Diamond Sky Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3

by David Clarkson

  ‘Not really – but I do feel better. Thank you, Miss.’

  She hovered a moment in the doorway before deciding there was nothing more she could think to ask at that time.

  ‘I have to go now. I really enjoyed this talk, so thanks again. Goodnight, Miss Rose.’

  Her teacher smiled. The pay was terrible and recognition did not come often, but when it did it was worth a thousand Nobel Prizes.

  ‘Thank you, Amy. And you know, after the bell has gone I’m not really your teacher anymore. Miss Rose is so formal. Why don’t you call me Alex?’

  The girl giggled at being presented with such a grown-up privilege.

  ‘Okay, Miss...I mean, Alex. When I grow up I want to be just like you.’

  It was a well intended compliment, but one her teacher hoped with all her heart would never come to pass. The girl had the youth and the brains to achieve anything she put her mind to. It would be such a shame if she were to throw all of that away and become a fugitive.

  Chapter 3

  Even when consciousness returned, the darkness remained. It was not the natural darkness of night time or the forced deprivation of a blindfold. His eyes were most definitely open and unobstructed, yet they could see nothing at all. He was in a completely sealed, windowless cell.

  Then there was the music. He sensed it was coming from at least four different directions at once. The strange thing was that each speaker was playing a different song. The overlap between each of the tunes left no gaps and the sound created was uncomfortable, nauseating even. It was like a giant tangle of knotted strings that his brain could not help but try to unravel. With every thought about where he was or how he could get out, he found himself breaking concentration and going back to the music. Perhaps if he could isolate just one of the tunes and concentrate on that it would block out the pain it caused him, but doing so seemed an impossible task.

  At least some of his bodily senses were still working. His sense of spatial awareness informed him that he was seated. He tried to stand, but nothing happened. Attempting to move his arms gave the same response. Whoever had brought him to this place made sure he was not leaving without their knowledge. He did not even get any flashes of foresight to help him. Or maybe he did, but they were of no use. The future, like the present, was nothing but darkness and noise.

  There was no way for him to know how long he had been kept in this state. His mind was just as incapable of rest as it was cognitive thought. At times like this, darkness was as blinding as light and noise as isolating as silence. Whoever was holding him, it was their intention to deprive him of his senses. All of his senses. In that respect, they were proving highly effective.

  Then the music stopped. The silence, however, did not offer respite for long.

  ‘Jimmy Johnson?’

  The voice came from the speaker in front of him and it was familiar. It was the last voice he had heard before waking up in whatever prison this was.

  ‘Okay, scratch that. We both know who you are. Perhaps it would be more useful to explain who I am. My name is Esteban Cruz. You and I have already met – very briefly. My employers have been following you for some time, although my involvement has been somewhat more recent. What you need to understand is that, ultimately, we both want the same thing.’

  ‘I really doubt that,’ said Jimmy, his voice calm.

  He had benefitted for so long from the protection of his foresight that he could barely remember what it was like to experience genuine fear. To face the terrible possibilities of uncertainty.

  ‘Please do not think ill of our motives. That was a very impressive thing that you did. It’s not too far removed from what I do for a living. You saved a lot of lives and should take comfort in that. Thanks to you, we’ve apprehended some very dangerous men.’

  ‘No it’s not. If it wasn’t for me those men would never have been there in the first place.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask your boss? I’m sure he could explain things much more clearly than I could.’

  The next voice to come through the speaker was different. It was older and more assertive.

  ‘The methods we use are none of your concern. A trap needed to be set and because of the cowardly way in which you choose to use your unnatural ability, we had no other choice. You would’ve seen through a simulation just like you did all of the rest. Besides, no harm was done and the terrorists were apprehended.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jimmy. ‘You followed the script perfectly.’

  He waited for realisation to reach the other side. There was no way he could have known the plot in the Opera House was a set up. There was no way he could have known if he had not just heard the second speaker’s confession in his head seconds before it was actually given. Attempting to interrogate Jimmy was no less futile than so many of the efforts to obtain him. No more questions followed and it was not long before the return of the music.

  ***

  ‘You lied to me!’ barked Esteban. ‘After everything I’ve given, everything I’ve sacrificed, still you can’t give me the truth. I thought Jimmy was leading us to those terrorists, but all along it was the other way around. You knew about that plot and did nothing to prevent it.’

  ‘Calm down, Agent Cruz,’ replied the colonel. ‘Don’t you see that this is what he wants? He’s playing mind games with us. What you witnessed there was nothing but a trick to cause exactly this. He wants us to fight.’

  ‘He doesn’t want anything to do with us. All I see is a man with a very unique gift; a gift he’s trying to use for the good of mankind. Perhaps men like us could learn from somebody like him.’

  ‘Jimmy Johnson is nothing but a mindless fool. Do you really think he acts out of a desire to do good? He’s admitted himself that he acts according to these visions of his. A man who has no free will isn’t burdened with conscience.’

  Esteban took a deep, controlled breath. Anger was not useful here. Part of the reason he returned to service was due to his belief that it was better to have men such as he on the inside. If he did not do this job, another would. Another without his restraint and compassion.

  ‘Okay, I understand. The kid is dangerous whether he knows it or not. That still doesn’t excuse letting a terrorist cell go unchecked like that. What if Jimmy had failed?’

  ‘You know as well as I that in order to achieve anything in this business it’s necessary to take risks.’

  ‘That’s just the problem – I don’t. In order to weigh up the risk, I need to know what the payoff will be. The way I see it, that kid was doing just fine before we came along. Do you really expect him to now sign up and join the service?’

  ‘We didn’t bring Jimmy in to help us apprehend terrorists. Perhaps it’s time I raised your clearance level. Tell me, Agent Cruz, are you familiar with Operation Sleepwalker?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it, yes. I always thought of it as an urban legend - an army that fights not with the body, but with the spirit. The goal was to train soldiers who were capable of astral projection.’

  The colonel directed him to take a seat and then took his own at the opposite side of the desk.

  ‘Chinese whispers, Agent Cruz, but what you say isn’t too far removed from the truth. Just under three years ago the project entered live testing. A brilliant physicist by the name of Jackson Fox had provided the technology. It was crude and not nearly as grand as your rumours, but it worked. It allowed a person to travel outside of their body, though with limited perception. From an intelligence gathering perspective, it was a dream come true.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  The colonel leaned back in his chair and poured himself a generous shot of whisky. He did not offer any to his subordinate.

  ‘Unforeseen circumstances. There was a natural by-product of the technology that we’ve come to know as psychic radiation. It causes no physical harm and is not carcinogenic, but it does alter the way in which the brain functions. All kinds of symptoms wer
e reported from telepathy to visions of the future. The test site was well isolated with only one small town in close proximity. The entire population was infected.’

  ‘So that’s where Jimmy got his ability from?’

  ‘That’s it, although his case was a one off. The rest of the populace weren’t so lucky. Unlike Jimmy, their visions would result in a complete loss of cognitive brain function. They became manic and ultimately suicidal. For their own protection, the entire town was placed in an induced coma. To this day we’re still working to find a cure.’

  ‘What became of the team working on the project? This scientist; Jackson Fox - where is he now?’

  ‘Professor Fox succumbed to the madness just like everybody else. Except he didn’t go down quite so quietly. He was an old, sick man. Probably didn’t have long to live. He found a way to manipulate the radiation to his advantage. When one of our men was engaged in an astral journey, Fox severed the connection. He then took the soldier’s body for his own.

  ‘Intel on what followed is scant, but it’s believed that Fox found a way to manipulate living energy. He could steal the life force of others and use it to strengthen himself. An entire unit of the most highly skilled soldiers was wiped out before he was taken down. If that power were to fall into the wrong hands the consequences would be unimaginable.’

  ‘So what’re you saying? Surely the power died with the man.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s not the case. You see, Jimmy wasn’t the only survivor. Two of the scientists working on the project are still unaccounted for. One of them we believe may now be working for the Chinese. He, however, is not our biggest threat. It’s the other that concerns us the most.’

  Esteban took a moment to let the information sink in.

  ‘So if we catch this scientist, the threat will be contained? You wanted Jimmy in order to smoke out the other guy, am I right?’

  ‘Something like that. But this isn’t a guy we’re talking about. The scientist is a woman; her name is Dr November Rayne – she calls herself Emmy for short. Although it’s safe to assume she’ll now be using an alias. She’s the real danger.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How can she be more dangerous if she’s gone into hiding and the other guy is the one working for the Chinese? Is she infected like the others?’

  ‘No, she’s not infected. As far as we’re aware, her participation in the experiments gave her immunity to the radiation. The threat she poses is much worse. You see, she’s Jackson Fox’s granddaughter. We know for a fact that she inherited his genius. What we don’t know is where the similarities end. If she decides to follow in Fox’s footsteps, she could become the biggest threat to national security since the cold war.’

  Chapter 4

  It was not only the pupils who were eager to leave upon hearing the final bell of the day. The teachers also had lives they wished to return to outside of school. Depending on the amount of marking they had to do, this return could be delayed by anything from thirty minutes to two hours. Alex was usually the first to finish her mandatory stint with the red pen, but she would often stay back in her classroom anyway.

  Though she worked in a small town high school, the fact it was a public building gave her some consolation. The job was legitimate and it made her a fully functioning member of society. It also brought with it an air of respectability. If she was to keep her true identity anonymous she would need more than a bottle of auburn hair dye and a pack of brown contact lenses – the job provided just that.

  The local news was, as per usual, subdued and inconsequential. Nationally, however, there was one story that got her attention. It was about a thwarted terrorist attack on Sydney Opera House. Details were scant as the news was only just breaking, but it sent one particular possibility cascading along the synapses of her mind.

  Was he involved?

  She read and reread the article. According to the journalist at the scene, it was an international counter-terrorism unit who had carried out the operation that foiled the bombers. They had acted on intelligence built up from several months of monitoring the suspects. No civilian tip-off or assistance was mentioned. It sounded legit, but there was still something that niggled at her brain.

  After reading the article a third time, she did an online search for more on the attack. Every national media outlet and all the major international ones were now running the story. It was only after she had read a decent sample that she was able to place what was not quite right with the reports.

  Not one of them contained an eye witness account. A major entertainment venue had been evacuated just minutes before a high profile show and nobody thought to ask the evacuees any questions. This was not so much unusual as downright suspicious.

  She did another search, this time focusing on the blogosphere. Again, there were many hits returned. This time, however, when she attempted to click onto the links she was redirected to the same frustrating message or variations there within.

  This post has been removed by the moderator or 404 – page not found were most common.

  Another attempt, concentrating on social media, brought the same results. Youtube and Instagram both had evidence of files being removed and the incident failed to even trend on twitter. She could not find a single hashtag relating to the attack. This could mean only one thing – a cover up. The question was – just what were they covering up and why?

  Rather than dwell on the matter, she decided it best to put it out of her mind for the moment. It was not the first time she had come across media blackouts and to think they all related to her would be narcissistic to say the least. She turned off her laptop and packed her bag, ready to go home for the evening.

  On her way out, she would normally pop her head through the doors of classrooms to say goodbye to the other teachers working late. Despite not really being in the mood to exchange pleasantries, she wanted to maintain a routine so this day was not an exception. She then waved to the janitor on her way to the car park.

  There would not usually be anybody else around at this time, but as she was leaving, a swathe of blonde hair flickered by the corner of her eye.

  Looking back, she saw that the corridor was deserted.

  ‘Hello,’ she enquired. ‘Is anybody there?’

  She back-tracked her previous steps in order to take a look around the corner. Again, it was empty. Writing it off as paranoia, she decided that any presence she thought she had seen was imagined. However, as she returned to the exit, the same blonde hair danced in her peripherals. This time, she decided to be more subtle in checking it out. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her compact and flipped it open, tilting the face to reflect what was behind her.

  When she saw the young woman staring back in the mirror, she instantly dropped it; allowing fear to enter her thoughts. The clatter as it hit the ground did nothing to ease her anxiety.

  How could she be here?

  She spun around expecting to be greeted with a face from the past, but the corridor was still empty. Not wanting to remain there a moment longer, she quickly grabbed the compact and hurried out the exit. When she got to her car, she paused briefly to look back at the doors.

  Nobody came through them. Nobody came because nobody had been there in the first place. It was her imagination playing tricks on her. Tricks of the cruellest sort.

  This was not the first time she thought she had seen the face of her former lover in this way and as much as it pained her, she doubted it would be the last. Some scars never healed. And this particular scar ran deep. Deeper than she would care to admit – even to herself.

  Chapter 5

  He woke from the dream with a start.

  This one had been different to the others. His subconscious was not usually so literal in the imagery it presented to him in sleep. Normally, what he saw in his dreams would only be a possibility; a dark shadow over which he was unable to cast a light. What he saw this time seemed more like his visions. There was an ominous inevitability to it. It was l
ike it had already happened and nothing he could do would alter that fact.

  At least the music had stopped. And although he was still entrenched in complete darkness, the binds restraining his wrists and ankles had been removed. He was unable to guess why they would have done this. They had gained nothing from the interrogation so it was not like he was being rewarded for his cooperation. There had to be another motive for this apparent act of goodwill. For the first time in three years, he felt vulnerable. He felt like the future was no longer set in stone.

  He attempted to rise to his feet. At first, the muscles in his legs resisted his efforts to move them. There was no knowing how long he had been hunched up in the chair and it would take a while for his body to return to normal. During his periods of psychic activity, when acting on pure instinct, he would often place his body under extreme stress. As such, his joints were like those of a veteran sportsman – overused and prone to injury.

  When he eventually found the faculty to move, his steps were laboured, but with each one he could feel his strength returning. He knew that as long as he possessed mobility, he had hope of getting way. The psychic gift was like a luck serum. When he followed his foresight, it always directed him along the most opportune path.

  Ten paces into the blackness he came up against a wall. It was not as cold as stone or steel would be. The temperature was neutral like with plastic. He ran his hands over its surface, searching for any gaps. Eventually, he found a break in the smoothness. He traced his fingers further until he was able to define the outline of a doorway. Surprisingly, it gave way to only a minimal amount of pressure and the gap widened, allowing a small sliver of light to enter the room.