Armando was tall. He was handsome. He was also the eldest of the four. Most of all, Armando was smart. Escobar tagged along and though life was rough they always got by. Idi and Jose tagged along too. None of them had anywhere else to go. There were a few essentials. They needed food and water – usually stolen – and ammunition for their Kalashnikovs. Getting blind drunk was also necessary. They all had images etched into their minds that hounded them. They drank to forget and usually they got a straight night's sleep. If there was no alcohol, the nights were troubled. Escobar was thirteen years old, but his young eyes had witnessed the brutality of the civil war at first hand. The rumour was that Armando got recruited by RENAMO and gunned down both mother and father to prove his commitment. He never spoke about it. Judging by what Armando sometimes said in his sleep, Escobar was sure it was true and then some.
While sprawled in the shade of a mopani tree, Escobar half-dozed and half-dreamed while listening to the call of birds in the early morning. On this morning he remembered his little brother Edwardo. They played football in the yard at their parents' house in the village. The village was gone and Escobar had no idea where Edwardo was. He longed to hear about his brother but feared meeting him. He did not want Edwardo to know what he had become. Escobar was acutely aware of the shame that stuck to him and had infested his soul. He felt Edwardo should remain pure. Better to be naïve than know or see or hear the things Escobar had. Gradually, Escobar became aware of the rhythm of a diesel engine racing and chugging over the plain. He listened with growing anticipation. The sound was still far off but was coming closer. He reached and felt the hard and cold metal of his Kalashnikov. He felt reassured. Let us see what today has for us. He nudged Armando. Armando startled and his right hand leapt on to the stock of his Kalashnikov with the speed of a striking cobra. He raised his head and listened for a moment. Escobar saw the acknowledgement in Armando's face. He also heard the vehicle and he smiled. Armando in turn nudged Idi while Escobar prodded Jose with his foot. Soon all four were flitting among the bushes and sparse trees. Jose climbed a tree for get a good view. He pointed eastwards back to the abandoned car. Someone had come looking. So much the worse for them.
Armando gave the directions in a terse whisper and well-practised gesticulations. Escobar, Idi and Jose were moving silently and quickly, dodging between bushes, bent almost double to avoid being seen. Escobar followed Armando; Idi followed Jose as the boys closed in a pincer movement. The diesel engine sputtered then stopped. Through the thinning cover, Escobar could see a drab olive Land Rover had pulled up beside white man's car. Armando halted and checked Escobar then looked across to Jose and Idi. The safety catch on his Kalashnikov slid back and he pushed the weapon forward. Armando was ahead and watching the Land Rover. Escobar waited breathing hard, his eyes fixed on Armando with an occasional glance at the vehicles. Jose and Idi also held their positions. The door of the Land Rover slammed shut and Escobar saw a man walk over to the car. He opened the door and looked inside, his face reviled by the heat and stench from within. He left the door wide open and went back to the Land Rover and proceeded to lift a heavy fuel canister. The man was white and wore a wide brimmed hat and loose-fitting khakis. This was not the same white man as yesterday. This one was taller.
The tall white man opened the petrol cap on the car and began to fill. Armando chose this moment and he walked calmly forward with his Kalashnikov conspicuous at his side. Escobar followed furtively. About twenty paces from the Land Rover, Escobar froze. There was someone else waiting in the Land Rover. Armando had impetuously strolled right up to the car apparently unnoticed; the white man had his back turned. He stood ominously and unhurried, much as the Grim Reaper might stand patiently waiting to collect. Escobar smiled at the association. Death was close by. Someone was about to die.
Moments passed and Escobar breathed again. The passenger in the Land Rover turned and looked straight at him. It was a girl – a white girl with long blond hair. There would be fun today. Talk about this day would last many camp fires. Fear immobilised her and rightly so thought Escobar. She had good reason to be afraid and Escobar began to get excited in anticipation. He realised that she saw him standing grinning widely. He no longer saw the need to hide and had plain forgotten to bother.
“Is that you, Armando?” the white man spoke Portuguese. The white man knew Armando! How was that possible? Escobar saw Armando thrust his gun into the back of the man.
“Who's asking?” demanded Armando.
Jose and Idi emerged from cover over to the left and surrounded the vehicles. The trap was sprung.
“You sell yourself short, Armando. You stranded a man in the desert to walk for days without food or water. This is his car. Armando, you were born for better than this.” The white man turned to look Armando squarely in the face. He seemed totally unafraid. He should be afraid. Nobody spoke to Armando like that. He was going to die and the girl with him sitting in the Land Rover would beg for death by the time Armando had finished. Escobar was getting hopeful that after Armando had vented his rage, that he, Escobar, could have a little fun of his own with the girl. He had never had a white girl before. It would be fun indeed. Afterwards, he would get drunk and for one night the demons would leave him. They also would be satisfied.
“What do you know about what I was born for?” snarled Armando with hatred rising.
“I was there when your mother gave birth to you under the chanfuta tree and again when your father held you up and thanked God for your safe arrival – the gift of a son, a great blessing.”
Armando hesitated. He looked at the man and then at the Land Rover. Now he noticed the girl. If Escobar had not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it: Armando was ashamed and awkward. He did not know what to do! At last Armando spoke.
“You shouldn't talk about my father.”
“He was a good man and proud of his son.”
“I don't want to hear it.”
“Why not? Your father wasn't ashamed to own it.”
Escobar became increasingly frustrated. He had never heard anyone speak to Armando like this and live, and had never seen Armando so unsure and undecided.
“Kill him, Armando!” Escobar shouted. Escobar felt the pounding in his head. Part dizzy, he went berserk. Escobar rushed past Armando and pushed the white man to the ground, the butt of his rifle landing on his face. The white man crashed to his knees but, kneeling, lifted his head to show Escobar the gash across his right cheek. He raised his arms but it was neither pleading nor surrender. Escobar turned to Armando.
“What’s wrong with you? If you don’t want the girl, I’ll have her. Now let’s kill this white man.”
Escobar levelled his gun to the white man's head ready to pull the trigger. The man turned to Armando. The words Escobar heard, he understood each individually but they made no sense.
“King's pawn to the fourth rank.”
Suddenly, Armando reacted and was unleashed. He dived at Escobar and knocked the Kalashnikov sideways. A shot rang out but it was well off target. Armando furiously beat Escobar to the ground and pummelled his ribs and kicked his head. Escobar stared disbelieving, looking up as Armando stood over him. Armando screamed, “Get up! Get up you dog!” Escobar was lifted to his feet and thrown towards the car. “Get in.” Armando was beginning cool off but Escobar reckoned he had better not cross him. He crawled into the car. It stank badly. Armando barked at Jose and Idi. They piled into the car.
Armando jumped in the front and started the engine. It took a few attempts but then it caught. As the car roared and started to race off, Escobar made out over the engine noise, “It's your move, Armando!”
Armando drove carelessly. The dirt tracks across Cabo Delgado snaked and were full of pot holes. Escobar had never seen Armando like this. He drove fast, way too fast. Had Escobar cared for his life, he might have tried to stop Armando.
It was later that evening that Jose walked over to Escobar. Armando was off somewhere. He had n
ot said anything for the rest of the day and no one dared to ask. The car had burst a tyre in a ditch and everyone had piled out; Armando simply walked away. “You know who that white man was?” It seemed Jose knew something.
“No. Some crazy white man, I guess.”
“He runs the orphanage by the coast,” informed Jose. “They call him Doctor Campbell.”
“He used witchcraft to hex Armando. He put a curse on him – one that will kill him. Did you hear him speak those devil words? My soul went cold when I heard them. That white man is a witchdoctor. He eats the children in the orphanage – fattens them up a cooks them. That's what he does.”
Chapter 3
National Secure Archive Facility
The dim shadows slowly brightened. It seemed as if nothing existed before this moment. Time started abruptly. Julia felt an intense pain in her head that throbbed with every heartbeat. There were voices whispering indistinctly in the room. The tone was functional rather than malicious. What was wrong? Something had happened. Julia's head began to clear. The voices became discernible.
“Dehydration and mild hypothermia. We gave him saline intravenously and sedated him. He seems delirious. He's been babbling about needing other water – whatever that might mean.”
“What about radiation levels?” This was a second voice, deeper and more authoritative.
“He reads the same as the surface background readings. He's had long-term exposure but there's no sign of radiation sickness. He's been washed down and put in isolation. We didn't know what to do with him. We couldn't leave him out there to die but what do we do with a radioactive patient? The isolation unit seemed the best place for him.”
“No, that's good. As you say, it's not for us to decide. Have you informed the Patriarch?”
“Yes, once he was stable I reported the situation.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Absolutely no idea. Seems he was washed up on the beach. No one from the Ark that's for sure – he's coloured. Part Negro or something. Brown eyes.” Images of a man washed up on a beach filled Julia's mind. Suddenly, recollection rushed back and she gasped.
“Help me!” These were the lasts words she remembered hearing when the man reached out to her. She had sat up with a jolt. She could see two of the Ark's medical staff staring at her, their conversation interrupted. The surprised look on their faces was quickly replaced by concern. Julia felt dizzy and was eased back onto the bed.
“It's all right, Julia. Take it easy.” The reassurance came from Frank; he was the Ark’s junior medic. The second voice was that of Thomas the medical director.
“How did I get back here?” Julia looked around and realised she was back inside the Ark. Her last memory was struggling to move the body on the beach.
“You are one lucky lady, Julia,” said Frank. “You went out on the surface and managed to knock yourself out. Fortunately, someone – Sarah I think – saw you on one of the cameras trying to carry a body on the beach and raised the alarm when you fell over and didn't get up. There was a maintenance crew, Josiah and Edward, out at the thermal exhaust port and they had you back inside ten minutes later. There's an airlock portal very close to where they found you. You have a contusion on the back of your head – I guess you hit a rock on your way down. We removed your protective suit and washed you down. Other than hunger, you should be fine when the sedative wears off.” Frank was stern but not nasty, as some of the medical staff were. The words were well-crafted to impart mere embarrassment rather than guilt or idiocy. Julia blushed as she realised the trouble she had caused and that she had been showered down while unconscious. Frank was not saying who was involved – a list of people she definitely did not want to handle her naked body came to mind but she realised that it was better not to ask and, after all, it had been necessary. They had saved her life. She barely thought it possible since she harboured suspicion and doubt against everyone in the Ark. Julia also realised how rash and impulsive she had been – she had not bothered to check the Ark layout to find the portal nearest the camera location. That might have saved herself a five-mile hike but she reckoned that she could not have got out any other way without an explanation. Julia mused that an explanation would now be asked of her. She was not sure what she originally planned to do if she had managed to get the man back to the Ark by herself. Her planning had never gotten that far. She would have to decide on a story and simple denial was the easiest option. She had gone out on a whim to see the ocean and stumbled across a body, half-dead and tried to help him. What else was she supposed to do?
“Thanks Frank,” mumbled Julia as Frank and Thomas turned to leave.
“Just get some rest. I'll have some food brought in.” Frank almost smiled nicely to her. Julia felt a little more at ease but there was an ominous tension growing. Something had changed. There would be repercussions, consequences, investigations. It was inescapable. Julia's world had changed. The man was alive. Who was he? Where did he come from? How is it possible to survive on the surface for so long? The Patriarch and directors would be asking these very same questions. The whole justification of the Ark was under threat. There were others out there – somewhere. Perhaps they did not need to cower in a hole, paranoid and insular. Finally, there was hope and a lot of precepts were about to be questioned and undoubtedly tested. Some might find that the control they exerted was no longer effective and things might turn ugly. Change was coming. The button had been pressed, the box opened; they were past the point of no return. Julia wondered if her part in these events, yet to unfold, would cause others to blame her for the consequences. She cared little for that. She hated the mindless, oppressive routine existence in the Ark – protecting at all costs the genetic information that formed humanity while systematically destroying all of what it truly meant to be human. Julia welcomed change – any change was for the good.
Food was brought in and Julia ate hungrily. She rudely ignored the nurse for the first few mouthfuls but, since she had stood there unmoving longer than was polite, Julia felt the imposition. The nurse was Andrea. Julia didn't know her very well; they spoke only during the annual check-ups.
“They say you found him.” Andrea's statement was really a question or maybe an accusation. Julia was ill-at-ease.
“Yes.”
“They say he is from the surface. They say you found him out there.” Andrea had more statements or accusations.
“Yes, that's right. He was on the beach, washed up and half-dead. I stumbled over him and tried to help him. That's about it. How is he?”
“He's alive,” replied Andrea.
“Will he recover?”
“I guess so. There's no reason he shouldn't.” For all that Andrea wanted information she was not giving much anyway in return. “Where's he from?”
“I have no idea. I just found him lying on the beach.” Julia feigned simple surprise and ignorance.
“That's not what you said under sedation.” There was more than a hint of accusation in Andrea's tone. She stared intently waiting for Julia to react; she was searching for further cause for suspicion. Julia was flummoxed and stammered.
“I went to the beach to see the ocean and just found him lying there. Nothing more.” Andrea snorted and turned and left obviously unconvinced and dissatisfied.
Julia was left feeling exposed. She could not imagine what she might have blabbered while doped up. Perhaps she had said nothing at all. Andrea was notorious as a gossip-monger but was she so devious as to try to trap Julia like that? The control over the situation that Julia imagined had vanished. The one good thing she knew was that the man was alive. The more people who knew that, the less likely he could be covered up and kept hidden. The rumours would circulate through the Ark in no time at all. Pretty soon everyone would know something.
Julia finished off the meal and, though exhausted and a bit unsteady, she got out of bed and went to find the isolation unit. She craved a glimpse of the man again. The layout of the medical suite was not fam
iliar but there were signs and the isolation unit was close by. Julia sneaked into the nurse's station where there was a mirrored window to the room. Julia saw the man from the beach tucked up in a hospital berth. He was sleeping but he seemed restless. As Frank had covertly discussed with Thomas, the man had dark skin. No one from the Ark looked anything like this. Julia was not aware how long she stayed and gaped. She was horrified and guilty when Andrea appeared and barked tersely, “What are you doing here! Back to bed or get the hell out. I don't care.”
Julia, cowed by the harshness, ducked out the room and stopped only to say, “I feel better now. I'll go.” In her mind she resolved to return.
Chapter 4
Cabo Delgado, Mozambique
Armando had slunk off that morning in a morose and foul mood. He had muttered to Escobar something about having to make a move and jogged off towards the village. There was not much in the village to warrant a visit and Escobar could not think what kind of move Armando had to make. Armando had been distant and evasive for the last six weeks – ever since they met the tall white man with the Land Rover. Escobar was really pissed off by Armando's behaviour and reckoned it was all down to a curse the white man had put on him. Escobar began to think it was time to go separate ways. He would miss Armando for sure. At least, he would miss the old Armando and already did. The cursed Armando was no good. The only cure might be to kill the white man – Doctor Campbell as Jose called him. Even that was not guaranteed.
The Nephilim Protocol Page 2
