Soul Mayhem: Zed's Chronicles of the Parallel Universe Disruptions

  Soul Mayhem: An Urban Fantasy Adventure

  Zed’s Parallel Universe Chronicles Book One

  John Hindmarsh

  Rexon Press

  Contents

  Books

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Important Stuff

  My Books

  Books in the Series

  Soul Mayhem

  Red Dragon Prophecy

  Magic House

  Demon Gift

  Lucifer's Fantasy

  Alien Invasion

  Copyright © 2019 John Hindmarsh

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication can be copied, stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations, and incidents are entirely fictitious, invented by the author for the purpose of the story. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, business establishments, phantoms, shape shifters, things that go bump in the night, or persons, living or dead, is entirely and weirdly coincidental.

  Terminology

  Sometimes British or Australian terminology or spelling creep into my stories. That’s because I’m Australian. Remember, aluminium is the correct word.

  Dedication

  I want to thank my wife Cathy for her continuing patience and forbearance as I hide away in my study pretending to be busy in my writing zone. She provides me with her utmost support, and re-reads many drafts. This book definitely includes a major contribution from Cathy.

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  Chapter 1

  My first name is Zed. Very simple, and easy to remember. My family name—at least the name I have adopted in this time and place—is Smith. I’m cautious. To disclose my true name would result in far too much exposure and open me to potentially life-threatening attacks.

  It’s all about waiting. I pressed the up button of the elevator. I’m in the parking basement and need to ascend a floor or two. The elevator arrived, and the automatic doors swished open. It left a gap far wider than required for my entry. I bowed to each side of the car, hands together, honoring the sprites in charge of the door controls.

  I know. It’s all done with sensors and actuators and little motors. I also know the sensors and the actuators wouldn’t work if the sprites didn’t co-operate.

  Let me explain. The door mechanism fails, and the repairman spends hours testing and checking. No matter how experienced and painstaking he is, he’s unable to discover the reason for failure. The absent sprite returns. Maybe she had a toothache. Or was on a well-earned rest break. So, she takes up her responsibilities, and when the repairman runs another test, the door opens, and slides closed again. Who gets the praise? No, not the sprite. The repairman, that’s who.

  It’s unfair, and they complain. No, I haven’t heard them. Although, I have read some of the reports.

  To be safe, and to give them that little extra motivation, I bow to them. It’s a simple courtesy. They get their rewards. They love electricity. Well, it’s the magnetism really. They get quite a charge out of it.

  That’s enough about door sprites. Rest assured, they’re there and appreciate being acknowledged.

  My destination, a small coffee bar and brasserie, is on the ground floor, at the back of the lobby area. I ignored the fountains; water sprites are far too capricious to worry about—they’ll splash you, if you get too close.

  I stood for a moment beside the “Please Wait to be Seated” sign, checking the customers. It was possible he was running late. Possible, but unlikely. His dossier was very clear on that point. The man was almost obsessive when it came to timekeeping. Dossier? Perhaps service record would be a better description. Dossier sounds too bureaucratic.

  I had downloaded an updated copy of the document the day before, from—well, from a site that should have been far more secure. I checked his photograph in the folder, refreshing my memory. Not that it was necessary of course; I have a near-eidetic memory. Well, it comes with the job. It would be more accurate to say I get the jobs because—one of the reasons—I have an excellent memory.

  I caught sight of my quarry. He sat alone at a corner table, facing out toward the open area. The man had been retired for three years and still couldn’t sit with his back unprotected. He was an ex-Army colonel, with a distinguished career. At least, I thought it was distinguished. He was well educated with first degree from Oxford and a credible MBA from Imperial College Londin. There were some blank spots in his service details, where he had been involved in some off the record activities. Also, the document didn’t mention his retirement had been the alternative to his court -martial. Of course, I knew the details. I thought I should discuss the episode with him at some time in the future, to let him know it wasn’t something that would adversely impact his career. Assuming, of course, he accepted a position with Finders.

  He wore a smart Savile Row suit with a blue button-down shirt and a soft-hued tie. He was ready for his job interview. I ignored the question from the official greeter and walked over to the corner table.

  “Alex Tomlin?” I inquired. He looked up and frowned. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I don’t know you.”

  “I thought I would talk with you before your meeting with Finders.” I tapped the folder. “Very impressive.”

  Alex still looked somewhat confused, so I put my hand in my jacket pocket and felt for a business card. I hoped the ink wouldn’t smudge; these quick creations sometimes suffer from minor failure points. I tucked the dossier folder under my arm and proffered the business card two-handed. Alex took it and read the details with care. It didn’t take long.

  Obviously, I knew what it said. I had created it. At least, I hoped it said:

  Zed

  Delegate

  Finders

  And it had phone numbers and email addresses, all of which would work if he decided to verify my credentials.

  “Zed? Only one name?”

  “It’s last letter in the alphabet, which probably means something,” I explained.

  “Foreign?”

  “In a way,” I said. “It’s a long story. We should save it for when we have time to spare.”

  He looked at me again. This time he really observed, concentrating. I could almost read his th
oughts. I’m close to six feet tall. My eyes are blue, and I have a faint scar below the left one. I have a suntan. My hair is very short cut, almost shaven, and it stays that way, always. The Prussians had the right idea. I thought the lightweight blue silk suit and collarless pink shirt added their own charm, offsetting the almost new white Nikes. I doubted he could see the bright red silk socks. The suit was a cheap knock-off from China and the shirt and socks were from Vietnam. The Nikes were local. The jacket hid my short katana. Leopold, my personal guard, was with Dena this morning, and was probably annoyed he was not here to provide me with additional weapons if needed.

  Tomlin looked at the card again and back to me. “What is a ‘Delegate?’”

  “Finders is owned by a trust,” I explained. I decided not to wait for an invitation and sat down. “It’s one of a number of investments. This one should be performing better; instead, the profit is woeful. I represent the owners. No, more than represent—as their delegate I have full control.”

  “Why me?”

  “You have an interview shortly—in twenty-two minutes—with the managing director of Finders. We—I—want to offer you another position.”

  “With Finders?”

  “Yes. It’s not the job—Chief of Operations—you applied for. My offer carries a higher salary—my opening bid is a fifty percent increase. Annual bonus will be up to you. Both the amount and decision whether you earned it.”

  Alex laughed and glanced back at the business card. He was in doubt, although tempted.

  “So, what is this position?”

  “Let’s leave the details until later. I wanted you to be aware of the offer. If you decline, it won’t affect your interview prospects.” I lied by omission, failing to add there would be no other interview prospects, if the morning proceeded as I expected. For this purpose, I was the only cab in town.

  My cell phone sprite kicked me in my ribs. I have told her a hundred times to stop her assaults; a simple nudge would be more than adequate. Threats hadn’t worked. I hid my frown and reached into my pocket for the earpiece and inserted it into my ear.

  “Pardon me,” I said to Alex. I tapped on the cell phone in my pocket and spoke.

  “Zed.”

  “Hi, boss.” As I expected, the caller was Dena, being her usual efficient self. “I told the security people their contract was terminated. I used the termination clause. I said if there was no fuss, they’ll get a bonus. They decided to cut their losses. They’re withdrawing their personnel, now.”

  “Good. How far away are you?”

  “I’ll be with you in five. Or less.”

  “Okay. I’ll order coffee for both of us.” I removed the earpiece and placed it back in my pocket with the cell phone. I could have conducted the conversation without earpiece or cell phone. Inevitably, whenever I did, it disturbed people who didn’t know me very well, and I didn’t wish to disturb Alex.

  The waiter was hovering. The man was beside me and he was waiting. He was expecting some reaction.

  “Two Americanos. Large.” I looked at Alex, gesturing toward his coffee. “Refill?” He shook his head. I confirmed the order with the waiter. “Two, please.”

  Alex appeared thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. I waited for his question.

  “What does a delegate do?”

  I thought for a moment. “Acts on behalf of the owners—effectively, he is the owner. In this case, anyway. I have no restrictions placed on me. As I said, the business should be more profitable.”

  “It’s very difficult to find detailed financial information on Finders.”

  “It’s the way the owners desire it. They—we—don’t want everyone knowing all our affairs. Except Inland Revenue, of course. And that’s enough.”

  Alex wanted more. “Tell me about Finders. I had a briefing from the HR agency, which wasn’t very detailed. They provided one page of corporate fluff that contained probably a sentence or two of fact. I have a copy of the corporate brochure. More fluff.” He tapped the papers on the table.

  I said, “Finders provides specialized services. Sometimes in very difficult situations. Finder’s focus is—in corporate speak—asset discovery, protection, and recovery. Remember the kidnapping of the young girls last December? It made all the headlines? A week or so before Xmas?” The waiter placed two coffees in front of me. I drank from one of the mugs and pushed the other to one side for when Dena arrived.

  After the waiter left, Alex said, “The two Tir-Kiran girls.”

  “Yes. Finders found the girls and returned them to their parents, alive and unharmed. The ransom, unfortunately, wasn’t recovered. It was an exceptionally large amount.”

  “The kidnappers?”

  “Were never arrested. The Finders kidnap recovery team has some unverifiable evidence of the identities of the kidnappers. However, there’s no direct evidence and so far, Scotland Yard has been unable to arrest anyone.”

  It was as much as I was going to say at this stage. I certainly knew who the kidnappers were; it was an item requiring early resolution.

  “What else?”

  “Provision of bodyguards for visiting dignitaries, mainly those who wish to be very discrete or private, usually where there’s a link to other assignments from the client. Investigation of major corporate fraud and recovery of stolen or defrauded assets. It must be a major fraud; Finder’s fees are very high. This world being what it is, Finders has more opportunities in the corporate sector than it can accept. Also, we work with major banks, mainly for their mergers and acquisitions clients. And, sometimes, Finders subcontracts with the government.”

  “UK only?”

  “Or foreign, if Finders get the all clear from its contacts in Londin.” I’d said enough. Finders also did other work, details of which I was not going to divulge. At least, not at this early stage.

  Before Alex could explore further, we were interrupted by Dena’s arrival. She was dressed like a rainbow; her trademark, I suppose. Her red dress was short and, as usual, her legs were long, although covered by multi-colored leggings. She wore knee-high red leather boots, totally unsuitable if she needed to defend herself. She was breathless. I also thought she was breathtaking. She pecked my cheek and left a faint impression from her vivid red lipstick. She was wearing a new perfume. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail that bounced as she walked. I could sense Leopold some yards away; he could be very inconspicuous when he wanted.

  “Good morning, Boss. I hurried.” She turned to Alex. “And you must be Alex. I’m Dena.”

  Alex stood and took her hand. Dena radiated harmless innocence as she turned on her smile for Alex. Dena, if she competed, could win a national karate or kickboxing competition, without disturbing a curl. Her body was lithe and slim, and she moved with a dancer’s grace. Her smile was far more powerful.

  They both sat, and Dena lifted her mug of coffee. “Nectar,” she declared, as she sipped.

  “We have less than ten minutes,” I noted. “Alex, Dena is my assistant and my sparring partner. Don’t be fooled by her carefully cultivated harmless appearance. I have bruises to say otherwise. Dena will give you her cell phone number, later, when we have matters settled. You can phone her at any time; you can always leave a message if she doesn’t answer. If you want to contact me, Dena will assist.”

  Alex was still recovering from Dena’s smile and was slow to respond. “Certainly.” He addressed Dena and asked, “Are you part of Finders?”

  “No. I work for the boss. That’s a full-time job.” She smiled again, licking her top lip.

  Her action caught Alex’s attention and he froze. Understandable. After a moment he checked his watch. “I need to move along, if I’m to keep my appointment.”

  I agreed and settled the coffee bill with the waiter. We walked over to the elevator bank and I again pressed the up button. We waited only moments for an empty car. We entered, and the doors closed, cutting off the other people waiting with us. I nodded to the ceiling and pressed the floor butt
on. Leopold would follow in the next car, cursing.

  “Service,” commented Alex as we ascended.

  I should explain. However, the time wasn’t right. Alex would not understand, at least not yet. So, you know—no, sprites don’t operate elevators. Ogres do. Ogres are the right size and they can lift and drop the cars with ease, by pulling and easing the cables and counter-weights. Think of them as sprites, except they—ogres—are a whole lot larger.

  And fuglier.

  oOo

  Chapter 2

  We exited the elevator on the tenth floor and walked past the now empty security checkpoint. We’d replace the security operation as soon as possible—a task for Tomlin if he accepted the position I had in mind. I stopped at the receptionist’s desk. “We’re here for the meeting in the boardroom. Three p.m. Alex Tomlin and party.”

  My announcement seemed to bewilder the receptionist, a lady in her fifties. I checked, reading mental records. Fifty-three and three weeks, to be exact. She was dressed in a sober grey suit, her hair neatly coiffured, and a welcoming smile was plastered in place.

  “There is no mention of a party.” She frowned at her computer diary. “I thought this was for an interview?”

  “The interview part is correct,” I confirmed. “We also expect your managing director, the chief financial officer, and the retiring operations manager to attend. Plus, I think, your senior sales director?”

  Her face brightened. Senior management could sort out the problem. “Yes, they’re already waiting. Our managing director, Mr. Henderson, will be here in a couple minutes; he said he would be late. Please come with me.” She stood and led the way to the boardroom.

  A row of glass windows down one side provided natural lighting. The oval table was solid wood and probably expensive and surrounded by soft leather chairs. A cocktail cabinet and coffee service waited at the far end of the room.