“You must have,” said Stella. “I can’t begin to think how much all this costs.” She made a sweeping gesture across the whole palace. “I suppose you must be in the oil business.”
The sheik nodded. “I have made most of my money from oil, but I have branched out into many other areas like finance and technology and communications. I am also in the process of buying a football team in England. Not one of the Premiership sides, but one that I can build from the bottom into something great. It would be no fun to buy a readymade success.”
“Don’t you worry about people’s reaction to foreign money?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he replied. “They will soon change their minds once their team starts rising through the leagues. Teams need money to succeed – it matters not where it comes from. I will bring employment to the area as well, so it is a winning situation for everybody.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Stella. “If there’s one thing supporters of the smaller teams don’t like, it’s change. They’re quite happy going along every week with their small crowds in their small stadiums. The thought of being successful appeals to them, but they want to keep the intimacy of their little clique – they’ll just see you as a threat to their individuality. They’ll worry that you’ll turn them into a big conglomerate and take the heart right out of the club. Which of course you will.”
The sheik fell briefly silent, then said, “I only wish to make things better for people. I can understand their fears, but the world is constantly changing. They must see that they cannot live in a bubble for the rest of their lives. Progress needs to be embraced, not rejected.”
Stella felt her whole body gush with incandescent anger. She agreed that progress needed to be embraced, but wondered how this man could say such things and still justify his treatment of women. He talked about change eloquently and yet his attitudes were still firmly rooted in the Dark Ages. She wanted to leap up and beat him to a bloody pulp. Again though, she managed to hold her tongue.
“Progress is all very well,” she said calmly. “But it shouldn’t be at the expense of people’s souls. The problem with you money men is that you think everybody wants the same thing as you, but they don’t. Some people like small communities, they enjoy knowing everybody in the village or town. Once you start expanding things it takes away the beauty of their lives, instead of being an essential part of a group they become a faceless number in a sea of faceless numbers.”
“I do not agree,” said the sheik. “But I cannot expect you to understand the bigger picture.”
This statement was nearly all too much for Stella. Every single one of her nerve endings began to bubble with rage. She imagined herself ripping an AK-47 from one of the guards and splattering the sheik’s disgusting wiry frame with a thousand hate-filled bullets, each one penetrating deeper than the last until not even dental records could identify him. She tried to combat her wrath by focusing in on the leaping water and breathing the soothing music deep into her lungs. When this failed, however, she reached instinctively for her cigarettes. After a couple of drags the red mist had all but disappeared.
“I am afraid I must leave you on your own soon,” said the sheik, oblivious to his captive’s fury. “I have business to attend to, and I must prepare for this evening.”
“What’s happening this evening then?” asked Stella, uninterested but making conversation.
“I have a meeting with the local tribesmen. Once a year they come to me with requests for items that they need. It is traditional for me to share my wealth and grant their wishes.”
“What sort of things do they ask for?”
“Anything really – cars, money, livestock, computers – they can have what they want as long as they can justify it as a necessity for their livelihoods.”
“So it’s a sort of begging party,” said Stella.
“No,” said the sheik sharply, creasing his brow. “It is not begging. I have a responsibility to my people and I offer them help. They are invited here at my bidding, they do not sit at my doorstep pulling at my conscience. It is a custom that the West could learn from.” He got up and made to leave. “I must go now and attend to my business. Have a good day.”
Stella remained seated and watched him hurry away. Once he was out of sight she leant back and relaxed into the bench, which for stonework was remarkably comfortable. She guessed it was all in the design.
Without the distraction of his odious presence, she enjoyed the rest of her cigarette and updated her mental map of the palace, wondering all the time what her misogynistic jailer would look like with a knife in his back.
Chapter 17
Christiano gaped at Vittori incredulously. “Exactly like Jesus?” he repeated. “Nobody could ever be exactly like Jesus, Your Eminence.”
“Could they not?” said Vittori, raising his eyebrows. “You yourself pointed out that the Bible quotes Jesus as saying that we can all do what he did. That we all have it within ourselves. Have you suddenly changed your mind in the last couple of minutes?”
Christiano shuffled awkwardly in his chair under the cardinal’s stern gaze. “No, of course not, Your Eminence. It is just that the statement took me quite by surprise. Please, I do not wish to upset you.”
Vittori muted his glare and relaxed. “I know you do not, Christiano. I am sorry to be so serious, but this is a very serious matter. The fate of mankind depends upon it.” He stopped to clear his throat. “I will now divulge to you exactly what is going on, and please leave any questions until the end. Is that okay?”
Christiano nodded.
“Good,” said Vittori, “then I shall begin. You will know from the Bible that Jesus was a great healer, the greatest healer that ever lived. You will also know from the Bible that he was crucified and came back to life. These are both very much facts, as are the tales of his extreme humanity. What is not known is that Jesus was in fact using a form of Reiki to heal people, and also that it was Peter and the disciples that brought him back to life after the crucifixion – again using a form of Reiki. Not only did he survive, but he lived on for many years afterwards, journeying to the East where he remained until his death up to ninety years later. When he eventually died he left his secrets to an order of monks who were to keep them safe until such time as the human race was ready to utilize them safely. These secrets came in the form of hundreds of symbols that could be used to cure any illness. They work in exactly the same way as the regular Reiki symbols that you would use. Are you following me?”
“Yes, I think so, Your Eminence,” replied a bewildered Christiano.
“Good. The thing is Christiano, these symbols have been located by some very dangerous people and I fear they are going to use them to fool the world into thinking that they are God’s chosen ones. We need to stop them, and we need your help. There is obviously a lot more to the story, but I wanted to give you the salient points to start with. I know this is all a big shock, but you must try and keep your head. Now, if you have any questions, please ask.”
Christiano had a million questions but his brain was too battered to assimilate them all. Yet, although shocked, a part of him was suddenly overjoyed as everything he had learned suddenly began to make sense. Jesus was a Reiki master, of course he was – the mightiest that ever lived. He had been sent by God to teach human beings the way forward, showing them how to access the power inside of each and every one of them. Christiano felt stupid for never thinking of it before. All those nights of trying to juggle his faith with his healing, when all the time they had been part of the same thing. “I really don’t know what to say, Your Eminence. I am honoured that you should tell me all these things, but I don’t know how someone like me could possibly help you.”
“You are very humble, Christiano, it is most commendable,” said Vittori. “It is one of the reasons I have chosen you. The thing is my friend, we have a very real problem facing us. The dangerous people I was telling you about are very high up in the Islamic religion. The
have stolen this sacred knowledge and have given it to one of their number. At present this man has confined himself to Mecca, healing people and building his following, but soon they will unleash him on the world, and the entire population will begin to come under his sway. Within months,maybe weeks, the whole world will accept him as a new Messiah. Can you imagine what would happen then?”
“I am not sure, Your Eminence. I don’t see how somebody healing people could be bad for the world. Surely healing is good – whoever does it.”
A wave of anger crossed Vittori’s face, but quickly passed. “Yes, Christiano, of course healing is good, but you must look at the bigger picture. Once people believe that this man has been sent by God himself, they will take to heart everything he says and follow any doctrine that he cares to teach them. You must see how dangerous that will be. Islam will take over the entire world. Sharia law will be introduced everywhere. Women will be treated like animals. No longer will there be tolerance and forgiveness, we will enter a dark age of rule by fear and violence, where any transgression, however minor, will be punished with disproportional retribution. Is that a world you wish to live in Christiano?”
“No, Your Eminence, of course not. You must forgive me, all I saw was the healing, I did not think about the consequences. It would be truly devastating if such a thing came to pass. But again, I ask you, how can I help?”
Vittori reached into a drawer and withdrew three sheets of paper. He laid one out on the surface of the desk and turned it to face Christiano. “This, Christiano, is a copy of the sacred symbols that Jesus left to mankind. I think you’ll recognize some of them.”
Christiano studied the paper carefully. The majority of the icons were alien to him, but he did indeed recognize the four Usui characters at each corner, and the repeated power symbol in the centre. “This is amazing,” he said. “But what do they all do? I cannot possibly imagine.”
Vittori held up the other two sheets. “The key to their various properties is held on these.” He laid the papers out next to the first one. Christiano noted that instead of symbols there were small pictures. “You will notice that these pictures are laid out in a grid similar to that of the symbols,” Vittori continued, “each picture corresponds to its relative symbol. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Christiano. “So this symbol here,” he pointed, “corresponds to this picture here.” He pointed again, to a diagram of a man with fire emanating from his stomach. “And I assume that the symbol must be used for the healing of a stomach ailment.”
“The boy’s got it,” said Jonathan Ayres, joining the conversation with a clap of his hands.
“Yes, indeed he has,” said Vittori. “Well done, Christiano, that is exactly how to read it. It is very simple really, but I was afraid that it might look confusing. You are obviously a very bright lad, which will help you greatly in your task ahead.”
“What is the task?” asked Christiano.
“To learn all of these symbols and their properties off by heart of course.”
Christiano’s mouth fell open. “That is a very great task!”
“I know,” said Vittori. “But it is one that you must complete if you are to do your duty.”
“And what is that, Your Eminence?” asked Christiano, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, and not really wanting an answer.
“You are to become the new Messiah.”
Chapter 18
Grady hacked wearily away at the clawing foliage with his machete. It was hot and humid and humourless. Since leaving what passed for a path, the afternoon had been one long serious slog through walls of creeping plant life. Even though Majami and Tawhali were clearing the way in front, it seemed like the jungle had developed the phenomenon of instant regrowth behind them. Jennings’ intermittent chirpy whistling from the back was doing nothing for his morale, and neither was his sudden popularity with the brotherhood of mosquitoes. It was fair to say that he’d had better days. “How much further, Majami?!” he shouted to the monk.
“Not far now,” Majami replied brightly. “Maybe another hour, maybe two.”
“Another hour,” Grady muttered, slicing at a huge fern. “I could be dead in another hour.”
Behind him Jennings sniggered and said, “Come on mate, I thought you were in the US Marines. A finely tuned killing machine and all that.”
“I’ll finely tune you in a minute!” barked Grady. “I’ve been bedridden for almost two weeks. It doesn’t take long to lose your edge.”
“Obviously not,” Jennings chuckled.
“That’s it,” said Grady, “laugh it up while you can. We’ll see who the daddy is when I’ve had time to recover properly.”
Over the next hour the vegetation gradually began to thin, until eventually they found a track heading out towards friendlier terrain. Grady’s mood became lighter, and without the constant effort of swinging his heavy knife he regained the ability to smile once again. Jennings walked beside him sharing some of his newfound wisdom, and Stratton took up the rear with Titan ambling at his flank.
As they hit the fringes of the jungle Stratton bade them stop for a while so that he could say goodbye to Titan. He had dreaded the moment, but knew that they would soon be coming upon a settlement and that a black panther, however tame, would scare the villagers, and without doubt induce a violent reaction. Fighting back the tears he knelt down beside the great cat and whispered into his ear.
Jennings, Grady and the two monks looked on from a respectful distance.
“Must be hard for him,” Grady said quietly to Jennings. “He really loves that animal doesn’t he.”
“Yes, he does,” Jennings agreed. “He’d probably take him everywhere if it were feasible. But the jungle’s the right place for him – Stratton knows that.”
They watched as Stratton kissed Titan’s forehead for the last time. The panther turned around and trotted back into the wild, his paws bouncing effortlessly off the uneven ground, his head noble and keen and alert. Stopping briefly at the edge of the undergrowth he glanced back and gave a loud roar. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, swallowed up by the impenetrable forest as he strode fearlessly into his new life.
Stratton returned to the group slowly with his head bowed, a solitary tear trickled down his left cheek. Jennings, who already had a lump in his throat, noticed this and felt his own eyes brimming up. Even Grady had a queasy sensation in his stomach, but he convinced himself it was the after-effects of Majami’s jungle stew.
“I suppose we’d better get going then,” said Stratton, wiping his face as he ambled up. “How far to the village, Majami?”
“Another mile or so. We should be there in twenty minutes.”
They continued along the same path with the trees growing sparser at every step. The sun was sinking and dark clouds hovered in the fading light. Titan’s departure hung heavily over Stratton, and the mood of the group was sombre. It was a great relief when at last they saw lights twinkling in the near distance.
The village was a small settlement of twelve solid timber constructions, six on each side of a dusty track. Having expected something far more primitive, Jennings was suitably impressed with the high level of workmanship. He was also impressed with the delicious smell of herbs and spices that filled the air, and began to salivate. A group of children playing out in the street recognized Majami and swarmed up to the band of travellers, hollering at them in friendly tones.
“What are they saying?” Jennings asked Tawhali.
“They are asking about you and your friends,” said the monk. “They wish to know if you are staying and whether you have brought any gifts for them.”
“Gifts?”
“Preferably money,” said Tawhali. “American dollars.”
“Ah,” said Jennings. “How sweet. Bless their little weatherworn sandals.”
When the hubbub had died down and the children realized there were no riches to be had, Majami led them through the village to a house at the far end. It w
as slightly bigger than the others and positioned away from the main track. Majami knocked on the door softly, and a young woman dressed in a bright green sari answered. Elegant and beautiful, she welcomed the monk graciously and invited the group to enter. They were escorted to a room at the back and greeted by a gruff-looking, thickset man seated at the head of a large table. He gestured for them to sit down and started talking to Majami in Malayalam, the language of Kerala. After a brief discussion he spoke to the group in English.
“Good evening,” he said kindly, breaking into a smile. “Welcome to my home. My name is Sunil.” One by one the group introduced themselves.
“Majami tells me you have had an arduous day,” said Sunil. “My daughter is preparing dinner, and I would be delighted if you would join us. There is plenty to go round.”
They accepted the invitation gratefully, Jennings in particular looking forward to sampling some of the local cuisine he had smelled outside. Grady was just happy to take the weight off his feet. He sat at the end of the table with his legs stretched out and started to nod off.
Sunil ordered his daughter into the room and asked her to bring their guests some beer.
“I notice that you have electricity,” said Stratton, pointing to the lights on the wall. “What’s your source?”
“We have a large diesel generator that supplies the entire village,” Sunil explained. “We had it installed five years ago. It has certainly changed our lives for the better, although I’m not convinced that television is the best thing to expose our young children to.”
“I guess not,” Stratton agreed. “But the world moves on and on.”
“Yes, of course,” said Sunil. “And it is not all terrible. In fact, some television is quite educational. I just do not want them getting into bad habits.”
Sunil’s daughter returned with mugs of cold beer and went dutifully round the table handing them out. Right on cue, Grady opened his eyes and took a tentative swig. Happy it was palatable, he proceeded to drain half the contents in one go. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” he chimed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
A Sacred Storm Page 8
