Emerald Sky (3 page)

Chapter 3

Even when consciousness returned, the
darkness remained. It was not the natural darkness of night time or the forced
deprivation of a blindfold. His eyes were most definitely open and
unobstructed, yet they could see nothing at all. He was in a completely sealed,
windowless cell.

Then there was the music. He sensed it
was coming from at least four different directions at once. The strange thing
was that each speaker was playing a different song. The overlap between each of
the tunes left no gaps and the sound created was uncomfortable, nauseating even.
It was like a giant tangle of knotted strings that his brain could not help but
try to unravel. With every thought about where he was or how he could get out,
he found himself breaking concentration and going back to the music. Perhaps if
he could isolate just one of the tunes and concentrate on that it would block
out the pain it caused him, but doing so seemed an impossible task.

At least some of his bodily senses were
still working. His sense of spatial awareness informed him that he was seated.
He tried to stand, but nothing happened. Attempting to move his arms gave the
same response. Whoever had brought him to this place made sure he was not
leaving without their knowledge. He did not even get any flashes of foresight
to help him. Or maybe he did, but they were of no use. The future, like the
present, was nothing but darkness and noise.

There was no way for him to know how long
he had been kept in this state. His mind was just as incapable of rest as it
was cognitive thought. At times like this, darkness was as blinding as light
and noise as isolating as silence. Whoever was holding him, it was their
intention to deprive him of his senses.
All
of his senses. In that
respect, they were proving highly effective.

Then the music stopped. The silence, however,
did not offer respite for long.

‘Jimmy Johnson?’

The voice came from the speaker in front
of him and it was familiar. It was the last voice he had heard before waking up
in whatever prison this was.

‘Okay, scratch that. We both know who
you
are. Perhaps it would be more useful to explain who
I
am. My name is
Esteban Cruz. You and I have already met – very briefly. My employers have been
following you for some time, although my involvement has been somewhat more
recent. What you need to understand is that, ultimately, we both want the same
thing.’

‘I really doubt that,’ said Jimmy, his
voice calm.

He had benefitted for so long from the
protection of his foresight that he could barely remember what it was like to
experience genuine fear. To face the terrible possibilities of uncertainty.

‘Please do not think ill of our motives.
That was a very impressive thing that you did. It’s not too far removed from
what I do for a living. You saved a lot of lives and should take comfort in
that. Thanks to you, we’ve apprehended some very dangerous men.’

‘No it’s not. If it wasn’t for me those
men would never have been there in the first place.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why don’t you ask your boss? I’m sure he
could explain things much more clearly than I could.’

The next voice to come through the
speaker was different. It was older and more assertive.

‘The methods we use are none of your
concern. A trap needed to be set and because of the cowardly way in which you
choose to use your unnatural ability, we had no other choice. You would’ve seen
through a simulation just like you did all of the rest. Besides, no harm was
done and the terrorists were apprehended.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jimmy. ‘You followed
the script perfectly.’

He waited for realisation to reach the
other side. There was no way he could have known the plot in the Opera House
was a set up. There was no way he could have known if he had not just heard the
second speaker’s confession in his head seconds before it was actually given.
Attempting to interrogate Jimmy was no less futile than so many of the efforts
to obtain him. No more questions followed and it was not long before the return
of the music.

***

‘You lied to me!’ barked Esteban. ‘After
everything I’ve given, everything I’ve sacrificed, still you can’t give me the
truth. I thought Jimmy was leading us to those terrorists, but all along it was
the other way around. You knew about that plot and did nothing to prevent it.’

‘Calm down, Agent Cruz,’ replied the
colonel. ‘Don’t you see that this is what he wants? He’s playing mind games
with us. What you witnessed there was nothing but a trick to cause exactly
this. He wants us to fight.’

‘He doesn’t want anything to do with us.
All I see is a man with a very unique gift; a gift he’s trying to use for the
good of mankind. Perhaps men like us could learn from somebody like him.’

‘Jimmy Johnson is nothing but a mindless
fool. Do you really think he acts out of a desire to do good? He’s admitted
himself that he acts according to these visions of his. A man who has no free
will isn’t burdened with conscience.’

Esteban took a deep, controlled breath.
Anger was not useful here. Part of the reason he returned to service was due to
his belief that it was better to have men such as he on the inside. If he did
not do this job, another would. Another without his restraint and compassion.

‘Okay, I understand. The kid is dangerous
whether he knows it or not. That still doesn’t excuse letting a terrorist cell
go unchecked like that. What if Jimmy had failed?’

‘You know as well as I that in order to
achieve anything in this business it’s necessary to take risks.’

‘That’s just the problem – I don’t. In
order to weigh up the risk, I need to know what the payoff will be. The way I
see it, that kid was doing just fine before we came along. Do you really expect
him to now sign up and join the service?’

‘We didn’t bring Jimmy in to help us apprehend
terrorists. Perhaps it’s time I raised your clearance level. Tell me, Agent
Cruz, are you familiar with Operation Sleepwalker?’

‘I’ve heard of it, yes. I always thought
of it as an urban legend - an army that fights not with the body, but with the
spirit. The goal was to train soldiers who were capable of astral projection.’

The colonel directed him to take a seat
and then took his own at the opposite side of the desk.

‘Chinese whispers, Agent Cruz, but what
you say isn’t too far removed from the truth. Just under three years ago the
project entered live testing. A brilliant physicist by the name of Jackson Fox
had provided the technology. It was crude and not nearly as grand as your
rumours, but it worked. It allowed a person to travel outside of their body,
though with limited perception. From an intelligence gathering perspective, it
was a dream come true.’

‘So what went wrong?’

The colonel leaned back in his chair and
poured himself a generous shot of whisky. He did not offer any to his
subordinate.

‘Unforeseen circumstances. There was a
natural by-product of the technology that we’ve come to know as psychic
radiation. It causes no physical harm and is not carcinogenic, but it does
alter the way in which the brain functions. All kinds of symptoms were reported
from telepathy to visions of the future. The test site was well isolated with
only one small town in close proximity. The entire population was infected.’

‘So that’s where Jimmy got his ability
from?’

‘That’s it, although his case was a one
off. The rest of the populace weren’t so lucky. Unlike Jimmy, their visions
would result in a complete loss of cognitive brain function. They became manic
and ultimately suicidal. For their own protection, the entire town was placed
in an induced coma. To this day we’re still working to find a cure.’

‘What became of the team working on the
project? This scientist; Jackson Fox - where is he now?’

‘Professor Fox succumbed to the madness
just like everybody else. Except he didn’t go down quite so quietly. He was an
old, sick man. Probably didn’t have long to live. He found a way to manipulate
the radiation to his advantage. When one of our men was engaged in an astral
journey, Fox severed the connection. He then took the soldier’s body for his
own.

‘Intel on what followed is scant, but it’s
believed that Fox found a way to manipulate living energy. He could steal the
life force of others and use it to strengthen himself. An entire unit of the
most highly skilled soldiers was wiped out before he was taken down. If that
power were to fall into the wrong hands the consequences would be
unimaginable.’

 ‘So what’re you saying? Surely the power
died with the man.’

‘Unfortunately, that’s not the case. You
see, Jimmy wasn’t the only survivor. Two of the scientists working on the
project are still unaccounted for. One of them we believe may now be working
for the Chinese. He, however, is not our biggest threat. It’s the other that
concerns us the most.’

Esteban took a moment to let the
information sink in.

‘So if we catch this scientist, the
threat will be contained? You wanted Jimmy in order to smoke out the other guy,
am I right?’

‘Something like that. But this isn’t a guy
we’re talking about. The scientist is a woman; her name is Dr November Rayne –
she calls herself Emmy for short. Although it’s safe to assume she’ll now be
using an alias. She’s the real danger.’

‘I don’t understand. How can she be more
dangerous if she’s gone into hiding and the other guy is the one working for
the Chinese? Is she infected like the others?’

‘No, she’s not infected. As far as we’re
aware, her participation in the experiments gave her immunity to the radiation.
The threat she poses is much worse. You see, she’s Jackson Fox’s granddaughter.
We know for a fact that she inherited his genius. What we don’t know is where
the similarities end. If she decides to follow in Fox’s footsteps, she could
become the biggest threat to national security since the cold war.’

Chapter 4

It was not only the pupils who were eager
to leave upon hearing the final bell of the day. The teachers also had lives
they wished to return to outside of school. Depending on the amount of marking
they had to do, this return could be delayed by anything from thirty minutes to
two hours. Alex was usually the first to finish her mandatory stint with the
red pen, but she would often stay back in her classroom anyway.

Though she worked in a small town high
school, the fact it was a public building gave her some consolation. The job
was legitimate and it made her a fully functioning member of society. It also
brought with it an air of respectability. If she was to keep her true identity
anonymous she would need more than a bottle of auburn hair dye and a pack of
brown contact lenses – the job provided just that.

The local news was, as per usual, subdued
and inconsequential. Nationally, however, there was one story that got her
attention. It was about a thwarted terrorist attack on Sydney Opera House.
Details were scant as the news was only just breaking, but it sent one
particular possibility cascading along the synapses of her mind.

Was he involved?

She read and reread the article.
According to the journalist at the scene, it was an international
counter-terrorism unit who had carried out the operation that foiled the
bombers. They had acted on intelligence built up from several months of
monitoring the suspects. No civilian tip-off or assistance was mentioned. It
sounded legit, but there was still something that niggled at her brain.

After reading the article a third time,
she did an online search for more on the attack. Every national media outlet
and all the major international ones were now running the story. It was only
after she had read a decent sample that she was able to place what was not
quite right with the reports.

Not one of them contained an eye witness
account. A major entertainment venue had been evacuated just minutes before a
high profile show and nobody thought to ask the evacuees any questions. This
was not so much unusual as downright suspicious.

She did another search, this time
focusing on the blogosphere. Again, there were many hits returned. This time,
however, when she attempted to click onto the links she was redirected to the
same frustrating message or variations there within.

This post has been removed by the
moderator
or
404 – page not found
were most common.

Another attempt, concentrating on social
media, brought the same results. Youtube and Instagram both had evidence of
files being removed and the incident failed to even trend on twitter. She could
not find a single hashtag relating to the attack. This could mean only one
thing – a cover up. The question was – just what were they covering up and why?

Rather than dwell on the matter, she
decided it best to put it out of her mind for the moment. It was not the first
time she had come across media blackouts and to think they all related to her
would be narcissistic to say the least. She turned off her laptop and packed
her bag, ready to go home for the evening.

On her way out, she would normally pop
her head through the doors of classrooms to say goodbye to the other teachers
working late. Despite not really being in the mood to exchange pleasantries,
she wanted to maintain a routine so this day was not an exception. She then
waved to the janitor on her way to the car park.

There would not usually be anybody else
around at this time, but as she was leaving, a swathe of blonde hair flickered
by the corner of her eye.

Looking back, she saw that the corridor
was deserted.

‘Hello,’ she enquired. ‘Is anybody
there?’

She back-tracked her previous steps in
order to take a look around the corner. Again, it was empty. Writing it off as
paranoia, she decided that any presence she thought she had seen was imagined.
However, as she returned to the exit, the same blonde hair danced in her
peripherals. This time, she decided to be more subtle in checking it out.
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her compact and flipped it open, tilting
the face to reflect what was behind her.

When she saw the young woman staring back
in the mirror, she instantly dropped it; allowing fear to enter her thoughts.
The clatter as it hit the ground did nothing to ease her anxiety.

How could
she
be here?

She spun around expecting to be greeted
with a face from the past, but the corridor was still empty. Not wanting to
remain there a moment longer, she quickly grabbed the compact and hurried out
the exit. When she got to her car, she paused briefly to look back at the
doors.

Nobody came through them. Nobody came
because nobody had been there in the first place. It was her imagination
playing tricks on her. Tricks of the cruellest sort.

This was not the first time she thought
she had seen the face of her former lover in this way and as much as it pained
her, she doubted it would be the last. Some scars never healed. And this
particular scar ran deep. Deeper than she would care to admit – even to
herself.