The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  “That's what I came to see you about,” Frank placated. “We ran the sample through the machine and the automatic sequencing failed. The sample was good quality. I checked it under the microscope. I ran myself as a control sample and the machine is working just fine – I still match my own record. I ran Omar's again – another fail. So I checked the gene diffusion patterns by eye. All the normal patterns are there but for some reason there's a ten percent calibration error on his sample runs. But here's the bombshell. I took the recalibrated result and fed it into the archive for matching. As you know, the CIA and FBI collected a massive database of criminals, terrorists, politicians and the like. Here's the match.” There was a rustle of paper and then silence.

  “You're sure about this? I will need to rerun this myself. And if you're wrong, I'll have you on latrine duties for a year.” Thomas was speaking lower but still growling at Frank.

  “I'm sure of it. It's a clear match. Omar's paternal grandfather is Doctor Campbell. He introduced himself as Omar son of James. James Campbell was the only natural son Doctor Campbell had – that we know about.”

  “Of course, you're also saying that he must be nearly two hundred years old – a little younger perhaps. He doesn't look it.” Thomas was beginning to sound more reasonable.

  “No, he doesn't – except his teeth. Either he's a lot older than he looks or he eats grit. His molars are very worn. No sign of decay but ground down.”

  “Okay Frank, not a word to Ryan or the others until I've verified this. I don't want this getting around. Our guest is proving very problematic – even more so than we first thought. Keep him sedated and isolated. Keep that girl out too. I have no idea what Ryan is thinking there but we need to keep any possible infection sources away from him. Just you and Andrea. Got it?”

  Julia reckoned it was time to go. She turned and made off round the corner. Perhaps her wet shoe squeaked on the floor. Something had alerted Frank. He called out, “Andrea, is that you there?” Julia kept walking. She found Andrea standing in the reception area filing records. Julia walked past pointing back toward Frank then she slipped out the door. She looked back to see Andrea wander off to see why she was wanted. “Ah, there you are. New protocols for our patient...” The voice was lost as the door closed softly and Julia was hurrying away. She hoped she had got away with eavesdropping. She thought so. The sense of relief was quickly swapped by questions. Was Omar really two hundred years old? Was he Doctor Campbell's grandson? How was it possible?

  Chapter 8

  Anshun, Guizhou Province, Peoples Republic of China

  The official looked Doctor Campbell up and down. Doctor Campbell was sitting on the other side of the dark-stained rosewood desk. He looked slightly self-conscious and he had coughed nervously when he made the request. Doctor Campbell was visiting for several days and negotiations had been intense and a tough bargain had been struck. This additional request had taken the official by surprise. As trade ambassador for the Mozambique government, Doctor Campbell had agreed to the export of two hundred thousand metric tonnes of rutile ore which would be smelted using the FFC process developed at Cambridge University. The required electricity for the electrolysis would come from a new hydroelectric development built here in Guizhou Province. The resulting titanium metal – alloyed with vanadium and aluminium – would be used to manufacture aircraft and missile parts for the Chinese military in factories around Anshun. Publicly, the development would be announced as the construction of a new suspension bridge – the world's first titanium bridge – to give greater transport links to this remote and underdeveloped province. More than likely, such a bridge would never be built; the aircraft and missiles most assuredly would be.

  Doctor Campbell reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a photograph. “This is the girl in question. Her name is Wu Shin Li. She is at the Number Six orphanage. If the adoption papers could be finalised by tomorrow, that would complete the deal. Your discretion regarding this transaction would be appreciated.”

  The official looked down at the photograph. He could barely imagine what Doctor Campbell could want with her. The girl was pretty enough. Sordid speculation came to mind. The official contemplated the possibility briefly but decided that he preferred more experienced women but could see the appeal of young girls – just not that young. It was largely irrelevant under the circumstances. The Chinese preference for sons compounded by the legacy of the One-Child policy meant that there were many like Wu Shin Li who were discarded and languished in institutions unwanted. There was little point in allowing this to block the deal. The deal was worth two hundred million US dollars. Any proper checks and balances could be circumvented; the credentials of Doctor Campbell were indisputable. It might be useful leverage in case any renegotiations were desirable.

  “I am sure the arrangements can be made.”

  Wu Shin Li, known as Celia, boarded a plane to Mozambique two days later.

  Chapter 9

  Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America

  Gary gazed in disbelief across the table in Giuseppe’s Italian Bistro. She was stunning. Slim, slightly under average height, long beautiful hair, she had his palms sweating and all his self-conscious nervousness lurking not far beneath the surface. He could not believe his luck. Throughout college, none of the girls this pretty gave him the time of day. However, on a sudden impulse, he had approached this girl – yes, this one here at this table – after a church meeting and uttered those amazing words before the awkward, geekish part of his brain realised what was going on, “Excuse me, I've seen you around a couple of times and you've got a certain style that really stands out. I mean, I find you attractive. Would you like to have dinner?” He had paused, steadied himself and added the final smouldering, “With me?”

  The reply seemed to hang for ages before he heard it. In fact, she had briskly smiled and said, “Sure, I'd love to. My name's Mandy.”

  Months of self-help books, man-to-mirror pep talks and a few embarrassing failures suddenly paid dividends. The boat had come in. The initial deal struck, the time, place and exchange of telephone numbers ensued. She was Mandy from Ohio. She was new in town and had started a new job just eight weeks previous. She barely knew anyone in Washington. This was all he knew about her – except that her pleasant smile and propensity to laugh had first attracted his attention and later put him at ease. Looking at her now, Gary decided she was a solid eight-out-of-ten – perhaps an eight-and-a-half while he, Gary, was a five that might manage a six with a bit of effort. Tonight, he made that effort. He pulled out all the stops: shaved, teeth brushed and flossed, a good rub of aftershave – the one with the advert in which angels fell to Earth out of lust – he had even gone to the store and renewed his wardrobe with help from the shop assistant. Preparation was important but he knew he had to avoid over rehearsing. He must be natural. He now became aware that he had been looking at the menu for over a minute but had failed absorb anything written on it. When she asked what he was going to order, he blurted out, “Tagliatelle Portofino.” It was the dish at the top of the page.

  “Why, I think I'll have that too.”

  “So Mandy, what is the new job you started? It must be a good opportunity to move from Ohio to Washington.” It was not much of a romantic foray but a solid basic question and very functional. Gary would need to up his game but it was an okay start.

  “It is a great piece of luck actually. I got a job at the National Zoo – I work at the Amazonia Exhibit – sloths and llamas. I think it's going to be great. I'm just getting over that first stage of a new job where you don't know anyone and you don't know how to do things but I like the people. They're a great bunch. How about you? You're some sort of engineer?” His face must have shown surprise because she politely added, “Trisha told me but she couldn't remember much else about it.” Of course, Mandy was a woman and women do research before going on a date. He realised the full extent of his inadequate preparation on this front and inwardly castigat
ed himself. She was Mandy from Ohio and that was all he had. What else has Trisha told her?

  “Yes, that's right … an engineer. I try not to talk about it too much – perhaps that's why Trisha doesn't know much. I mean, unless you're an engineer too, it isn't that interesting.” This was not going well. It was starting to go badly wrong.

  “Nonsense. Don't be ashamed of what you are and who you are.” Mandy cut through his dismay.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So, where do you work? Tell me about it. Try me. I'm not stupid.” It seemed as if Mandy, by some miracle, was genuinely interested. He had better not indulge this.

  “I work for the government. For the Bureau of International Security and Non-proliferation.”

  “Is that like the FBI? You don't carry a gun, do you?”

  “No, it isn't the FBI. I don't have a licence to kill and I don't get a gun. Unfortunately, I can't promise danger and uncertainty – I've heard some women are attracted to that. No, we are the thin red tape of bureaucracy that stands between a relatively safe world and the world where all the crazy guys out there have nukes. We make people fill in forms, do cross-checks and grant licences every time someone wants to export some high-tech gadget.” There, he had managed to keep it short and succinct.

  “That sounds like quite a lot of responsibility. Do you travel a lot with that?”

  “Again, no, and I wouldn't want to. I handle exports going to southern Africa: Angola, Zimbabwe and Mozambique – but not South Africa. I got assigned those countries because I speak Portuguese. My grandmother is Brazilian and I was made to learn and, of course, I've been to visit her.”

  “You've been to Brazil....?” There followed a long and animated conversation about Brazil and Mandy also wanted to go and visit. She had friends there and the Amazon flowed through Brazil – Mandy worked in the Amazonian exhibit. Gary began to relax and really enjoy the evening. Despite his early apprehensions, it was going really well. Mandy seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. He had learned to tell when women played along, giving the impression of having a good time – perhaps out of charity – but were never going to return his calls. Gary did not want to get presumptuous – the chickens were far from hatching and they would require careful incubation – but he felt things were finally going his way. And so they should! He was a decent guy. He saved prudently. He did not drink, maybe just now and then. He went to church and prayed to God. And here was Mandy – an answer to prayer. She was articulate, interesting. She even laughed and smiled. She looked amazing. He was beginning to rate her more of a nine-out-of-ten. Higher scores were reserved for the super-beautiful, for film stars and models – not for real people that Gary would ever meet. The conversation was interrupted when the waiter came to take their order.

  “Good evening, are you ready to order?” Gary nodded. “Excellento. What would you like this evening?”

  “Tagliatelle Portofino,” was Gary's reply. He had to order it. That's the one he had chosen and he hadn't dared divert the flow of the conversation to review his selection again. He became aware that he had no idea what it was. Tagliatelle was some kind of pasta. It should be fairly safe. Not too much garlic hopefully but then Mandy was having the same...

  “I'll have that as well. What exactly is in it?” Mandy enquired.

  “Well signorina, this is a fine dish from our chef. He takes king prawns marinated overnight in olive oil and herbs to family recipe. These he barbecues and serves with chillies, garlic and ribbons of courgette on a bed of tagliatelle pasta handmade from one-hundred percent durum wheat and eggs. It is a very fine dish.” The Italian accent flowed thickly and the passion for food proved persuasive.

  “It sounds delightful,” said Mandy. However, Gary was feeling a bit insecure about the waiter. He imagined that all Italians were fabulous chefs and could seduce any woman with their gastronomic wiles. This one certainty seemed that type and he took great pleasure explaining the food to Mandy. Did he hold eye-contact with her a bit too long? Gary was not sure. It all happened too fast and, anyway, why would the waiter not also think that Mandy was gorgeous? At the end of the night, he would be leaving with Mandy to escort her home and the waiter would be marinating prawns for tomorrow's servings of Portofino. This thought cheered Gary. What had the waiter said anyway? All he consisted of was a kitsch accent and a list of ingredients: king prawns, olive oil, chillies, courgette and garlic – and there is garlic in every Italian recipe!

  Mandy excused herself to go to the restroom and Gary began to think about the list of ingredients he dealt with at his work: uranium, plutonium, centrifuges, pumps, detonators, shape charges, gallium. A cold shiver ran down Gary's spine and he felt a knot in his stomach. His appetite evaporated in an instance. Gary tried his all his willpower to dispel the growing realisation that was taking hold of him. Not here, not now. Not when things were going so well. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. In the past four months, all the required constituent parts of a heavy water, natural uranium ore reactor had been exported through at least twenty-seven different companies and research institutions across eight different countries. In each case the destination had been Mozambique. The only purpose of such a reactor would be to transmute uranium-238 into plutonium. The product would be easily extracted, purified and used to make an atomic warhead. The plan was intricate and really quite a clever deception but, in an idle moment contemplating ingredients, his subconscious had cracked it and the intention was revealed and laid bare. The problem was that the final shipments were due to depart today – he recalled the export documentation clearly. What should he do? He wanted to stay with Mandy. He wanted to hear her voice, kiss her lips, God knows what else he wanted. His duty meant he had to call the office, he had to leave. God, why now? His body and soul were desperate to stay. He took out his cell phone, flicked it open and dialled.

  Mandy returned minutes later. Gary stood up and stammered, hopelessly floundering for coherent words. “I need to go. Something has come up at … work.” His hand shook and he knew that he was as white as a sheet and nervous as hell. What would Mandy think? She would write him off as a useless, nerdy loser. It was all over for Gary and Mandy now. She would not talk to him after this humiliation. Seconds later he was crossing the pavement towards his car.

  Having ascertained that the final shipment had left American territorial waters and could not be stopped, Gary was caught up in a whirlwind that he never contemplated. He was on a plane to Mozambique without returning to his apartment.

  Chapter 10

  Maputo, Mozambique

  Gary was seated in first class and was one of the first passengers off the plane. His first sensation of Mozambique was the stifling heat and humidity. The airport had inadequate air conditioning – if any at all. Gary immediately began to perspire. He was still wearing the smart jacket and shirt he had worn to the restaurant with Mandy. That was less than thirty-six hours ago. Gary had slept little during the flight. His mind wandered from Mandy to his home in Washington to apprehension of what he might find in Mozambique and then back to Mandy. He dearly hoped Mandy would still talk to him after this. He recalled the words of his boss.

  “You're the man, Gary. You were the one who saw through the subterfuge and fingered the shipments. Good work, Gary. What we are asking you to do is to follow through on these leads on the ground. You've got all the expertise to find out what it's being used for and why. I want you in Mozambique tomorrow.”

  Gary had protested. They have people trained for these sorts of missions: agents, operatives...

  “Yes, we do. People like you! You have all the technical knowledge of the nuclear applications for this stuff. Let's face it. The Middle East is kicking off. All our field agents are fully committed and even if I could get authorisation it would take weeks – probably months. The first shipment of heavy water is due to be docked in Pemba in four days’ time. You need to be there. I'll arrange for a local guide to meet you at Maputo airport. Remember Gary, this is for your country. Th
ink of your family and friends. Do us proud.” He was handed flight tickets from Washington to Maputo and a driver was waiting.

  The official in the passport control booth smiled widely as he said, “Welcome to Mozambique. Have a pleasant stay.” Gary was the only one there. Everyone else was hanging around to collect checked baggage; all he had was a shoulder bag with the latest encrypted phone and six weeks supply of anti-malaria tablets. The customs officials laughed behind his back; Gary wondered if he was getting paranoid – perhaps with good reason. He emerged into the arrivals lounge and scanned looking for his contact. There were whole families turned out to meet relatives returning from the US but no one holding up a card with his name and no one in a dark suit with sunglasses. His regular diet of thriller movies was proving to be inadequate training material.

  Gary made a strong effort to appear unconcerned. He kept up a slow measured pace while keeping on the lookout for some sign. The problem was that he reached the crowd of people and had to start wading through them still without any idea of where he was going. Beyond the clamour of waiting families was a mob of taxi drivers who started touting for business with calls of, “Where you go?” and, “You want taxi?” They always asked with a bright wide smile. The bright smiles were sometimes accompanied by some unpleasant words spoken in Portuguese. They thought he was just another ignorant American who could not understand.

  Gary stopped and looked around. He fended off the taxi drivers insisting that he was being met at by a friend. They offered to take him to a nice hotel where he would be very comfortable. One even showed him a picture of his sister suggesting that he would find her very enjoyable. Gary saw the half-naked girl in the picture and turned away in disgust. The taxi drivers all laughed at his reaction. “You no like girls? We find you a nice young boy for you?” Gary began to feel intimidated. He was surrounded by a sea of black faces all grinning and exuberantly cackling. Gary did not consider himself racist by any means. He even justified his enlightened position by having a black friend and black colleagues. He was shocked at the fear and anger that was building inside him. He prayed to God that he were somewhere else. He sensed the situation could turn ugly at any moment.