Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1) (30 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

“SKANKIN’ HELL,”
said Otis.

It may not have been the correct thing to say when the Prime Minister walked into the room, but it was what they were all thinking.

Michael stared. Prime Minister John Pankhurst was a man who appeared on the television, not a man who rings the doorbell and casually walks into someone’s living room.

“Mr Pankhurst, you know my wife of course,” said Ransom. He stepped aside so he had a clear view of her.

“Mary, of course,” said Pankhurst, leaning forward and shaking her hand.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my son, Michael.” Ransom opened his arm as an invitation to greet Michael.

Pankhurst held out his hand. Michael shook it dutifully. It seemed the thing to do.

The Prime Minister’s entourage filtered through the door to fill the room. Several of the suited men had curly bits of translucent wire coming out of one ear and a certain gun-shaped bulge under their jackets.

“What is all this about, Brian?” asked Pankhurst.

Ransom was about to answer when he was distracted by Page’s voice coming from outside in the hallway. “Excuse me … Sorry … Thank you.”

The two security men at the door gave her a suspicious glance, but parted to let her through. She carried a tray with four glasses of rattling water. She placed it on the table.

“Our guests are here, I see,” she said.

“Yes,” said Ransom. “Rachel, could you do me a favour and keep Pankhurst’s … um … ‘friends’ entertained in the other room?”

“Sure,” said Page with the professionalism of a personal assistant. “I’ll put some coffee on. Gentlemen, if you’d like to follow me.”

Page walked back the way she had come.

The men with curly wires, and the men and women without, looked to the Prime Minister for their cue.

Pankhurst turned to Ransom. “Brian, my security people get a bit edgy if I send them away.”

“You and I have known each other a long time,” said Ransom. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Pankhurst took a moment. He nodded in an
I suppose it’ll be all right
kind of way and waved his entourage away.

“Why did you drag me all the way out here to your house, Brian?” said Pankhurst. “What’s wrong with coming to Downing Street?”

“I can’t,” said Ransom. “I’m under house arrest.”

Pankhurst chuckled. It was odd to see a man who’s normally so serious actually be a human being.

“No, really,” said Ransom. He grabbed the material of his trouser leg and pulled it up, revealing a wide black strap around his ankle with a black box the size of a child’s fist attached to it. A red light at the corner blinked on and off.

“What’s that?” said Pankhurst.

Otis leant forward on his chair. “It’s an electronic tag.”

Pankhurst looked at Otis, then looked at Ransom.

“The boy’s right,” he said. “I’m not allowed to leave Beaconsfield. If I do, all manner of alarms go off, or so I’m told.”

Michael perceived Pankhurst’s disbelief. The man let out a sigh and sat down. “I think my security team might be a bit concerned to know I’m consorting with a criminal. What did you do? Why are you wearing that thing? Because if you’re asking for a Prime Ministerial pardon for something, I don’t know if I can – I mean, it would be seen to be doing a favour for a friend …”

Ransom waved his concerns away. “William Cooper gave me the tag, but that’s not why I asked you here, John.”

“Cooper,” considered Pankhurst, “the head of the Perceiver Task Force. Is this about the perception thing? You know my government’s very grateful for all the work you put in at the cure clinics …”

Pankhurst trailed off as he caught sight of Jennifer sitting on the sofa across from him.

Jennifer went red.

“You’re Jennifer Price,” said Pankhurst.

“Yes, sir.”

Pankhurst turned – accusing – to Ransom. “You called me out here to meet with this girl?” Anger was inside of him. It manifested in his strong words, an echo of all the stern speeches he’d made down the years. Except, this time, Michael not only heard his anger, he perceived it.

Pankhurst stood up. “I can’t be seen talking to her. Have you seen the news today? Kids like her are killing people right now in London. Five are dead. God knows what the death toll’s going to be when the day’s over.”

“Sit down,” said Ransom.

“No.” Pankhurst fastened the button of his jacket as if making to leave. “I agreed to come to see you, Brian, because we’re old friends; because you gave generously to my campaign at the last election and because you’ve been good to my government. But I will not sit down in a room with the perpetrators of violence. I can see myself out.”

With two long strides, he was at the door.

“At least hear what she has to say,” Ransom called after him, getting out of his chair and rushing – far quicker than it looked like his body would manage – towards the door.

Ransom gripped the door handle and stopped Pankhurst reaching for it. “You’re here now,” said Ransom. “At least listen to us.”

Pankhurst frowned and looked at his watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said.

“Thank you, Prime Minister.”

“But Brian, if this was anyone else …”

“I understand, Prime Minister. Please sit down.” Ransom led Pankhurst back to the sofas. They sat. Tension grew between them. The friendliness of those first handshakes had evaporated.

Michael, Otis and Jennifer watched. Mary Ransom stood clutching and unclutching her fingers. She tried to pretend not to be staring at Michael.

Ransom cleared his throat. “Mary, why don’t you see if Rachel can spare us any of that coffee?”

“Of course,” said Mrs Ransom. “Milk, cream, sugar …?”

“Just bring a tray of everything,” said Ransom.

“Of course.” She took the hint and left the lounge.

Ransom leant over and picked up two glasses of water left on a table by the side. He passed one to Pankhurst. “You can’t win this war, you know,” said Ransom.

“I don’t negotiate with people who incite others to riot,” said Pankhurst. He shot an accusing glance at Jennifer.

“I didn’t,” she protested. “I wanted a peaceful—”

Ransom put up his hand and silenced her. “This is a bigger issue than today. You’re not going to get rid of perception.”

Pankhurst looked at him sideways, trying to figure him out. “You were the one who invented the cure.”

“So,” said Ransom, “would it surprise you to know that I’m a perceiver?”

Pankhurst gagged on his water. He coughed and spat. The glass in his hand shook with the spasms. Ransom took it away from him. Pankhurst continued to cough. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and put it over his mouth until the spasms subsided and he breathed without wheezing.

“Cooper didn’t tell you then?”

“Brian, you’re not serious.”

“Very much so. My son is also a perceiver.”

Pankhurst glared at Michael.

“The young man here—”

“Otis,” said Otis.

“—is a perceiver,” said Ransom. “And, as you probably know—”

“I used to be a perceiver,” said Jennifer, “but I was cured against my will.”

Pankhurst looked round the room like a victim backed into a corner. “I’m in a room with three people who can read my mind?”

Ransom smiled. “We don’t read minds. That’s a common misconception. Well, perhaps my son can a little bit.” Pankhurst stared at Michael again. There was an anxiety coming from him this time. Pankhurst stood. “Theo!” he shouted.

Michael stepped towards Pankhurst, concentrating hard, perceiving everything he could from him. “You’re scared,” he said. “You think a man like you who has national secrets in his head shouldn’t be in the room with a group of perceivers.”

The lounge door burst open and a man in a suit rushed in. “Prime Minister?” he said, his face red with urgency.

“I need to leave, Theo,” said Pankhurst. “Right now.”

“Sir.”

Pankhurst walked towards the safety of his security guard.

Michael called after him. “I’m only reading your emotions. I couldn’t go into your head and pull out national secrets if I wanted to.”

Pankhurst was at the door. Michael glanced across at Ransom, knowing their chance for influence was walking away from them. “My father’s right – perceivers are here, you’re not going to get rid of us!”

Theo opened the door for Pankhurst to walk through.

Michael ran. He followed them out into the hallway. “I’m like him because I inherited perception from him,” he said. “You think you’re going to get rid of perception by curing one generation of teenagers? It won’t work.”

The rest of the entourage emerged from another room. They crowded in on him. Someone opened the front door. Through the bodies suddenly in front of him, Michael saw Pankhurst’s head disappearing through the doorway. “What happens to the teenagers when they grow up and have babies?” said Michael.

Michael tried to go after him, but the large body of a man with a curly wire hanging from his ear blocked the way. “Prime Minister?” called Michael, but he was gone.

He watched the rest of the suited gaggle depart from the house. All of them, apart from the one blocking Michael’s way, filed out neatly. Then the large man stepped backwards, keeping his eye on Michael, until he was out of the house and had closed the front door behind him.

Michael swore.

He went back into the lounge. He saw the expectant faces of Jennifer, Otis and Ransom. It took only a moment for Otis and Ransom to perceive Michael had been wasting his breath.

Jennifer, however, was still optimistic. “Well?”

“He’s not going to listen, Jennifer. He’s a norm. He’s scared of us.”

Michael stepped further inside and flopped on the sofa next to Ransom.

His father put a reassuring hand on his knee. “You can’t blame me for trying, son.”

Michael shrugged. It seemed pointless. The whole skanking thing was pointless: the demonstration, the ride out to Beaconsfield, the whole skanking lot.

The rattling of cups roused Michael from his despair. Mrs Ransom was returning with the promised tray of coffee.

“’Fraid you missed the Prime Minister,” Otis noted, ironically.

“That was rather the point, wasn’t it?” she said.

“What are you talking about, Mary?” said Ransom.

“I’ve been married to you long enough to know that when you ask me to make coffee, it’s because you want me out of the room.”

“It’s not like that, Mary.”

“It is, Brian. But that’s okay.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” said Mrs Ransom, putting the tray down on the table.

Jennifer’s face lit up. “Perhaps Pankhurst’s changed his mind? Perhaps he wants to talk.”

Otis tutted. “Perhaps one of them left their gun in the bathroom.”

A perception touched the edge of Michael’s mind. Like a familiar smell far away. He sat up and concentrated. He knew what it was, but he couldn’t put a name to it. Like recognising a voice on the radio and not knowing who it belongs to.

Through the open lounge door, he heard Mrs Ransom. “Of course, come in.” The presence became stronger.

“Shit,” said Michael.

“What?” said Jennifer.

“Cooper.”

“Here?” she said.

Otis looked accusingly at Ransom. “Did you call him?”

“No.”

Michael got up. He looked to his father. “Is there a back way out of here?”

Before there was time for an answer, Cooper walked into the lounge.

Michael bolted for the other door, the one Mrs Ransom had used.

Through it, confronted by stairs leading up, he hesitated. No way out. But no way back either. He didn’t need to look behind him, he perceived Cooper getting closer.

He scrambled up the stairs.

His breath and his pumping heart were loud in his ears.

At the top of the stairs was a landing and other doors. Maybe there was a bedroom window he could get out of.

Something grabbed his foot.

Michael pulled it back. He felt his shoe slip from his sock.

He kept going.

Another tug at the bottom of his trouser leg. He tried to take the next step, but the hand had him firm this time. He slipped. He missed the step entirely and fell on his face. His hands scratched at the stair carpet, but they couldn’t get a grip. He bumped down from step to step – bashing his elbow, bashing his knee, clunking his head – until he reached the bottom. His body stopped and he felt the sting of a dozen bruises.

He turned himself round. Standing above him was Cooper. “We meet on the stairs again,” he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MICHAEL WAS
back in the cell.

It all seemed pointless. The escape, finding Jennifer, the march – they’d all led back to where he’d started. He lay on the bed, looked at the four walls of his cell and didn’t care if they were the only thing he would ever see for the rest of his life.

The rhythmic clunks and clicks of the cell door being unlocked caused him to shift position and prop himself up on one elbow. He perceived who it was before the door was opened.

Cooper stood in the doorway. He was the same slightly chubby man, except he’d smartened himself up a bit. The cut of his suit hid the paunch of his belly. He had shaved. He was wearing a tie. His mood, however, was still its usual smug.

“Morning, Michael, how are you today?”

“Like you care.”

“I do actually,” said Cooper.

“Am I supposed to be grateful?”

“If you like.” He put his hands in his trouser pockets and slumped. “Thought any more about my job offer?”

“Working for the government who wants to screw all perceivers?” He pursed his lips in a mock thinking expression. “That’s a tough one …”

“We can talk about that later,” said Cooper. “Stand up, I’m taking you for a walk.”

Cooper called in the guard from outside. The guard handcuffed Michael’s wrists behind his back and led him out of the cell.

The three of them left the cell block and went across the complex to the building that housed Cooper’s office. He was led upstairs and along the corridor and, as they got closer, he perceived a presence he recognised. He was still trying to place it when Cooper stopped outside the door of his own office and knocked.