At 9 a.m. Jerusalem time he called London looking for Hazel, his research assistant, but Hazel hadn’t yet made it to work. Bill had read that last night people were throwing impromptu end-of-the-world parties. Hazel was probably feeling the after-effects of one such gathering. Bill cursed the unprofessionalism of his young colleague. He left a long, rambling message on Hazel’s work phone. He rang her cell. It went straight to voicemail. He hoped that meant she was on the Tube. He repeated roughly the same message.
“Hazel, Bill. Morning. I need a detailed background search on the Srour family. This is linked to the phenomenon last night so I need it urgently. They own a farm just east of Jerusalem outside a village called Haran. The IAF just bombed the shit out of it. I don’t believe they were on the property when it was bombed so I want, as a priority, mobile numbers for them and numbers and addresses for next of kin. I believe there is a mother, a son in his late 20s and an older boy in his early 30s. The older boy is called Khalid, the younger Samuel. Also, I need background on Dr Mariam Fara. She is a physicist working out of the University of Jerusalem. She is close to the younger boy and was in the village last night. Her mother lives just nearby and I’m going to pay her a visit. Call me in an hour with the info. Cheers. Oh, and the morning after an unknown global news event, it makes sense that people who work in the news should be at their desks on time.”
***
MARIAM woke midmorning hungry, tired and uncomfortable. She uncurled herself from the armchair and stretched the fatigue from her body. Samuel was sleeping, but she could hear a considerable commotion coming from the other wards on the floor. Their ward was quiet and still empty. Mariam helped herself to a weak coffee in the adjacent room designated for overnight visitors. She was grateful for the en-suite shower and took a little time to freshen up. When she returned to the ward, to her relief she saw that Samuel was finally awake and sitting on the side of his bed talking to a middle-aged man.
“At first I thought you were a doctor. Then when you touched my face I thought perhaps the Angel of Death had finally come to take me. Most of the patients in my ward and the others you visited have had their families come for them. The doctors have been trying to stop them leaving. I didn’t want to go just yet. I wanted to find you first. Last night after you left, I realised you were a patient from the gown you wore. I wanted to find you and thank you. Thank you for curing me.”
Rami Hussein bent down and embraced Samuel. He held on for a long time. Mariam stood on the threshold of the ward uncertain, the coffee cooling in her hands. Rami then fell to his knees and kissed Samuel’s hands. Embarrassed, Samuel stood him up.
“There are others here in the hospital I haven’t seen yet that I can cure. I helped you, will you help me?”
“I will do anything for you,” said Rami Hussein.
Mariam interrupted, “Okay, someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on here.”
Samuel smiled, looking deeply at Mariam for a moment. “Mariam, last night changed everything. I don’t know how and definitely don’t know why, but I see things differently now. I see auras.”
Mariam’s eyes narrowed. Fearful now, she stared at Samuel; how much damage had the explosion done to his mind?
“Mariam, listen. If I choose I can step into a person’s aura. I can travel through that person’s memories like I’m walking in their shoes. I feel their emotions, hear their thoughts and understand what gives them strength and what ails them. It’s that ailment Mariam, physical or emotional that I can see and I can fix.”
“That’s enough; I’m calling a nurse.” Mariam pushed her tongue into her cheek and glared at Rami. And your new friend, he can leave.”
Rami spoke up. “Samuel speaks the truth. Yesterday I had cancer. Look at me; do I look like a dying man? It is because of him.”
“Mariam just let me show you what I can do,” said Samuel.
Mariam shook her head, trying to remove the absurdity of the conversation from her mind.
On his wanderings early that morning, Samuel hadn’t visited the other floors of the hospital. The simple plan he hatched was for Rami to distract the staff so Samuel and Mariam could slip into the wards. Samuel first needed a change of clothes; he couldn’t move round the hospital in only bare feet and a gown. Rami, a long-term patient, furnished Samuel with a plain white shirt and a pair of corduroy slacks. The shirt was a little tight across his back but the trousers fitted well; they had room enough to slip over the dressing on Samuel’s thigh. Samuel didn’t bother trying to squeeze into Rami’s abnormally small shoes. For want of another option, Samuel would just have to go barefoot.
While Samuel changed, Rami bolted down a carton of orange juice and a packet of salted peanuts from the lobby vending machine. After months on an intravenous diet the high energy food should have the desired disruptive effect on his digestive system, forward planning for the task ahead.
The wards were similarly designed. An elevator led to an external waiting area where visitors would be buzzed in by staff. Through the access doors was a reception where most of the duty staff sat tending the wards beyond.
Getting through the access doors on the second floor was straight-forward. The three of them simply ghosted in by tailgating an orderly pushing an empty gurney. At reception, Rami moved straight towards the doctor on duty crying out in pain and clutching his chest. The doctor, a young woman, rushed to assist but slumped under Rami’s weight. She quickly summoned her nurses and as Rami drew most of the staff in towards him, he bent over forcefully constricting his stomach and projectile vomited the orange juice and salted peanuts. Rami was meticulous in trying to splash as many of the nursing staff as possible. Cloaked by the confusion, Samuel and Mariam breezed into the ward.
Mariam would draw a curtain around the bed and to each patient Samuel simply said that he was there to heal them. Very few offered any resistance. One young man who had three fingers severed in a motorcycling accident filmed his fingers growing back on his cell phone. Mariam threatened to break his other fingers if he dared take any video of her or Samuel. The boy filmed himself unwrapping the heavy bandages on his damaged hand, delicately at first, then faster with increasing intent and vigour. His hand was a bloody mess, ghastly stitched wounds over his three missing fingers. The young man’s stitches burst open and new fingers pushed out like seedlings on a time lapse camera breaking through fresh soil. Mariam’s scientific mind struggled to assimilate the wonders she was witnessing.
It took Samuel and Mariam just over forty-five minutes to work through the second floor. They ended up losing a fair bit of time through their own sheer enjoyment of the spectacle they created, the sight of an ear regrown or the flush of blood in the face of a newly healed heart patient. Samuel was replacing the fear of the future with relief and hope. It was exhilarating.
Before they left the second floor they checked in on Rami. He was hooked up to a heart-monitoring machine being attended to by one of the nurses. He looked a little sheepish but flashed a thumbs up as they passed.
The second floor reception area was empty and they were about to head for the elevator when Mariam spotted that the young woman doctor had left her white coat draped over the back of a chair. In the chaos that was now a floor full of healthy patients the coat was the last of the young doctor’s concerns. Mariam picked it up and put it on. It suited her. Helpfully the doctor had left her identification pass in the breast pocket. Mariam grinned, thoroughly pleased with herself. She had just solved the problem of how to access the remaining floors of the hospital.
Samuel met her at the elevator. “Nice coat.”
“Well, technically I am a doctor,” she replied.
***
ON the first floor they were told of a family who were on the verge of tragedy. Dina was born with severe disabilities, needing round the clock specialist care. In order to provide that care her parents had sold their home and moved in with relatives. Unable to speak, unable to move, Dina was a much loved child. Her family, a c
onstant, tender presence in her life. Shortly after her sixth birthday Dina began picking up a series of small illnesses. Each none too serious, but together they had the effect of steadily degrading her fragile immune system. It was at this moment that Dina caught pneumonia. The disease struck Dina at her most vulnerable time and rapidly edged her towards death. The doctors had struggled to keep her alive but after a recent relapse hope was slipping away. Her family now sat in vigil in the hospital chapel, offering continuous prayers for the deliverance of their little angel.
***
Timeline: The Pestilence minus 15 days. Information source: BBC World News live broadcast.
Hugh Feades: The human cost of the global Electrical Phenomenon has been high. Across the world police sources have estimated that over 150 people have been killed. The majority of these people were involved in automobile collisions as drivers were distracted by the events overhead. That dreadful toll is set to rise with the breaking news from Tokyo. We go live to our Japan correspondent Suki Minamoto.
Suki Minamoto: Thank you, Hugh. A tragic story is unfolding behind me. Police received a number of distressing phone calls from inside this residential compound. The compound belongs to the Church of the King of Light. They are a religious sect with close links to Aum Shinrikyo whose members were responsible for the Tokyo Subway sarin incident in 1995 in which thirteen people were killed and over 1,000 poisoned. Police have been unable to enter the compound due to the possibility of sarin gas being present. They have set up a cordon and evacuated the nearby residents. Police are waiting on officers to arrive with specialist protective equipment so they can breach the compound walls. As you can see we are being kept at a safe distance.
Hugh Feades: Suki, what is the estimate of the number of people living in that compound?
Suki Minamoto: Over 300 Hugh; families with children predominately. The sect is led by Hiritoshi Fuji, he is their high priest.
Hugh Feades: And the sarin reports?
Suki Minamoto: I have a transcript here of one of numerous emergency phone calls made by church members from inside the compound. From it you can see why the police are approaching the compound with such caution. Let me read it out to you: Please help, we are being poisoned. We are in the King of Light compound. Fuji-san is preparing us for the Path of Light. He has locked us in. My family are trapped here with me. Many are deceased; other people can’t breathe or are vomiting without control of bodily functions. The worst are in spasms, twitching and jerking. My wife is like this. Please for my family, my children. Please come.
Hugh Feades: That is truly tragic. Our prayers go out to these people.
Suki Minamoto: I can see smoke, Hugh, billowing out of the compound; thick, black, acrid smoke. This is a disaster.
***
THE chapel was a small, drab affair: Scant and austere, devoted to the world’s three great religions yet representing the art, architecture and magnificence of none. A well of sorrow rose up to greet them as they entered. Dina’s family, her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins were all bowed together in prayer. Fifteen people praying for the soul of the child they all loved. At the centre of the prayer circle were Dina’s parents. The child’s mother sobbing hard tears of pain, the father cradled the lifeless body of his only daughter, a broken man, his heart riven with grief.
“Oh Samuel, oh my life, we are too late.” Mariam’s voice quivered and broke.
“She’s dead, I can’t heal her.” Samuel bowed his head, his broad shoulders slumping. He concentrated intently. “The child is gone, but her aura is still with us. It must be the prayers of her family that are keeping her here with them. Her aura is stunning. I haven’t seen one so pure, so completely full of love; no hint of greed, envy or pride.” There was rapture in Samuel’s eyes, quickly replaced by urgency. “Her aura was filling this place, but I can see it’s starting to dissipate.” He thought for a moment. Then haltingly, “If her aura still remains then maybe I can save her. I think I might be able to.”
Mariam looked upon Samuel for the first time in her life with genuine fear in her eyes. “Do you realise what you are saying?” Mariam reached up and put her hand over Samuel’s heart. “I have seen some miraculous things today but right now you need to be sure you can do this, absolutely sure. You can’t give these people hope and then fail them.”
The uncertainty disappeared from Samuel’s eyes and he spoke with a calm assurance. “I am sure. Quickly, her aura is fading.”
Mariam carefully made her way through the prayer circle to Dina’s father. She placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Please sir, my friend here thinks he can save your daughter, please can I take her just for a moment. We don’t have much time.”
Dina’s father gave Mariam a look of bewildered incredulity and then clutched Dina closer to his chest. He shook his head and a second later all the rage and despair that festered inside him erupted to the surface. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed.
The ferocity of his gaze caused Mariam to instinctively step back breaking the physical connection between them. “I’m begging you,” she said. “We can help. Just give her to me please, I promise you she can be saved.”
“Shame on you for disrupting our prayers. Shame on you for hurting my family. Just leave us to mourn in peace.” His voice rose and his relatives broke from their prayers.
Mariam stepped further back from the prayer circle.
“Nobody can help her now,” Dina’s father whispered. His tears fell into Dina’s hair as sobs coursed through his body.
A few of Dina’s relatives were rising to their feet. Samuel could see the auras in the room turning quickly from despair to anger and bitterness. He moved forward and from outside the prayer circle spoke directly to Dina’s father.
“There was intense fighting the night Dina was born. Your wife was in labour but it was too dangerous to take her to hospital. The midwife wouldn’t come. So your mother braved the shelling to come to your house to deliver your daughter. Dina has never spoken, she has never cried. It is only through her eyes that she communicates, through her eyes that she laughs and sings. Even though she couldn’t tell you, her heart was full of love for the people who cared for her. For all of you who loved her completely, who loved her without reservations. That little girl you all loved, she has not gone. I feel her still with us. Please, give her to me. Let me save her. Let me bring her back to you.”
Dina’s father slowly, mournfully, rose to his feet. Dina was wrapped in a white sheet, a sleeping angel with tears glistening in her hair. He gently placed Dina’s body in Samuel’s arms. Tears flowed like a river across his cheeks. Mariam now wept openly, a silent prayer on her lips.
Samuel sat. He placed Dina on his lap. There was just a shadow left of Dina’s once brilliant gossamer aura. He placed his hands on Dina: Covered her eyes with his thumbs, closed his eyes and concentrated.
Mariam was instantly concerned. She had spent the last few hours watching Samuel heal. It was surreal but a relatively simple process: Hands to face, thumbs over eyes, a transfer of power and that was it. What was happening now wasn’t the same, it wasn’t right. Samuel was taking much, much longer. His body was visibly shaking, his bare feet bunching and curling beneath him. Mariam could make out the sinews of each muscle as he fought to retain control. Never before had she seen so much energy flowing from Samuel’s hands. It lit up the chapel and light spilled out of every exit. Nobody moved, nobody dared breathe lest it extinguish the fragile hope slowly building in the room.
The light from Samuel’s hands faded and he slumped forward in his chair. Mariam moved quickly to retrieve Dina’s body. She felt joy stirring within her as she picked up the warm child. Mariam could feel Dina’s breath against her neck. Over Mariam’s shoulder Dina opened her eyes, yawned and for the first time, called for her mother.
***
Chapter 3
AT 12.45 a.m. Paris time on the night of the Electrical Phenomenon, Victor Pierre Chaput had just
wrapped up a conference call with his partners in New York. It was the last item on his schedule, the end of a seventeen-hour day. He dialled his assistant Celine and asked her to let his driver know he was ready to make the short trip from La Défense to his house in the sixteenth arrondissement of Paris. His driver duly forewarned knew to expect him in exactly thirty minutes.
Victor stood and walked over to the double height windows of his office. From the summit of the Tour First he had a majestic view looking east back into his beloved city. The Tour First was second only in height to the Eiffel Tower and Chaput’s firm VPC Capital owned the entire fifty-second floor.
Standing here watching the city beneath him helped Chaput unwind from the maelstrom of his day. This dead time was allowed and very much part of his routine. Victor Pierre Chaput liked having routines. He felt they anchored him, removed distractions and allowed him to focus all of his considerable intellect on what had, until recently, been his driving motivation, VPC Capital. How times have changed, he thought with a smile.
The Chaputs were an ancient family originally making their living as cloth merchants by the Sea of Galilee. During the First Crusade, the family backed the defending Muslim armies but following the Christian conquest of Jerusalem in 1099 they fled Palestine. They went not east but west, leaving Palestine to settle in France. There they quickly re-established their links with the new Kingdom of Jerusalem and prospered, initially through mercantile trade and then turned to the more lucrative international finance. Throughout the centuries the family grew rich financing slavery, war and the business of colonisation. Their wealth and power peaked in the mid-fifteenth century but like so many family-owned enterprises they made the fatal mistake of never expanding their managerial talent pool beyond their own blood. Successive generations of wealth and prosperity robbed the Chaputs of the hunger, desire and vision that drove their founding fathers. Success also bred idleness and incompetence. By the beginning of the twentieth century, the wealth, influence and power of the Chaputs had waned to insignificance. On the death of his father Julien, Victor as sole heir inherited a few properties in Paris and a miserable 15,000 Francs.
The Pestilence Page 3
