“Stars Julia? The Patriarch is our guide. You should remember the rules and the procedures and the approved methods of work and all the other crass that we used to believe in. Would you believe me if I told you that everyone here thinks I'm stupid. They think I don't understand a damn thing about this place. But I'm a lot smarter than they think – I just don't parade it about. For example, this switch here. If I turned this valve and then this one over here, I could flood the Ark with poisoned air and everyone would die.” Julia felt chilled at the thought. “I just need the key for the interlock. Chris has it but I could get it if I really wanted to.”
“Do you? Want to?” asked Julia hesitantly.
“No. I just like to think I could do it. It's good for my self-esteem.” Sarah's tone until this point had been brash and careless. Suddenly she was muted. “I have reason to need a boost. A while ago, some files were misplaced by the medical team – Thomas or Frank I think. They are confidential. They reveal which donor was used to father each child. They tell us who our fathers are.” Sarah waited for Julia to react.
“You know who yours is?” asked Julia.
“I do. I've read the files.”
“This is huge,” whispered Julia. The situation was getting uncomfortable and Sarah was acting out of her normal character but Julia could not leave. Sarah was her friend and they should face this together. Her stomach tightened in anticipation of what revelation would come next. The moment was delayed as Sarah spoke via the radio to Edward. They were on their way back inside and Sarah had to go up to the airlock control room.
“Who is it?” Julia called after her.
Sarah turned and answered but the words were lost amid the noise of the airlock door activation. Sarah may have said later but it could have been Peter. Julia saw that Sarah was now busy as Edward and Josiah returned and their arrival put a stop to the heart-to-heart talk that was needed. That would have to wait until Sarah came off shift.
Julia retreated from the bustle and walked back to the archive in a state of distraction. There was the tantalising prospect of finding out who her father was. If the files contained records for Sarah, why not herself? But she could not assess the significance of what it would mean. She knew no different and neither did anyone else – except Sarah now knew. Yet she could see that Omar valued and was extremely protective of his father though he had no actual remembrance of him. There was an unshakable sense of pride and confidence in Omar that was rooted in his father and his father's sacrifice. Julia wondered if she was missing something. It was hard to conceive a lack when there had always been one. She knew no better.
The thought of Omar's father triggered an inspiration that might provide a way round the frustration of the missing security reports concerning what happened in India. The reports she had searched were computerised scans of the originals. It was relatively easy to change an electronic copy but less straight forward to change the original printed version. These were stored in the catacomb of tunnels and rooms further beneath the Ark. The reports stored on the computer might have been tampered with but the catacomb version could have been overlooked. Julia reckoned that no one would miss her for an hour or two – after all, no one much cared about what she did. She fabricated an excuse and descended into the catacombs. On entry to the catacomb, Julia was supposed to swipe her identity tag so people knew who was down there but, on this occasion, she decided not to draw attention to her visit. No one else was down there according to the register.
The tunnels were cold since there was no necessity to heat them and the air was dry to prevent dampness destroying the documents and other artefacts held in storage. They were dimly lit for much the same reason. Julia knew them well. While others relied on blueprints to navigate the catacombs, Julia had, out of boredom, committed them to memory. She made her way purposefully down the intersecting corridors in the direction of the records she sought. A scrap of paper caught her attention. It was lying discarded on the floor outside a door to one of the many storage bays. It was out of place since the catacombs were kept scrupulously clean to the point of being sterile. Julia stopped and bent down to pick it up. With her ear almost held to the door, she thought she heard voices within. She paused and listened more carefully but heard nothing further. She felt a nervous fear and, for the first time, questioned her safety within the Ark. If there were someone inside, she did not want to meet them and if not, what was the point in looking? Julia hurried quickly on her way.
Arriving at her destination, Julia entered but only after looking over her shoulder. Each storage bay contained box files arrayed on shelving. Everything was indexed to a ridiculous level. Julia had been trained thoroughly on the importance of maintaining the index. It did mean that, if you wanted, you could find things – and it worked. Soon Julia had opened the box files containing CIA and other intelligence documents relating to James Campbell. After raking through the paper files for some time, Julia confirmed her suspicions: some of the computerised reports had been corrupted. She held the correct versions in her hands. Had a mistake been made? It was hard to know. It was possible but somehow, in her recent bout of suspicion and paranoia, she determined that someone had attempted to hide the information these reports contained. Virtually no one would have been interested in these reports – so why bury them? Few had access to the secure section of the computer records. Julia had but it was not authorised. It suddenly occurred to Julia that, perhaps, someone noticed her digging on the subject of James Campbell and decided to throw up a roadblock. That almost certainly meant that that someone knew it was her, Julia, doing the digging and that meant danger. Someone was keeping watch over her computer activity. If their vigilance extended to the catacombs, her forage down could cause trouble. She held the wad of documents in her hands and debated what to do with them. She could not read them here. That would take far too long and she might be missed and questions would be asked. She might take them back to her room but it was too risky, they would likely be noticed. She certainly could not leave them here in the hope of returning at a later date. The safest thing was to misfile them; she would hide them in the catacombs. They could simply be deposited in another storage bay and, so long as Julia remembered which one, they would be safe – a needle in a haystack. Hurrying to vacate the room, Julia tidied the shelves and left. The documents were securely deposited and Julia was desperate to be out of the catacombs. So desperate that she walked straight passed the door that had aroused her suspicion and fear despite having previously intended to avoid it. The scrap of paper was gone. Julia was sure she had not picked it up though her mind was not able to recall those events convincingly. It seemed like someone had been down here after all. It was best to leave – and quickly. Despite her fears, she regained the main living quarters of the Ark without meeting anyone and had apparently not been missed.
Later, when she came off shift, Julia visited Sarah in her quarters. Selfishly, Julia had little interest in Sarah's announcement that Peter was her father – had she heard that correctly? Julia's curiosity about the prospect of finding out the identity of her own father had gnawed progressively since their meeting earlier. Now she was nervous with anticipation. Without any attempt at platitudes, she rushed ahead.
“Sarah, did those files say anything about who my father is?” Sarah bit her lip. At last she answered.
“Everyone was in the file – except you.” Sarah sounded sympathetic. Julia looked at the floor. The glimmer of hope that had begun to grow was snuffed out. Abruptly, she felt the enormity of the void inside herself and between herself and others. Dark, despairing moments passed in silence. She thought of Omar and unexpectedly found a sense of purpose. Sarah's embrace comforted and roused Julia. When she stepped back and looked into Sarah's face, Sarah was morose and deadly serious. Sarah gripped Julia's hands. “Don't tell anyone.”
At first, Julia understood this to mean about the medical files and the information they contained. As Sarah let go of her hands and took out a box with dials and
an eerie green numeric display from a drawer, Julia sensed a different meaning.
“Earlier today I managed to place a bug in the Patriarch's office...”
“A what?”
“A bug. A hidden microphone. So I can listen to them. I want to hear what they talk about. This is the receiver.”
The news blind-sided Julia. Before she could question or even object, Sarah had placed her finger across her lips and gave Julia such a dark and threatening look that Julia remained silent. There was a hiss of static as Sarah turned a knob and tuned the radio receiver. Soon slightly distorted voices were heard. Consumed by the prospect of what they might hear, both listened attentively, barely breathing as they did.
“We can still only speculate but there is something extraordinary about Omar.” This was Thomas' voice. His intonation was quite distinctive. “... and, I presume, the other Nephilim. For every other element there is no discernible difference in the chemistry of different isotopes but in the case of hydrogen there is. In a biological system, cell division and reproduction fail as the deuterium proportion reaches about fifty percent. This causes death – actually in a manner fairly similar to radiation sickness. I can't understand how Omar survived.”
“So how do you know this?” This was too quick to identify the speaker. It was a male voice – almost certainly Patriarch Ryan.
“Like Frank said. They did experiments – on animals of course. As far as I can see from the archive there were no human subjects.”
“And this was all before the Nakba?” This was definitely Patriarch Ryan speaking.
“Yes, before the Nakba. If you want speculation, I would have to say that somehow – and I stress somehow – the Nephilim are able to tolerate high levels of deuterium – even thrive on it. Omar recovered markedly after that girl gave him the packets of heavy water and the filtration kit from the beach. His deuterium levels rose and have remained stable since. He seems to need it. However, I've checked and rechecked the research in the archive: high levels of heavy water are fatal. There must be something else.”
“Perhaps certain people just have the right genetics?” ventured Patriarch Ryan.
“Maybe, but this isn't about height or hair colour. These processes are the basic mechanisms of life that evolved millions of years ago. They are the same for everyone. They are fundamental to virtually everything we call life. Many biological processes work because of the shape of the molecules involved. For example, you can think of enzymes as tiny molecular machines that latch on and manipulate proteins to achieve very specific and very complex results. The substitution of deuterium for regular hydrogen could be enough to alter the structure and, therefore, function of one or many enzymes. A small change but a completely different result and impossible to predict.”
“Are we absolutely certain about Omar's longevity?”
“Yes. And I'm guessing there's a tweak that allows him to repair the radiation damage – correct of errors in his DNA. That would allow him to survive the radiation on the surface – probably also halting the ageing processes in the body. Who knows? Frankly, it's a miracle Omar's alive at all but it is truly mind-blowing to think that, perhaps, he's the way we are meant to be. Our destiny if you like. There are legends of people living hundreds of years. Methuselah died aged nine hundred and sixty-nine.”
“You're verging on the religious, Thomas. I wasn't expecting that from you of all people. Surely, I don't need to remind you that our creed is solely to help people find meaning in our purpose...”
“And help them make the required sacrifices.”
“Indeed. And we don't want people losing their religion, do we?”
A pause followed. Thomas re-joined in hushed tones.
“Do you know yet who poisoned Peter?”
“Some of the toxic agent you identified in the autopsy is missing from the engineering store. It's a very short list of people who had access and a knowledge of what it would do. What I can't work out is why it was Peter. You were the more obvious target I thought.”
“For what we've been doing, we're all targets.”
“Perhaps, but I have a plan to deal with the situation. A few sacrifices will be required though. Keep digging through the research on heavy water. We need to find that secret ingredient. I'm in half a mind to tie Omar down and beat it out of him. I'm sure he knows far, far more than he's telling. Tell me when you find something.”
The conversation ended and Julia and Sarah sat and looked at each other until Julia finally uttered, “Put that away. Are you mad? What possessed you to want to hear this stuff?”
Sarah picked up the receiver and turned it off. She carefully replaced it in her drawer and took care to hide it as best as possible. Then she looked at Julia sternly and spoke under her breath, “Not a word to anyone.”
Julia nodded. It was time to go. She needed to get out of this place and process what she had heard. Much she did not understand but she had understood the Patriarch's undeniable confession that they had dark secrets and wished to keep them hidden. She also sensed that Sarah was involved in something and she sensed danger. Had Patriarch Ryan threatened reprisals and further deaths? She was afraid for her friend but she had no desire whatsoever to get mixed up in some political confrontation. Why had Sarah involved her? She went through the daily monotony but she no longer felt part of the Ark community. To use Patriarch Ryan's metaphor, she had lost her religion.
Chapter 56
Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America
The phone rang and Gary woke with a start. He sat up to orientate himself and checked the clock while the phone continued ringing. It was eleven twenty-six. He had fallen asleep barely an hour ago having crawled into bed after a twenty-one-hour flight back from Mumbai. He had a severe case of jet lag. He fumbled the handset before answering.
“Sanders? Is that you? Schultz here. We've got him. It's unbelievable.”
“Who? What are you talking about?” Gary was abrupt and rude.
“Doctor Campbell. He checked into the Hilton here in Washington. We have a positive ID. He's been too cocky this time. We're assembling the SWAT team now. I thought you'd want to see it – and you're to sit in on the interrogation. I'll be outside your apartment in three – be ready.” The call ended. Gary knew Agent Schultz meant three minutes and he did not like to wait. Gary dragged himself out of bed and slipped on the clothes he had so recently discarded. He stumbled half-dishevelled into the street where Agent Schultz was waiting and tapping the steering wheel impatiently. Gary climbed into the car.
They drove in silence. Despite Agent Schultz' excitement, Gary was preoccupied. He could not shake the events of his all too recent assignment in India. Doctor Campbell's son, James, had been flagged up through facial recognition techniques as he flew out of Johannesburg two weeks before the marines landed in Mozambique. He had used a false passport. The trail of the passport, credit card and car hire led to a remote village some way south of Mumbai. Gary had almost wished it had turned out to be another wild goose chase but the team had cornered James. After months of searching they finally had him. As a stand-off ensued, some of the agents were overeager in reaching for their weapons. They were ready simply to shoot their assigned target and be done with it – screw taking him alive. While Gary was reminding them of their orders, James vaulted from the roof of the property onto the perimeter wall and leapt down into a neighbouring compound. Gunfire erupted all around. Dodging a hail of bullets, James escaped on a motorbike, the engine roaring, the throttle fully open. Some agents took off in pursuit; others, including Gary, stayed to search the house and surrounding properties.
James had been the target and Gary was surprised to find Zarina sheltering in the property next door cowering under a sari. Gone was the fearless, confrontational girl full of fiery angst. She was huddled in the neighbour's house in a remote village in India cradling a newly born infant, afraid and uncertain and wordlessly pleading to be spared. Gary felt his sense of duty erode
d by his growing doubts about the mission and the wanton desire to kill held by some of the agents he had been assigned to work with. Zarina was on the verge of tears and tightly clung to her baby. Gary turned and left. He directed the search elsewhere. Zarina once saved his life and now he had returned the favour. Agents were still trailing James Campbell across the hinterland of Maharashtra when Gary was recalled to Washington.
Gary shook his head to clear the recollections and mixed emotions. He looked across at Agent Schultz; some questions were in order.
“So, he's at the Hilton?”
“Yes, he is at the Hilton.” Agent Schultz spoke each word tediously.
“All this time we've been following leads to Borneo, Mongolia and God know where else but, today, he drops out the sky and checks into the Hilton on Connecticut Avenue? Maybe I'm getting far too paranoid but it doesn't make sense. It's a hoax or a trap.”
“It happens. People on the wanted list get found. They turn up. They get careless. Whatever the reason, we still need to go down and bring him in. Vitti's there right now.” It all sounded so straight-forward listening to the way Agent Schultz told it but Gary knew it would never be like that. The world was not going to wake up and suddenly be right again. If Doctor Campbell was there, he was up to something. He only played on his own terms. There were no foregone conclusions.
They approached the hotel where events were already in motion. The police had sealed off a perimeter two blocks wide around the building. They let Agent Schultz and Gary through. They passed a crowd of well-dressed guests being corralled into waiting buses. They complained about having their party disrupted but were mostly compliant with the authorities. At the hotel entrance a detachment of SWAT backed up the picket line of police officers. Chiefs and suit-clad agents milled inside. Gary watched it all with detachment. He had met Doctor Campbell. Though still active and in good health, he was past that age where he might rashly put up a struggle to test the forces deployed this evening. Gary suspected there was no need for the show of muscle. Let them play it their way – that was how they liked it.
The Nephilim Protocol Page 28
