(2013) Looks Could Kill (23 page)

“Perhaps I can explain,” said another voice.

Emma turned around and saw that someone real rather than on a video link had entered the room. She drew a sharp intake of breath when she recognised who it was. His face was older and his hair longer, but there was no mistaking the man whom she’d met in the hospital canteen nine years ago.

“I don’t believe it, this must be some bizarre sort of dream,” said Emma.

“No, it really is us,” said Fred, “and we’re here to help explain everything. But note that I’m not wearing shades, so no glares in my direction, please.”

“Good, now that we’re all reacquainted with Dr Jones, let’s get down to business,” said Professor Cuthbertson. “Emma, I must apologise for all the cloak and dagger stuff, but the reality is that you are at risk. Take your builder, for instance – someone called Bob, I believe – how did you come about employing him?”

“Well, I needed some work doing and a card came through the letterbox. He sounded nice on the phone, so I asked him to come over and give a quote,” said Emma.

“My dear, you always were somewhat naïve and rather too trusting,” said Professor Cuthbertson. “Would it surprise you to know that he’s far from being your average builder and generally more involved in deconstruction, including of people he’s instructed to terminate?

“But he’s got my spare set of keys!” exclaimed Emma.

“Exactly, which is why we couldn’t wait and had to send a couple of our MI5 colleagues to rescue you in the middle of the night,” said Professor Cuthbertson. “And it may interest you to know that your ‘Bob’ is also a dab hand in counter-surveillance and discovered some rather interesting items behind the mirror in your late husband’s room, like this for instance.”

Emma could see Professor Cuthbertson reaching across to put some sort of tape in a piece of equipment. A screen next to him sprung to life and she briefly saw ‘EJ – 15/01/04’ flash on the screen. She watched with a growing sense of foreboding the unfolding scene of Daniel’s seduction of her in his room. Professor Cuthbertson pressed the stop button before it became too embarrassing.

“Most interesting, wouldn't you agree? Mr Bannister, would you continue?” asked Professor Cuthbertson.

“I’d be happy to,” said Fred. “Emma, you know by now that you have a most unusual ability, which is generally known by the expression: ‘evil eye’. Numerous cultures have references to this, including in Professor Cuthbertson’s neck of the woods where it’s called the ‘droch-sh
ù
il’. Your manifestation of this is the most highly developed we‘ve ever come across. Your potential ability was picked up from the newspaper account of the death of the vicar following your baptism. Because of the implications of your ability, many people – including Professor Cuthbertson, Jemma and Tim, and myself – have been there in the background watching to see how your ability unfolded and ready to intervene should the need become apparent.”

“You mentioned MI5. Do you all work for them?” asked Emma.

“I’m a full-time officer,” explained Fred. “Jemma and Tim are agents and Professor Cuthbertson is a consultant who advises us on medical matters.”

“And where did Daniel fit into all of this?” asked Emma.

“Daniel was also an agent,” said Fred. “Sometimes our agents are chosen because they have particular access to information – like Jemma and Tim through their travels as opera singers – and sometimes because of their skills. Daniel was a remarkably adept therapist with a particularly well developed ability at empathy which proved invaluable when we needed to obtain information from more recalcitrant subjects.”

“So my appointment with him was planned, was it?” asked Emma.

“Indeed. It was felt by all of us that you were biting off more than you could chew. Unfortunately, we didn’t factor in that Daniel might decide to go off piste and fall in love with you. Nor did we anticipate that he might develop cancer and leave you with a complicated inheritance on his death.”

“We also didn’t know that Daniel’s father had been independently pursuing a similar interest in people with unusual abilities, which probably stems from the Armstrong clan’s belief in the droch-sh
ù
il,” said Tim. “And he also has the backing of Armstrong Industries and the US Department of Defense.”

“And so for you to become romantically entangled with his son, and then for his son to equip you with the means to take your ability into the mainstream, has put him in the situation of having to intervene,” said Fred. “And that means either stopping you or using you.”

“Christ, this really is wheels within wheels,” said Emma.

“Which takes us back to what I was saying at the beginning: that you really are at risk, and possibly of being kidnapped,” said Professor Cuthbertson.

“So what we propose is that you stay here for a few days until we can make your house more secure and put some protection in place,” said Fred. “And while you’re here, we’d also like to find out a bit more about your ability – if you’re in agreement, of course.”

“Do I have any choice?” asked Emma.

“Actually, you do,” said Fred. If you tell us you want to return home now, we’ll arrange a car to take you back, but you need to understand that we can’t be responsible for what happens next. And given your advanced stage of pregnancy, we’d hate to see you becoming the victim of some devious intervention from Armstrong Industries and the US Department of Defense.”

“Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound,” said Emma with a sigh.

“I suggest we adjourn now for the night and I’ll take you to your room,” said Fred. “Tomorrow I’ll show you around this facility and let you know what we’ve got planned for the next few days.”

“Goodnight, Emma,” said Jemma, Tim and Professor Cuthbertson, and their screens went blank.

Fred led Emma out of the conference room and down the corridor to a room that was like a suite in a five star hotel. She was impressed.

“Emma, I’m really sorry for all the subterfuge,” said Fred, “but I do think this is the best option at the moment. You’ll find everything you need here including clothes in your size and toiletries. The housekeeper will bring you breakfast at 9, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes, that’s fine, Fred,” said Emma. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death.”

“Your thanks are gratefully received,” said Fred. “Goodnight, Emma.” He closed the door behind him.

Emma checked the wardrobe and was surprised to see a range of clothes in her size and suitable for her stage of pregnancy plus a variety of fairly fashionable shoes. The contents of the bathroom were similarly exact, including a supply of contact lenses in the right prescription. She considered having a hot, lingering bath but decided to go to bed immediately. And as soon as her head touched the pillow, she fell into a deep sleep.

August 2005, the following morning

Emma woke just before 9:00 a.m. and she was surprised how relaxed she felt. She half-wondered whether some psychotropic drug had been squirted through the air vents while she was asleep. There was a knock on the door and the housekeeper came in bearing an appetising looking breakfast tray.

“Good morning, Dr Jones, I’m Betty the housekeeper. Would you like your breakfast in bed or at the table?”

“Good to meet you, Betty,” said Emma. “I think I’ll have it at the table. My tummy tends to get in the way these days.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Betty. “Due in October, is it?”

“Gosh, you are well informed. Is there anything you don’t know about me?” asked Emma.

“I doubt it,” said Betty with a chuckle. She arranged the breakfast on the table and took away the tray. “Oh, Fred asked me to tell you that he’ll collect you at 10 to show you around.”

“Thanks very much, Betty,” said Emma, making her way to the table and sniffing the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee.

Replete, bathed and dressed, Emma felt ready to start the day and was actually looking forward to the next instalment of her unexpected stay in the countryside. A knock on the door announced Fred’s arrival.

“I hope you slept well,” said Fred.

“Surprisingly well, actually. It must have been all the excitement of last night,” said Emma. “Tell me, Fred, who else has been involved in my, er, development?”

“Well, Georgina Brown for one, and then there was your former secretary who left you Daniel’s card. And probably many more,” said Fred.

“Gosh, I had no idea that MI5 had the ability to be so involved in a single person’s life,” said Emma.

“Well, they aren’t usually,” said Fred, “but you’re far from being a usual person.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel flattered or violated,” replied Emma.

“Probably a bit of both, I would imagine,” said Fred. “Now let me show you around. This corridor is one of a number leading off the hall to video conference rooms and residential quarters for our guests. There’s also a canteen with excellent food. The first floor has the lab space which is where it all gets more interesting.”

“So, what exactly is this place, apart from being a five star hotel?” asked Emma.

“Well, officially it’s the ‘Department of Special Research and Investigation’, but we usually call it ‘The Manor’”, said Fred. “Let’s go upstairs; there are a few people I’d like you to meet.”

The two of them walked through the hall and up a grand, well-trodden staircase. Portraits of the manor house’s former occupants lined the stairs, which added to Emma’s unnerving feeling of being watched wherever she went. She shivered despite the temperature being in the mid-20s. They reached the top of the stairs and Fred produced a swipe card to open a security door which led into a brightly-lit, air-conditioned corridor that seemed out of keeping with the rest of the house.

“Is that to stop people from getting in or getting out?” asked Emma.

“Oh, definitely the former,” said Fred. “What we do here is sensitive but no-one is a prisoner.”

Fred looked through the glass door into a room on the left and then turned to Emma. “You might find this interesting,” he said. “The subject in the room is a young man called Pablo. He’s rather high on the autistic spectrum, with poor empathy and speech skills, but he has an interesting ability with our furry friends. We call him Dr Dolittle.”

Emma and Fred entered the room after he’d swiped the door. Emma saw a thin young man with black hair covering most of his face and an unusual silver patch at the nape of his neck. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor and facing six cats and dogs of various sizes and breeds lined up ten feet away. All of them were sitting on their haunches and seemed to be looking intently at Pablo. From time to time, Pablo seemed to direct his gaze at a particular animal and make a series of strange guttural squeaks. The animal would then get up and walk forwards until it was a few feet away from him. He’d then make another noise and the animal calmly walked back to its original position and sat down again. The spectacle reminded Emma of a line-up of soldiers being commanded by a sergeant major. It then occurred to her exactly why MI5 were interested in this young man’s ability; her mind boggled at the thought of cats and dogs really at war.

“Extraordinary,” said Emma. “How does he do it?”

“Well, it’s complicated,” said Fred. On one level, he seems to be using his gaze to engage the animals and then hold their attention. Contrary to what is often thought, cats and dogs don’t have particularly better vision than humans apart from being able to see in the dark, but both species use gaze in their social interactions, for instance in a cat fight or when dogs are establishing dominance. Pablo’s pupils are unusually dark which may have a commanding effect on the animals. The noises he makes are interesting. We’ve analysed them and it seems that he makes a distinct noise for each animal and then follows this with a non-specific command which is the equivalent of “come forward”, “go back”, or whatever. But if we play recordings of the noises without Pablo’s presence, they don’t respond; so his gaze, and possibly some other aspect of his presence, is crucial. We’re wondering whether pheromones might be involved.”

“And if he commanded them to attack, would they?” asked Emma.

“A good question,” said Fred. “Let’s see, shall we?” He motioned to a technician who brought out a large teddy bear which he placed in the middle of the floor about three feet from Pablo. He went over to Pablo and muttered something in his ear. “And I think we should retreat behind this screen just in case.” Emma and Fred moved out of the danger zone.

This time, Pablo seemed to start by staring at each animal in turn and then issued a spine-chilling noise which sounded like ‘croak’ with all the consonants squashed together. The animals’ response was immediate and they lunged at the stuffed toy in a mass of biting and scratching jaws and limbs. After a few seconds, Pablo uttered another sound and they stopped as suddenly as they started and returned to their original seated positions without showing the slightest indication of their frenzied attack.  The teddy bear looked as if it had been attacked by a shoal of piranhas.

“Phew!” exclaimed Emma, “that was just about the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes, most impressive,” said Fred. “Thank you, Pablo.” The two of them walked out of the room. Emma looked back through the door and saw Pablo gazing impassively at the animals.

“I think it’s Pablo who really frightens me,” said Emma.

“I’ll tell you his full story one of these days, but it doesn’t make easy listening,” said Fred.

They walked down the corridor until they came to a door with the symbol ‘Ψ’ on it.

“Any idea what that represents, Emma?” asked Fred.

“It’s the Greek letter ‘Psi’,” she replied, “sometimes used by psychologists and psychiatrists and also by those who believe in parapsychology.”

“You’re obviously a doubter which is a healthy starting point,” said Fred. “Most of it is undoubtedly bogus, but we think that what some call ‘psi energy’ may be produced in certain situations. The work we’re doing here is to recreate highly stressful situations that we believe are a prerequisite for a fight or flight response that then triggers the release of psi energy as a sort of telepathic SOS message. We think the ability was lost when man developed language. So our test subjects so far have been those who can’t speak. We’ve been particularly impressed by the subject in the room at the moment, a girl called Sonia. She lost her speech when her parents were killed in a car crash five years ago. Perhaps you’d like to meet her?”