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  The frosted glass made a buzzing sound and then went clear, revealing beyond it a room of equal size to the one he currently stood in. In the centre sat a man on a metal chair, his arms cuffed behind his back and a bag placed over his head.

  “New interview room?” Meyer said. “I quite liked the little box one with the wooden table, it had character. This is all too American for my liking, I thought you had taste Helena?”

  “Oh and you'll need this,” Charlie said, filling the silence as Helena ignored him. He picked up a headset that was lying on the desk, placing it across Meyer's forehead so that it rested on his temples.

  “That is a brain signal transmitter. Mr. Martese is already wearing one. It will allow us to see what you are talking about,” Helena said.

  “What do you mean, see? How can this stupid machine read my thoughts?”

  “Thoughts are just electrical currents transmitted by the brain Meyer, which we can decode,” Helena said.

  “And if I don't want to wear it?” Meyer said.

  “Since when did you think you had a choice in the matter?” Helena said, in almost a snarl.

  Charlie escorted Meyer into the adjacent room, closing the door behind him. Although the room was locked, Meyer and Mr. Martese were anything but alone, with Helena in the next room and her new technology. He should get this over with as soon as possible.

  “Good morning, my name is Meyer.”

  The man in the chair said nothing. Rude, although God knows what he had been through before ending up here. Meyer was normally the last resort, they would have tried everything before calling him in.

  “If you talk to me Pablo, this will be a lot easier,” Meyer said.

  There was a screech in his ear and Helena's voice bombarded his ear drum.

  “Get on with it,” she said.

  Meyer reached over and pulled off the cloth covering the man's head. He didn't quite match his picture, but then a black eye and bruised jaw will do that to you. Walking around until he stood directly in front of Martese, Meyer spoke one word, “Isabella.”

  The name of the man's daughter was all it took. He glanced up by instinct and was caught by Meyer's gaze.

  “In mentem, in cogitationibus.”

  Meyer broke through the mild layers of protection this man had and set up the scene to ask his questions. There are numerous techniques for doing this, but Meyer had always subscribed to inducing dream like states in his interviewees. He had used this method for the past thirty years and it was yet to fail him. Meyer set the scene: a dark room with Martese sat in a black leather chair under a white spotlight and Meyer sat across from him behind a curved metal table with bright horizontal neon strips covering the outside. He had stolen the image from the show Mastermind, it was simple enough to create and meant he could focus his power on making his subjects talk.

  “Hello Mr. Martese,” Meyer said again.

  Martese tried to struggle, shuffling left and right in his seat, attempting to lift his hands from the arm rests of the chair. That wouldn't work of course, Meyer was in control here and Martese wasn't going anywhere.

  “I won't speak. I know what you are,” Martese said.

  “How do you-” Meyer started to say, but was interrupted by a voice sounding out, as if over a tannoy system.

  “Just the questions Meyer,” Helena said.

  Bloody hell, could she see what was going on in real time? Well, that was weird. Could she only hear the things he said aloud? By that of course, he meant in his mind, which admittedly is a difficult concept for non-mentalists to understand. 'Cow,' Meyer thought to himself.

  “Meyer,” Helena said.

  Damn. She’d heard him, Meyer needed to be careful.

  “What is your name?” Meyer said.

  Martese shook his head, trying to fight the urge to answer. Meyer's interrogations were a bit like giving his subject a truth serum, only facts could leave their lips. His second trick was to force them to talk if any thought crossed their mind, which Meyer was sure nobody else in the alternate community could do. That combination made him 'special,' and above all, useful for retrieving information. There was a reason he had been made Doyen of Mentalism, even over Wade, and this was it. Other mentalists have to mentally torture their victims to get them to talk, which was all a little gruesome for Meyer's taste, his method was so much neater.

  “Pablo Martese. Shut up. Shut up,” Martese said as he realised that he was speaking against his will.

  “It's quite all right, you-”

  “Just the questions or so help me God,” Helena said.

  This was going to get him nowhere, perhaps he should just do what Helena said: ask the questions and get out of there, but where was the fun in that? There was more to Mr. Martese than met the eye. For starters, it was obvious he was an alternate. At least there was a high chance he was, not many humans knew how a mentalist worked.

  Meyer had an idea and he hoped that he had managed to keep it to himself, because if Helena knew what he was about to do, he could place a safe bet that she would kill him herself.

  - Chapter 16 -

  Rooms

  They were sitting in Meyer’s library, he in his arm chair by the fire and Mr. Martese sitting across from him. They weren’t actually at the house of course, the whole setup was a projection in Meyer's mind, but it was nicer than another interrogation room.

  “You can take me wherever you like, I will not speak to you,” Martese said.

  “Why do you think you are here?”

  Martese was silent, which Meyer did not appreciate. It was exhausting to keep the two images up, taking both their subconscious thoughts and making their conversation private. This interview was being held deep in Meyer's mind, hopefully somewhere that Helena's contraption wouldn't be able to get to. He was populating Mr. Martese's conscious thoughts with the mastermind interview, except now Meyer was playing both roles, controlling everything that Helena would detect. Martese would be free to talk in secret and if Meyer discovered anything pertinent to Helena, he could relay it via the Mastermind scene.

  “Mr. Martese, I am trying to help you. I have been asked to interview you on behalf of the government, but for what crimes I have not been made aware of. This is your chance to speak freely,” Meyer said.

  Meyer released the impulse to speak from Martese, which he must have felt as his private thoughts were once again his own.

  “Why are you doing this?” Martese said.

  “I don't trust the government. A feeling we share, I believe?” Meyer said.

  Helena's voice called out over the tannoy in the Mastermind image. “What was his intention?”

  “Mr. Martese, what was your intention?” Meyer said, back in the library image.

  “I am not saying anything to you,” Martese said.

  “Why did they arrest you?” Meyer said.

  “I am a member of a political party that fights for freedom from the persecution of the government and the Inquisition.”

  “So you are an alternate, and a member of Deliverance it would appear. You probably deserve whatever you get if you align with them, I think this private interview was a mistake. They are terrorists. Yesterday they destroyed three Inquisition safe-holds, killings hundreds of innocents, just to catch one new Inquisitor.”

  “The Inquisition needs to be stopped, if we don't do something, nobody will have the strength to stand up for their freedom. We show them that the Inquisition are not untouchable.”

  “Why are you here Mr. Martese?”

  “We found something that will change the course of the war against suppression, information that exposes the true nature of what happens here. The government have caught and experimented on hundreds of alternates over the last six months.”

  “Experimented?”

  “One of our agents managed to infiltrate the department. He found information he intended to pass on to us, but we were ambushed before we could meet him. Our intention was to publish the results, let the world
see what was going on.”

  He needed to give Helena something. Speaking out as Martese he said, 'Expose the government.'

  Helena spoke immediately, “Do not question him on that Meyer. Do that and I will personally see to it that you end up in prison. Who was his contact?”

  Meyer repeated the question in the fake Mastermind image and switched back to the library.

  “What were they using the research for?” Meyer asked.

  “A method to weaponise alternate powers,” Martese said.

  Martese wasn't lying. Unbeknownst to him, Meyer had returned the pressure for him to only answer truthfully. What he said had far reaching consequences, Helena had gone too far. In the original accordance, it was agreed that humans would not engage in experiments on alternates, even if the participants agreed.

  “Does Wade know?”

  “Of course he does, who do you think has been helping them design it? The research came straight from the Inquisition itself.”

  “Who was your government contact?”

  Martese answered before he realised the truth field was back up. The game was up, he now knew he wasn't fully in control, but Meyer had the answer to the next of his questions. He repeated the answer to Helena, 'Nigel Elmore,' speaking as Martese.

  “You lied to me,” Martese said.

  “If what you say is true, then this information needs to be disclosed through the proper channels. Revealing our world to humans would be death to all of us, you know that surely?” Meyer said.

  “They will kill him.”

  “I know.”

  Helena spoke again, “Last question Meyer, who does he work for?”

  Meyer flittered back to Martese. He needed more time, although he couldn't keep this up much longer, his energy was plummeting by the second.

  “Where can I find the proof?” Meyer said.

  “He was bringing us evidence and now he will be dead before we are finished here. You have destroyed all of our work,” Martese said.

  “Who else knows? Who can I go to?”

  “Nigel works for the Department, they will kill him for sure. I cannot trust you.”

  “I can make sure the evidence gets to the right people, we can expose this properly. I will warn him.”

  Meyer opened his power so that his consciousness spread out as far as it could, the echo of a name whispered in the wind.

  Nigel Elmore.

  It took a few moments, but Meyer felt a twinge as the thought, that name, resonated in its owners mind. Meyer used the tenuous link to send out a warning, although it almost killed him to do so.

  “Your secret is exposed, they are coming for you. Run.”

  “Now tell me the name of who you work for,” Meyer said.

  “No,” Martese said.

  “You are a dead man, but if I don't get answers for Helena, I can't promise she won't drag your family into this.”

  “My family?”

  “They already know everything about them, she could destroy their lives in a heartbeat. Pablo, I have to ask one last question for their sake, who do you work for?”

  Meyer was desperate for time. He had started to feel nauseous, which meant his normal power reserves were gone and soon both of the images he had created would collapse.

  “I can't,” Martese said.

  “Your children, for Christ’s sake think of them,” Meyer said.

  Martese paused, deciding if he could trust Meyer. Of course he couldn't, but for whatever reason, he said the name. An impossible name, but there was no time to question him about it. Meyer destroyed the image of library, returning Martese's consciousness and turning the memory of what had just happened to rubble, replacing it with the normal interrogation. Before he took down the Mastermind projection, for which Meyer still played both roles, he repeated Martese's answer to Helena.

  “Adrianna.”

  Meyer withdrew from Martese's thoughts and returned to his body. With an ungracious thud, he fell to the floor as his legs gave way. He'd overdone it and for what, a lie? Pushing Martese for a name had been a mistake, too much energy expended for an answer that could not be true.

  “Mr Ravenscroft?” Meyer heard a voice say. “Are you okay?”

  It was Charlie. Meyer opened his eyes and the reality of his foolishness kicked in. Helena was standing in the doorway, her gaze fixed on him. She wasn't happy, that much was clear. Christ, had he mucked that last bit up? Had she discovered what he had done?

  “We need to talk,” Helena said.

  With those four words, she left the room. Charlie strained to raise Meyer from the ground, letting out a groan as he finally brought Meyer to his feet.

  “Thank you, boy. A glass of whiskey and I'll be right as rain,” Meyer said.

  He left the room using Charlie as a support and was guided into yet another meeting room. This one was much larger, with a frosted glass board table and surrounding leather chairs. Helena sat at one side, a silhouette against the view of St. James' Park behind her. Meyer took a seat, staring expectantly at Charlie: he hadn't been joking about the whiskey.

  “'Expose the government,' 'Nigel Elmore' and 'Adrianna'. Those were the only bits of information Pablo Martese told you?” Helena said.

  “You should have said he was an alternate,” Meyer said.

  “A mentalist. I imagine no other type of alternate could surely cause you that much trouble, that is unless, there is more you discovered that you would like to discuss?”

  “What did he mean by 'Expose the government'?”

  “Obviously, he was talking about how we keep the alternate world a secret. Isn't that what those damn terrorists of yours fight for?”

  “My terrorists? You need to watch the way you band us together Helena, not very PC of you at all. Alternates deserve the same rights, surely? You cannot brand us as animals that need controlling, or a dirty secret you don't want to escape. Interesting thing was, you didn't ask how he intends to do it?”

  “Intended. And I didn't ask, because I already have that information, I just needed the contact. You haven't answered my question.”

  “This Elmore fellow, he is a member of your staff?”

  “That isn't of your concern.”

  “What is of my concern, Helena, is who he claimed his boss to be. Adrianna. Finally a name for the head of Deliverance, but you already knew that.”

  “Adrianna is a myth Meyer. It isn't the first time the leader of a terrorist group would take the name of a figure from legend. It doesn't help us in the slightest. My question?”

  “A myth? He said it with quite some conviction and you know, they cannot lie to me. First Grendal, then Adrianna - are you worried?”

  “It is just a name and there is no evidence to suggest your serial killer is in fact one of the five. They are all dead, it has been hundreds of years Meyer, are you going soft? You appear to be avoiding my question. Was that all he said?”

  “Now why would I do that? How could I possibly get away with anything, when you have that new infernal contraption of yours?”

  “We focused it on the section of thoughts you directed us to for your interrogation, but the machine picks up everything. Is there a need for me to review it all?” Helena said.

  A smile had spread across her haggard face, her deep-set wrinkles becoming ever more pronounced. She had him, it was just a matter of time until she knew everything. Charlie entered the room, breaking the silence that had developed between the pair and placed a glass by Meyer.

  “Boy, what on earth do you call this?” Meyer said.

  “It's water sir,” Charlie said.

  “I asked for whiskey.”

  “Sir, we only have water coolers and-”

  “Never mind. Helena, if that is all?” Meyer said, turning to her.

  Helena smiled, something unnatural about the expression on her face. “For now.”

  - Chapter 17 -

  Evidence

  Another face on the board, the printed image of the unknown victi
m taken from Alex's phone until forensics could send across the photographs from the scene. Underneath she wrote:

  Name: unknown.

  Age: unknown.

  Occupation: unknown.

  Cause of death: Lateral incision to throat, potential suicide.

  The last item was more of a mystery than the rest, the word potential only awaiting confirmation from Chris. Why had the victim killed himself? He was also the first victim found without any identification, which was surely important. There was something special about this killing, if they were going to find a break in the case, this murder was key.

  The Homicide and Serious Crime Command, or SCD1 for short, dealt with the most heinous and prominent of crimes and, as such, was filled with the best detectives in the Met. Alex belonged to a sub unit that consisted of five DIs, numerous DSs and a myriad of DCs, PCs, administrators and support staff. The case had been picked up by the newspapers and big publicity meant a big police budget, which, in turn, meant you got all the bells and whistles of a full investigation force. It was incredibly hard to transfer into one of the units and a successful stint was a ticket to future career success. This was a unit for career cops. That was probably the reason why the incident room was known as the bull ring, not because the previous Superintendent was from Birmingham, but because it was where big egos clashed and voices were raised enough to be heard across the station. Drew sat at a desk across the room, his nose red and swollen from the night before. His gaze was fixed on Alex, blood shot capillaries surrounding his hazel irises.

  Alex stood back from the board and panned across the eight pictures. Six men, two women - all killed in the same surgical way, by someone who had been labelled by the media as a ghost. Everyone in the incident room stood silently in front of the board, as striped light poured in through blinded windows across the rows of desks, painting masks across the faces of the detectives. A literal depiction of how their lives were led, hiding their true selves from their colleagues, putting on a face they wished others to see.

  “Either we have made too many assumptions and lost the pattern, or we are missing something major. This last killing is a further step away still,” Alex said.