The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  The cache from the beach was retrieved. Josiah guided Julia through the decontamination process. Finally, everything was meticulously cleaned. Josiah assured Julia that her excursion would not be debited from her quota – she was not going to be evicted. Josiah also forbade her to mention the broken hatch entry lock. His manner suggested something more than simple laziness or neglect prevented its repair but he sternly did not invite any further enquiry. Julia was glad to be alive and did not push the subject. Tired, thirsty and hungry, Julia and Josiah plodded back down the inspection corridor in silence to re-enter the main section of the Ark.

  Josiah went out first. There was no one about so Julia followed. Josiah waved her to go one way. Josiah turned and went another. Julia clutched the packets and metallic cylinder. She hurried to find Omar.

  Entering the medical wing, Julia passed Andrea. Andrea scowled and her eyes narrowed – she was guarding her territory. She said nothing. Julia just smiled and breezed past.

  “What's that you're carrying?”

  “What? Oh these? Just some of Omar's things.” Julia kept walking. If Andrea wanted to know more – and she would – she would have to come and find out. Julia hoped she was stuck with some urgent demand. Julia reached Omar's room and entered. He was sleeping. She woke him. He gazed absently about. Julia held out the packets she found in the canister. His eyes brightened and he roughly snatched one from her. He opened it with practised ease and drank deeply, first one and then a second. His face showed relief before he turned and lapsed back to sleep. Whatever Julia had expected to happen, this was an anti-climax. Julia deftly stowed most of the things under Omar's bed out of sight. Some she placed on the cabinet beside his head. Andrea would search until she found something so Julia though it best to leave it out.

  Julia gazed at Omar and watched him sleep – he looked more peaceful now. An inner sense urged her to leave. Julia obeyed, tearing herself away. It was better to face Andrea outside. To her surprise, Andrea was nowhere to be seen. Julia thought she heard her voice down the corridor from the direction of Thomas' office. Hopefully, Thomas would keep her busy for a while. Julia did not wait about to find out.

  Chapter 31

  Beirut, Lebanon

  Rachel looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her cheeks were pale and drawn. Vomit traced the corners of her mouth. She ran water into the sink to flush away the mess and then doused her face in unpleasant, lukewarm water – neither hot nor cold. The stench of a cheese and bread stall had nauseated her and sent her running to be sick. It was becoming a common occurrence especially in the morning.

  She had caught the overnight bus from Tel Aviv into Jordan, changed bus and travelled to Beirut sleeping fitfully. She still held on to the American passport and she used it now. It had taken hours to cross the border from Israel into Jordan. The soldiers at the checkpoint virtually ignored her but gave the mostly Palestinian passengers a thorough examination – even intimidation.

  Rachel exited the stinking toilet and scanned the gathering crowds entering the bus station. She longed to be somewhere – anywhere – else but she had nowhere to go. Her life had become utterly wretched and she felt she had lost all self-determination. Everything was now in the hands of others. This journey was the last desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control. The doctor, apparently not bound by any oath of medical confidentiality, had telephoned her father as soon as she left the clinic; the doctor was a close friend of her father's from university. Had she known this, she would not have trusted him. When she returned home, her father confronted her and let his feelings be known in no uncertain terms. He was disgusted. Once again she had failed appallingly. Not only did she fail her in her mission to lure James Campbell to the abduction site in Greece, now she was pregnant by him. Her father had proposed an abortion but she screamed back at him that he was a monster. At that he threw her out of the house. Her mother tried to intervene but it was useless. Her mother met her daughter in tears later that afternoon, handed her a stack of money and begged her to call soon. Eviscerated by shame, Rachel ran. At first she was aimless but realised that, even subconsciously, she was drifting toward the only strand of kindness extended to her – the offer of hospitality in Beirut. She texted Doctor Campbell and boarded the first bus out of Israel.

  “Please lady, you very sad. You come with me, no?” Rachel was roused from her miserable contemplation and looked into the eyes of a young oriental girl. Her age was difficult to guess but she looked too young to be here alone. Rachel was overcome with rising revulsion. How dare they come here to beg? She should go back to her own country. It was bad enough with the Palestinians – Muslims and Christians alike – laying claim to the Holy Land but, if the Chinese came, they would all be overrun.

  “Please lady, you come with me now. I show you place to stay. You like it, I promise.” Rachel saw only kindness and concern in the girl's eyes and was taken aback by the ferocity of her instinctive hatred towards the girl. Her face was screwed up and hatred and abhorrence were flooding out. Of late, her emotions knew only untethered, terrifying extremes. She gathered her composure. She focused on the words she heard and discerned something odd about the Chinese girl's speech. There were rolling r-sounds – very unusual for Chinese and not used locally. It triggered a memory of a voice. There was a hint of Scottish perhaps – just like James but more so his father. She mused that he had sent a pawn to collect her.

  “Okay, I'll come. Where do we go?”

  The girl took Rachel's hand and led her out of the bus station and into a market that was beginning to bustle as the morning advanced.

  “What your name?” The girl turned and looked up at Rachel.

  “Rachel.”

  “Oh, I sorry. I look for Melissa. I mistake you. We go back.”

  “No, I'm Melissa.” The Chinese girl looked confused.

  “You Rachel or you Melissa?” the girl demanded.

  “I'm both. I'm Rachel and I'm Melissa. Mostly Rachel though.” Rachel had decided that the truth was the best way forward. She had nothing left to hide – nothing left to loose.

  The Chinese girl led her through a maze of back streets and markets. Rachel was utterly disorientated. They stopped at one point and the girl gave Rachel a head scarf to disguise her face – she wore one herself – and on they went again. After about an hour it seemed, Rachel began to complain – she was getting tired, light-headed and very irritable. She had not eaten breakfast after being sick at the bus station.

  “We here now,” came the girl's reply and she led Rachel into a garden then through to the sheltered courtyard of a large house. Rachel stood in the hallway. It was plainly decorated with white walls and dark wooden flooring. There were several doors leading off. Rachel was relieved to see Doctor Campbell emerge from one. He barely acknowledged Rachel but instead smiled and embraced the Chinese girl. He spoke quietly to her and Rachel struggled to make out that they were talking about. Rachel had noticed this behaviour before. When Doctor Campbell met his son James in the restaurant in London, he had ignored Rachel for several minutes. It stuck in her mind because it felt rude. It felt awkward now. Doctor Campbell finally addressed her.

  “My daughter, Celia.” Both hands were placed on the girl's shoulders and there was evident pride in his voice. “Now tell me, Melissa, how are you?” Rachel was about to reply when Celia cut her off.

  “Although her passport says Melissa, she prefers to be called Rachel.” Celia presented a blue passport to Doctor Campbell. Rachel checked her pocket and bag and was severely irked to realise it was her passport being handed over – even more so when it was followed by her cell phone. How Celia was able to get hold of them without Rachel noticing was a mystery.

  “Did you relieve me of anything else?” Rachel was indignant. It was Doctor Campbell who replied.

  “No, only what was needed. Here is your passport – except it isn't really yours, of course. Your cell phone was switched off so it couldn't be traced over the network. I'm afrai
d I'll need to keep it for the time being. I would rather not have your father turn up at my door looking for you. But let me assure you, if you wish to leave, you may do so at any time.”

  “I'd like to leave,” Rachel stated. Doctor Campbell raised his hand and offered her the door.

  “I'd like to stay,” Rachel asserted having tested Doctor Campbell's assurance.

  “Good. After you have eaten and rested, we will talk at length. Celia will show you to your room.”

  It was a very pleasant house. The ceilings were high and most walls were painted white giving it a slightly clinical feel but cool and fresh. The furnishings were sparse. The room Celia led her to was upstairs. It was an effort to climb the stairs and it left Rachel breathless. Fortunately, she had little in her bag to carry and Celia helped. Nonetheless, Rachel slumped onto the bed exhausted and weak. There was a second bed which belonged to Celia.

  Rachel reached out and held Celia's arm to stop her leaving the room. Celia had a fleeting expression of irritation. “Celia. Am I going to be all right?” Rachel had been struggling with feelings of fear, guilt and shame to the point that she needed to talk.

  “Doctor Campbell is a good man but I'm not sure what he can do for you. You're not one of us.” Rachel was surprised to hear Celia now talk with perfect enunciation and an accent that could have come from any of the people she had met at Cambridge. All morning she had kept a barrage of broken English that was barely comprehensible. Rachel had a headache just from concentrating on what she was saying.

  “One of who?” asked Rachel impulsively. Celia smiled but did not answer directly.

  “Do you play chess, Rachel?”

  “I used to. I don't think I'm very good though.”

  “Hmm. He likes people that can examine the future and assess their options. You're here because you have very few options. You're between a rock and a hard place – as they say.” Celia smiled again and waited for Rachel to reply. Rachel felt rising apprehension. Could she trust Celia or not? What did it matter, there was nowhere else to go. Rachel braced herself as best as she could; she doubted Celia would understand.

  “I was kicked out by my father … because I'm pregnant by James – Doctor Campbell's son.” There it was. It was out now. There was a certain amount of relief but now the die was cast, there would be Celia's reaction which Rachel could in no way predict. She looked Celia in the eye. Celia shook her head slowly and reached out her slim hand to touch Rachel on the head.

  “No. It's much worse than that.” Celia's hand lowered and Rachel screamed as she saw a handful of her hair held up to her face. “I'll tell Doctor Campbell – he'll see you immediately.” With that Celia left. Rachel looked up. The room turned as she gazed at the high white ceiling. The nausea returned and Rachel was sick on the floor. Rachel lapsed into uncontrolled sobbing.

  “Drink this. It will make you feel better.” Doctor Campbell's voice was soft, authoritative but strangely comforting. Rachel took the plastic bottle he offered and sipped it tentatively. She stared at the bottle oblivious to what happening around her. It was a simple plastic bottle of mineral water. There was an apple tree motif underneath the brand name Eau de l'Eden. She had only seen this brand in James' apartment in Cambridge. James drank it exclusively and so had she. He even made tea and coffee using it. It was labelled Product of Mozambique. It was odd but she had not given it a second thought. Now it was here in James' father's house in Beirut.

  Between sobs, Rachel asked, “What's wrong with me?” Rachel's mind now raced. I am sick, very sick. She sensed it. Celia's reaction had been quite shocked and serious – she did not seem the type to get easily unnerved. The nausea and sickness, the hair loss: Rachel became fixated and raged. “It's radiation sickness! I've been exposed to some huge dose of radiation. Haven't I? Was it James? Did he poison me! What did he use? God, I hate you – and to think I thought I was pregnant with your grandchild! I trusted you and now I'm dying.” The exertion of her fury expended all the energy Rachel had and she collapsed into immanent darkness, sitting on the bed shaking.

  “Dying? I think not. You're beginning to live as you were once intended. Drink some more. You will feel better.” Doctor Campbell remained calm and persuasive. As Rachel slid into a deep sleep she saw Doctor Campbell look at Celia and roll his eyes. “I can see I need to talk to my son.”

  Chapter 32

  National Secure Archive Facility

  Sarah sat facing Omar directly. Julia sat beside her but leaning back. Sarah's natural enthusiasm drew her forward.

  “Hi, I'm Sarah – Julia's friend.” Sarah smiled at Omar. Julia felt a pang of jealousy. Omar smiled politely in return. He glanced at the door.

  “Why do I get the impression that you are not supposed to be here?”

  Sarah wore the expression of a young girl caught in the act and whispered, “That's because I'm not allowed to visit you. I'll be punished if certain people find out. But Julia owes me a really massive favour, so here I am. You won't tell, will you?”

  “It seems I'm a prisoner then?”

  Julia answered, “Omar! You're a patient – you need to get well.”

  “I feel well.”

  “He looks well,” said Sarah turning to Julia. “He looks perfectly well enough to have visitors. And I won't tire him out. I promise.” She turned back to Omar and repeated, “Hi, I'm Sarah.”

  “Omar, son of James.” Although sitting, Omar bowed his head slightly.

  “Son of James – that's funny.” Sarah turned back to Julia. “He says it just like you said. It's so funny.” Sarah's behaviour was a little strange even in Julia's experience but it was so innocent and childlike that Julia could not reprimand her and Omar did not seem offended in any way.

  “Why is it so funny?” asked Omar. Sarah did not reply. After a pause of several seconds, Julia admitted what seemed like a guilty confession.

  “None of us know who out fathers are.” Omar reacted with an expression of disbelief.

  “What?”

  “We don't know who they are,” repeated Julia. “So when you give your name and the name of you father, it is strange.”

  “How can you not know?” Omar's question caused embarrassment to Julia. Sarah having swung from near-hysteria became serious and morose.

  “Here, in the precious Ark, we must preserve what is left of humanity. We cannot – must not – outgrow our capacity to feed ourselves nor can we indiscriminately choose our mates. We must avoid producing children that carry any genetic defects – that are in any way less than perfect. Because the Ark is so … limited, everyone must be healthy and able to contribute to our society. And, of course, our children,” Sarah indicated herself and Julia with no small measure of irony, “our children will one day emerge from here to repopulate the planet. The future of humanity is in our wombs.” Sarah now held her hand over her abdomen. “So you see,” continued Sarah, “when we reach an age to have children – which Julia reached some time ago – we apply for a licence to have a child and we take it to the medical director – his name is Thomas – and Thomas does this medical thing with test tubes and stuff and he impregnates us. Nine months later, we have our babies. The fathers are selected for us and we are not told who they are. We were raised not knowing. It is supposed to enhance our sense of community.” Sarah leaned forward towards Omar, “What is it like having a father?” Omar shook his head – the question was simple yet overwhelming.

  “I’m not the best person to ask. My father died shortly after I was born. It was before the Nakba when the Nephilim were being hunted. I was born in Eden. It was in Mozambique – a beautiful place I am told. Well, we anticipated an attack of some kind and it became too dangerous to stay. My parents moved to India to a remote village where they hoped to lie low and wait. They authorities must have been watching the airports because somehow they found us. My father saw them coming and warned my mother. A convoy of sinister, blacked-out cars roared into the village. My mother slipped from our house into a neighbour's
while my father distracted the men in the courtyard. There was a stand-off, shouting and finally the men produced guns. My father agreed to leave the house and go with them but instead he climbed onto the roof and leapt on to the boundary wall. The men started shooting as my father ran along the top of the wall and escaped into another yard at the back. He grabbed a motorbike and took off over the countryside. Most of the men followed. They disappeared and did not return. My mother says a few men remained. One of them was called Agent Sanders. He came into the house where my mother was. He stood at the entrance looking at my mother and me. Well I was just a baby, of course. My mother says she is sure he recognised her and she thought he would take her away but he just turned round and told the other men the house was clear. My mother is Persian and she looked pretty much like the locals if you didn't know better. None of the other men questioned it. To this day, I have no idea why he did that. They were looking for my mother too – but Agent Sanders just nodded and left.”

  “My parents had agreed to meet in Goa two weeks later if it were safe to do so. My father never came. Blood was found on the ground where he jumped from the wall. The motorbike was found weeks later abandoned and the fuel tank empty. As far as we know, his body was never found. Perhaps he was captured or his injuries proved fatal. My mother tells me that he was very proud of me and she had not seen him so happy as during those few weeks. He sacrificed himself for me and my mother. I wish I could have known him but it was not to be. My mother has been several times to India to search for him but it is hopeless – she believes he is still alive and we admire her for her obstinacy and devotion but he is dead. I have come to accept it. Uncle Armando says we should not give up impossible hope but we must accept the inevitable truth. Have you heard of the Taj Mahal? It is a palace beside the River Yamuna built to celebrate the love a king once had for his bride. The young queen died and the king built the most beautiful palace for her memory. On one visit, my mother took me to see it. She says it was their special place. Even now she feels one day they will meet there after all this time. Her spirit tells her this.”