The Nephilim Protocol

by Stuart Killbourn

  “I've never seen such injuries. There was nothing I could do,” mumbled Frank.

  Julia pulled him away and pushed him forward. They ran to escape. Julia entered the stairwell leading down to the accommodation levels. She heard more gunfire and shouting coming from above. The Ark was in the throes of a violent and deadly uprising. Julia headed down. Frank and Omar followed. Abruptly she stopped. Sarah was charging up the stairs, her face showing wild fanaticism.

  “What the hell is going on?” Julia reached out to confront her friend.

  “It's started. We've started it.” Sarah burned with passion and fervour. “We're going to change things. You would not believe what those arrogant bastards were doing.”

  “People are dying, Sarah. What madness is this?”

  Sarah paused and contained her excitement to reason. “Julia, I didn't tell you who my father was. It was Peter. Yes – the self-righteous, I-couldn't-give-a-damn-about-my-children father. And when I say children, I mean children. He's the genetic father of half the people in this place. Him, Patriarch Ryan, of course, Thomas and Chris. They formed quite a clique to exclude everyone else. Everyone works here day in day out, putting up with the crap to make a future for their children – only it wasn't to be for their children but someone else's. It was Omar's story that brought me to this.” Sarah looked at Omar. “You told me just one tiny part of what a father should be like and when I found out mine was Peter, I hated him and I killed him. I killed him because he ignored me and neglected me. I have to go.”

  Sarah hurriedly ascended the stairway. As she watched her friend go, Julia saw she had an unfamiliar dark metal object – a gun – slung on a strap over her shoulder. Momentarily, Julia's stomach clenched tight. It felt unnerving to see a good friend intent on killing others. The revelation eclipsed all the times they had laughed, joked and idled away what recreational time the Ark allowed. Sarah had taken a life and Julia could not see her as the innocent friend she once was.

  Julia stumbled down the stairway lost in thought. The presence of Omar and Frank helped her to refocus. As she descended, the urgency of putting Omar somewhere safe intensified. They had met Sarah. Sarah had visited Omar and recognised him. To everyone else, Omar was a stranger and, in the confusion of the fighting, anything might happen.

  Julia led the way and they entered the catacombs. The cooler air was refreshing. They moved quickly. She went a short distance from the entrance and selected storage bay J627. Frank was hanging back looking uncertain.

  “Omar, you can hide here.” Deftly extracting the files she had carefully deposited on her previous visit, she handed them to Omar. Her words were precise and spoken clearly. “These are about your father. I haven’t read them. I had to hide them here for safe keeping. They may contain something important – I don’t know.” Her final instruction was stern, “Don’t move from here until I return. Stay here.”

  Omar nodded. Julia felt him look her up and down impressed by her determination. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

  “You are truly beautiful. Trust yourself.”

  Julia felt a sudden, momentarily calm. The nearness of Omar intoxicated her and she needed his strength, his smell. One more breath would be enough.

  “Julia”, stuttered Frank. “I need to go back. There will be injured and I'm the only medic. I have to try to help.”

  “You're right, let's go.” Julia also wanted to return to the main section of the Ark. Whatever was happening, she had to find out what it was. There had to be something she could do to stop the killing.

  Julia and Frank made their way back to the entrance. Julia's instinct was to head to the canteen. It was on the lower accommodation level and was the only room large enough to hold a significant number of people. Being adjacent to the kitchen, there would be access to food supplies however limited. It made sense for people to gather there – possibly to direct the rebellion. Her instinct was right. As they approached the canteen, they were challenged by two guards both wielding guns. They recognised Frank – he was needed. They were taken inside and presented to Josiah.

  “Frank! Thomas is dead. We have injured and they need your assistance. Will you help them?”

  “Of course I'll help but what's going on? What's this all about?”

  “That's not important right now, people here need your help or they will die.” Josiah's response was rough and demanding.

  “Josiah, tell us what is going on,” Julia insisted.

  Josiah's eyes narrowed. He stared at Julia. “The Patriarch have perverted the Ark. They have stolen our children and supplanted ours with their own. They'll pay with their lives. Thomas and Peter already have.” Josiah turned away and continued giving orders. There was no discussion. Hearing it a second time, Julia began to grasp exactly what the Patriarch had done. There was an implicit assumption that everyone worked together for the benefit of the next generation – the eighth since the Nakba. However, the Patriarch had exploited the secrecy around artificial insemination not to ensure the genetic viability of the Ark community, but to promote themselves and their own genetics. The women – and Julia included herself – were little more than a harem. Julia began to understand why her friend Sarah had chosen anger and violence. She shook her head to push aside the enormity of this revelation so she could deal with the desperate situation at hand. Around the canteen milled desperate women with their children – some crying, others dazed. The outbreak of fighting had caught many by surprise. Most seemed dazed by what was happening and why and which side they were on. A few were beginning to adjust and started organising meals. In one corner, curtained off, there were injured. A grim helplessness pervaded there. Frank acted quickly and gave instructions that were followed. She was relieved to see Frank cope so well and taking charge. Finding no further answers she made her way back to the upper levels in search of Sarah. Perhaps a better explanation could be had from her. Besides, having recovered from the shock of seeing Sarah armed, she wanted to stop her doing something stupid.

  Julia found Sarah on the upper level which housed the Patriarch's office together with the engineering control room.

  “What's going on?” asked Julia.

  “Ryan has barricaded himself in the control room. Chris is in there as well as a few others. It's a stalemate. They've got nowhere to go. We've got them holed up in there. So we wait.”

  Josiah had followed Julia up to the confrontation. Now he approached. Josiah seemed to be in charge – he was older than most others and was Chris' deputy in the engineering section. Having posted guards to watch the corridor leading to the control room, Josiah gathered the others round. He laid floor plans out in front of the circle.

  “They are well armed. It seems they weren't entirely surprised by our move. And they've proved their willingness to kill. Three good people were lost in the medical wing when they tried to rescue Thomas. So we need to be careful. I don't want to lose anyone else – not one. Time is on our side and we will use that. Sooner or later they will get hungry or paranoid or just plain desperate and we'll be here waiting for them.”

  Julia began to analyse the situation. It was not her normal reaction to circumstances, but rather it was something that was rooted in Omar. She saw the confrontation from several different angles and began to feel how it would play out. She spoke out from her general concern but also on the strength of her friendship with Sarah.

  “Josiah. They have access to all the environmental controls. If you put them in a desperate situation, they'll act desperately. They could flood the Ark with radiation and kill us all. They will demand food and threaten everyone to get it. You have to give them a viable option to get out of this.”

  “There is no option out. They cannot continue to live here and there's nowhere else to go. We'll kill them one way or the other.”

  “If they demand food, what will you do?” Julia demanded.

  “We could poison it,” suggested Sarah.

  “Just like you poisoned Peter?”

&
nbsp; “He had it coming.” declared Sarah fervently.

  “It didn't take you long to think about it. It won't take them long either. They'll test the food – maybe just one person will eat it. If they get sick, they'll know the food was poisoned and we'll all be dead. Think again.” There was sheepish silence all round. Most were surprised at Julia's rebuttal. They were embarrassed to have kicked off an insurrection with so little planning. The current set of circumstances was awkward to say the least. They were Josiah's first challenge to his authority and tested his ability to provide leadership.

  “What would you suggest then?”

  “I'd make a point to offer food before they demanded it.” Julia sounded quite adamant but it was not well-received by those who heard. “It will help defuse the stand-off and will steer the course of events towards a resolution where a reasonable number of people are left alive. It's better to pre-empt their demand so you stay in control.”

  “Where's your friend, Julia? The beach man. What's his name?” Josiah abruptly changed the subject. He was probing. He was searching for reasons to trust – or distrust – Julia.

  “Omar,” put in Sarah. “She's hidden him down in the catacombs to keep him out of harm’s way.”

  “Well, I'm sorry he's caught up in our revolution against the Patriarch. Sarah's the only one of us to have met him. It's not his fight and he should keep it that way.” Julia was irked by the threat Josiah suggested against Omar. She had become very defensive toward him, especially lately.

  “He's not involved,” asserted Julia though she had no definite reason for saying so.

  “You want to take some supplies to Ryan?” Josiah returned to Julia's advice.

  “Yes, it's the only way to start resolving the situation,” argued Julia.

  “Okay, I respect your intentions but right now, we expect Ryan to start making the concessions. Take some food enough for one meal only.”

  Chapter 58

  Maputo, Mozambique

  For a second time Gary peered through the rounded windows of a plane at the arid airside expanse of Maputo International Airport. Unlike his previous visit, there were no passengers on the plane except, perhaps, Doctor Campbell who was sealed and secured in a casket in the hold. His frail body had returned to the land he adopted as his own. Some said he adopted Mozambique much like a cuckoo adopts a nest. Images from Gary's previous visits to Mozambique flicked through his mind. He recalled the orphanage, the smell of diesel fumes during the beach landings and Escobar.

  Gary's packing had been necessarily short. Mandy had taken the news strangely. He had expected frustration and anger but her voice on the phone betrayed confusion and then shock. Distracted silence had followed. He promised to make it up. However, his worries over their relationship were swamped by more immediate and pressing concerns. Gary spent almost the entire eighteen-hour flight fixated on the unwelcome prospect of stepping foot on Mozambican soil. The words of Gary's boss reprised, “We need a specialist. The ambassador will do all the talking. You, Gary – you just glean whatever information you can. Eyes and ears open – at all times. Don't speak! For God's sake, don't say anything.” They were simple instructions – surely he could manage that.

  The moment arrived. The aircraft jolted to a stop and the engines spun down, their whine lowering in pitch. As Gary prised himself from the seat, he saw soldiers and Jeeps manoeuvre around the plane. When the cabin door opened, the African heat rushed in and he felt the oppressive suffocation of Mozambique. The descent of the steps evoked repressed nightmares and dizziness. His hand clutched the rail to steady himself until, at last, his feet were placed on the tarmac apron. He felt the withdrawal of his connection to home. A tremor started in his left arm. Looking over the ambassador's shoulder, his attention was intensely drawn to a limousine which had stationed itself toward the rear of the aircraft. At the bottom of the steps, an official greeted the ambassador politely. Gary barely heard and was flustered when he finally had to acknowledge the greeting himself. The black car. Who was in the long black car? It was as if something squeezed his heart. The sense of something ominous grew.

  The casket emerged from the hold draped in the green, black and yellow stripped flag of Mozambique. The green symbolised agriculture and the produce of her land; the black celebrated her African heritage while the yellow represented her mineral resources. A red triangle next to the hoist told of the blood spilled during the struggle for independence. Six bemedaled soldiers slow-stepped down the cargo ramp and set the casket on an artillery carriage. Everyone stood still. The heat seemed to intensify. It seemed a full ten minutes passed before the door of the limousine opened and a tall Mozambican stepped out followed by a lady whose head was covered by a black lace scarf. Gary recognised President Armando de Sousa readily enough. He was dressed in a neatly fitting dark suit and was the epitome of confidence and dignity. His youthfulness was incongruous to the aged advisers surrounding him offering silent respect. The official who had greeted the ambassador motioned them forward so that they arrived at the casket at the same time.

  While the president approached, the woman hurried ahead and threw herself on the casket sobbing. Her head covering slipped back revealing a cascade of blonde hair which only partly obscured her fair-freckled skin. Kate de Sousa was seldom seen in the public life of her husband and their marriage was the subject of some speculation within CIA files. Gary found himself watching her in part curiosity but part fascination. Her beauty was acutely defined and even accentuated by her expression of grief. It was believed that she was the natural daughter of Doctor Campbell though official records were absent.

  Before approaching the casket himself, Armando turned aside and thanked the ambassador who offered his condolences in return. Armando made to turn away but abruptly turned back to speak to the ambassador.

  “I see you have new staff,” he enquired, smiling as he indicated Gary.

  “May I introduce Gary Sanders – my new private secretary,” the ambassador lied. Armando stepped closer to Gary and addressed him directly.

  “Were you not with my father when he died?” The direct, searching nature of the question was unnerving. Gary sensed Armando already knew the answer.

  “Yes, I was. We did everything we could – please let me assure you of that. But he passed away quickly and without suffering.”

  “That is a blessing and we must be thankful at least for that.” Armando paused. “I understand you have visited our country before, Mister Sanders. Is that so?” Again Gary sensed Armando already knew – the question was mere politeness.

  Gary's mind was indelibly marked with the dying moments of Escobar. His voice sometimes whispered in dreams repeating his curse. His face of betrayal leered. Gary experienced a flashback to witness blood bleeding into the dust around his Negro body at the feet of the witchdoctor in a remote village.

  “I visited Cabo Delgado briefly and saw the chanfuta tree where you were born.”

  Armando's expression darkened and his tone thickened with a hint of menace, “From whom did you hear that?” Too late. Gary had blurted it out devoid of thought. He panicked and could think of no other explanation than the truth.

  “Escobar told me...”

  It was several heart beats before Armando replied, “Escobar was a brother to me once. You were the one who killed him.”

  Gary nodded guiltily, eyes lowered. The turn of the conversation rendered the ambassador open-mouthed, speechless – he became visibly agitated. Gary saw he wanted to intervene and steer the dialogue to another topic but he was powerless faced with the intensity of Armando's presence.

  “Escobar, may God rest his soul, was greatly troubled. As a boy he saw things that would unhinge many men. The history of our nation is a near and brutal thing. I fear he could not be saved.”

  Indeed, thought Gary, may God rest the soul of Escobar – as unlikely as that was.

  “In the short time we spent together I saw him kill two innocent people at random and he would have
killed me as well. As he died, he cursed me. He sent me to the Devil.”

  As Gary made his confession, he felt an unanticipated sense of release. Armando was the first person Gary had spoken to about the curse. He had omitted that detail from the mission report. He had omitted quite a number of details about Escobar.

  Armando, for his part, received the confession narrowing his eyes and drawing breath, becoming yet taller. He carefully weighed Gary's response. He was dissecting Gary. At last he spoke discretely.

  “I understand my father may have appeared quite irrational. He may have made threats or accusations. Perhaps he made his final absolution? The long years of struggle that we endured form a mind-set that is difficult for others to appreciate.”

  “To the end he made it clear that, what he did, he did for the sake of his children. That he was protecting them whatever the cost. He made many sacrifices for their sake.”

  “Indeed, he presented an excellent example to many. His legacy will be the enrichment of many young Mozambicans who otherwise would already have died in anonymity and futility. He freely gave an unrivalled education to many – myself included. Yet, in his last moments, I fear that he was suffering from an impairment of his mental ability; he had become delusional. The world changed. We have some difficult challenges ahead.”

  “What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.”

  “What doesn't kill us, Mister Sanders, defines our destiny.” Armando's tone was ominous – he had shared a secret with Gary. There was certainly a message for him in those words. In those moments, Gary perceived that, whatever Doctor Campbell’s involvement had been – whatever he had started, it was Armando who was very much in control and had been for some time. Doctor Campbell had made himself the scape goat, sacrificing himself for his children by taking the blame on their behalf. However, Gary had not a shred of evidence but the truth would become apparent – just not yet.