What’s the trouble? Harry was switched on now, alert to danger. And he could still sense Jordan’s uncertainty.
Harry, I don’t know. I came down to London to see if I could maybe find something out for you, but I’ve been blocked all along the line, almost from the start. I came here to watch them, E-Branch, but hell. . . I didn’t think there’d be anyone watching me/
Right now?
Right now, yes.
I’m on my way, said Harry.
Air made a small implosion into the empty space where he stepped through a Möbius door, its draught causing papers to rustle in a filing cabinet he’d left standing open. But before the papers had stopped rustling Harry had tracked down Jordan’s thoughts to Barnet.
He emerged silently into the resurrected telepath’s front room, whose first-floor bay windows overlooked a cobbled cul-de-sac, the end wall of a park, and the dark, gently mobile silhouette of trees beyond. The room was in darkness and Jordan was at the window, looking out through a crack in the curtains on a street shining dull yellow in electric lamplight. Harry reached out to a wall switch and put on the light, and Jordan hissed, fell into a crouch and whirled to face him. There was a gun in his hand.
‘It’s OK,’ the Necroscope told him. ‘It’s just me.’
Jordan drew a deep breath and almost fell into a chair. He waved his hand to indicate Harry should also sit down. ‘It’s just the way you come and go,’ he said.
‘You invited me,’ Harry reminded him.
Jordan nodded. ‘Here I am a bag of nerves, looking out into the street – and then the light going on like that!’
Harry said, ‘It wasn’t deliberate; or rather, it was. If I had spoken you’d have turned and seen me. I’m not sure which would have shocked you more: the light going on suddenly, or seeing my eyes in the dark.’
‘Your eyes?’
Harry grimaced, nodding. ‘They’re red as hell, Trevor. And there’s nothing to stop it now. What’s in me is a strong one.’
‘But . . . you still have a little time?’
Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know how long. Long enough to do one last thing, I hope, and then I’ll be on my way.’ He finally sat down. ‘Now, would you like to put your gun away and tell me what’s on your mind?’
Jordan looked at the gun in his hand as if he’d forgotten it was there. He gave a snort and replaced it in its shoulder holster. ‘Nervous as a cat,’ he explained. ‘Or rather, as a mouse watched by a cat!’
‘Are you watched?’ Harry didn’t know where to aim his thoughts to check. Searching for Jordan had been different, for he’d known what he was looking for; likewise Paxton. But looking for someone he wasn’t used to -some unknown someone – was a trick he’d yet to master. ‘Are you sure?’
Jordan got up and put out the light, went to the curtains again. ‘I’ve never been so sure. He or they are out there right now, not too far away, scanning me. Or if not scanning, obscuring. They’re blocking me. I can’t read past them. I keep thinking it can only be E-Branch, but how the hell would they know I was back? Alive, I mean?’ He looked back from the curtains, saw Harry’s alien face and said, ‘I … I see what you mean.’
Harry, a tall, dark silhouette whose eyes made his face a mask from hell, nodded. But there were other things to worry about than the glare of his blood-hued eyes. ‘What does it feel like, to have someone watching you, blocking your mind?’
‘Being watched is how it felt with Paxton; blocking is mental interference. A screen of static.’
‘But I wasn’t even sure Paxton was there until you told me. He was just an itch. And as for mental interference . . .’
‘OK.’ The other matched Harry’s shrug. ‘I’ll give you an example. Try aiming your thoughts right at me.’
Harry did it and met a buzzing wall of interference. If he hadn’t known it was Jordan, then he wouldn’t have known what it was. Jordan said, ‘Find something like that, and you know someone’s scrambling you. Deliberately. I know because I’ve had practice. When the Russian espers used to cover the Chateau Bronnitsy, it was like this all the time. We used to try and break through, and they were always trying to get through to us.’ He looked at Harry again, penetratingly. ‘Incidentally, you do it all the time, Harry, except when you’re wanting to read someone, or wanting someone to read you. But with you it’s different. Something that’s permanent and getting stronger all the time. It isn’t static but something else, and it comes natural to you. So natural you didn’t even know about it, did you? Or maybe “natural” is the wrong word for it. What you have is … well, in E-Branch we used to call it mind-smog.’