First and Only (5 page)

‘What if there was?’ asked Psimon
still staring off into the distance.

‘Was what?’ asked Steve.

‘Someone with genuine psychic
ability.’

‘Are you saying you’re psychic?
Is that how you seem to know so much about me?’ said Steve, making no attempt
to disguise the scorn in his voice. He was still annoyed about the references
Psimon had made to his family during the previous day’s phone call.

‘I’m not saying anything,’
replied Psimon. ‘But what if there really was someone in the world who could
read people’s thoughts, see into the future, move things with their minds…’

Steve looked down at Psimon. His
bearing was suddenly more upright than it had been, his jaw set more
determinedly. He seemed somehow more mature than Steve had first given him
credit for.

‘I don’t know,’ said Steve. ‘I
guess I’ve never really thought about it.’

‘I have,’ said Psimon looking up
at Steve. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot.’

Despite his misgivings Steve had
the growing feeling that he had misjudged this guy Psimon entirely. He had been
trying to figure out the kid’s angle, to identify the catch that he would later
come to regret. But he was finally becoming convinced that Psimon was on the
level. That there was no hidden agenda…

‘Other
than the fact that he
thinks you’re going to kill him
,’ Steve reminded himself.

Steve suddenly found himself
feeling sorry for Psimon. Not in a patronising way, more in the way he might
have looked out for a rookie soldier in their first real firefight. With a sigh
of resignation Steve sat down once more.

Psimon glanced across at him.
‘Thank you, Mr Brennus,’ he said softly.

‘Steve… Call me Steve.’

Psimon smiled shyly and gave him
a small affirmative nod. The relief in his eyes was unmistakable.

‘
Hold your horses
,’
thought Steve. ‘
I haven’t said yes yet!
’

Psimon’s smile broadened and his
gaze drifted back out over the plain. There followed another, more
companionable pause. Finally Psimon broke the silence. ‘How would you feel if
there was someone who could read your mind?’ he asked.

‘Nervous,’ replied Steve with an
appropriately nervous laugh.

‘And how would the Prime Minister
feel?’ asked Psimon turning to look at Steve. ‘How would a president feel?’

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he met
Psimon’s intense gaze, the hairs on the back of his neck rising unpleasantly.
He knew the havoc that a wayward email could cause a government let alone
someone who could read their most damaging, their most sordid secrets.

‘And what if you had committed
murder and you lived a hunted life of violence and deceit?’ asked Psimon. ‘How
would you feel then?’

‘Terrified,’ said Steve in a
voice that was little more than a whisper.

The intensity slowly faded from
Psimon’s eyes but he continued to hold Steve captivated. ‘So what do you say,
Mr Brennus…’ he said at last. ‘Will you help me? Will you be my guardian angel
for the next five days?’

For the longest time Steve just
looked at Psimon, trying to make sense of all the things they had been talking
about. The fact was he did not believe in psychic phenomena. And that just left
a frightened young man who, at worst, seemed to be suffering from some kind of
delusion. Maybe he had convinced some paranoid and dangerous individual that he
really could disclose their dirty little secrets. In which case his life could
well be in danger. And if that were so then Steve could certainly help him. In
the end he went with his gut instinct. The kid was frightened and needed help;
the kind of help that Steve could provide. Besides, as Psimon himself had said…
he could do with the money.

‘Yes,’ said Steve at last. ‘But
no more of this ‘I’m going to kill you malarkey’… deal?’

‘Thank you Steve,’ said Psimon
and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Steve looked away awkwardly and
together they took in the twilight view from Stormy Point on Alderley Edge.

‘So what about you…’ asked Steve
with a sideways glance at Psimon. ‘Do you think there’s a person out there with
genuine psychic powers.’

 ‘Out there…’ said Psimon and his
gaze swept across the Cheshire plain as if he were taking in the entire world.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not a single
one!’

Chapter 6

Richard Chatham put down the old-fashioned handset and reset
the newly installed monitoring equipment. He had been wryly amused when his
mobile phone had turned up at his office earlier today. Phoning him on his own
mobile phone had been a neat trick but now the mysterious phone-thief had
called back and this time he had not been so clever… not by half.

The phone he had used this time
belonged to a woman. Admittedly it was a woman who had recently died but every
new piece of information now added to the file that would, sooner or later,
lead them to their man.

‘
But what would they find
,’
thought Chatham. He looked over the data that had been accumulated.

Male… Caucasian… mid twenties…
British native… South Manchester accent… moderate levels of stress… no
indication of deception…

Chatham had already gleaned much
of this information himself but it was reassuring to have it confirmed by the
voice analysis software. But now, in addition to the growing profile, they had
a name…

Psimon

Having spoken to him a second
time Chatham no longer felt the overwhelming sense of shock that had so
unnerved him during their first call. In fact, despite some serious misgivings,
he was convinced that ‘Psimon’ meant them no harm,
them
being MI5 and
the British government in general. In fact, if the information that he had
provided turned out to be reliable, he could just be the most valuable
informant that Chatham had ever dealt with.

Chatham had no idea how Psimon
could know the things he did but however he managed it this guy was
frighteningly accurate; a quality that the security services prized above all
else. So at least some things were becoming clear…

Psimon wanted to make a deal.

He had something that was of
considerable value to MI5 but he also wanted a couple of things in return.  The
first was certainly possible to arrange. Indeed Chatham already had the ‘guest
list’ from their first phone conversation. A symposium at the Dstl, the Defence
Science and Technology Laboratory at Porton Down in Wiltshire, the UK
government’s most secure research facility. The second request was for
something that Chatham was not at all sure he could provide… legal immunity for
a Mr Steven Brennus, and not just standard immunity…

Class A Transactional Immunity...
the highest level of immunity that it was possible to award.

This would effectively place the
recipient outside, or rather beyond the law, granting them immunity not only
from any form of prosecution but also from any form of detention by law
enforcement agencies. Such a status could only conceivably be granted to
someone who possessed information of imminent and critical importance to
national security. Someone who knew the location and deactivation sequence of a
nuclear bomb in the heart of London… that kind of thing.

‘Check it with the Chancellor,’
Psimon had said. ‘He can get authorisation from the Prime Minister.’

‘I’m not about to phone the
Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ Chatham had said.

‘You won’t need to,’ said Psimon
with annoying confidence. ‘He’ll call you.’

Chatham had laughed at his
mystery caller’s certainty but something told him that his laughter would soon
ring hollow. Now, as he sat there pondering their second conversation Chatham
wondered just what could be so important that it might require legal immunity,
so compelling that Psimon expected some of the most eminent minds in the world
to attend a symposium at his bidding. He looked down at the title that Psimon
had given him for the week-long seminar…

First and Only

‘
First and only what?
’
thought Chatham, sitting back in his chair with a sigh of frustration. And yet,
in spite of the fact that this ‘case’ was playing havoc with his personal life,
he was already looking forward to the next call from Mr First and Only. He
smiled and opened his laptop to update his ongoing report.

For the first time in seven years
Richard Chatham was enjoying his job.

Chapter 7

For as long as he could remember Psimon had been afraid. 
But now, as he followed Steve Brennus down the forest track, he felt… not safe
exactly but protected; protected from the violence, the madness, the
unrelenting hatred of the man that haunted his dreams and stalked his every
waking thought.

‘
Was it enough?
’ thought
Psimon. ‘
Would it be enough?
’

The truth was he did not know. He
had never been able to face ‘the fear’; never been able to see beyond it. It
lay like a poisoned knot in his mind, confounding any attempt to penetrate it.
But now at least he had done what he could. He had walked the enchanted paths
of Alderley Edge and come away with a knight of his own.

He was content.

He watched the way Steve walked
over the slippery uneven ground, never losing his footing, moving with the
economy of motion that came from years of physical training. Beneath his bulky,
waxed-cotton jacket and brown denim jeans lay a lean and muscular physique.
Despite the flecks of grey hair that peppered Steve’s temples one might have
taken him for an athlete or a boxer but not necessarily for the soldier that he
was. The soldier that he once had been.

Steve Brennus, ex-para, ex-SAS…
now failed entrepreneur and ex-happily married family man.

His face was all hard lines and
rugged edges and might have been considered ugly but for the warmth of his
brown eyes. Steve had the kind of face that could stop a fight before it began
but it was also a face that fell easily into a smile, an honest smile that
softened his harsh features and put people at their ease. Psimon liked his face
and found himself looking at it whenever Steve glanced back to make sure he was
okay.

‘What are you looking at?’ asked
Steve as he became aware of Psimon’s scrutiny.

‘Nothing,’ said Psimon feeling
caught out.

‘You’re not gay are you?’ asked
Steve.

‘Why, would that be a problem?’

‘Not in the slightest,’ said
Steve. ‘Just seemed like you were checking me out.’

‘Appraising, maybe,’ suggested
Psimon.

‘Huh,’ said Steve. He stopped on
the path and turned to face Psimon. ‘And how do I measure up?’ he asked.

Psimon looked him up and down.

‘Well, you’re smaller than I
expected,’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

‘Cheeky bastard,’ said Steve
turning away and heading back down the path but Psimon had seen the beginnings
of a smile on his face.

The ground levelled out as they
neared the road and Psimon could see a dark BMW parked up in a lay-by where the
path emerged from the woods. Steve reached into his pocket and a moment later
the BMW gave a little beep-beep, its indicators flashing in recognition as
Steve pressed the button on his key.

‘Nice car,’ said Psimon.

‘Not for long.’

Psimon grimaced apologetically
and made no further comment. Then at Steve’s invitation he opened the door and
settled into the passenger seat pushing his bag down between his feet.

Steve took off his jacket and
threw it onto the back seat before getting in beside him.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘First things
first…’

Psimon took a deep breath and
readied himself.

‘Who am I protecting you from?’

Psimon had been expecting the
question but it still felt strange now that it came to it.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, cringing
slightly at the vagueness of his answer.

‘What do you mean you don’t
know?’ asked Steve.

‘Well I’ve never
actually
met him,’ admitted Psimon. ‘I don’t know who he is.’

Steve looked across at him. ‘So
somebody’s threatened you from a distance,’ he said. ‘Letters, phone calls…’

‘No,’ said Psimon. ‘We’ve never
actually spoken, not really.’

‘But you have had some contact,’
pressed Steve. ‘Some reason to think he might want to hurt you?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Psimon in a voice
of dark intensity.

‘Right,’ said Steve with obvious
relief. ‘So when did you last have contact?’

‘Fourteen years ago,’ said
Psimon.

Steve shifted round in his seat
to look directly at Psimon.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he
said. ‘You want me to protect you from a guy you’ve never ‘actually met’, never
‘actually’ spoken to; a guy you’ve not had any kind of contact with for
fourteen
years!
’

‘I wouldn’t say no contact
exactly,’ said Psimon enigmatically, his eyes flashing up to meet Steve’s exasperated
gaze.

‘Okay,’ said Steve making an
effort to remain patient. ‘Why don’t you start from the beginning.’

Psimon looked down at his hands.
He said nothing for a while, then…

‘I was eight years old,’ he
began. ‘I’d gone to church to talk to our parish priest. He was a friend of
mine,’ he added as if this was important.

Steve said nothing, only settled
back in his seat to listen.

‘Father Kavanagh was taking
confessions when a man came into the church.’

Any impatience drained away from
Steve. He could see that this was not easy for Psimon.

‘The man went into the
confessional and started abusing Father Kavanagh.’

‘Physically abusing him?’

‘No,’ said Psimon. ‘Just talking
through the screen, saying things… horrible things.’

Steve waited for him to go on.

‘Father Kavanagh wasn’t well,’
resumed Psimon. ‘His heart was weak. The man’s abuse was too much for him. He
collapsed… I went to help him.’