by Ian Somers
‘It’s natural to have nightmares after what you’ve been through.’
‘But that’s just it. These visions of people from my past aren’t confined to sleep. I see them when I’m wide awake.’
‘Such things are known to happen to gifted youngsters as they develop their gifts. You have to remember, Bentley, that we know very little of what causes the gifts in people, and what effects the gifts have on the human brain – especially when the gifts are growing stronger and being used more often. It will pass, I’m sure of it.’
‘I hope it passes soon, otherwise I might end up like Wilson!’
‘That won’t happen and you know it. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself right now and you need to get your head straight. Now, did you see anything else when you were reading Wilson’s thoughts?’
‘Wilson felt frustrated that the police had tracked him down, despite him being in hiding, and believed that he would be better off going to Dublin to meet the others.’
‘Please tell me you picked up on a name.’
‘A name and location. He pictured Windmill Street in Dublin city centre.’
‘And the name?’
‘Brofeldt.’
‘Well, well, well,’ Hunter smiled confidently. ‘This gets more and more intriguing.’
‘What are you smiling about?’
‘I’m smiling because there’s a very good reason to be smiling. You see, Bentley, I knew I was right all along about Golding not being involved in this. I bloody well knew it!’
‘Please explain.’
‘I can safely say we are talking about Elina Brofeldt. And if we are, and if she is indeed in cahoots with Wilson, that would rule out any possibility of Golding being involved.’
‘Why?’
‘If you knew about Brofeldt’s life, you would know she would never work with Golding.’
‘Give me the short version of the long story.’
‘Elina Brofeldt …’ Hunter sighed. ‘Where do I even begin to tell her story …? I suppose she’d be almost thirty by now. She grew up in a small town in Finland, had no siblings, lived alone with her father – not sure what happened to her mother –’
‘Spare me the family history, Hunter. Why does she hate Golding so much?’
‘Elina is a most brilliant mind-switcher. Usually it takes a mind-switcher decades to fully come to terms with their gift. Elina was different. She had practically mastered the power to transport her mind as a young teenager. She’s also pyrokinetic, but it’s not very strong in her. Her true talent was always in placing her thoughts into the bodies of other people and animals. This is what got her noticed back in the mid-nineties, when she was thirteen years old. She’d been using her gifts to make her pet dog do some rather impressive tricks – so impressive that she and her dog were featured in a number of newspapers. That’s when she first appeared on the radar. The story was soon noticed by a Guild agent based in Denmark and he flew over to Finland to keep watch over Elina in case she got into trouble, or if trouble came looking for her.’
‘I’m guessing trouble came looking.’
‘Yes, and sooner than the Guild had anticipated. She’d already been forced to flee her home by the time our Danish agent reached her.’
‘Why had she run away?’
‘A gang of Golding’s thugs went to her house and tried to persuade her to join the corporation. Golding’s tactics back in those days were quite heavy-handed to say the least. They didn’t bother with talent shows in the good ol’ days.’ He turned to me and gave me that familiar look of disapproval that everyone in the Guild gave me whenever my involvement in The Million Dollar Gift was mentioned. ‘She was lucky, though. Elina’s father was a Finnish ranger and he had the smarts to fend off Golding’s team and to smuggle Elina out of the town. The two of them were on the run for three months, across Finland and into Russia, before they were cornered in a bus station near St. Petersburg. A fight broke out and Elina’s father was shot dead. Luckily for Elina, Golding’s henchmen were chased off by a combination of local men and a couple of security guards. Our agents finally located her some days later and smuggled her from a hospital and brought her to England for her own protection and for training.’
‘So why did she leave the Guild?’
‘I only met her a handful of times over the years, so I won’t claim to know her mind. By all accounts, Elina was an impatient and over-ambitious person. She felt that because of our gifts and the sacrifices we all make for society, gifted people should be wealthy and powerful, above the law, politics and societal rules in general. Obviously this doesn’t fit in with the ethos of the Guild and she decided to leave.’
‘Where did she go?’
‘I don’t know for certain. The Guild tried to keep tabs on her but she soon went underground and hasn’t been heard of for more than seven years. There was a rumour, however, that she was working for some agency in the US. There was talk back then that the Americans had set up a specialist agency – made up entirely of gifted people – and that she was a part of it.’
‘Do you think the rumours were true?’
‘Probably not. Elina’s too greedy to be working for governments because the hours and the wages suck. I believe she’s been operating in the private sector, or for some criminal organisation.’
‘Not Golding’s organisation?’
‘I’m certain that she would never work for Golding. She hates him as much as anyone in this world because of what happened to her father.’
‘I still think that assassin was working for Golding Scientific.’
‘Possibly. Either way, this all raises more questions than it answers.’
‘I’m just glad I’m out of it now.’
Hunter said little more after that. He lit his cigar and puffed heavily on it, as he often did when he was contemplating a difficult investigation. It was almost 4am when he parked the 4x4 outside my home. I asked him to come inside with me for a coffee or bite to eat but he grumbled about there being no time to waste. He was disappointed in me for not offering to help with the investigation, I could see it in his eyes, and it made me feel terrible about myself. I felt like a coward for leaving him alone, but I had made a decision after my father’s death that I would never return to working for the Guild. I had suffered enough. It was best for me to quit while I was ahead.
Before we said farewell, Hunter handed me his phone and told me to use online maps to locate Windmill Street. I told him he should join the rest of the world in the twenty-first century and learn how to use the internet himself. He just grunted at me. It took only a couple of minutes to find the street through an online map. He simply muttered something akin to ‘thanks’ before shifting the gear stick into first.
‘I’ll take that as your way of telling me to get out,’ I said crossly.
‘Take it whatever way you want,’ Hunter replied without looking at me. ‘Have a nice life, Bentley. I’m sure you’ll have no regrets when you die of old age.’
‘I saved your life back there at the hospital,’ I shouted at him as I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the road. ‘The least you could do is –’
He used his gift to pull the door shut as soon as I got out. Within a second the 4x4 was screeching away along the narrow road and I was left standing there in the cold darkness shouting profanities at the night. I didn’t turn to my home until the rear lights of the vehicle had melted into the night.
I didn’t bother using a key to open the front door. I was angry and used my power to force the lock and to push the door open. I stomped through to the kitchen, still cursing under my breath, still disgusted by the way Hunter had sped off. How could anyone be so damned rude? I’d done him the favour I promised him. I had time-scanned the detective. I had produced the lead that he could not uncover by himself. I had saved his life. And after all that he dismisses my concerns for his safety and basically tells me to bugger off before nearly running me over.
And that wasn’t the worst of
it. That thing he’d said. I couldn’t get those words out of my mind.
‘I’m sure you’ll have no regrets when you die of old age.’
By saying that, and not allowing me to respond, he’d taken the moral high ground and left me standing there like I’d betrayed him or something. Actually, the more I thought about it, what he’d said was even worse than any insult. What he’d said had gotten under my skin, and after half an hour of moping around the cottage I was tormented by it. Did it mean I was selfish? Cowardly? Was it some old Guild insult? Oh, if you die of old age it means you aren’t a real warrior of the Guild. Only those who met death during combat were honourable. That’s the way I interpreted it.
An hour later I was lying in my bed listening to silence. Hunter’s last words were still on my mind. Did I want to be lying in a bed like this when my body had finally capitulated to the ravages of time in ultimate indignity, unable to walk, talk, feed or breathe? Would I, in those final moments as I clung to life for the sake of living, picture the brave men and women of the Guild who lived lives of adventure, who had cast aside fear for the embrace of courage as their doom approached? How lonely and small I would feel as I desperately searched out another breath of air tainted by the stench of my own death.
One cannot easily trade war and action for the long limp on into obscurity. Hunter knew that sentence would torment me. It wouldn’t simply pass with that night. Day by day that image of the elderly and infirm Ross Bentley dying in a bed would eat at me and become more and more ravenous.
‘Swine,’ I sighed. ‘What an absolute swine of a man!’
My thoughts were filled with Hunter’s words, the vision of Romand that I’d had during the time-scan, the twisted motives of Wilson, and the struggle and killing of the unnamed assassin at the hospital. I don’t know what time it was when I eventually surrendered to fatigue, but I do know what time I woke up, and I remember what woke me.
I’d had a nightmare about killing the woman at the hospital and broke free of it by sitting up and pulling in a deep breath. I found myself staring at the clock by the window and it read 8am. Standing next to the clock was the ghostly figure of Romand. Another hallucination. A figment of my mind that somehow acted outside of the confines of my consciousness. He turned to look at me then faded quickly, like a wisp of smoke.
It was my mind playing tricks on me. I knew that. But still it was like he’d visited me from the great beyond with a silent message: I am dead. I was a warrior who fought to save you. I went out on my shield and all that I could have been was stolen from me. Would you allow another to share my fate? My greatest friend Hunter fights alone while you lie here hiding.
I was acting like a coward. I’d been acting like a coward for months. Being so damned cowardly had almost driven me mad. I couldn’t wander an empty house while Hunter was off tracking down assassins. I feared for his safety and I didn’t want him having all the fun to himself. And I didn’t like that he’d had the last word. I’d made up my mind before I even climbed out of bed. I was going to follow Hunter. I was going to help him stop Wilson and Brofeldt from completing whatever diabolical plot they had concocted.
I dumped a bag of dried cat food in the back garden and figured Nightshade would be smart enough to open it. There was enough to keep her fat for a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t be gone that long anyway. I figured a few days at most would be enough time to find and capture Wilson and Brofeldt.
I didn’t bother packing supplies or even a change of clothes. I simply locked up the cottage and headed for the shed at the back of the property. It was time to give the kinetibike a proper run – without petrol.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The World’s Most Expensive Fish
I reached the centre of Dublin city around 11am and slowed the kinetibike and allowed it to run on petrol instead of psychokinetic power. I’d pushed the bike to its limits on the motorways that dissected the country and it had held up pretty well, despite not being used properly for more than a year. I, on the other hand, hadn’t held up as well as expected; travelling on a bike at 500kmph through an icy downpour for more than two hours had left me numb and aching from head to toe. I was understandably a little dizzy as I drove along the packed streets of the city. I almost fell off at one point, while I was stopped at a red light. I used my power to stabilise the bike and to stop me hitting the road. This was noticed by a child sitting in the backseat of a car next to me. She just stared at me through the window and smiled when I winked at her. It was a good thing her parents hadn’t seen this little psychokinetic cameo. I would have to be more careful and not push myself as hard as I had that morning.
By noon I’d driven up and down Windmill Street four times and had failed to spot Hunter. It was pointless to keep doing laps so I opted to park the bike in an underground car park nearby and to continue my search on foot. The pavements were bustling with people and it made the search next to impossible. By 1pm I was loitering in the doorway of an empty store and scanning the shoppers as they filed past. I waited there for a long while and used the time to examine the buildings on both sides of the road. Further along the pavement was the Windmill Hotel. It was just like I had seen it in the time-scan; four storeys of grey concrete with tall windows spanning the ground floor. There were lines of department stores either side of it. The other side of the road was dominated by two large office buildings, with a number of small bars and restaurants breaking the monotony. In the centre of this, directly facing the hotel, was a modest apartment building. I figured that if Wilson was hiding somewhere on the street it would be either in the hotel or the apartment building. I suspected it was the latter – I’d gotten a sense of that during the time-scan.
Before long I’d lost patience and decided to make my way to the hotel, in the hope that Hunter might be there. After all, it would be the best place to keep watch for Wilson. I walked slowly along the pavement, trying my best to look casual while shielding my face from the apartment block across the road. Then, as I moved close to the entrance of the hotel, I felt my precognitive powers rising and warning me of some contact or attack – I couldn’t tell which. Before I had time to turn, my arm was grabbed and a tall man moved to my side.
‘The most famous gifted person on the planet, out in the open, hanging about in the shadow of an apartment block where two assassins are holed up.’ Hunter shook his head as he looked down at me. ‘I take back everything I said about you being a good agent, Bentley.’
‘I wouldn’t be out here risking my neck if you hadn’t stormed off last night like a moody little girl, so don’t blame me for being reckless.’
‘Shut up. I stormed off for a good reason.’
‘What reason?’
‘I’ll tell you later. We need to get off this street before we’re seen.’
‘Nobody recognises me anymore, Hunter.’
‘I suppose the general public like to forget internet sensations who embarrass themselves while the entire world watches.’
‘Shut up, Hunter!’
‘Don’t you like my jokes, Bentley?’ the big Scot grinned. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t referring to you being noticed by a couch potato, I meant if Wilson or Brofeldt are watching the street.’
He released my arm and walked ahead to the revolving glass doors of the hotel. I followed him after I’d looked around the street to make sure I wasn’t being followed. No one was watching me. Nothing appeared to be out of place.
I pushed through the entrance and caught up with Hunter as he approached the desk. There weren’t many people hanging around the foyer. Just a couple of elderly tourists studying a paper map and two younger tourists sipping coffee by the window that overlooked the busy street. Everything was as it should have been.
‘I need a room for two,’ Hunter said gruffly to the clerk. He rummaged in his trouser pockets then placed a few crumpled-up notes on the counter. ‘Is that enough?’
The clerk, who was a young man with sharp eyes and a narrow face, looked at him, then at me,
then the money and grinned.
‘Seems like you two are in a big hurry to get into a room,’ he said, trying to hide his amusement.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hunter asked, leaning forward over the counter and staring down at the young man. ‘What are you implying?’
‘Oh, nothing, sir,’ the clerk said as he typed into a computer that was hidden under the counter. ‘Name?’
‘Mr Smith. And that is my er …’ Hunter looked over his shoulder at me and frowned. ‘This is my son.’
‘Of course he is,’ the clerk said with a smirk. Then he glanced at me and his face went long with recognition. ‘Hey, I know you, don’t I?’
‘I don’t think so, mate,’ I replied, inclining my head in a ridiculous attempt to hide my face. ‘You must have me confused with someone else.’
‘I do know you.’ The clerk pointed at me and nodded. ‘You’re in a boy band, aren’t you?’
‘Oh … yeah, you got me there. Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone that I’m staying here. You might have hordes of people outside this hotel if you do. Believe me, it’s happened to me before.’
‘Mum’s the word,’ the clerk said with an exaggerated wink. ‘No wonder you two want your stay here to be incognito.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hunter growled. ‘I don’t like your tone one bit.’
‘This is my protector,’ I said to the clerk. ‘He’s a very short-tempered man. That’s what makes him such a good bodyguard. Now, could we get a key?’
‘Certainly.’ The clerk swiped the notes off the counter and replaced it seconds later with some loose change and a key. ‘Room 408.’
‘Does it overlook the street outside?’
‘As a matter of fact it does. Would you prefer a room overlooking the car park out back?’
I took the key and nodded to him as courteously as I could. ‘408 will do just fine.’