Influence Read online

  ‘And there’s plenty of research,’ Marcus had said, back in the day when Peter had first shared his experiences, ‘to show that experienced professionals, particularly those who work in stressful jobs and challenging situations, are capable of developing intuitive responses that are accurate and, sometimes, even life-saving.’

  ‘It’s like the instinctive behaviours of actors who lose their sense of personal identity behind that of the characters they inhabit,’ Nic had said.

  ‘Only this is reality – actually it’s arguably the most powerful aspect of reality – not the fantasy creation of a film studio,’ Marcus had countered quickly. ‘Let me give you just one example. In the 1990s, a research psychologist called Gary Klein began interviewing professionals who had used their intuition to make instant life-or-death decisions. One of the people he interviewed was a fire chief who had taken his men into a burning single-storey house. The kitchen was on fire. The fire fighters doused the room with water as they were trained to do, but the fire did not go out. Suddenly, the chief had a feeling that there was something wrong. “Let’s get out, now!” he shouted and the team followed his order without question. Seconds after they had exited the building the floor on which they had been standing collapsed. The source of the fire had been in the basement not the kitchen. His subconscious had recognized and interpreted the minute signals that his conscious mind had not. It’s a classic example of intuition, gut instinct, being absolutely right.’

  Back in the day Nic had not wanted to like Marcus. Indeed, back in the day Nic had actively disliked Marcus. The professional certainty of the consultant had clashed very obviously with the creative curiosity of the lecturer in media studies. After their first meeting Nic had expressed both surprise and concern that Peter could find anything loveable in the man who, according to Nic’s first impression, hid behind his face.

  Only the clash had dissolved with surprising speed. The impact between two opposing and seemingly immovable forces had, in fact, turned into a joyous merging of what Nic had come to think of as variations on a theme. Now the relationship between Marcus and Nic was as significant in its own way as that between the two school friends who had known each other for what seemed like forever. For the last three years Marcus had provided guest lectures for Nic, talking about the power of language in modern media, and, when Peter was working late on a case, Nic was more likely to spend time with Marcus than anyone else.

  Peter had realised almost instantly that Nic’s change in attitude had been created, managed and led by Marcus’s ability to influence those around him. He guessed that it was just one of the many ways his friend had used his skill to ensure that their relationship continued without unnecessary stresses or threats. He had, after a particularly drunken evening, asked Marcus just how he had managed to win Nic over so quickly. Despite the several bottles of Rioja they had shared, his friend did indeed immediately retreat ‘behind his face’ and deny all charges. Peter had not pursued the conversation. Given his profession, Peter knew that, as a basic rule, the right outcome was what mattered most. The key, as he often told less experienced officers, was in ensuring that their foundations were always secure enough to support the desired outcome. They had to be layered and congruent. They had to be without any obvious gaps, without any room for doubt – reasonable or otherwise.

  Although he kept the thought to himself, Peter couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Marcus really did like Nic.

  Nic released the handbrake as the queue began to slither forwards. The road they were on, Carlton Hill, was one of the main roads into Nottingham city centre. It was not their usual route into work, but they were returning from a very welcome, and rare, romantic night away. The Audi began to pick up pace. Somehow, for reasons that Peter or Nic would never know, the traffic was releasing itself; the delay was over. ‘There’s just a chance my lecture might even start on time.’ Nic looked at Peter. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’ Peter faked another smile. The queue had come alive. Destinations were getting closer. The feeling in Peter’s stomach twisted and pulled, tugging his mind towards the dark room, the place that could only be entered, explored and survived through the clinical and, sometimes, callous application of procedure. His stomach was offering a warning, not a solution. In his line of work Peter couldn’t order a retreat. It didn’t matter how much pressure he found himself under, how much heat there was, he had to keep going forwards until he had found all the answers and the story was complete. The only way he knew to do that and have any chance of keeping safe was to build a wall around himself; a wall that was cold, hard and strong and that, so far, had proved impenetrable. Peter swallowed as the adrenaline kicked inside him. His stomach said it was time to start putting the wall in place.

  Sometimes, even when you’re a detective, you hope like hell that you’re wrong.

  Nic eased the Audi up to twenty miles an hour. It felt like the city was finally opening itself to them.

  5.

  Nottingham is a city built on caves. There are more than four hundred built into a soft, sandstone ridge, creating a subterranean labyrinth that runs beneath and beyond the modern city centre. The caves date back to the Dark Ages and were used officially for housing until 1845, when the St. Mary’s Enclosure Act banned the rental of cellars and caves as homes for the poor. The practice, although illegal, continued for some time afterwards.

  In the modern city that Nic and Peter were driving through the caves had become just an unusual and entertaining tourist attraction; what were once homes for the poverty-stricken were now accessible only to those who were willing to pay for a visit, who wanted to gain an insight into how it once was.

  In 2010 Nottingham had been identified by a leading travel publisher as one of the top ten city destinations in the world. It was a result that surprised Peter as much, he suspected, as it had the vast majority of the three hundred thousand- plus population. It was true that Nottingham boasted some great attractions, yet by 2006 it had built for itself the reputation as the country’s crime capital, with the highest number of murders per one hundred thousand people of any city in England and Wales. Gun crime had become a significant problem too, and the ensuing press served only to damage Nottingham’s reputation even further. It was a reminder that, no matter what was written in a tourist guide, the city was built on sand and underpinned by caves.

  Despite that, Peter thought the situation had improved considerably of late. At least the number of crimes committed every year was reducing and the number of crimes being solved was increasing. People are always going to go out and get pissed or stoned and, as far as Peter knew, every city on the planet caters for that. So he could hardly blame his hometown for filling its coffers in the same way, even if the availability of booze and other drugs did lead directly and indirectly to a wide range of criminal activity. For the most part, though, it was the kind of activity that did not make Peter’s gut tense. Only the most extreme type did that. It was the type that made him wonder, late at night while Nic was asleep and he was alone staring at the night sky, if evil was a primal force that actually existed within some human beings.

  Peter didn’t believe in spirits, or possession, and he certainly didn’t believe in a divine, loving and all-powerful force. However he had seen enough to consider the possibility that evil was born, or created, within some individuals. He did, in his darkest moments, find himself questioning whether or not evil was a tangible entity. It seemed the only possible answer to the question that some crimes forced him to ask:

  How can someone do that to another human being?

  It was one of the few beliefs that he had never shared with Marcus. Well, not knowingly anyway.

  ‘Fancy going to see him?’ Nic eased the Audi to a halt at the traffic lights facing the National Ice Centre and gestured towards the advert for Eddie Izzard’s appearance in May of the following year. ‘You can’t beat a good Action Transv
estite.’

  ‘Of course you can’t.’ Peter looked up at the row of adverts plastered across the front of the Ice Centre. It was one of the city’s more recent and successful new builds. Opened by Jayne Torvill, the ice skating Olympian and local girl made far-more than good, it was home to the Capital FM Arena which had established itself as a major concert venue, attracting the world’s greatest bands, comedians and acts. The people who take the stage, Peter thought, are all superstars, known wherever they go. Somewhere inside that building, though, unknown to the crowds who flock there to see a legend, are people playing mole, working to create a hole or a burrow for their family.

  ‘So shall I try and get tickets?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  ‘I’m just thinking of all the work I’ll have to do between now and then.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it will pass.’ Nic patted Peter’s thigh, squeezing the muscle, offering a promise of sensual diversions.

  ‘Time passes,’ Peter heard the dullness in his voice; wished that he could fake his tone as well as his smile. ‘So we’ll definitely get there. I think you should get the best seats possible.’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  The traffic lights turned to green. The Audi set off again, turning right in front of the building. Peter looked at the Ice Centre as if he had never seen it before. Perhaps, he wondered, only the infrastructure changes with the passing of time? Perhaps the things we keep below the surface stay the same?

  6.

  Paul Clusker had to change. He had to change so that his business could change. Paul had realised this, he told his wife, at the end of the last financial year when the numbers showed their third consecutive downturn. Incredibly, during his first meeting with Marcus Kline, he came to the understanding that he had known it on some deep level for years.

  Paul was a healer. He had started his clinic, “Health Matters”, in 1985. What began as a one-man operation had grown into a thriving establishment that employed three full-time and two part-time therapists and a secretary. Throughout the 90s and into the early 2000s “Health Matters” had been the city’s premier centre for remedial massage, osteopathy and acupuncture. There had been waiting lists and articles in local glossy magazines and a vibrancy in the building, an energy that seemed to grow out of the many interactions that took place on a daily basis. Paul had been filled with optimism and a certainty of purpose. His bank balance had been similarly buoyant.

  And then something had happened. It had not been a sudden collapse, more a gradual seeping away. A loss of everything that made it all so special.

  ‘It starts and ends with you,’ Marcus Kline had said ten minutes into their first meeting. ‘The likelihood is that you have outgrown your original business.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’m still there every day. I’m still in charge of everything.’ Paul had been both confused and, if he was going to be honest, more than a little annoyed by the consultant’s sudden and swift conclusion.

  ‘I don’t doubt that you are there every day. My point is this: although you employ others, this business is based around you. You conceived it, created and managed it. You are the designer, the architect, the manager and the figurehead. You are the brand because this business was built as a reflection of your own beliefs, values and aspirations. You cannot – or rather you should not be able to – separate “Health Matters” the business from Paul Clusker the human being. And from what I’ve seen of you already, and from what you’ve said, that’s the problem you’re facing.

  ‘You have evolved since you first established the business and you have not changed your operation accordingly. It’s almost thirty years since you began the business. In that time you have learned new things, had myriad new experiences, clarified your thinking. Only you have not applied any of that in a business development programme. You, my friend, have outgrown ‘Health Matters”. In a business in which the leader is the ultimate brand symbol, it is essential that the business processes, practices, systems and communications are all synergistic with the attitudes, purposes, behaviours and values of the leader.

  ‘“Health Matters” should, at all times, be closer to you than your own child, because, you see, “Health Matters” is you. At least it was when it began. Back then it was the business personification of Paul Clusker. Now, though, there are several degrees of separation. Before we can create a new, better communication strategy for you, we first need to re-connect the business to you.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘By teasing out into your conscious mind what your subconscious already knows. Namely, the beliefs and values that currently drive your thinking, and the ways you can best demonstrate these through every aspect of your business practices, even the symbols – including the language – that most accurately and emotively represent those beliefs and values.’

  ‘I’m not at all sure that I know these things.’

  ‘Who’s telling me that?’

  Paul had rocked back in his chair, struggling to make sense of the question. ‘I…I don’t know what you mean…I’m just being honest with you…’

  Paul had been both surprised and delighted when Marcus Kline had agreed to work with him. He had heard that Influence, Kline’s world famous communications consultancy, did occasionally work for local businesses, sometimes even at a reduced rate. He had even read an article in a national magazine in which Marcus Kline had said that his company was committed to helping the Nottinghamshire economy grow by accepting regionally based clients, but he had been somewhat sceptical about the claim, considering the possibility that it was no more than a clever piece of PR.

  Despite Paul’s qualms the increasingly desperate nature of his situation had forced him to risk making a fool of himself by phoning the offices of IMKA. To his astonishment, after a brief chat with the young woman on reception, he had been put through directly to the man himself. Despite a stuttering and stumbling explanation of his concerns and needs, Marcus Kline had agreed to work with him – and at a price that was far less than Paul had ever imagined.

  ‘You sound surprised,’ Marcus had said, a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘Actually, to be completely accurate, you sound surprised and just a little embarrassed.’

  ‘Well, to be honest with you…’

  ‘-You might as well be.’

  ‘Yes.’ Paul had paused as the implication of Marcus’s comment registered. What was the point, he wondered, of trying to hide something from a man who was world famous for his ability to read people, to identify what they were really thinking and feeling no matter what they said or how they behaved? It was a realisation that also highlighted the downside of spending time with such a person: there was nowhere to hide. Most relationships, even the most intimate and long lasting, offered opportunities for at least some secrets. If Marcus Kline was anywhere near as good as he was supposed to be, lying to him would be pointless. He would see straight through it. So the question was, did Paul want to engage with a genius who worked with some of the most important people around? The fact that he could afford to pay for it was more than he had expected; the fact that he would lose his privacy was something else altogether.

  ‘So,’ Marcus returned to his original question, ‘What part of you is telling me what it doesn’t know?’

  ‘I, er, I guess it’s my conscious mind.’

  ‘Indeed. If you can’t yet trust yourself, do trust me when I tell you that you know more that you realise. As I said, my job will simply be to help you bring into conscious awareness what your subconscious already knows, and then to help you shape it into a compelling communications strategy.’

  ‘You make it sound so straightforward.’

  ‘In one sense it is. Although you will still find yourself on a journey that will have more than a few loops and backtracks in it. For the change you need t
o make to be as positive and powerful as possible, you will need to tell me what is going to happen; not the other way round. The rebranding of your business has to come from inside you just as it did when you first started, not from my external perspective. Does that make sense?’

  ‘I think so. I’m guessing that it will make more sense as I go through the process.’

  ‘That is how most things tend to work.’ Marcus opened his diary. ‘Let’s schedule our next three sessions together and then I will tell you what I need you to do for homework.’

  It had been a task that was at once challenging and intriguing, inviting Paul to explore the deeper levels of his current attitudes and thinking. Simply, Marcus had asked him to write down why he worked as a healer and his beliefs about the nature and purpose of healing. Marcus had waited until Paul had jotted down the required activities, before asking, ‘As a healer, do you make people better or do you simply aim to return them to the state they were in before the problem occurred?’

  It was the second time in the meeting that a question had rocked Paul’s senses. Only this time Paul heard his answer come firing back. He spoke without preparation or hesitation. His voice seemed to have the same strength and flow and awareness that his hands did on those magical occasions when he was truly connected to a client; those rare moments when it felt as if his fingers were actually listening to another person’s body.

  ‘I live to make people better! I live to help them realise that a problem state – any problem state – can be transformed positively and contains within it the seeds of learning and growth. Doctors with their inappropriate willingness to hand out antibiotics and all manner of other drugs simply want to end the problem. It seems to me that most of them don’t have the time or inclination to do anything more. When they see a patient the first question they tend to ask themselves is, “What is the best drug I can give?”