Nightrise

disembodied heads in the television sets turned, even though they couldn't actually see each other. The two men making notes scribbled furiously. One of them turned a page.
    "It's still too early to be absolutely sure that they are who we think they are," the woman went on. "The fact of the matter is that we've looked at hundreds of children who have demonstrated any measure of psychic power. Telepaths, fire starters, clairvoyants…anything out of the ordinary. Half of them, of course, have turned out to be a waste of time. A few of them have moved away before we were able to track them down. But as for the rest…we've managed to take possession of seventeen of the most promising subjects and we've been experimenting with them in our facility at Silent Creek. However, it now looks as if all our efforts may have been a waste of time. We have one of the Gatekeepers in our power. I'm sure of it. So far, we've only been able to begin a brief examination, but it's already obvious that his powers are far greater than anything we've yet encountered."
    "Why do you only have one of them?" the chairman asked.
    "That's the bad news, Mr. Chairman." Susan Mortlake paused. "The two boys — Scott and Jamie Tyler
    — were performing a telepathy act at a theatre in Reno, Nevada. It was their guardian, who was also the producer of the show, who first brought them to our attention. He was quite happy for us to take them in return for a sum of cash although, of course, it was always our intention to kill him. This we have done. I arranged a fairly simple operation to pick the boys up but unfortunately something went wrong. It may be that their power was even greater than we had imagined. At any event, they knew we were coming and one of them —Jamie — managed to get away."

    "Where is he now?"
    "We have no idea. My agents tell me that he was helped in his escape by a woman, but they were unable to get her license plate number. It all happened too quickly and it was dark/However, I believe the situation is now under control."
    "Go on."
    "We shot the producer, a man called Don White. He was living with a woman, Marcie Kelsey. We shot her with the same gun and then used our contacts within the Nevada police to set up a false trail. Jamie Tyler is now wanted for both murders and it can only be a matter of time before he's tracked down. At which point, we will have him."
    Susan Mortlake sounded confident, but the chairman was unimpressed. 'Your agents allowed one of these boys to slip through their fingers. They also failed to track down the car. Have you taken any disciplinary procedures, Mrs. Mortlake?"
    "No, sir." The woman looked up defiantly. "It did occur to me that you might be asking for my own resignation."
    The chairman considered, then shook his head. "If you have one of the Gatekeepers, that will be enough," he said. "We only have to break the circle and we will have won. However, you still need to make redundancies, Mrs. Mortlake. We cannot have people letting us down."
    "Of course, Mr. Chairman. I thought as much myself."
    "And I want you to deal with Scott Tyler personally. You understand that, generally speaking, it would be better if he were not allowed to die."
    "I understand. But as a matter of fact, we may be able to use him. I'm hoping to bring him around to our point of view."
    "Good."
    The single word was praise indeed. The chairman never complimented his staff on anything. At the Nightrise Corporation, excellence was taken for granted.
    He spoke again, this time addressing all the executives.
    "As I began by saying, this is a critical time. It's also a very positive time and before we part company, I want to introduce you to an associate whose name will be familiar to you. We have worked together on many occasions and he has very kindly agreed to say a few words to you today."
    There was a fourteenth television at the far end of the table, opposite the chairman. Until now, it had been blank but it suddenly flickered into life. At first it seemed that there was something wrong with the picture. The head that had appeared simply looked too big for the screen, too heavy for the neck that supported it. Its eyes were very high up, above a nose that seemed to travel a long way to the small and rather babyish mouth below. It was as if the image had been stretched — but in fact there was nothing wrong with the transmission. The man was Diego Salamanda, head of Salamanda News International.
    He was beaming the signal