The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  Chapter 6

  Maputo, Mozambique

  The buzz around the hall was exhilarating. The scuff of shoes on the marble floor, the echoing coughs and half-whispers reverberated to compose an electric drone of noise. The heat inside was stifling. This was the twenty-sixth year that Oscar Guebuza had competed in the Federacao Mocambicana national chess championships. Throughout the long civil war, Oscar had defiantly entered each year as a way of believing that one day there would be peace. Besides, chess was much more important than the politics that had cast his beloved country into successive convulsions of violence and blood-letting. The communists and fascists were mere pawns, thought Oscar, of a world outside Mozambique that was too nebulous to grasp and too powerful to exert any influence upon. Though they claimed to be heroes and idealists, both sides in the conflict were, at best, self-serving and greedy and, at worst, the idle plaything of foreign powers violently resolving differences by proxy. Oscar asserted his political creed discretely by advancing his knight on the queen's side hoping eventually to attack both the white bishop and an isolated pawn. Oscar had won the tournament on four previous occasions. Only the young player now sitting opposite could prevent a fifth victory. The young player was Armando Campbell. Armando responded by advancing his pawn further into uncertainty.

  Oscar guessed that Armando was nineteen years old. This was Armando's first competition. Oscar had, at first, ignored him as a non-contender. As the rounds progressed and he put in a steady performance rising to the leading pack, Armando became the subject of intense scrutiny by Oscar. He was young but he could play. Oscar's long-standing friend and sparring partner, Pedro, had met Armando a few rounds earlier. Pedro played very conservatively; he was methodical and usually wore down his opponents piece-by-piece in long, strategic challenges. Pedro almost never made mistakes. Armando had defeated him good and proper by an inventive, mobile attack to which Pedro's over-constrained defence could not respond. The game had attracted a lot of attention from the more seasoned participants. They critiqued Armando's play favourably.

  Oscar looked into the eyes of Armando but struggled to read anything helpful. There was a thick outer layer of total passivity. This young boy showed virtually no emotion during play. Oscar had met and conquered many impassive players and penetrated Armando's outer shell. As he looked closer, Oscar perceived the tells and gestures that betrayed what was beneath. There were many contradictions, fierce passions and turmoil. Yet Armando kept meticulous composure. There was a profoundly enigmatic quality to Armando's character. Oscar speculated at great pain and distress. Armando had faced trauma. This was not unusual in Mozambique – especially among the young. Beside the trauma there was also overwhelming serenity. Oscar could not decide whether this was on account of detachment and isolation or perhaps medication. He could not imagine any other source. Most likely the boy was suffering from a variant of catatonia and chess was the lifeline to self-existence. Oscar, after some study, became sure of this conjecture and decided to exploit the psychological weakness he discerned in his opponent. Oscar switched his black bishop to the king's side; the move was highly provocative but well reinforced. He waited to watch Armando's reaction. A sly smile twitched on Armando's face. It passed momentarily but Oscar had seen it clearly; many others would have missed it. Oscar analysed the board. He saw no sign of a blunder or even a disadvantage in his position. He dismissed the apparent gloat as a misconception. Neither player had a measurable advantage at this stage in the game but Oscar had more options and more mobility while Armando had an isolated and therefore weak pawn. This Oscar would capitalise for victory.

  As the afternoon wore on, the heat built up further and both players drank water copiously. A crowd formed around the board and there was much scratching of beards and eschewing of preconceptions. Oscar felt the pressure of expectation from his many peers. This young impertinent upstart could not possibly be allowed to win. Though no word was spoken, he knew what the crowd were thinking. He had inwardly mocked Pedro for losing even as he tenderly commiserated with his friend. The game of chess resulted in considerably fewer fatalities than the civil war but the passions involved and the desire for preserving honour at any cost were no less than the raw tribal instinct that often fuelled the political struggles. Oscar began to feel the strain of the burden that had been placed on his shoulders. He was the vanguard of decency and respect. His rook traversed the files apprehensively. He was beginning to feel exposed as his threats were competently countered and attacks returned. The imminence of Armando's attack was building – he could sense it in Armando's purposeful moves – but he could not see where it would materialise from. Oscar waited with a dry mouth as one waits for the executioner's axe to fall. Yet he was sure he had everything covered. The isolated pawn on the queen's side was finally captured and this small advantage would, with patience and persistence, lead to victory. Oscar began to relax. He glanced round the assembled faces to assert that victory was now assured. He sought to relieve their gathered apprehension. The capture of the isolated pawn, however, served to spring the trap in which Oscar was now ensnared. After two more moves, Oscar belatedly saw the ferocity that had been prepared for him. He checked the board and double-checked. He resigned. The crowd nodded. They also agreed that victory was Armando's.

  Later, in the evening, Pedro came to Oscar in the hotel bar. “Oscar, my friend, it seems that we must wait until next year and try again. Old people like us have time on our side. We do. We can wait patiently and secure victory by means of purposeful inaction – in much the same way as General Zukov defeated Emperor Napoleon by conceding the fall of Moscow. The young can never abide such a course of action and must always strive, must advance, must do something – anything at all. You'll see, Oscar, next year. Eh?”

  “Pedro. We have been friends and contenders for what? Over thirty years? I must apologise to you. When you lost to the boy, I mocked you. I considered you an imbecile to have suffered such a defeat. Now, I also have been humbled. The humiliation is rank upon me the more so because I was the last hope. There, that is my confession. Shall we drink to success next year?”

  “Indeed we shall!” Pedro and Oscar chinked glasses, began to reminisce warmly and did not finish until well into the night.

  Chapter 7

  National Secure Archive Facility

  Julia returned to Omar's bedside to find Andrea taking his pulse and blood pressure. Momentarily, Julia was hit by a wave of resentment that Andrea was here. So what if it was her job. What if she was the nurse. The resentment ebbed as Julia noticed that Omar was still sleeping soundly. Still, she was touching him.

  “You're back then?” commented Andrea. As usual her tone was less of a question and had more accusation.

  “Yes. I've been assigned to look after him,” explained Julia.

  “No. I've been assigned to look after him. I don't know what you are doing here. What are you doing here?” Andrea frowned but did not wait for Julia to reply. She picked up her notes and left. As she reached the door she turned round having forgotten something. She held a plastic sample bottle in her hand and a wooden spatula. She brushed past Julia and leant over Omar. She gently opened his mouth and swabbed inside. Andrea deposited the spatula in the sample bottle and left. She had quite deliberately declined to speak with Julia. She had stonewalled Julia's puzzled expression.

  Julia looked apprehensively at Omar. He was still asleep. He had not overheard the exchange with Andrea. For that she was relieved. It had been thoroughly unpleasant. Julia could not understand why Andrea was so openly hostile. She took a deep breath and relaxed. She gazed at Omar. His very presence brought calm. She longed to find a soul mate and he was her only hope but it was madness to contemplate such a hope. She knew nothing about Omar. In fact, she knew less than nothing: the few words he had uttered had provoked more questions than they answered.

  At last, Julia roused from her brooding. Omar was watching her silently and without any hint of self-consciousness. When she
looked up, he smiled.

  “My child, you have such dark thoughts for one so young and pretty.”

  “Young? I'm hardly young. About the same age as you.” He had caught Julia in a black mood and indeed she replied out of that mood.

  “Your eyes have yet seen little. You live in a hole.” He looked pointedly around the room. “A warm and dry one. But you have not seen the mountains capped with snow, you have not seen the furious ocean whipped by the wind, nor the lights in the northern sky. You have not bathed in the volcanic springs at Heliopolis, nor walked the deserted streets of the eternal city, nor ascended the pyramids of Giza. You are young. You live in a burrow – maybe a dungeon. I walk the Earth. I am free. Yet you are young enough that maybe you shall see these things and many more wonders. What does your soul say? What does your heart whisper to you?”

  Julia softened. Yes, it is true what he says. I feel more like a prisoner than a lucky survivor. “I have also walked the Earth – when I found you on the beach. We are allowed eight hours. I saved your life using five hours and twenty-two minutes.”

  “So you did! How thankful I am that you did Julia.” To hear him say her name was intoxicating. Somehow he remembered her.

  “Where is Eden?” Julia unleashed the question that had gone unresolved.

  “Eden?” Omar looked questioningly at Julia.

  “Yes, Eden. You said you were born there.”

  “Eden...” Omar repeated. “Yes, perhaps Eden.” There was growing familiarity in his voice.

  “Where is it?” asked Julia.

  “I don't know. I was with my father. That is all I remember. I was very young. That was before...” His voice trailed off.

  “Before the Nakba?” prompted Julia.

  “Yes, I was with my father before the Nakba.”

  There was a pause for a few moments that was ended when Frank knocked and entered the room. He smiled at Julia and then at Omar before adopting a proper professional expression and tone of voice.

  “Julia tells me you are Omar. Glad to see you doing better. My name is Frank. I'm one of the doctors here.”

  “Omar son of James,” confirmed Omar. “It's a pleasure to meet you Frank. So you are a doctor? A doctor of what?” Frank was slightly taken aback by the question.

  “Medicine. Doctor of medicine,” Frank stuttered as if it should have been obvious. Julia smiled. It was amusing to watch others have their assumptions challenged by Omar. He had not grown up in the Ark and did not have the same preconceptions as people were used to.

  “I see. Medicine. Very good,” nodded Omar, smiling.

  “Well, er … it's great to see you getting better and… Are you up to getting out of bed? There are a few routine medical tests we would like to go through – just to make sure everything is fine.” Frank was getting down to business. He was here to do a job; he was following instructions. Julia was fairly sure who had given the orders.

  “I will give it a try. Can you help me?” Omar began to sit up to swing his legs out of bed. Frank hesitated reluctant to help. He looked a little nervous about getting too close. Julia stepped forward and held out her hand. She saw the look of horror cross Frank's face and she smiled in return. Soon Omar was out of bed and standing. He was slightly shorter than average but strongly built. For the first time Julia could feel his strength as she helped him keep balance.

  “Firstly, we should measure your height. Do you know what it is?”

  “One hundred and sixty-eight,” replied Omar without hesitation.

  “Well, just stand on here,” instructed Frank and he lowered a cantilever on to the top of Omar's head. He read off from the scale, “Five foot six inches. And weight – one hundred and sixty-five pounds.”

  “You still use imperial units?” asked Omar. There was the vaguest inference of derision.

  “Yes, we do,” asserted Frank firmly.

  Frank asked Omar to blow into tubes and read letters from a wall chart. He showed Omar a book with coloured dots to check for colour blindness. All the normal tests that even Julia had been put through during medicals each year. Omar complied without problem and actually seemed to enjoy the activity. He became slightly anxious when Frank asked him to sit in a sound proof chamber with headphones on to do a hearing test but Omar persevered and responded to tones played first into one ear then into the other. The problem came when Omar was asked to stand in a tank full of water.

  “This is to measure your body fat ratio. The water is warm, I promise.” Omar was not convinced. Julia felt his whole body stiffen.

  “I don't like water,” explained Omar tersely. “I can't swim.”

  “I can't swim either and I've been in that tank.” Julia tried to encourage him. “It's perfectly safe. You won't drown. Don't worry.”

  “I don't like water. I can't swim.”

  “You can do it.” Julia was surprised he was so afraid. She had assumed he would be fine since he seemed generally athletic. Perhaps it was a result of nearly drowning on the beach. A traumatic experience could trigger a phobia.

  Frank took over, “You don't need to put your head under water. You can keep it above water if you like. Does that help?”

  Omar nodded and at last agreed to go through with it. He climbed up a short ladder and stepped down into the tank. The water came up to chest height. Julia smiled to Omar to reassure him – he seemed calm. Frank explained that he would add some more water until it was up to his neck and slowly the water was added. Frank asked if he could just dip his head under water – just for a moment. Omar refused.

  “No matter,” said Frank. Frank took the water level reading from the tank and turned to write the number down. Without thinking, Julia also turned to see what Frank was recording. There was a bang and splashing behind them. Water was thrown out of the top of the tank. Inside Omar was having some kind of fit. His arms were thrashing about banging on the tank walls. Omar was letting out the most bizarre high-pitched screeching noise interspersed with coughing and spluttering. His whole body was flailing about and Julia watched in terror. What had they done? He had been nervous but they coaxed him to go through with it and now this!

  “Get him out! Help him!” screamed Julia but she herself was paralysed with panic. Frank picked up a chair and smashed it into the clear plastic wall of the tank. It bounced off ineffective. He tried again but still no difference. He looked around for something else. Omar's convulsions increased and he slammed about inside the tank. Water cascaded from the tank and spilled across the floor. It seemed to Julia that a supernatural force had taken possession of Omar and was trying to drown him. The ugly twisting and writhing terrified her more than anything she had experienced. Without warning the corner of the tank came loose and the whole front panel tipped forward and shattered into shards spewing across the room. The remaining water gushed out. Omar lay quivering on his side. His eyes were rolling and he was hyperventilating. By this time Frank had reached a medical kit and extracted a syringe filled with sedative. He paused in readiness then jabbed Omar in the arm. Slowly, Omar stopped convulsing. Frank covered him with a blanket and placed a ventilator bag over his mouth to help him control his breathing. Julia was shaking with adrenaline and shock. She was crying hysterically and crumpled in a wet corner. She looked round once to see that blood was oozing from Omar's body where he had lacerated his arms and side while convulsing on the floor. The blanket was stained red and soaked. She immediately looked away and wretched.

  Omar was gone when she recovered and took in her surroundings. She was wet through and covered in sick. Andrea's arm was round her and she was pulled away from the room. Later she remembered a blanket thrown round her shoulders and being led to another room in the medical wing. She was offered a warm drink, most of which she spilled but she drank enough to feel the drugging effects. She had not seen Omar. She missed him. She needed to know he was all right but she could not ask and no one volunteered to tell her. She lapsed into a semi-conscious catatonic daze.

  Julia faile
d to get meaningful rest. Her being was wrought by feelings of guilt and remorse. They had hurt Omar – not deliberately but carelessly. He was not a well man and was still recovering from injury and hypothermia but they had pressed him to go through with the tests. His screams and images of his flailing body haunted her half-sleep. It seemed her body flinched in sympathy with his. She felt his panic as part of her own struggle. At last she realised how cold she was. Her clothes were still damp and the blanket did not fully cover her. The nurse, Andrea, had simply abandoned her in the room. Julia did not mind. She was shivering and she peeled off her wet attire in pulled on some of the loose fitting garments worn by the medical team. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face looked a mess with bleary eyes and tear streaks but she had to admit that she looked the part of a medical staff member. She exited the room and, being disorientated, turned towards Thomas' office instead of the isolation unit and where she imagined she would find Omar.

  The door was open and as she approached she held her breath and crept silently nearer. There was something in the tone of the conversation that warned her to remain discrete. Julia recognised Thomas' raised voice.

  “Frank, you're an idiot. These test results make no sense at all. How could a man of your experience make these mistakes? You know that Patriarch Ryan explicitly ordered that these been done carefully, properly, professionally. Look at this here. He's only five foot six but weighs one sixty-five. Put that together with that your body density measurement and the calculation says minus three percent body fat! How can he have minus three percent body fat? He has body fat. Even you can see that he does! I guess the rest of the tests are fair enough. His white blood count is very low. He'll be very susceptible to picking up an infection – especially after that episode in the water tank. He's definitely staying put in the isolation room. And one more thing: where is the DNA analysis? Andrea took the sample ten hours ago. The machine only takes half an hour. Where are the results?”