The Hidden Gift

by Ian Somers

  Throughout 1976 we practised this new and exciting technique with progressively larger swimming pools before moving onto something more ambitious; a lake in northern France. The results were astounding, but nothing prepared me for what happened in June 1977.

  George was a naturally ambitious and curious young man, and he wanted to try the dual wave effect on an ocean. In the summer of 1977 we travelled north, to the island of Svalbard above the Barents Sea. There, on the eastern coast, we tested the technique on the largest scale imaginable. George managed to create a rapid tidal effect that led to an immense wave being created. When he finally lost control of it, a tsunami took place and swept inland. I estimate the height of the wave to be more than fifty metres as it met the coastline. It would have killed many thousands of people if we had done this in a populated area, but the remoteness of Svalbard meant that no lives were lost.

  I believe that this power poses too much of a risk to the world. It should never be replicated; George shared my opinion. We never repeated the test and have never documented the results until now.

  The reason for my apprehension is that there is no limit to the dual-wave effect. The rocking motion involved continues to grow and grow as long as the person wants it to.

  It is virtually limitless and could be used, theoretically, to control the majority of an entire ocean such as the Atlantic or the Pacific. This is my greatest fear. To alter one of these oceans could lead to the destruction of mankind.

  The door to a new world of opportunity had just been opened for me and I could not help but smile at the prospect of creating havoc with this new power. I was an impatient person and there was no way I could wait until morning to start practicing the dual wave effect.

  I lifted myself out of bed then went to the window. It was well past midnight and the streets below were quiet. Only the odd car here and there, a few revellers heading for the nightclubs, a homeless couple sitting in a doorway sharing a bottle of cheap wine.

  My eyes narrowed on the river across the street. I reached out and pressed the palm of my hand against the glass and it began to frost over as I started to use my gifts.

  I employed mageletonia to take control of the water flowing lazily under the bridges, then sent out a heavy burst of psychokinetic power to make it run against its natural course and rise under the old stone bridge. When the water fell, it rushed downstream and I seized control of it once more and it rose up under the metal bridge about half mile downstream. Again I released my control and the river sloshed down violently and I pushed it back upstream and the stone bridge was consumed as more water was caught up in the see-sawing wave effect. I stood back from the window and swept my hand through the air from side to side, as if I were conducting an orchestra.

  The river was rising fifty feet over one bridge then sweeping down and climbing high above the other. Cars slid to a halt and people stood by the banks to watch this incredible event. And it was incredible. I could hardly believe I was doing it. Just before I released my grip on the water I sent out a wall of kinetic energy so that the tower of water fell to one side and splashed down on the crowd of onlookers. A little practical joke. My laughter sounded like a wasp caught in a fly zapper.

  ‘At what point does a man have the worship of a god?’ I asked myself. ‘For Poseidon himself would be envious of my power.’

  My physical recovery went well over the following few days. Impossibly well. I was now able to walk without using my gifts, and the effect of the sedatives was gradually receding. My mind and reactions sharpened and I grew accustomed to the metal and electronic implants. The influence of the Hyper-furens was growing, though. I had to concentrate hard to keep my temper in check. It was as if the drug was tapping in some primitive aggression that had been lying dormant within me.

  The only way to counter it was to take the tablets that Dr Walters smuggled into my room each morning. I took them the first day and the anger was quenched. But on the second day I spat them out on to the palm of my hand. I knew full well that anger was rocket fuel for any of the true gifts, and that allowing the Hyper-furens to affect me would make me so powerful that no one could match my strength. That was too much of a temptation to ignore. Raw ambition defeated common sense.

  I looked at the three white tablets and used my psychokinesis to crush them into a fine powder that I blew off the palm of my hand. Within twenty-four hours the sadness I had been enduring, along with the attraction to Dr Walters, had been eroded by a tide of rage that kept coming at me. With it came monumental power. I could feel it bubbling under my skin. I felt strong enough to conquer the world.

  Each night I practised the dual wave effect on the nearby river, sometimes lifting large amounts of the water into the air, and other times just gently waving my hand from side to side and watching the river see-sawing hypnotically. It was therapeutic in some way, and was the only thing that made me forget the rising anger. The rest of the time I had to concentrate to hold back my aggression. But the more I held it back, the more it altered my thoughts. Before long all I could think about was murder.

  The monotony was severed when I awoke one morning to find a sheet of paper on the cabinet next to the bed. I picked it up and saw there was a name and address on it. I laughed for hours when I realised who this person was.

  Seven days later I was almost back to full health and Professor King said there was no reason why I should remain at the clinic. He said I was free to leave but I was to accompany him to Unit 2 first. Apparently there was someone important that I had to meet before beginning my rampage.

  I followed him along the gleaming white corridor to an elevator that brought us into the bowels of the building. The doors opened to reveal what appeared to be a factory floor. There were workers shuffling around in white overalls and operating large machinery and there were thousands of vials on conveyor belts that rattled around them as we walked along the centre aisle of the room.

  He brought me through a doorway to a hangar bay and there was a very well-dressed young man sitting on a large suitcase. Behind him a large object was covered with a black tarp and behind that a van was parked with two military types sitting in the front. Nearby was a young woman, around twenty years old, examining a long black cape; she watched me very carefully as I approached.

  King hung back as I went to the man who stood and smiled, even though his eyes betrayed how afraid he was of me.

  ‘My name is Henry Dragotto,’ he said in an American accent. He held out his hand, that was quivering slightly, and I reluctantly shook it. ‘I am the head of Golding Scientific’s Advanced Weaponry Division.’

  ‘Do they have a division for everything?’ I asked. ‘Incidentally, I do not require weapons of any kind; nature has already provided me with an arsenal of my own.’

  ‘So I hear.’ Dragotto chuckled. He stood and opened the suitcase. ‘Weapons aren’t the only things we develop.’

  There was a heavy leather coat, black work boots, combat-style trousers and some sweaters inside the case. There were also very thin metal plates of various shapes and sizes.

  ‘Are you a tailor?’

  ‘Also a tinker, a soldier and a spy,’ Dragotto winked. ‘But in my heart I’m an inventor. Paul Golding hired me a few years ago to develop weapons for him, but twelve months ago I was invited to work on two new projects. Mr Golding first asked me develop clothing that would protect him and his closest bodyguards from psychokinetic attacks.’

  ‘No clothing can withstand such attacks.’

  ‘That’s not entirely true, Mr Zalech.’

  Dragotto picked up a small curved metal plate from inside the suitcase. It was wafer thin and had a strange hexagon pattern embossed on the front.

  ‘This is Deflexus technology. It was partly inspired by stealth technology. You see, on a stealth aircraft there are no right angles for a radar signal to bounce off – and that got me thinking. I did many tests relating to psychokinetic energy and found that it has most impact when it strikes a flat and s
olid object. So, I came up with lots of different textured metals to see it could somehow be dispersed – or deflected – and this design,’ he ran his hand over the surface of the metal plate, ‘worked best. The energy seems to be scattered when it comes into contact with it. This was enhanced when we subjected this metal to radiation.’ He put the plate back into the suitcase then lifted the long, black leather coat. ‘It would work well if you wore a suit of armour made of this stuff, but I don’t think that’s very practical. Instead I designed very thin strips of Deflexus metal and lined clothing with it. This coat has plates for protecting the chest, ribs, back, and thin strips running the length of the sleeves. It won’t make you immune to psychokinetic attacks but it could be the difference between a bruise and a broken bone.’

  ‘Most ingenious,’ I gave a complimentary nod. ‘This will come in useful, no doubt.’

  ‘As will this,’ Dragotto nodded at the large object under the tarp. ‘You’ve gotta see this! I’ve been working on it for almost a year. It was originally designed for another of Mr Golding’s employees – Marianne Dolloway. She was a very impatient person and wanted us to develop a vehicle that could get her around quicker than your average sports car. I suggested a high powered motorbike but she demanded that I come up with something unique – which I did.’

  He pulled back the tarp revealing an unusual-looking motorbike. It was longer than normal models and there were four exhausts, two slim ones and two wide ones that stretched from the engine to the back on either side of the rear wheel, which was very wide. The plastic casing at the front of the bike was elaborate and seemed more robust than normal. This casing was strangely moulded at the front of the bike and covered the handlebars.

  ‘It can easily pass for a normal motorbike-’

  ‘It is not a normal motorbike?’

  ‘No. It’s what I call a Kinetibike. This particular model is the GSK7 – short for Golding Scientific Kinetibike Prototype Seven. It can run on petrol just like any other bike,’ he turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine just to make his point. ‘But it can also run on a different type of fuel. There are two funnels running from the opening at the handgrips and down through the engine and out the two wide exhausts at the back. The interior of these exhausts are lined with Deflexus technology.’

  ‘I see. The rider channels psychokinetic energy through his hands into the funnels below the hand-grips and it powers the engine and is then forced out the back?’

  ‘You have a keen intellect, Mr Zalech. That’s pretty much exactly how it works. But the Deflexus metal is threaded around the interior of the exhausts rather than covering the whole lot of it. This has the effect of spinning the psychokinetic energy and making it more powerful, thus making the bike go even faster.’

  ‘How fast can it go?’

  ‘That depends on how powerful the rider is. Marianne clocked up a speed of 600kmph on one of the prototypes – the GSK6. This one is more aerodynamic than that model, so if you’re as strong as she was, you could probably go faster.’

  ‘I could get from one side of the country to the other in a little over an hour. No one could keep up with me.’

  ‘Even helicopters couldn’t keep up with this bad boy!’ Dragotto slapped the leather seat of the bike. ‘And the handling on this bike is second to none, even at extreme speeds.’

  ‘Why am I not getting one?’ the young woman who been closely inspecting a black cape said. ‘Am I not important?’

  ‘Ms Hofer, you do not need such a vehicle,’ Dragotto said without turning. ‘You’re on security detail for the next six months, so why would you need one of these bikes?’

  ‘It might be helpful …’

  ‘Forget it. This bike cost fifty million dollars to develop and you’re not getting one.’ Dragotto looked at me and snorted. ‘Youngsters, eh? They always want new toys. Anyways, this bike is all yours, Mr Zalech.’

  ‘You are quite the inventor,’ I said, ‘reminiscent of a James Bond character.’

  ‘Yeah, except I’m working for the bad guys and not helping out the hero.’

  ‘You will find that the villains always pay better.’

  I took some of the clothes lined with Deflexus metal back to my room and spent the evening preparing for what was to come. I put on a pair of the heavy black boots, a dark blue pair of combat trousers, an armourplated chest garment, the black leather jacket and a pair of the tactical gloves. I packed a number of documents into the case I had brought from the hangar and locked it. King had given me a house key that morning and I slipped it inside my trouser pocket. Golding had purchased a rural house south of Luton that I could use whenever I needed to rest. I would use it as a base to plan out each step in my masterpiece of revenge.

  The mere thought of vengeance sent a ripple of power through my body and I almost passed out. I sat next to the window and drew in deep breaths until the devastating sensation abated.

  ‘They’re sending you into war,’ Dr Walter said as she entered the room.

  ‘I go of my own accord, doctor,’ I said. ‘Not everyone who goes to war dies at the hands of their enemies. There are always some who return.’

  ‘Do you even know where you’re going?’

  ‘Yes. I will be driven to a private air strip a few miles north of here. There I will board Golding’s private jet and two hours later I will have reached my first stop.’

  ‘What is this first stop, Edward?’

  ‘I have to pay a visit to someone in Ireland.’

  ‘Please don’t kill any innocents–’

  A fit of anger overcame me and I lashed out. I held Walters against the wall with my psychokinetic power.

  ‘Did they stop to ask my sister if she was innocent? Did they hesitate before killing her? Did they bother to ask me why I acted the way I had before they did this to me?’ I ran my hands over the deep scars on the sides of my face. ‘They did not care, my dear doctor! Why should I?’

  I released her and she slid down the wall and hit the floor with a loud clatter. She had left the room before I returned to my senses.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Argento

  I’d gotten used to rude awakenings during my time in the Guild, but this was on another level entirely. It was the worst possible way to be dragged from sleep. Sarah was screaming from her bedroom. An intense, high-pitched sound filled the house and my chest with anxiety. I leaped from the bed, pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and ran barefoot along the landing to her. Cathy appeared from her room and was right behind me as I barged into the young prophet’s bedroom. I thought the girl was being butchered judging by the intensity of her calls, but found her to be the only one in the room.

  ‘Run!’ Sarah was screaming at the top of her voice. She didn’t appear to be awake. Her eyes were closed and her body was rigid with fear. ‘Run! He’s coming for you! Lonely man! Run!’

  I remained still, unsure of what to do. Cathy on the other hand rushed past me and jumped on the bed then proceeded to shake Sarah until she snapped out of the vision. When she did fully wake up, Sarah started crying and threw her arms around Cathy, who told her it was just a nightmare and that everything would be all right. I didn’t think my girlfriend could ever be such a skilled liar; Sarah’s gift was genuine and that meant something horrific was to take place, and everything was far from all right.

  The older, and slower, house guests filled the room and surrounded her, and I could see my presence was of no use. I walked back to my room and got fully dressed, brushed my teeth and soaked my face in cold water, then went downstairs. The others had taken the young girl to the kitchen and the old ladies were mothering her, while Hunter and Mr Williams stood back with troubled expressions. An exhausted-looking Cathy was sitting at the table, a cup of tea beneath her chin.

  The women asked Sarah what the dream was about, but her answers were as obscure as ever. She rambled on and on about the sewer monster then the lonely man. Then the tin man made another appearance. She wouldn’t tell
us what happened after that, though I guessed whoever the lonely man was, he met, or was to meet, with a sticky ending.

  The two old women took Sarah outside for a walk in the fresh morning air, as if that would do her any good. The rest of us convened at the long kitchen table and discussed what we’d just heard.

  ‘She has just described, in her own childlike manner, a person being murdered,’ Mr Williams said. He looked dreadfully tired and I knew why. I’d heard him shuffling around in his study until the early hours. Something had him well and truly scared. ‘It pains me greatly that I have no means to prevent it.’

  ‘She didn’t describe this person as gifted. Perhaps it’s just a normal person. Why should we care if it is just a normal person?’ Angela Portman said casually, and her husband nodded in agreement.

  ‘You’re a horrible little woman,’ Hunter sneered at her. ‘You’re saying this doesn’t matter if the lonely man is not gifted?’

  ‘Our job is to protect the gifted, Hunter,’ John Portman argued.

  ‘Don’t call me that. Only my friends call me by that name.’

  ‘Enough of this bickering,’ Mr Williams shouted. ‘A man will be killed!’

  ‘By whom?’ Hunter asked. ‘Who is this tin man? Until we find out, there is no chance of preventing this lonely man from getting killed.’

  ‘I don’t want to sit through this conversation again!’ Cathy kicked back her chair and stormed out of the room and stomped noisily up the staircase.