“What is it like?” he asked, slipping the flask away into his kidney pouch on his webbing.
“What, being me?”
He smiled. “No, being other people?”
She frowned. “I don’t know how to explain it really. It’s like I’m acting, but I just manage to feel and look the same as they do. I simply become them.”
He shook his head. “How old were you when you realised you had the gift?”
“Very young, I must have been about four, but it took me a while to get it right.”
“Is this what you really look like?”
She smiled again, and Archie felt his heart melt. It was rare to meet with such a beautiful woman, let alone spend some time alone with her.
“Ah, that would be telling,” she said.
He frowned.
“Put it this way, my mother wouldn’t recognise me. However, she did die when I was very young,” she said. Then, feeling sorry for the man, she continued, “Actually, this is the real me, or has been for a long time. I naturally become what you now see whenever I relax and cease pretending to be someone else.”
“Have you someone?” he asked, faintly hopeful, despite having a wife back in England.
She smiled wistfully. “Who’d put up with me?”
“I imagine quite a few chaps would.”
“I can’t say too much.”
“No one regular, then?”
She shook her head, a little sadly, Archie thought.
“There have been a couple, but I think I scared them.”
“Maybe there’s someone like you?”
She smiled again. “That would be telling.”
“So there is someone?”
“Perhaps.”
“Like you?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re not giving much away, you know?”
“Aren’t I?” she asked with a smile.
“Okay, it’s none of my business.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Can I ask one thing?”
“What?”
“Does he appreciate you?”
Amber smiled again, her eyes softening. “Oh yes, he does, it’s just we don’t get to see each other very often.”
“Then I’m pleased for you. I take it he’s in your line of work?”
“That’s one question too far.”
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you. Besides, you’re happily married.”
“Will I remember this?” he asked.
“Sorry Archie, you know the rules.”
He nodded. “It was nice to work with you again. I just wish I was allowed to remember more than your face.”
She kissed his cheek.
“Yes, it was nice. So just this time, I’ll let you remember that kiss,” she said, walking off.
Major Archie McRae, 4th Parachute Regiment, stared at the sea for a moment with a dazed expression, but then shook his head slightly as a secret smile played across his lips. He frowned and then walked back to the house. The girl got into the helicopter and watched as the island retreated from view.
All in a day’s work!
PART ONE: SMALL BEGINNINGS
PRELUDE 1951
“My God! That’s it, man. You’ve found it!” said the tall man with the unruly hair and the horn-rimmed spectacles.
The shorter, slightly plump man, smiled briefly, as if he was uncertain that he had, in fact, found it.
Both were wearing white lab coats and red rubber gloves. Arrays of test tubes and other equipment littered the lab, and there was a stale mustiness in the air. Old teacups were stacked up at one end of the bench. Half eaten, and by now stale sandwiches were evidence of a long session. Both men seemed tired, but a degree of elation emerged through their weariness.
The lab was quite dingy and dull, as the dark wood panelling seemed to absorb most of the light from the two plain light bulbs that hung from the ceiling with plain opaque shades. The windows were painted with white paint on the inside, in a rather futile attempt to comply with the blackout regulations. However, there had not been a German raid in this part of rural Scotland for a long time, as the war had ended seven years ago, so no one cared that the paint was peeling off.
“Maybe Simon, just maybe,” the shorter man said, as if afraid that to show optimism would invite disaster.
“John, it is. It has to be. It fulfils all the criteria,” said Simon Haddow, professor of paranormal studies, late of Cambridge, now of the War Office Special Scientific Research Centre at Glenisla House in Perthshire.
John Beecham, the director of this project, had been one of the top professors of Genetics at the London Hospital. Project Chrysalis was his special baby. He had been investigating the links with genetics and paranormal activity during the early stages of the war, but due to financial constraints, his research was curtailed in favour of more pressing and practical research.
However, once the Americans entered the war, and D-Day saw the successful landing of the allies on the continent, he found himself transported to Scotland with a new team, and under strict secrecy was looking into his old pet subject once more.
He had met Churchill briefly, and the Prime Minister had been curt and to the point.
“Professor, it has come to my notice that the Nazi’s have been undertaking scientific research with human guinea pigs in a camp in occupied Poland. Jew and Slavs, for the most part, but I am informed that the damn Russians have liberated the camp. They have taken the doctors and scientists deep into Russia, and are carrying on where the Germans left off. It is of the utmost importance that we do not let them achieve any significant lead in this field. Our very freedom depends on it.”
That had been in 1944, and now, seven years later, they were still trying. The money was less, and the team whittled down to a tenth of the original, but still they had made real progress.
In 1945 Churchill had been ousted in favour of the public school educated socialist, Clement Atlee, as Labour Prime Minister, and slowly the interest in the work had diminished. However, now Atlee was looking at a possible defeat in the election, and if successful, Winston Churchill was odds-on favourite to return to power.
The two men looked at the small Petri dish.
“It is,” said Simon.
“Hmm,” replied John.
“Look at the way it is dividing and growing. It must be it!”
“Hmm, maybe.” said John, still cautious. He had been here before, and knew from experience that elation was often followed by depression.
“Try the enzyme.”
“Not yet, I need it to be more established.”
Both men watched as the clear blob seemed to grow slowly.
“Now!”
“Simon, shut up.”
“Sorry.”
John took a dropper from another tube, and with a small amount of pinkish liquid, dropped two drops into the dish.
Immediately, the sample changed colour, and took on the characteristics of the new liquid. The growth accelerated, and John placed a lid over the sample, lest any of it escape.
“It could be,” he admitted, reluctant to get his hopes up to high. He had been here before as well, and knew that success was elusive.
They conducted three more tests, after which both men were now convinced that they had found a working enzyme that could assist in the mental development of specific latently powerful paranormal humans.
On the team were seven such gifted individuals, three men and four women.
Under strict control, each was injected with a small amount of the enzyme, while the scientists sat back and logged the results. Under strict testing, their subjects’ ESP quotients rose by anything from five percent to thirty percent.
Two of those tested, Carol Nash and Robert Masters, showed the highest improvement. They were also engaged to be married. They had met on the project, during which time their relationship had blossomed. After three weeks, their tests were both in the thirty percent improvement bracket, in telepathy and telekinesis.