There was nothing left of the Toyota, and the trailing SUV was barely recognisable as a vehicle. The leading 4x4, which had been moving away from the bomb, lay on its side, ripped open, its occupants spilled out like sardines from a can. The Secretary of State’s car had been reduced to burning fragments.
As had everyone inside.
We did it!
‘No,’ gasped Adam, reeling. He couldn’t stop the flood of images from Qasid’s mind.
He had been responsible. He had given the information to al-Qaeda. He had betrayed his country.
The more he tried to deny it, the stronger the memories became, taunting him. It was him. The face, the voice of the man Qasid had met — they were his.
He was a traitor.
‘No!’ It was a cry of pure anguish.
Panic rose in him. Conflicting thoughts warred in his mind — a desperate urge to escape, to run from the punishment that awaited if the truth was discovered versus the need to confess to what he had done. He had to turn himself in. He was a security risk, an al-Qaeda sympathiser.
A traitor.
He looked around frantically. The exit—
I have to run.
His thought, or Qasid’s? He didn’t know. This is my only chance, I have to get out of here before they catch me…
The door opened. He jumped in alarm. It was Bianca, having returned the PERSONA equipment to the lab. She held something in one hand. The Englishwoman immediately picked up on his fear. ‘Are you okay?’
She’s the only other person who knows the truth.
Qasid. It had to be. It couldn’t be his own mind regarding as a threat the woman who had done nothing but try to help him. It couldn’t!
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m — I’m fine,’ he gasped.
‘No you’re not,’ she replied, anxious. She gestured towards the couch. ‘Look, sit down.’
‘No, I’m okay.’ He opened the panel concealing the wardrobe. There was a mirror on its back. He looked into it, not even sure who he was going to see staring back. His face, or Qasid’s?
It was his own, but wide-eyed, brow beaded with sweat. ‘Really, you don’t look good,’ said Bianca.
He whirled. ‘Of course I don’t look good! I’ve just found out that I’m — I’m a traitor!’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she insisted. ‘I can’t! There’s got to be some other explanation.’
‘There isn’t,’ he said, pacing again. ‘I remember — Qasid remembers. We met in Islamabad, three times. I gave him a flash drive with all the security details for Sandra Easton’s visit. And they were genuine.’
Why am I telling her this? She already knows too much! I’ll have to elimin—
He tried to crush the thought. But it wouldn’t die, writhing and squirming under his mental boot heel. Growing stronger. Fear roiled through his body. What if he couldn’t resist?
‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ she protested. He saw that the object she was holding was a jet injector. ‘If you were really a traitor, why would you join the Persona Project? The entire thing is about finding out people’s deepest secrets!’
‘To get rid of the guilt. That’s why I wanted my memory erased. It’s the only explanation.’
‘No, I don’t accept that.’ Bianca moved closer. ‘It doesn’t fit with your personality.’
‘I don’t have a personality!’ he said with a desperate near-laugh. ‘You said so yourself!’
‘I was wrong. I know you better than that now.’
Adam pulled away. ‘You don’t know me at all. How can you? I don’t know me. But now I know what I’ve done. I’ve got to—’
He broke off abruptly. He had been about to say that he had to turn himself in, but another voice in his mind drowned out the words. I’ve got to get out of here, before they catch me…
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Adam said nothing, staring at her. She’s the only person who knows the truth. The only person who can tell the Americans what I did.
The only person who can stop me.
He stepped towards her. Panic faded, replaced by a cold resolution. I have to get out of here. She’s the only witness.
She has to be eliminated.
Images of the other people Qasid had killed flashed through his thoughts. Shot, stabbed, burned, strangled… Killing is easy. All you need is the will.
‘Adam?’ He saw the uncertainty in Bianca’s eyes change to concern. It’s the only way. Do it.
Another step. She backed away, confused — and starting to feel fear. He had seen it before, many times; the realisation that death was approaching… and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Do it. Kill her! I have to get away.
‘Bianca, I—’ Again, the words froze before they could reach the air.
Kill her! Qasid’s voice grew ever louder, drowning out his own thoughts. The more he struggled against it, the more insistent and deafening it became. I have to escape! Kill her! Kill her!
‘Adam!’ Bianca gasped as he grabbed her arm. She tried to twist away, but his grip was too strong. He pushed her against the wall. ‘Adam, no! What are you—’
Kill her!
His other hand took hold, tightened…
Around the injector.
He tore it from her, jammed it against his neck — and pulled the trigger.
No! I have to escape, I need to…
Qasid’s voice faded. Adam reeled back, collapsing on the couch as the Neutharsine took hold. His heart raced, every breath as loud as a hurricane. Mind churning, he slumped, struggling to regain control.
‘Adam!’ Bianca’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. But when he forced his eyes open, she was right beside him. ‘Oh my God, are you okay? Can you hear me?’
He slowed his breathing. ‘I’m… I’m okay,’ he croaked.
She helped him sit up. ‘What happened?’
‘Qasid. It was Qasid, his persona. It — it almost took over.’
‘But I thought that was impossible!’
‘Apparently not.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Are you all right? Did I hurt you?’
She glanced at her arm. ‘No, I’m okay. You scared me, though.’
‘I scared myself,’ he admitted. ‘What did you see?’
‘I’m not sure. It was like — like there was someone else behind your face, is the only way I can describe it. Your eyes went so…’ She shuddered. ‘Cold.’
The injector was still in his hand. He let it drop on to the couch. ‘It’s a good thing you brought this. I don’t know what I would have…’ He trailed off, partly so as not to disturb her any further.
And partly to stop himself from thinking about what he had almost done.
Would he have done it? Would he actually have killed her? He didn’t know. That was in some ways the most frightening thing of all.
She knelt before him, holding his hand. ‘Jesus. You’re shaking. Do you need anything?’
‘No, I’m okay. But thank you.’
‘So what happened? How could Qasid’s persona take over?’
‘Maybe because I was panicking? It was like the feedback loop with Vanwall’s vertigo, but worse, much worse. I was losing it — and that gave him an opening.’