but the man who sat on her left didn’t. Marcus Holdstock had been shoe-horned into the Deputy-Director position a month or two after the attack on Chequers. He came from the Ministry of Defence. A long-serving Civil Servant with a half-decent track record in running small departments but nothing like the experience needed for the Department of Environmental Security. Holdstock wore a pinstripe suit straight from Savile Row. He had dark hair combed back from his forehead and held in place by liberal amounts of gel. Leaning forward to look at Geordie, Holdstock’s narrow, long-nosed face reminded the former special-forces soldier of the old-time puppet, Mr Punch.
“May I remind you that all comments can be recorded and brought up in any disciplinary action,” Holdstock said. “Your attitude over recent weeks has been disappointing, to say the least, and my patience with you is wearing thin.”
Geordie had a reply on the tip of his tongue when he felt a nudge on his shin. A quick glance showed Daisy, slipping back in her chair as if to stretch her muscles. Her way of warning him not to let off steam in the direction of Holdstock. He closed his eyes and let a few seconds pass. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Holdstock held his pose for a few seconds longer, to reinforce who was the boss before he sat back. He let his eyes travel over the people ranged around the conference room and said, “Alex will need to have a full parapsychic evaluation. I’d suggest that we do this overnight, the teams monitoring him can then study his sleep and dream patterns. The study will allow us to reconvene here tomorrow afternoon to take a look at their report and make any actionable decisions then.”
“But Alex identified a couple of things we need to talk about now,” Geordie said, surprise evident in his voice.
“Such as?” Holdstock had control of the meeting now. Norma seemed happy to sit back and let him deal with the situation.
Geordie looked to Daisy for support. “Well, he told us about the destruction he saw. Alex thought he had a view of North America; we should let the Yanks know as soon as possible so they can get their psychics working on it.”
Holdstock raised on hand like a traffic cop. “No,” he said.
Geordie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“In recent months, the spirit of cooperation between our two organisations has receded. Right now, I’d suggest we wait until we have a full understanding of Alex’s vision. That way we can pass on information they can act upon rather than supposition.”
“And how long is that going to take?” Geordie aimed the question at Norma, but again she allowed Holdstock to answer.
“As long as it takes, and if we sit here talking about it, then it will take even longer.”
Geordie fumed on the inside. Holdstock had the kind of influence in the department that only meant bad news for everyone involved. He saw the others around the table rise to leave, including Daisy, and forced himself to his feet. Geordie thought about one last comment, but somehow Daisy came around to his side and gave his arm a quick squeeze. He got the message. Don’t rock the boat. Following her out of the room he waited until the door clicked shut behind them before speaking. “Keeping me silent?”
“No.” She turned to face him. Despite towering above her, Geordie saw the anger sparking in her eyes. “I’m making sure you don’t get booted out of this unit. Honestly, Geordie, do you think that Holdstock wouldn’t sack you on the spot if he had the chance? It’s only your service record that keeps you safe. For now.”
“Yeah.” The anger ran out of him like water from a bath. As usual, the female of the species was right.
Daisy stepped closer, her eyes softer now. “We need you here. After Operation Ghost, and then what happened at Chequers, the field teams look up to you. Show leadership.”
“And how do I do that?” he asked. Daisy guided him away from the conference room.
“By being sensible. Don’t lose your temper.” Daisy fell silent as a couple of girls from the admin department walked by. “There’s something going on,” she added.
“You noticed too?”
They reached a staircase that was once used by servants, Daisy nudged Geordie onto the landing and closed the door behind them. She checked the flights up and down to make sure they were alone before she said, “Norma lets Holdstock lead on almost every major decision. And I heard from Lauren in comms yesterday that Holdstock has ordered the relay of information to the DSI in America has to be approved by him before it’s sent.”
“He’s cutting them off then?” Geordie nodded as if this confirmed everything he feared.
“When I get home tonight I’ll email Joanne. Just a friendly ‘oh, by the way’ kind of thing.”
“Is it safe?”
They heard voices floating down the stairwell. Daisy pushed the door open and led him back out onto the corridor. “Yeah, being trained as a spy helps when it comes to covering my tracks.”
“I won’t as
k,” Geordie said.
“That’s because you wouldn’t understand.” Daisy squealed and jumped away as Geordie made a lunge for her.
“I thought you were a nice girl,” he said, as she ran down the corridor.
“Naughty but nice,” she shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared around a corner.
Geordie let her go. What she’d told him came as no surprise. Since Chequers the influence of the Ministry of Defence had grown on the whole unit. That a major portion of the security teams came from the Parachute Regiment and Special Forces was no surprise, but now the various heads of department were from the MOD, replacing the previous incumbents who all came from the intelligence services.
It was a takeover and left Geordie with a cold chill running down his spine.
***
Daisy arrived home at five. It had taken a few months, but she’d received permission to live away from Sheddlestone Hall when the dust settled after the battle at Chequers. Of course, it also coincided with the influx of new people from the Ministry of Defence, but Daisy didn’t complain. She saw it as freedom from the security mad confines of the former stately home. Not that Daisy would ask for those measures to be reduced. They had saved her life at one point when a replicating demon had attacked when she had been on duty in reception. Five men from the Alert Team gunned the creatures down when it seemed she was about to die.
The house she rented formed part of a Victorian terrace of former estate workers cottages. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Perfect for Daisy and the friend from work she shared with. The third bedroom remained free for anyone who stayed over. Daisy dropped her shoulder bag in the hall and shouted, “I’m home.”
“In the kitchen.”
Daisy already guessed that Hannah was there. The delicious aroma of cake filled the ground floor and made her stomach rumble. In the kitchen, a double layered chocolate cake sat cooling on a worktop as Hannah cleaned up the final remains of her baking.
“How long before we can eat it?” Daisy asked before Hannah could speak.
“It’s for the old folks home at the end of the road,” Hannah said, waving a cake knife in Daisy’s direction.
“What, not even a taste test?”
Hannah laughed. “I know your taste tests. That’ll be at least half the cake.”
Daisy pulled a face, “Well, you’ve got to make sure.”
Hannah gave her another smile. That pleased Daisy. Hannah still hadn’t officially returned to work yet. Months of rehabilitation for facial injuries and then treatment for PTSD left Hannah with little to do other than re-live the scenes at Chequers. Getting the house together gave Hannah a little boost and then starting a ‘How to Bake’ course at the village hall pushed her confidence a lot further. Now Hannah baked most days, and secretly Daisy loved that because Hannah was good. Damned good in fact, and if Hannah never returned to work at the DES, then she could get a job with a local catering company.
Hannah had tied her blonde hair up because of her baking. Normally she wore it loose, letting it hang down over her face to cover the scars on her left cheekbone and the damaged skin around her eye. She didn’t notice Daisy studying her as she said, “I’ll take it down in the morning. They’re having a fundraiser at the weekend, and it’ll be one of the raffle prizes.”
Daisy left Hannah to the final clean-up and headed to her room. She changed into loose-fitting sweats and pulled out her laptop. It took a minute or so to boot-up because of the extra encryption software that masked the operating system. Daisy disconnected from the home broadband router Hannah and she paid for and connected to a VPN router she’d stuck up in the attic a week after they’d moved in. The virtual private network created a tunnel to a proxy server in the USA without touching her service provider. A few seconds later she logged into a private messaging service hosted out of Houston, Texas and left a bland message in an email drafts folder.
Job done, for now, she left the laptop connected and had a shower in her bathroom. Back in her room twenty minutes later she did a few stretches and checked the messaging service. Her draft email had been replaced. She smiled at the content of the reply, deleted it and added a new draft.
I’ve heard there’s a possibility of bad weather heading your way. Do you know anything about it?
Daisy had time to do a few more stretches and breathing exercises before she saw the reply appear.
Will have to check the forecast. I’ll let you know if we’re in its path.
Daisy deleted the draft, logged out of the messaging service and reconfigured the routers. With Joanne Kramer aware of possible trouble, Daisy trotted downstairs to help Hannah prepare their evening meal.
***
Alex lay on a single bed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as the last couple of electrodes were fixed to his head. He didn’t like this part of the testing. With hair as thick as his, the technician struggled to get a proper fix to his scalp. Add in the fact that this kind of thing had been happening to him on what felt like a monthly basis since he’d turned eighteen meant he never wanted to look an electroencephalogram test in the face again. The technician, a middle-aged man with the personality of a potato, gave Alex a pat on the shoulder and left the room.
Alex closed his eyes and lay back on the single bed. He rested in one of the converted rooms in the stately home. Once used as a library, the area had been sub-divided into a series of laboratories. The room that Alex would spend the night in contained little more than the bed and a small table. About three feet to his left another partition divided him off from the scientists who would be monitoring him overnight. A tinted window allowed them to watch him as well as record his brain activity as he slept.
“Alex?” a quiet voice came out of a speaker in one corner of the room.
“Yes?” he pushed himself up and looked in at the two men and one woman who were on duty.
“We’re ready to turn out the lights.”
Alex sighed. “I feel like a ten-year-old again,” he said.
The scientist laughed. “Early to bed and all that.”
“Yeah, but eight o’clock is way early.”
“Sorry.” Alex could imagine a smile on the man’s face as the lights dimmed.
Alex turned onto his side and kept thoughts to himself. There were times, and this was one, when he wished the talent he had never existed. It was a curse, not a blessing like some of the people at Sheddlestone Hall believed. Staying still, and making sure his thought patterns remained quiet, Alex began to drift. He could do a few things with his talent. Visions were one. He dream walked as well, and on occasion found the ability to leave his body when awake, but only for a short time and he had to remain within touching distance of his self.
Alex’s abilities began to appear when he was a teenager. At first, he put them down to hormones. He thought puberty had triggered these vivid dreams but the biggest problem came from being at boarding school. If he’d been at home, in his bedroom, then he’d have been able to hide the almost nightly excursions into a world so like and unlike the real one. At the private school that was impossible. He shared a room with five other boys. It didn’t take long for them to start the whispers behind his back. Talking in his sleep, sometimes walking as well.
The housekeeper, a lady named Rita, ended up spending nights in the dormitory to keep an eye on him. The school contacted his parents, and their first thought wasn’t for Alex but to protect the family name from getting dragged through the mud. Everyone, even his house master, thought he’d been smoking pot or drinking alcohol in secret. Visits to the local GP and then to a counsellor solved none of his problems. His mother thought mental health issues. His father thought about the cost of having Alex locked away.
His parents pulled him out of school and tried home educating him. The dreams didn’t go. If anything, in the peace of his bedroom, they became more real. His mother called in a psychologist who passed him on to a psychotherapist. Around that time one thing happened that made Alex think about h
is dreams.
He dreamt he stood on an airport runway in a pre-dawn dark and watched as a passenger jet crashed on take-off. The fireball swept through the fuselage and sent a column of thick, black smoke boiling skywards.
Two days later a Bombardier commuter jet crashed in Lexington, Kentucky and killed 49 people. Alex heard the news as he watched television. A cold chill crept over his skin.
Did I dream that? Could I have stopped it happening?
He didn’t tell anyone, not even his therapist. He watched and waited. His dreams came, and he made sure to remember them. He wrote a journal, detailing each and every one. Within twelve months Alex was able to take the journal to his therapist and show her proof that he had the ability of precogniscence. Without that journal, she wouldn’t have believed him. And it brought him here, to a stately home currently under the occupation of a secret unit operating within the United Kingdom’s intelligence services.
He rolled onto his back and sighed. The electrodes were tangling in his hair. The technicians watching him would be drinking coffee and chatting about the weather or television programmes. Eight o’clock.
I’m twenty-six for Christ’s sake. Why am I not down the pub chatting up a barmaid or playing darts?
The darkness played tricks on his eyes. He thought he saw movement. Dancing shapes that came and went like breath on a winter’s morning. Alex watched them, and their patterns took him down into a state of half-wakefulness. Sleep stole across his body, relaxing muscles and slowing the rhythm of his breathing. He drifted, his spirit reaching out to catch one of the forms that still moved above him.
Alex stood on broken ground. The same monstrous destruction around him as he had witnessed before. Clouds still filled the sky with boiling anger. He looked around, seeking the same figure he had seen before. She wasn’t there. He stood alone and tried to identify exactly where he was. His previous vision had shown him a view of the world from on high, and in that brief moment of clarity he’d been able to see the shape of North America, the Gulf Coast and the scattered islands of the Caribbean. But where was he now? Falling from on high to here had been like a crazy journey on Google Earth. Zooming in on one spot and he’d no idea where. If he knew, it might give him a clue to the destruction. Was it war? A nuclear attack seemed the best bet for this kind of apocalyptic devastation. But why did Ki come and talk to him? And who were the Death Gods she spoke about?
The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3) Page 7