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blue eyes stared out from a terrified face. Michael opened his perception to learn more, but all the thoughts around him belonged to the police officers. He was too far away and there were too many other minds to perceive anything from the would-be bomber.
    Jones and the two other officers were too busy listening to their headsets, watching the television screens or looking at their computers to even notice Michael was there. He shuffled his way to the back of the van and, with one more look to check they were still engrossed, jumped back out into the alley.
    Goose pimples prickled on his bare arms. He looked around, but there was no sign of Patterson, and he assumed he had gone to the other side of the van. Michael did the same and found himself in a continuation of the alley. It was little more than a narrow tarmac strip edged with double yellow lines that led to a dead end at the back of the hotel. In front of the alley, three police cars were parked at an angle. Walking towards them, keeping close to the wall, was Patterson. The white POLICE on the back of his bulletproof vest was clear in the shade of the building next to him.
    Michael took a step forward. An armed policeman stepped out from a shadow. He was clad in black armour from his helmet to his boots and carried a semi-automatic rifle. Caught by surprise, Michael instinctively perceived him and learnt that the policeman’s initial assessment was that Michael posed no threat, even if he doubted that Michael had any authority to be there.
    “I’m with Sergeant Patterson,” said Michael.
    The sergeant’s name held currency with the armed policeman and he took a half step back. But the doubt remained. He looked closely at Michael’s youthful face, with its minor acne breakouts, and it didn’t correlate with what he was being told.
    Michael strode forward with all the confidence he could muster and hoped the policeman wouldn’t think about radioing back to base to check. Patterson must know what he’s doing , the policeman thought as Michael passed him.
    Patterson turned when he heard Michael approach and Michael perceived the sting of his annoyance. “What are you doing here?” said Patterson in an accusatory whisper.
    “I need to perceive the bomber,” said Michael.
    “You need to stay out of the way,” Patterson retorted.
    “Don’t you want to know what the bomber’s thinking?”
    “No,” said Patterson. Yes , said his thoughts.
    “I can help you,” said Michael.
    Patterson looked up ahead, they were not far from the cordon of police cars. He pushed Michael over to the wall and he felt the hard and cold bricks press at his back. He also felt Patterson’s anger and perceived a wish that he could just punch Michael and get away with it.
    “You’re not trained, you could get us all killed,” said Patterson.
    “I could get information you can’t get any other way,” said Michael.
    Patterson hesitated. Michael felt the conflict within him: he wanted the information, but he wasn’t convinced Michael could get it, or that the risk was worth it.
    “Jones sent me,” Michael said, the lie coming out his mouth before he had time to think it through.
    If Patterson had been a perceiver, there would be no way a simple lie could deceive him. But as he was a norm, with only his ordinary senses to rely on, it gave Michael an advantage. He listened in to Patterson’s thoughts as the man weighed up the risks. Unlike the armed policeman back down the alley, he thought of calling in on the radio to check with Jones, but he didn’t have time to have another row about the use of perceivers in the police force – a row which he had always lost. Anyway, he needed to concentrate on what he was going to say to the suicide bomber, and maybe it was better to have Michael there where he could see him, rather than wandering around the scene like a loose cannon. “Okay,” he said, eventually. “But stay down, and if I say withdraw, then you get the hell