The Rescue (19 page)

The next room was another waiting room, but much more luxuriously furnished with plush red velvet chairs arranged around an ornate stone fireplace. The woman indicated I should sit in one of the chairs. As I did, she vanished through another door.

I sat for a few seconds, intimidated by the unexpected formality of the room. A gold clock stood on the mantelpiece opposite me. Its loud tick seemed to underline the tension in the atmosphere. And then the woman reappeared, flanked by two more guards. Both had rifles slung over their backs and handguns in their holsters. They stood back, to allow a third man to walk between them. He was shorter, older and fatter than them both – in a plain khaki uniform, with medals pinned to his chest. Despite his slightly stooped posture and the way his stomach swelled over his belt, I had no doubt this was Djounsou. His presence filled the room.

‘Ed?’ His smile showed a row of startingly white teeth. ‘I am General Djounsou.’

I stood up. Both guards immediately stepped forward, guns raised. I sat back down.

‘Is okay,’ Djounsou barked. ‘I will sit too.’

He positioned himself in the armchair opposite me. His bulky frame seemed too big for the chair, his arms lying like logs along the slender velvet armrests.

‘I have seen your powers of . . . telepathy,’ he went on. His voice was deep and accented and as formal as the room we were sitting in. ‘What you do is impressive. I would like a demonstration for myself . . .
on
myself.’

‘You?’ I said, my voice quaking. ‘You want me to read
your
mind?’

‘Exactly.’ Djounsou chuckled. ‘Show me, but please get no ideas about abusing this privilege. My guards like to shoot.’ His laugh deepened. The woman, who was leaning on the back of his chair, laughed too. I got the impression that Djounsou had made this particular joke many times before.

I swallowed. There wasn’t much choice. I lifted my eyes. I held Djounsou in my gaze for a few seconds, taking in the hardness of his bloodshot brown eyes, then dived in.

A clinical, ruthless mind lay in front of me. Guarded, but then I would have expected that. Like anyone who knew what I could do, Djounsou was trying hard to keep certain information away from me. It would have been easy for me to get him to reveal it, but I didn’t probe. Instead I watched the thoughts that danced across the surface of his mind. These were mostly fairly superficial . . . lust for some young girl in his secretarial staff . . . the goat stew he’d had for lunch that kept repeating on him . . . how he hated the thin walls of the compound that carried noise and disturbed him whenever he wanted to sit quietly.

What do you want me to do now?
I thought-spoke, feeling awkward.

Djounsou’s mind rushed with the excitement of realising what I was doing.

So this is how
. . .
You are speaking without sound. Most impressive. Tell me what you see.

I hesitated, not sure how to respond. No one had ever asked me to describe their mind before. Obviously, I kept these thoughts hidden from the general.

Er
. . .
it’s
. . .
you have a strong mind
. . .
very powerful
, I thought-spoke, hoping to flatter him, then added – in case he wanted more detail –
and, er
. . .
you’re annoyed because the thin walls of the compound make it noisy
. . .

Yes, yes.
Djounsou seemed delighted.
The walls are indeed most hollow and flimsy. Can you see any of my other thoughts?

He meant the ones he was attempting to hide. I hesitated, wondering how far to probe. A week or so ago we’d been after a criminal back in England called Damian Foster. When I’d tried to push into his thoughts and feelings, Foster had been able to use my ability to hook into him telepathically to hold me, trapped, in his own mind. After mind-reading Foster I’d been sick, partly through the effort it had taken to break away from him, but mostly from the fear of having him control me like that.

It hadn’t happened before or since, but the experience had left me wary.

I pushed a little way into Djounsou’s thoughts. He definitely didn’t possess the sinewy mental strength that I’d felt in Foster. I mean, I sensed Djounsou was clearly hugely arrogant but he also seemed straightforward, unused to any need for manipulation or mental flexibility. In fact, he gave every impression of a man used to getting his way through brute force – or the threat of it.

This was not an entirely comforting observation.

If you give me permission to read your thoughts, I would be happy to do so
, I thought-spoke cautiously.

Go ahead.
I could sense the tension . . . the anticipation, in Djounsou’s mind.

I took a deep breath and plunged in.

Pushing hard into someone’s thoughts is a bit like being in the middle of the sea and watching all the waves around you, then picking on a single wave and catching it like a surfer does, riding it into the shore.

Just like real waves, every thought is a different shape and size and duration – and yet, there’s something that connects them all, just like all waves are fundamentally curves of moving water.

I rode a thought very close to the surface of Djounsou’s mind. His curiosity about my ability . . . his hope that it would help him. I pushed through, into the next thought. Images of power and violence mingled with a terrible fear – almost a paranoia – about various enemies. I got a snatch of memory about a man Djounsou had killed, a knife slitting across his throat. Horrified, I tore away from that to another memory – Djounsou driving through villages, gun strapped to his back, at the head of a convoy of army vehicles. He stood proud in his open-top jeep, his hand raised to acknowledge the rows of people cheering his arrival. Then Djounsou in the centre of a group of soldiers, entertaining everyone with beer and jokes.

I sensed Djounsou caught up in his own curiosity about what I was able to see, but at the same time appalled at how much insight I was getting. He was going to tell me to stop any second.

I plunged into a new wave of thought.
Yes.
Here was his plan for using me to interrogate his enemies, built on his fear of the rebellion led by Tsonga.

With a jolt I realised how absolutely Djounsou was determined to quash that rebellion, whatever it took.

What are you planning to do with Tsonga and the people hiding weapons in Mahore?
I thought-spoke the question, knowing that, in trying to deny me the answer, Djounsou would inadvertently reveal it.

No. Stop this. Stop.
Make an example of the rebels.
This is too far, I order you to stop.
Round them up and kill them.

I broke the connection and shrank back, horrified. So Tsonga
was
going to die. Which meant his little daughter, Victoria, was going to die too.

Djounsou, freed from my mental grip, roared with fury. He leaped to his feet and pointed at the closest guard. ‘Gun,’ he ordered.

The guard thrust the handgun from his holster into Djounsou’s hand, then stepped smartly back.

Djounsou grabbed it and thrust it against my throat.

I froze, all my attention now on the cold metal pressing against my neck.

‘I told you to stop.’ Djounsou cocked the gun. ‘Now you will pay.’

20: The killing

‘Don’t, please,’ I stammered.

Djounsou pressed the gun harder against my throat. ‘Give me one good reason why I should not pull this trigger.
No one
can be seen to disobey me.
No one.
’

Fear shot through me like fire, consuming me.

‘No one saw,’ I said desperately. ‘And I can help you find out stuff . . . er, information about your enemies. Remember, like you said?’

Djounsou hesitated. The press of the gun lightened against my neck.

‘What I did with you – reading your thoughts – was a fraction of what I could do with one of the rebels fighting against you,’ I went on. ‘Think how powerful that would make you.’

Djounsou was right up in my face. His eyes opened so wide you could see the whites all round the iris. I hated myself for offering to do his dirty work like this, but what other option did I have? I comforted myself with the thought that once I’d made contact with Amy again, Geri would surely race to rescue us – and Djounsou could be stopped.

‘You’re a great man,’ I said, quietly. ‘Keeping me around can only make you greater.’

Djounsou’s face softened. He chuckled. ‘This is true.’ To my intense relief, he withdrew his gun and held it out to one of the guards. As he did so, the rest of the room came back into my awareness – the guards and the woman in her yellow and black traditional dress, all watching us intently . . . the fireplace . . . the ornate ticking clock on the mantelpiece.

‘This is your one and only chance,’ Djounsou went on. ‘Betray me again and there will not be a second.’

Djounsou stood up and beckoned for one of the guards to take me away. Without speaking he turned his back and vanished through the door he’d used earlier, the other guard and the woman trailing in his wake.

I was taken back to my corridor and locked inside my cell, feeling shaken but relieved. I sat on the bed for a second, letting what had just happened sink in. I had no idea what time it was, though the sky outside my window was still dark.

I lay down. As soon as it was dawn I would try contacting my sister again, see if she’d managed to get hold of Geri.

In the meantime, where was Nico? I felt a stab of guilt – he’d been kept away from the rest of us for hours now. Plus, I’d promised Ketty I’d attempt to reach him. I closed my eyes and focused, trying to relax into what I was doing.

I felt myself flickering in and out of his mind, but only for a few seconds. Then . . .
whoosh
. . . I was there, inside Nico’s head, feeling the stress and anxiety of his current state of mind.

Nico?
I’d forgotten how surprisingly intense his mind felt. More brooding and troubled than you’d expect from the way he showed off most of the time.

Ed?
Nico’s thought-speech sounded entirely astonished.
What
. . .
how
. . .
?

I smiled to myself at his confusion.
Remote telepathy. I’ve been working on it for a while. Ketty helped. Where are you? Are you okay?

I’m fine. Is Ketty with you?

I could hear the concern in his voice . . . and the slightest edge of jealousy.

No, but I’ve seen her – and Dylan and Luz. We’re all good
.

Thanks. Say, Ed, what you’re doing is amazing.

I bit my lip. That was so like Nico. He’d give you a million reasons to get annoyed with him, then be nice, just when you least expected it.

Who else have you contacted like this?

Just you and Ketty. And my sister, Amy.

You have to try contacting Geri.

Yes, I know. I’m on it. Er, Nico, I saw you on one of the monitors here, but where are you?

In a cell. Underground, I think
. . .
there’s no natural light
. . .
no furniture – they only come in to give me food and empty the piss bucket.

Nice.

Yeah, it’s the frigging Ritz. At least the bucket’s something to practise telekinesis with. I can control it now so I can tip it as far as it’ll go without anything spilling. Even with a blindfold on.

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but before I had time to respond, Nico’s thought-speech softened.

Is Ketty really okay?

She’s fine.
I hesitated.
She’s worried about you, though.

Right.

Nico was trying to make his thoughts sound gruff and dismissive, but I could sense his genuine longing for her. I didn’t want Nico to get any hint that I was aware of that, so I quickly explained exactly how I’d contacted my sister and how I was expecting to be able to communicate with Geri within the next few hours.

That’s brilliant.
I could feel Nico’s mood lift as he listened to me.

We thought-spoke a little more, then I ended the connection.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember was the sound of the door being unlocked. I sat bolt upright as one of the guards came in with Luz.

The guard pushed her inside, then shut and locked the door again. I blinked stupidly at her, still half-asleep, and she smiled – a sad, beautiful smile that made my stomach flip over. I hesitated for a second, then walked over to where she stood at the door, my heart beating fast. I was pretty sure there was a blind spot there that the security cameras couldn’t see.

We stood in the doorway, facing each other.

‘Man say is okay me see you,’ she said softly.

I stared at her.

She smiled again. ‘Do speaking in my head, Eds.’

My heart was thumping so loudly in the silent room I thought she must be able to hear. I met her eyes.
Whoosh.

I did remote telepathy with Nico
, I thought-spoke in a gabble, trying not to give away just how transfixed I was by her presence.
He’s okay, and in an hour or so I’m going to try and contact the woman who took us to the camp and tell her what’s going on. Then she’ll rescue all of us.