BOOK 2: COMMUNITY / CH. 28:TRAVELLING

MONDAY AUG 14TH

The engine note changed as the military transport reached cruising altitude and levelled out. There wasn't a direct flight this time, which suited Karen and George quite well, as they'd be able to see where Karen had been at school. The plane, three quarters full of cargo, was also carrying twelve guards, someone Karen recognised as a field agent for Security and the two prisoners: Hamed and Ibrahim. They were in a separate section, out of sight. Maria had made sure of that, otherwise George and Karen couldn't have travelled on the same plane as the prisoners.

The guards, who'd been flown in from an outlying posting to collect the prisoners, had just witnessed something that they'd probably be talking about for a few years to come, and were telling everyone what had happened — in this case everyone meant each other, the field agent, Karen, George and the plane's load-master, who was sitting in for the company.

“So there we were, taking delivery of those two in the back, when up drives this enormous vehicle, far more impressive than the ambassador's, truth be told, and out gets someone. I think it might have been the president himself!”

“Only seen him on the banknotes myself, before now, but I'm sure it was him.”

“And he tells Ibrahim there that whatever the human rights court says, since he's also been plotting to overthrow the president, if he dares show his ugly face back there again then he'll be brought up for treason. I guess he meant taken to court.”

“Nah, you misheard,” corrected his colleague. “He said lifted up. By the neck, you know!” and he mimed graphically.

“Oh! That makes more sense!”

“And he, brave but not too clever if you ask me, replied that he'd really regret having to depose the president or his feeble-minded cousin when the time came.”

“But what the president said to that, I don't think I could have heard it right. I heard, ‘She's bright enough to run rings round you.’ I'm sure that he used the female form, but that makes no sense.”

“Must make sense, unless he misspoke. I heard the same thing. But anyway then this woman dressed up like one of their folk-tale witches, I didn't see her get out of the car, but she must have done, unless she appeared out of nowhere, whispers something to the president and he tells her to go ahead.”

“Then two more get out of the car, but I'm sure one was a bloke, for all that he was wearing a veil.”

“Course he was a bloke, women don't wear jeans there!”

“And then they join hands round the sidekick there and have what sounds like a Christian prayer meeting. But I thought they were all Moslems here.”

“Sizeable Christian minority,” commented the Security agent.

“But why would Christians be dressed up as fancy dress witches, and what on earth did they do to the prisoner? Inject him with something? They stood round him and then he screamed like a stuck pig!”

“No, they didn't touch him. They just prayed, I was with him and heard it.”

“So come on, out with it, what did they pray?”

“They just prayed ‘Father God, this man only uses his strength for evil. Take it from him that he might repent.’ And then he screamed.”

“Odd sort of prayer and an even odder sort of reaction.”

Ibrahim spoke up from his box in the back. He spoke cultured English and his tone was dripping scorn. “You ignorant fools. You get the facts wrong, you pretend to speak our language but clearly don't, and you understand nothing! Now be silent in the presence of your superiors and say nothing of what you do not comprehend!”

A fourth guard, a sergeant by his stripes, who'd been silent until now said, “The prisoner has a point, guys, but I don't know who he thinks are our superiors. I'd be really disappointed if he classed himself in that category, given what he's charged with. But you have missed the odd crucial fact or three. Those costumes weren't fancy dress, they were the formal dress of truth-sayers, and I'd say their prayer makes it pretty clear that they've just found sleeping ugly back there guilty of being a thought-stealer. Three of them convinced of that could have passed a death sentence, but I guess they pulled his teeth instead.”

“Pulled his teeth?”

“Stripped him of his power.”

“You don't believe in that mystical stuff, do you?”

“What, thought reading? Or God?”

“Either. Both!”

“Oh, God's real enough. Bit surprising to see such a clear and rapid answer to prayer, but there you are, you can hardly argue it's not a miracle when it happens so fast, can you? As for the mind reading, there's so many stories about it here that a sceptical anthropologist I know came out here a few years back and eventually found a truth-sayer to talk to. He wanted to try and find out if it was trickery or hypnosis or what. Came back utterly convinced. No one ever accepted the paper he wrote for publication, of course, until he'd rephrased it so that it was all about the beliefs of the people rather than the truth of the claims.”

“Wow. You're saying it's real? That's weird. Any advice from your friend if you don't want someone poking about in your skull?”

“Avoid touch. They need to touch you.”

Karen and George looked at each other.

[Only half right, should we tell more?] Karen asked.

[No harm, may be important. Shall I?]

[No, I will.] Karen decided.

“Sergeant, couldn't help overhearing. Your friend only got it half right. It works through metal too.”

“Oh? Who told you that?”

“A truth-sayer I met. I didn't want you to think you were safe from a thought-stealer when you weren't.”

“So what's the difference between a thought-stealer and a truth-sayer, can you make sense of that for me?”

“It's a bit like the difference between a soldier and a terrorist. Soldier wears a uniform, carries his weapon in plain sight. Truth-sayers don't make it a secret what they can do, and when they're... off-duty if you like ... they'd try to avoid hearing people's thoughts. Thought-stealers would go out of their way to listen in, pretend they're normal, and use your ignorance to their advantage.”

“Avoid hearing? You make it sound like they can't turn it on or off,” the sergeant observed.

“Can you turn off your ears, sergeant? I can't. My information says it is like that.”

“That could be awkward.”

“That's why they like to wear gloves, and suggest others do too. Less embarrassment all round, and less leaks to thought-stealers.”

“I see you two are wearing them. That's why?”

“Yes. That's why,” George agreed.

The conversation moved from what sort of gloves the soldiers might wear to sports and Karen found herself becoming dozy. She'd lost a lot of sleep and now she had time to catch up some, maybe. Closing her eyes she began to doze.

George saw Karen close her eyes and then relax. It was, he realised, the first time he'd seen his beloved asleep, although of course he'd seen her when she'd been semi-unconscious or however it was appropriate to describe someone whose mind was inhabiting the peace. She was so beautiful and seemed so vulnerable, his heart felt like it would burst with joy to think they were engaged now. Watching over her, he prayed through the things they'd been involved in in the last week.

The plane continued on its journey, Karen shifted in her sleep and rested her head on George's shoulder. If she'd been awake, feedback would have been almost certain. But she wasn't. George became aware of flickers of thought, too fast to understand without using the gift and he realised that these were the accelerated thoughts of dreaming. Thoughts that could make a dream which seemed an hour long, actually short enough in time to explain the ringing of an alarm clock.

Karen awoke. She realised that the feelings of being cherished were not just the dream and that her pillow was actually George. It was a nice feeling, but she felt the feedback coming. She sat up.

[I had some very nice dreams about being all loved and cherished.]

[So the power works when we're asleep too. Not very surprising, since ears keep processing too. Please notice the change of subject and avoid returning to how much I love you.]

[{LOVE} Sorry. Urm. Good idea. That week didn't quite end up as the week we expected, did it, George?]

[No, but important things got done.]

[Oh yes. Important things. Lives saved, torture avoided, justice restored, evil-doers jailed, I have a very significant ring on my finger, and young Ahmed is having regular chats with Pastor Yosuf about turning his life around.]

[And hopefully Yosuf's brother Ahmed is talking to his aunt about similar things. Did your mother say anything more about what happened when your uncle heard about Ibrahim's arrest in the news? All I heard was that he wanted to give evidence against him.]

[Yes. Apparently he said that Ibrahim had been blackmailing him. Which I find a bit surprising.]

[Why surprising? We thought he was being pushed.]

[Pushed, yes, but blackmail? As far as I can work out, the main hold Ibrahim should have had over him would be that he got him out of jail early and could reveal some of my uncle's crimes, but I'd have thought that would be reciprocal. It doesn't sound like a possibility for blackmail, more like a partnership. It can't be blackmail if Ibrahim was funding him either. It would only be blackmail if it involved a threat of revealing something, or maybe of violence against him or a loved one. So I just don't see it.]

[Maybe he's discovered his tender side and finally has someone to protect.]

[That doesn't sound very like him from Mummy's description.]

[Well, maybe she doesn't know everything.]

[Heresy! {smile} How can you think that Mummy not know something!]

[Well, she didn't know about me having the power, but then I kept that a

good secret. But she could have known about Debora's connection to the president, but if she knew anything about her she was hiding it very well.]

[OK, Mummy doesn't know everything. But still. Blackmail? I don't get it. And to what purpose from Ibrahim's end? Influence over his crime network? It doesn't make much sense to me.]

The plane made another turn and the engines settled to idle. The pilot announced they were on final approach and to buckle up for a bumpy landing.

“Turbulence?” George asked the load master, turning pale at the thought.

“No, worse. Dirt runway.”

“But I thought bad turbulence could rattle us like peas in a pod?”

“Yes, but a bad runway could rip off the landing gear, then where would we be, eh? Scattered in pieces all over the place. Sorry, I've got to earn my pay and check the cargo again, just in case.”

“Maybe we should all pray for a safe landing,” George said, white faced.

Karen looked in amazement at him. “It's not that scary! Just a routine dirt runway landing.”

“Easy for you to say.”

[This is only my second time mysteriously defying gravity without any visible means of support, in an overly complicated box, and I didn't know anyone still landed on dirt anywhere, let alone a plane this big.”

[I should have worked out that you're not used to flying, George, sorry. The risk of an accident is minimal. {reassurance} I'll join you in prayer, but you don't need to panic.]

[Sorry, Karen. I guess it's just that we're from such different worlds. {distress} Is ‘us’ really going to work?]

[{calm, trust} We share one God, one Redeemer, one Spirit and one gift, George. And love can cross greater barriers than there are between us. Let's pray about these things too.]

----------------------------------------

The landing was smooth, and while the taxi to the parking area was more bumpy than most people would find comfortable if they happened to be holding a bowl of hot soup, it wasn't at all bad. No one would dream of serving hot soup here in any case. Karen had warned George about the air temperature, and he found she was right. It honestly felt like they were in an oven when they left the plane, and he was amazed that his lungs didn't dry out and crumble to dust.

Fortunately a jeep was there to meet them as soon as they reached the foot of the stairs. George felt he needed a drink as he got in. He'd wondered at Karen's insistence that he wear a canteen. Now he understood. In this heat, it was just necessary to carry extra water.

“You're with witnesses protection?” asked the driver, a middle aged woman who looked hot, out of place and flustered. She showed her Security ID and George automatically checked it. It looked genuine but was slightly unusual. Her picture was on it, but there was no name, just a number. His study of security passes had included the type. Issued for when the holder was potentially at risk if their name was widely known: either because of a family connection, for undercover agents who might be using a false name, or for very senior staff.

[Interesting pass,] he commented to Karen.

[I'm pretty sure I've never seen her. And this posting isn't exactly high on the ladder.]

“Don't ask me how your itinerary got this messed up, just tell me you're not staying long.”

“There's a problem with our itinerary? Four hours doesn't count as a long time, surely?”

“Good answer. Keep your heads down, please.”

“Local unrest? I hadn't heard.” Karen was concerned, that could ruin their plans for sight-seeing.

“Normal levels, but perimeter security isn't as tight as usual.”

“Oh.” They arrived at the security office. Blessedly, it was now supplied with electrical power and a small air conditioning unit. It wasn't powerful enough to drop the temperature by more than ten degrees, but even that felt wonderful.

“Nice air-con,” Karen observed when they were inside. “How long has it been here? I don't remember it.”

“I'm not sure. I've only been here a week, now there's these security problems, you're here with a messed up itinerary, and the guy who's supposed to be showing me the ropes is having dental surgery. I wonder what else will go wrong.”

“Security problems are due to the UN arrest warrant?”

“You know about that? Yes. Not as many eyes around here as usual. They all went off by plane when the warrant was issued, just in case, and from what I hear they're all on their way back now. But they're not here. Which adds to the problem of your itinerary.” Peering at the computer, she added. “I hope there's an answer here for me. It's crazy!”

“What's the problem? That there's nowhere better for us to wait? We were hoping to see some of the town, actually.”

“You'll see more of it than you planned, I think. Your itinerary doesn't mention sight-seeing. In fact it says quite clearly that you're to remain here until you can board your plane. But that's a contradiction because the flight home doesn't leave from here, it's using the civilian airport for the next three weeks. Somehow you're going to have to cross the city without the driver and escort that I'm supposed to provide under the witness protection rules. You'll get lost and I'll face charges of failing to protect you. I suppose I could desert my post here and face that charge instead, but all I could do is be your driver. I'm a total write-off as a bodyguard. The book says there should be a couple of soldiers I can call on, but the only soldiers around not on critical guard duty or prisoner escort are enjoying a sleep break after double duty. I got my ear chewed off good and proper from the C.O. for even asking. So, I can't do what I'm supposed to do, you're going to get lost and mugged or something and the weather is probably going to get even hotter tonight. Or you could stay in this office for three weeks and obey most of your itinerary except the departure date.” She looked back to the screen. “Oh what an amazing response! Really helpful, thanks whoever sent that. You know what the reply was? One word! ‘Improvise.’”

“Sounds good to me,” Karen laughed. “We won't get lost, I know my way around.”

“You've been here before? Oh yes, you said you didn't remember the air-con.”

“I was at school here for four years, once my parents decided I wasn't going to

die from homesickness or boredom away from embassy life.”

“So your name's not a coincidence? You are Karen, Maria's daughter? I had an initial and surname, but I thought it couldn't be you.”

“Yes, that's me, but I'm afraid I don't recognize you either.”

“I've finally taken up your mother's offer to come and see what life is like in her side of the work. I'm Tasha.”

“Finally a face to put to a name! It's nice to meet you at last. But you got put here?” Karen asked, incredulous, “You must have really upset Mummy! Tasha, this is George, my fiancé. He has my clearance level. George, Tasha is Mummy's opposite number in another branch of Security. Mummy always moans that Tasha has a nasty habit of filling in critical little gaps in Mummy's field reports.”

“Congratulations on the engagement! I'd missed that detail. I get details all the time, just can't fit them together to anything useful without the big picture from the field report. And as for being here, it was my idea. I thought I'd see what it's like at three different levels, and well, this place seemed like a good introduction. I thought it was going OK until today.”

“But you're shadowing someone, and they just happened to have a dentist appointment today?” Karen asked, suspiciously.

“Yes. Should I be suspicious?”

“What do you think, Tasha?”

“I think they want me to improvise. I hate improvising and they know that. So either they're being nasty, or they're trying to give me a situation where I'm forced to overcome my irrational hatred, for my own betterment, or it is just a genuine coincidence. I also think that if he comes back without having had any dental work, I'm going to make him wish he had, without anaesthetic.”

“That sounds fair to me. And the improvising?”

“Nothing much happening here, so I'm going to see you to the airport myself. Jeep or taxi?”

Karen cringed. “Eek. I'd rather arrive unscathed, so urm... neither?”

“Could you expand on that?”

“Well, a woman driving anything is an invitation for hassle from every passing male. Driving a jeep without an armed guard, well,” she ticked them off on her fingers, “a policeman won't believe you have it legitimately, a militant would think you're an easy target for kidnap or just as a strike for the cause, a professional crook would think about what he'd get for the jeep and how easily he could overpower you for the keys, and the local bully boys would love to have a gen-U-ine military vehicle to pose around in. Not that there are many militants or bully boys around, but you can't be too careful.”

“OK, jeep is too vulnerable and attractive to bad guys. What about a taxi?”

Karen acted one end of a phone call, using what she thought of as her really-dumb teenager voice. “Hello, I've got diplomatic or military connections but just no sense of self preservation. Could some stranger pick me up and take me to be a hostage, please? I hear the food is very authentic.” Changing to more serious tones, she said, “Standard procedure, Tasha, you never, ever, take a taxi from a military base in an unstable country. Or name one as your destination. Also, on the street, never take the first or second taxi you see, they could have been trailing you. The risk is too high.”

“Urm. And they left me in charge?”

“I think they assumed I'd have this conversation with you if you suggested anything so silly.”

“So how do you plan to get to the other airport?”

“Easy, it's just like getting to the school dorms, which are practically next door. When the perimeter guards give the all clear, we slip out of the side gate, across the road and into the alley. Then half way down the alley, we go into the side door of the shopping centre, which is not well known, but perfectly permissible, in case you're wondering. We then mix with shoppers for a bit, and maybe even buy something. Then we catch the bus from the shopping centre to the main bus station, then like lots of other people we wander around looking at what the little traders have for sale there and then catch the airport bus. Easy, eh?”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“It's all rather exposed.”

“Exposed to non-curious people. Not standing out like a sore thumb, not putting ourselves into the hands of someone who might owe the militants a favour.”

“I must say that it sounds far safer than the jeep or taxi,” George offered.

“Oh, all right. And what about if you get mugged?”

“Oh, I had my share of self defence classes, and I can scream pretty well in the local dialect,” Karen said.

“And though I don't like having a knife pointed at me, well, I had a rough childhood. Either I'll end up as the one holding the knife, or no one will be, if anyone threatens me or Karen.” This he said with such quiet confidence that Karen was surprised and Tasha didn't dare to challenge it.

Tasha played her last card, “But how do you fit into the crowd? You're not dressed in local fashion.”

Karen laughed, “Oh, fitting in is easy, we just need to get changed. Which way to your bathroom?”

“And what about me?” Tasha asked.

“What about you? You can't leave your post.” Karen felt a horror creeping over her. Surely she wasn't going to be expected to babysit Tasha? At least with George she could tell him mind-to-mind what to say if he was asked something.

“I've been instructed to improvise, so I think I'll improvise that I go with you to the airport. OK, I might not be able to help much, but at least I can witness this route of yours. No one has mentioned it to me and I'm curious.”

“And how will you get back? Do you speak the local language at all?” Karen asked.

“A few words. But actually I plan to tell my trainer where I am and ask that he accompany me back here. Failing that, I'll catch an airport taxi to the shopping centre here. I think I can manage that. Or are you going to tell me that's dangerous too?”

“Any taxi is dangerous, but no, it's not nearly as risky as calling one to pick you up from here. You really want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have suitable clothes?” Karen asked, looking at the beautifully embroidered and immaculately tailored outfit that Tasha was wearing.

“What are these, then?”

“Roughly speaking, suitable for a bank-manager or very successful business woman. We're aiming more for ordinary office slave.”

“Oh. Great. So, no one in these would be on a bus?”

“Not really. Not unless you were a politician wanting to gather support by mixing with the masses. You'd stick out like a sore thumb, I'm afraid.”

“And if I went with you then you wouldn't be as able to blend in, even if I had the right clothes?”

Karen nodded, relieved at this display of wisdom. “Correct. Sorry.”

“Oh all right, I'll stay here. I can analyse the signals your face has been sending easily enough, Karen. Have a safe trip. The bathroom is through that door.” Karen went to change first.

While waiting, George asked, “You said you ah, picked up lots of details? I don't suppose you know any more links between Roland Underwood and either of the prisoners than we do, do you?”

Tasha looked at him seriously, “Depends what you know, young man. And why you want to know.”

“We've been trying to make sense out of a number of things, like why Roland Underwood was trying to kill me, why he had someone break into Karen's house, why he lured Karen into the tunnels, why, having lured her there was she not actually kidnapped, why Hamed arranged for Underwood to be released early from prison. Why Underwood is now claiming Hamed has been blackmailing him. What Hamed was planning to do with the hole under the embassy, was that really what Roland was referring to when he told the thugs that were due to torture me to death that I should tell Maria that more people would be facing an end like their neighbour's cat when he was little. If so, what does that hole have to do with the results we're going to publish from the Institute?”

“Urm. I didn't get all those references,” Tasha said. “What was that about Roland's neighbour's cat?”

Karen had returned partly through George's list. “It's not important. What I find unbelievable is that he goes to such great and complex pains to get me into the tunnels then there's no one there to grab me. Also that he lets himself get seen when George is attacked, and thirdly that he claims he's being blackmailed. It's not like he has any loved ones to protect. What's got into him? It almost seems like he's just going through the motions of being an arch villain without his heart being in it.”

“What about his daughter?” Tasha asked.

“What daughter?”

“He has a daughter. I must have passed that on to your mother, didn't she tell you?”

“I don't believe she knew, she seemed as puzzled as I about the blackmail thing.”

“Couldn't we contact her?” George suggested.

“Of course,” Tasha replied, and tapped a few times on the computer terminal.

“Maria, the youngsters have been dredging my memory for details about the things they've been involved in...”

“Oh yes, which ones?”

“Nothing recent, Mummy, except about that word blackmail.”

“Very puzzling word, I agree.”

“Tasha's got an important detail for you.”

“Oh yes? I'm all ears.”

“They thought that Roland hadn't got any loved ones to protect. But he has a daughter. You knew that, didn't you, Maria? I must have told you.”

“No, or we'd have been watching her. When did you find out?”

“Years ago. I've been getting his correspondence checked for years and he sometimes writes to her. Nothing interesting, except that he seems to be trying to convince her that he's being persecuted for his political views, and he's innocent of everything.”

“Really? And she believes him?”

“I'm not sure. Last impression I had was that she's a bit suspicious that he's done something but is prepared to believe part of it.”

“So she's how old?”

“Oh, about Karen's age, I'd guess. I really thought you knew this, Maria.”

“I didn't. So, he's got someone to protect, who he's trying to keep away from his crimes. Very interesting. I wonder where she is now. That gives a few opportunities for blackmail, I'd say. I don't suppose you know who the mother is?” Maria asked.

“I have the feeling it was a brief liaison. Probably connected to his political activities. I'll have to check, but I think there was some kind of ‘I never knew she became pregnant’ plea.”

“Human nature doesn't change much, does it? I expect absentee fathers were saying that sort of thing when agriculture was first invented,” Karen observed.

“Probably,” Tasha agreed.

[Might she be in danger, Karen? I don't think we should only check up on our friends.]

[Love our enemies, you mean? I agree.]

“Mummy. No favouritism. See if he'll sign a Pris-type statement, and someone from the Institute will check on her, I'm sure.”

“Good thought, Karen. Tasha, what's her name?”

“I think it's Liz. Yes, I'm pretty sure.”

“Could you check? It really spoils the interview if an agent says, ‘So, is Liz actually in danger?’ and that turns out to have been the name of his pet goldfish who's been dead these last five years.”

“Of course, Maria. All I need to do is sort through a few gigabytes of data half way across the planet, without shorting out this terminal with the sweat dripping off my fingers. Give me a few seconds, OK?”

“Of course, Tasha. While you're talking to your database, could you ask it about any travel plans by Ibrahim or Hamed around when Karen went down her tunnel?”

Karen supplied the date.

“Of course.”

[Karen, I've just checked where she is. I'd be surprised if Liz isn't in danger, unless she's there willingly. She's in Ibrahim’s country house.]

[Ouch.]

[I know you've been avoiding telling Tasha things, but...]

[Yes. I'm not really sure why, but I don't think she needs to know. But I've got an idea.]

“Mummy, second thoughts. We can guess roughly what Ibrahim's done if Roland's disappointed him. Rather than the Institute, I think it's more in the department of someone that end.”

“And George, do you think so too?”

“Yes, Maria, I think this is almost certainly in her region of expertise and experience, far more than the Institute's.”

“Why do I think that you three are sending coded messages?”

Maria laughed, “Oh, that's easy, Tasha. It's your job to notice such things.”

“And just who is this woman you're not naming? Am I allowed to know that?”

“Someone who's been very helpful recently, Tasha.”

“And she has some kind of ability that isn't covered by the Institute's disclosure statement, is that it? Oh come on, people, we're on the same side! Why keep secrets from me?”

“Are we on the same side, Tasha? You and I don't see eye to eye on everything, and you might not like the truth.”

“The only things we disagree about is what's interesting and religion, Maria. You've not got some religious crackpot on call who claims to be able to whistle up a miracle, have you?”

“I don't think your suggesting that we'd listen to a religious crackpot demonstrates a very balanced outlook, Tasha. Let's instead say that this woman was instrumental in locating the missing persons who trigged the UN arrest warrant. It's because of her that the missing soldiers you keep complaining about are on their way home today, and not in three months.”

“But you're going to tell me that her abilities have nothing to do with what Karen's new employer is about to publish?”

“Oh, they're going to be discussed in one of the papers,” Karen assured her. “But there's really no need at all for you to know who has the gifts described.”

“So, will you at least tell me about these telepathic powers or whatever they are?”

“Mummy?”

“Oh, go ahead. Tasha thinks she's an incurable atheist. If she wants her worldview challenged, go ahead and tell her. Just don't miss your flight.”

“Tasha. You really want to know?”

“Yes, I think I do. Tell me about what thought readers can really do. I read a pre-publication paper by an anthropologist. It seemed a little far fetched, but it seems to chime with what the Institute document says.”

“OK, I'll tell you. Please consider this as a security briefing, your ears only. There are two related things. One we call the power. It's surprising, but all relatively explicable. Eventually there will probably be electronic interfaces based on it. From what we've heard, the anthropologist got it mostly right, but didn't know that metal transfers thoughts pretty well. Avoid skin to skin contact or skin-metal-skin, and don't make decisions within a few metres of a thought-hearer and your thoughts are yours alone.”

“And the second type?”

“A small number of people — all committed Christians, I might add — have been given a scary version. Some might call it restricted access to supernatural knowledge. Able to know where a person is and what they're thinking, anywhere on the planet. In closer range — around a hundred metres, I think — they can see every conscious and unconscious thought in your mind. If they have a good reason to, they can locate people by category - say people trapped after an earthquake, or the people in a particular place. There is a price to pay for this — a risk of boiling their brains if they look too long or if they look for too much detail. Each and everyone who has this gift considers it a holy thing — not to be abused or used for trivial purposes.”

“I'll ignore the religion link, thank you, but you mean someone with this ability could strip every state secret from my mind from the other side of the world, but just won't?”

“You can ignore religion if you like, impressive buildings and so on, it is just man-made stuff anyway. But you're going to have to believe us that this is entirely supernatural and that the God who saves sinners has decided to give it to some of the people He's rescued. And as for stripping every thought from your mind, not quite. From the other side of the world they'd only get surface thoughts and emotions, not the motivations and related stuff they could get from next door,” George clarified.

“They'd make excellent spies!”

Maria answered that one. “No, they make terrible spies. They'd have an ethical debate about practically everything you ask them to find out, and sometimes they demand you prove your motivations by submitting to having your thoughts read. They're too ethical by half for that job.”

“Ethical has limits. Could but won't? What about a court order?”

“Tasha, if you try to force them to use a supernatural gift which they're quite sure was granted to them by the supreme ruler of the universe, don't you think that they'll consider ignoring you rather than Him?”

“They have another ability,” Karen said, thoughtfully. “They can enter a sort of self-induced coma-cum-meditation state. It's useful for a number of things, and I hadn't thought of it until now, but I expect it's also very good defence against torture.”

“Who's talking about torture?” Tasha asked, surprised.

“You were, almost, Tasha,” Karen said, calmly. “Court orders to try to force someone to use a gift of God against their ethical best judgement? Sorry, you're heading to prisoners of conscience, emotional blackmail and psychological or physical torture with that line of thought.”

“Urm. OK, I'll back off. But it was one of these people who found you, Karen?”

“Yes, and another who responded to the rumours of people vanishing and found

the people Ibrahim had stolen from their families.”

“And who found the hole being dug under the embassy? What were they doing looking? How does poking their nose into government buildings fit with this ethical stance?” Tasha asked.

“A third one, Tasha, with a good reason to be looking. Now I think it's time Karen and George left there, don't you?”

“Oh, all right, I'll stop prying. But Karen, you work there now, is that right?”

she said, still prying.

“Yes, my summer job fell through when I broke my leg, and the Institute had been thinking of finding someone to help in their experiments, so when I fell into their laps, as it were, they offered me the job.”

“What sort of experiments? To do with this telepathy stuff?”

“Oh, I'm chief dial watcher, note taker and part time experimental subject so the geniuses can spend more time inventing. Did you know they've got prototype brain scanners there that were thought to be theoretically impossible only a decade ago?” Karen enthused. “The guys found a loophole in the theory and showed it worked. But really, we should leave pretty soon.”

[Tricky question well avoided, my beloved,] George thought to her.

[Thank you, but let's avoid feedback, please!] “By the way, George, you're either going to be my brother or my husband if anyone asks.”

“So, which one?”

“I thought I'd let you decide.”

“Implications?”

“If you're my brother then you don't actually try to kill anyone who dares to make suggestive remarks or touches me, just look like you would. If you're my husband, then it would be very odd if the crowd doesn't need to intervene to stop you killing the perpetrator.”

“I see. Other implications?”

“If you're my husband then I follow you more closely, I cover my hair, and you do all the talking.”

“So what's the problem with me being your brother?”

“You care for her too much, George. It's obvious that you can't keep your eyes off her for long,” Tasha said. George blushed.

“And will there be any place we need to talk?”

“Just on the bus.”

“What if he were deaf-mute? It's been done before,” Maria asked.

“Great plan! George, don't say a thing, not even to me. Eye signals, hand signals and so on only, and try really hard not to react to sounds.”

George nodded.

“So he's to pretend to be your deaf-mute husband?” Tasha asked.

“Yes.”

“And if someone knows anything about deafness treatments and asks why he hasn't had implants?”

“Thank you Tasha. I think I can cope with that,” George said.

“Oh? How?”

“I aaaa neeuoo iiimpaants. Thhpeeeking ith haad. Only in the local language, of course. I think Karen can teach me enough for that. Implants are wonderful, but they don't come with instant set of motor skills.”

“Excellent answer, George!” Karen said, briefly kissing him and while he was stuttering in surprised embarrassment, she thrust a bundle of clothes at him and commanded, “Now, get changed, we need to leave!”

[You surprised me with that! You hid?]

[Sneaky, aren't I?]

“Tasha, we do need to leave. We dare not run. We're trying to keep a low profile, after all.”

“OK, You leave. But I'd love to pick your brains more.”

“I know. But the Institute is aiming for full disclosure of abilities, while preserving anonymity. I'm sure you can understand why.”

“So why does Maria know names and I don't?”

“Because, Tasha, it was my daughter that got rescued and I went to talk to her rescuers. And I was there when what turned out to be Roland Underwood's plans were uncovered, so I saw more of this gift in action. Then it was our embassy that was approached to organise the warrant, because I already knew about the gift. I expect that if I hadn't gone to see my daughter and her rescuers then I'd be almost as much in the dark as you.”

“So, at root, you had a need to know, and I haven't proved mine yet?”

“You have one?” Karen asked.

“I... I think so,” Tasha said, in a depressed voice, hanging her head.

“Can you explain it, Tasha?” Maria asked. “Karen's a gatekeeper if you have a need to know or need to meet.”

“I'm not sure I can explain it, but I think one of your friends would be able to explain it to me.”

“Explain what, Tasha?” Karen asked.

“Maria, I'm going to disconnect, OK?”

“Fine. Just don't keep Karen there too long. By my reckoning, they need to leave in ten minutes at the latest. Have a nice short chat.”

“Bye, Mummy!”

Tasha closed the call and looked at Karen, who looked quizzically at the older woman. “I wasn't just flustered by your schedule. I don't know why I chose to come here, it was a spur of the moment decision which I just felt I had to make, but it's been nagging at me. Why am I here in this crazy place doing things I detest? I had no idea I'd meet you. Then last night I had a dream where I was certain that I'd find out today why I came here. It made no sense. Maria's account of your rescue read like some kind of religious tract, but was also verifiable if I could meet you, and now you're here, telling me roughly the same story about Christians getting superpowers. It's not much of a need to know, I know, but I'd like some confirmation of this story of modern day miracles. Because if they happen today then maybe I can't dismiss the ones I heard about in Sunday school.”

“And do you want to?” Karen asked, praying for a breakthrough.

“Pardon?”

“Do you want to keep on dismissing what you were told then? Or would you rather be faced with even more evidence of the reality of God? I mean, if you're looking for excuses, you could probably explain away any miracle, but if you're looking for evidence to base a step of faith on, there's plenty if only you accept it. I don't really see a need here at all, Tasha. Weigh the evidence.”

“I can't. There are some other things, difficult things in here, Karen,” she said, tapping her head. Please don't tell your mother, but I've been fighting this for years. My eyes see the evidence but I can't bring myself to accept it. I have some kind of mental block. I've tried discussing this stuff with people over the years, but it didn't help.”

“But you think having a thought-reader look at what's going on will help you?”

“Yes.”

“And you'd be willing to let someone look at your thoughts?”

“Yes! Anyone who’s not going to breach security is welcome! I recognize that I'm not thinking clearly on this one issue, and I need to think clearly. I hate woolly thinking, and this is important.” Karen decided that that counted as informed consent and sufficient motivation. It also explained why Tasha had been so curious about who had the gift. She needed help.

“So why aren't you thinking clearly about God, Tasha? What's behind your thoughts stopping you from accepting the evidence?” Focusing on the woman in front of her, Karen relaxed in that specific way and saw the thoughts her questions had triggered.

“I really don't know, Karen, I really don't.”

“I do. Tasha, I'm one of those with the gift. It was part of God rescuing me from the tunnel. God could have just given me the power, and I would have heard my rescuers, but, for His own purposes he chose to give me the gift too. I had a look at your thoughts. Your concept of God is just so wrong. He's not like that. I wouldn't trust a God like that either. And in case you're wondering, I was the one who saw the hole being dug under our home.”

“You? You saw that hole? How?”

“I was checking on where Daddy was. Your image of God: a feeble man speaking ineffective platitudes, is that from your father? I didn't want to dig too deeply.”

“But you could have seen that?”

“Almost certainly, but, well, the way I scanned you was a bit underhand, though you'd given general consent, so I only had the briefest look. You were repelled by the idea of trusting such a feeble figure.”

Tasha thought back a bit. “Yes I did give consent, didn't I. Not my father though, I think it was my first headmaster. I once heard one of the teachers talking about him, saying he thought God was in his office having a cry about the frailty of humanity.”

“Hmm. Not very complementary, either to the headmaster or to the Creator and Sustainer of the entire cosmos. If you manage to compare Him to anyone then, well, it's a worse fallacy than saying that the ocean is like a drop of water only bigger. And comparing Him to any human, let alone a weak one? It's a travesty.”

“But isn't that what you do? Say Jesus was like God?”

“No, Tasha, not really. Jesus said, ‘if you've seen Me, you've seen the Father’ and ‘I and the Father are one’ and all sorts of other claims to make it clear that He was either mad or bad or the creator God himself becoming one of His creatures. And not just God seeming to have a body, or wearing a disposable body in the sense of a puppet, as though He wasn't affected by what happened to His body. It's one of the most incomprehensible parts of theology, because our minds aren't big enough to understand the nature of God. It's not that Jesus was like God, it's that Jesus is God. Now I see that George is ready, and really really we have to go.”

“Thank you, Karen. I've obviously got to learn some more if I'm going to have a better mental image of God. Have a good trip.”

“Tasha, any mental image you form of God is going to be too small, too limited. By all means learn more about Him, but learn to trust Him without an image if you can. George, as we go let's practice what you're going to say if you do have to speak.” George nodded, getting into his role. The sun beat at them like a hammer as they left the office, but their motion and loose clothes helped. They didn't want to hurry, and like every other sane person, they walked in shade as much as possible.

----------------------------------------

Their trip to and through the shopping centre was exactly as planned, and although they had to wait a while for the next bus they reached the main bus station without incident. As their bus was turning the last corner, however, Karen saw the airport bus leave. They just about had time to wait for the next one, but it would be close. [George, see that bus with the planes all over it?]

[That one that's leaving? Ours?]

[I'd hoped it would be. Next one should be in half an hour.]

[Journey time?]

[Ten minutes.]

[Walking time?]

[About an hour, through rough neighbourhoods. Best not to consider that.]

[Ah. And we have about an hour before they don't let us on any more?]

[Yes, roughly speaking.]

[We'd better do some shopping then. If it's really late, then we can take a taxi. That should be safe enough, shouldn't it, from here?]

[Probably, but if we do then you do the talking.]

[Me? I'm supposed to be a deaf-mute!]

[Too conspicuous, too tempting for the driver — he'll think he can take advantage.]

[And nowhere to practice what to say.]

[No, nowhere.]

[So, to stay safe we miss our flight?]

[No. To stay safe we stay inconspicuous. If the bus is late then I discretely notify Tasha and Tasha gets to invoke certain powers.]

[Such as?]

[Well, while she screams murder at whoever transferred away the guards that should have been at her disposal she could tell the CO that he's on escort duty to get us to the plane on time, or she could tell flight operations that their precious schedule comes second to witness protection. The only problem with the latter of those is that she then gets to explain why we spent so long at her office.]

[I see. And when do we tell her she needs to do this?] [I'll let her know the situation now.]

She typed the short message on her wrist unit: ‘Caught 1st bus to main bus station, just arriving, saw airport bus vanish as we pulled in. Next due in half hour. Twenty minutes slack if next bus on time. Contingency options include drafting CO as driver if no troops, else delay flight. We are praying, God is in charge. Will keep you informed.’

[What do you think?]

[I think she might want to pray.]

[I hope she will. Now let's do what we promised to do while we wait to get off this bus.] She pressed send.

----------------------------------------

Tasha looked at the message from Karen. So, no panic yet, but timing was close. Delaying the flight would potentially have more implications, but it might only be a minute or two, which could easily be made up. If their bus broke down, then Karen's suggestion of drafting the base's commanding officer was going to look more sensible. But certainly neither of them would make her any friends, especially when it came out that she'd delayed them in the first place. She checked what reliability records of the local buses she could find. One breakdown per day on average, and that was their boast. Not very reliable then.

And was there a message to her in mentioning God? Of course there was. Karen was pointing out again that her image of God wasn't big enough. Ha, God had probably set this up in the first place to make her pray too. Her mind experienced a sort of juddering shock. Had she, professed atheist, just decided that God was out to get her. Oh, bite the bullet, Tasha! She thought to herself, “God, if You're there, get those two to their plane, please. I think I'm going to talk to Maria about You.” She typed a familiar code into her computer once again.

“Maria, urgent, partly personal. Can you talk freely?”

“Yes, Tasha.”

“OK, let's do the urgent bit first. How likely is Karen's airport bus to be late or to break down? All I could find is overall stats for the company, proudly claiming they were down to only one breakdown per day.”

“They're going to be on the last possible bus? It's their prize route, I'd say they'll be using the best vehicle available. It's not likely to break down.”

“That's a relief.”

“You kept them talking?”

“Not very long, but they just missed the airport bus. From the timing sheet I'd guess they had a long wait for their bus to the terminal. Urm. This is hard. Karen decided I needed my head examined and saw why I've been so anti-God.”

“So she decided you had a need to know?”

“Yes. She's a sneaky one, your daughter. Got me to say I'd be happy to be scanned by anyone trustworthy and then had a look while I was pondering a question.”

“And she probably checked it wasn't just a ploy to get information either.”

“I'd hope so, from a security point of view. Apparently my concept of God hasn't been very good. Explains a lot about our talks about religion, if I've been rejecting a God you don't believe in either, doesn't it?”

“Just slightly. So why this soul-to-soul, Tasha? What's up?”

“I found myself thinking that God probably organised this whole day, including Karen missing her bus, to get me to pray to Him.”

“That's a radical thought for an atheist.”

“Yes, that was my thought. Very radical.”

“So did you pray?’

“Yes, I told Him that if He existed and had organised this mess, He could probably sort it out. And then I called you. Would your concept of God include Him doing that sort of thing? Karen's message said God was in charge, but would He be able to arrange things like that?”

“Oh yes. Nothing is too hard for God. He probably got you to choose to go to that oven in the first place, so you could talk to Karen.”

“I mentioned to Karen that I didn't know why I'd come here. Are you sure you don't have this place bugged?”

“Tasha, what a thing to ask! Of course I do. But they're turned to automatic most of the time. It wouldn't keep recordings when you're having a heart to heart with my daughter. The computer's got pretty good privacy awareness, and her calling it a security briefing would have turned it off too. But yes. God is quite capable of reminding you of things at a critical time, or letting reports just happen to be at the top of the pile so that you get a nudge in the right direction. He won't force you to accept Him but He likes giving people second and third chances.”

“You mean He cheats?”

“Cheats?”

“He says we have free will, but stacks the deck?”

“Tasha, this isn't a game. This is about us as born on the side of rebels and God offering us the chance to change sides.”

“I've heard that metaphor before. But still, either we've got a choice or we haven't.”

“Tasha, for all that we've argued before, I really don't want you to be on the wrong side when the time comes. It's not really a metaphor, it's a vast simplification. You have got a choice to make, you either let Him rescue you from your present rebellion with its associated eternal destiny or you refuse His offer. He won't be patient with humanity forever. As for free will, well, we don't really have much: we can't choose to breathe under water, or fly by waving our arms; we can't choose to be free from sin without His help, we can't choose to know God unless He makes Himself known to us; we can't come close to Him unless we're invited. He could make you His robot, but He won't. Unlike us, He can do whatever He chooses — it's not a question of can't, but of won't.”

“I think I'm getting it. I've also got a message from Karen. ‘Schedule revised today, airport buses now every fifteen minutes.’”

“Would you call that a problem resolved and a prayer answered?”

“Your God is definitely cheating.”

“Oh, I'm sure you could explain it all away, Tasha.”

“I probably could if I wanted to, Maria. But I don't think I do. That would be a bit disrespectful after all He's done to get me here.”

And there was great rejoicing in heaven as they continued their conversation and Tasha prayed a prayer of repentance and commitment, taking the first step of her new walk with God.