“You sent me home so I took my research and went. After I had heard the explosions I brought the car back to find you. When I got there the farm was gone. You were suspended ten metres in the air and the lightning was coming from you shooting off into the sky.”
“Me? Floating in the air?”
Mariam nodded.
“What lightning?”
For the first time that day Mariam switched on her cell phone. As the phone powered up and cycled through the welcome screen it automatically registered with the nearest cell phone tower. Mariam ignored the fourteen notifications that flooded into her message box. She wanted to show Samuel some of the previous night’s news of the Electrical Phenomenon.
VPC Capital owned the largest IT system supplier for mobile phone network operators. The company was called Gao and 65 per cent of all mobile networks operated infrastructure built and installed by Gao. As a VPC sister company, it was a simple matter for Decapolis to insure that the relevant hardware was shipped with the preinstalled ability for its investigators to access the mobile network.
Mariam’s was the most frequently used number by the phone registered to Samuel. Consequently, it was automatically flagged by the Decapolis cyber security team as a high priority target. Once Mariam had switched on her phone, even though her GPS location services were deactivated, Decapolis were able to utilise hyperbolic positioning to determine Mariam’s location. They could locate the phone by triangulating the time difference in the arrival of signals that were transmitted from the phone to cell towers; the greater the number of towers that were in the range of the phone, the more accurate the triangulation. Unfortunately for Samuel and Mariam the density of mobile phone masts was the highest in large cities.
Within five minutes the Decapolis cyber division was able to alert the case officer, Stefano Grigori, that Dr Mariam Fara and in all probability Samuel Srour were in downtown Jericho. He dispatched a field agent from Jerusalem for a visual confirmation.
“Okay, that lightning,” said Samuel giving the phone back to Mariam. “Impressive.”
“What about the little girl, Samuel? What about Dina?” said Mariam lowering her voice. “The world is full of regular doctors and even faith healers, but she was dead.” She was whispering now. “You did that. You brought her back to life.”
Samuel looked uncomfortable. “Here pass me your phone again,” he said. It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for. “There’s a veteran’s hospital just outside of town. Let’s go there. We won’t be able to keep wandering anonymously into hospitals for long so let’s try and make the most of it.”
Mariam shrugged. “More guerrilla healing - why not?” She picked up her phone. “It’s 3.25 p.m., almost rush hour. It is going to take a while to get to Jerusalem especially with the border crossing. We are staying at my place on campus tonight. As well as the veteran’s hospital there is another hospital we can visit on the way and a big one in Jerusalem itself.” She smiled. “I’m looking forward to wearing my new white coat again.”
Samuel nodded, Mariam switched off her phone to preserve battery and they made their way to the car.
***
Timeline: The Pestilence minus 180 days. Information source: Press release from the Chaput Foundation.
Incorporation and endowment of the Chaput Foundation (“Foundation”).
It is announced today that Victor Pierre Chaput the Managing Partner of VPC Capital, has incorporated the Foundation in memory of his late father, Julien Chaput. The Foundation’s aims are to eradicate the poverty and alleviate the suffering caused by individual indebtedness. The Foundation will strive to achieve these aims by purchasing and cancelling individual debt.
The Foundation has been endowed with an initial US$20 billion from Victor Pierre Chaput.
Victor Pierre Chaput: Foundation Trustee
“I believe in philanthropy. It has been demonstrated over the past 2,000 years of progressive democracy that governments do not have all the answers to society’s problems. With the gap between the richest and poorest in every society growing, it is now left to individuals to try and address that balance. I agree with Andrew Carnegie, who said that huge fortunes that flow in large part from society should in large part be returned to society. With that in mind I have established the Chaput programme.
Individuals from any walk of life, race, colour or creed can write to the Foundation setting out their personal circumstances and, if accepted, the Foundation will purchase and cancel their individual debt.
The Chaput programme offers the chance for individuals who are impoverished by debt to wipe the slate clean and get a new start in life with hopefully the lessons learnt from past mistakes. The Chaput programme will offer an end to economic serfdom and provide economic freedom for millions of people.
I have been fortunate enough to benefit from this great society and now I believe it is time to give something back.”
***
Chapter 4
RAMI Hussein stood on the pavement staring up at his flat. Three windows, drawn shut, faced out onto the street. A tired apartment in a tired building filled with the remnants of his old life. Inside a few material possessions were stored away patiently waiting for the day of his passing.
Rami dug the apartment key out of the bottom of his rucksack. The key slid home but the latch was stiff and the door sat heavy in its frame. He put his shoulder to the door to ease it open. An old pair of shoes lay forgotten by the door. Dust had settled across the parquet flooring and he left a trail of ghostly footprints. He moved through the rooms that until a few hours ago he believed he would never see again. His furniture was covered with dust sheets, his possessions neatly laid out in a row of cardboard boxes in the living room.
Rami hunted the box labelled “bedroom” and fished out a six-by-four inch framed picture. A younger, cancer-free version of him smiled back from within the frame. Sitting on his knee was a small boy; he wore a blue school uniform and a fixed scowl. Rami could make out just below the boy’s shorts the raw scabs on his knees. Standing next to Rami was a woman; she had her hand on his shoulder and wore a pensive look and a silver wedding ring. Rami stared at the photo for some time. He then removed it from its frame and slid it into his shirt pocket.
Rami refreshed the clothes in his hospital ruck sack and from a box labelled “personal effects” added his passport. The passport was pristine. No journeys, no stamps. Rami had never left Palestine; he had lived the majority of his life within walking distance from his place of birth in Jericho.
Rami took a final look around the apartment that for the last twenty-five years had been his home. He walked out into the hall past the forgotten pair of shoes and shut the door behind him. He carried nothing with him except the contents of his hospital rucksack, his passport and the photo.
Rami walked the half mile from his apartment to his restaurant. It was a little early for the evening service so Rami enjoyed a mint tea in a coffee shop a few doors down. From his rucksack Rami produced a sheaf of legal papers. They were drawn up by his lawyers and dealt with the distribution of his two major assets after his death; the apartment and restaurant. Rami’s instructions had been clear. Both would be sold in the event of his death, the funds raised would go towards funeral costs and the remainder paid to the woman and child in the photograph in his pocket. Rami had never signed them; he just couldn’t bring himself to.
Rami had struck out with his own restaurant when he was at the height of his powers as a chef. He had mortgaged the apartment and bought a place just outside the centre of town. Still far enough away to not be snared up in the city centre pollution and traffic but close enough to pull in the businessmen for lunch and the evening entertainment crowd for dinner. Rami was a creative at heart, his world was his kitchen and his passion was sourcing local ingredients, developing dishes and refining his menu. He was not as adept at running the business side of the restaurant but for that he had Salim. Unlike Rami, Salim had no formal training b
ut had worked his way up to the position of line cook through sheer determination and hard work. Rami saw in Salim the makings of a brilliant head chef and business manager. They worked hand in glove, with Rami innovating and creating while Salim ran the kitchen, front of house and the commercial aspects of the restaurant. They became close and the business grew and prospered under their dual control.
The cancer changed everything. Rami became a passenger in his own disease, at the mercy of his doctors and their treatment schedules. Day by day Rami was clawed away from his restaurant. He was unable to fully participate and when he did, he over reached and began interfering in decisions which were usually the sole preserve of Salim. The genuine partnership and harmony they had both fostered gradually broke down. Salim, the younger man, wanted to expand and grow the business, but Rami resisted, often out of pride but mostly to retain some sort of control over the one thing he still could.
Rami finished his mint tea and took the time to examine the new restaurant facia that Salim had installed. It looked as elegant as the simple, unfussy, local menu in the window. Rami quietly walked into his restaurant. He loved the decor inside. The front of house staff, all new, were welcoming and Rami instantly liked the graceful maître d’. He felt odd asking for the manager. When Salim came out from the kitchen the shock on his face was palpable. A fleeting look of worry was replaced with a broad, delicious grin. They embraced hard and for some time, then the graceful maître d’ seated them at a table by the window.
“Sorry for not coming to see you in a while,” said Salim. “The restaurant has been taking up so much of my time.”
“I wouldn’t have come to see me either, old friend. First the illness and then my wife leaving me; it made me a different person.”
“You’re looking well.”
“Thank you.” Rami smiled. “It has been a long time since anyone said that to me. Salim, I’m cured now.”
“Thanks to God, but I thought… there was no hope. Only a matter of time, you said.”
“There is always hope.”
“Yes, there is. I’m pleased to have you back with us.” Salim reached across the table and put a hesitant hand on his friend’s arm.
“I think the new decor works really well; stylish and understated - A really good job. It must have cost you a lot,” said Rami.
Salim nodded. “The restaurant needed a facelift. The old look was tired. I was hoping it would change your mind about the sale, but you never saw it; until today.”
“Yes, about that, about the sale. That’s the reason I am here.” Salim’s eyes flicked from Rami to the table and he softly withdrew his hand from Rami’s arm. Rami lent forward and put his elbows on the table and fingers to his temple. A waiter interrupted pouring coffee and serving baklava. Rami waited for him to finish. “I realised that you have poured every bit of yourself into this place and I have never thanked you. You’re a better chef and a much better manager than me. At the end I think we clashed so often because I knew your ideas were right and I would have pushed them through myself if I had the strength. I’m telling you Salim, nearly dying gives you great clarity.” It was Rami’s turn to reach out and place his hand on his friend’s arm. “My wife never really loved me. I spent the early part of my life chasing someone who was at best ambivalent about me. Some people are inherently selfish and I chased a selfish lover with a passion driven from madness. She left me after I got cancer, couldn’t wait to get out and took my boy with her. I haven’t seen my son in seven years and like a fool I wasted my failing strength trying to get her back. Her cruelty made me more determined, made me try harder. I guess dying and giving her the money was my final attempt at making her feel something for me. I almost sold my apartment, my business, our business, for her; a final mistake in a life full of mistakes.”
Salim nodded and looked at his friend’s hand on his arm. He felt the warmth and love flowing through it and a little joy stirred in his heart.
Rami continued. “The man who cured me, the world will hear about him soon.”
“Was he a doctor?”
“No, not a doctor; a miracle worker. By curing me he helped me to see beyond my own selfish needs. I have a second chance in life and I want to use it to act for the people I care about. The restaurant Salim, I am not selling it. I want to give it to you.”
***
Timeline: The Pestilence minus 14 days. Information source: Published interview with Dr Mariam Fara, girlfriend of Samuel Srour. Interviewer: Bill Irons.
Bill Irons: What do you do for a living Mariam?
Mariam Fara: I am a physicist working at the University of Jerusalem. I’m involved in the search, categorisation and study of exoplanets.
Bill Irons: What are they?
Mariam Fara: Planets that orbit around a star in other solar systems. If we can detect planets the right size and distance from the right type of star, we may discover environments that are capable of supporting water in one of its three forms. Planets that can support liquid water have the potential to also support life.
Bill Irons: Find anything?
Mariam Fara: It is a relatively new science. A few decades ago we thought Earth was the only planet capable of supporting life in our galaxy. To find other Earth-like planets we measure the brightness of stars across a long period of time. We are trying to detect minute changes in that brightness which could indicate the transit of a planet across the face of the star. This technique is not fool proof as we may be looking at the wrong plane of space so a planet never traverses into our field of view or a planetary orbit is so long we don’t watch for long enough to see the planet move across its star. Nevertheless, using this method we have found thousands of Earth-like worlds in only a miniscule section of space. The exciting thing is that if we extrapolate the data we have so far, I believe there are at least twenty billion planets capable of supporting life in the Milky Way galaxy alone. Look at our own solar system. Venus and Mars show signs that liquid water may once have flowed and some moons of Saturn and Jupiter may contain water beneath the surface.
Bill Irons: So life on other worlds?
Mariam Fara: I think if you have the right conditions for life to occur, planets the right size, the right distance from the right star, given enough time the occurrence of life is simply inevitable. It is basic chemistry. The big question is what prompts this simple life to morph into a complex one. Complex enough to be able to support civilisations like ours. These I think are incredibly rare, so rare perhaps they could be called creation events.
Bill Irons: How long have you lived in Jerusalem?
Mariam Fara: I can’t say I live in Jerusalem; I work there some of the time, but I travel regularly to telescopes all over the world.
Bill Irons: Did you and Samuel come from the same village?
Mariam Fara: Yes; Haran, a small village between Jerusalem and Jericho.
Bill Irons: How long have you known Samuel?
Mariam Fara: For as long as I can remember. We grew up together.
Bill Irons: Was there anything special about him then?
Mariam Fara: No. He was always a geeky book-worm.
Bill Irons: So he has changed?
Mariam Fara: Only in what he is able to do, his new abilities. Otherwise, he is still the same deeply caring man I have known all my life.
Bill Irons: So how does he achieve this incredible healing?
Mariam Fara: I don’t know.
Bill Irons: If I’m correct it started the night of the airstrike. You were there. What happened?
Mariam Fara: Samuel and I were in the farmhouse. He was asleep and I was working on a research paper. We heard the rocket launch. We both knew that a counter strike would be forthcoming so he sent me back to my mother’s house in the village. He wanted to stay and try to save the family’s livestock, drive them into the fields. The farm was all they had. I was at my mother’s when the bombs fell and then saw the lightning coming from the farm. It shot into the sky. I feared for Samuel, I prayed
he would be safe. After the lightning finished I took my mother’s car and drove back. I found him amongst the debris. Unconscious but unharmed. I dragged him into the car and took him to hospital.
Bill Irons: You didn’t see the source of the lightning?
Mariam Fara: No. I only saw it from a distance, coming from somewhere on the farm. It had stopped by the time I came back to find Samuel.
Bill Irons: What do you think about the theory that Samuel has some sort of genetic mutation, accelerated by the airstrike?
Mariam Fara: Are you seriously expecting an answer to that question Bill? Random mutations in our DNA take generations to evolve into a differentiating attribute. It doesn’t happen overnight. This is real life, not some comic book.
Bill Irons: Do you think Samuel should submit to tests to find out exactly how he is healing these people? Science needs to know if this gift can be replicated and passed on.
Mariam Fara: As a scientist I have the same natural curiosity and am driven by the need to understand why something occurs, but to arrive at any kind of answer you need a willing test subject. Bill, I really enjoy boxing. My father, also a scientist, called it the science of destruction. Ali, the two Sugar Rays were all masters of the science. My father would show me old movies; we would stay up late to watch televised bouts. I can even throw down a few rounds in the ring. To answer your question, I need to paraphrase the great boxing promoter, Don King. The chances of Samuel willingly agreeing to a barrage of testing are between slim to none and slim just left town.
Bill Irons: What do you think people will do once Samuel has healed them?
Mariam Fara: Samuel just heals and moves on. He is trying to heal as many people as possible. What these people do, how they behave after meeting Samuel, is up to them. He has no control or influence over them.
Bill Irons: There are Internet rumours about a little girl in Jericho. He raised her from the dead.
The Pestilence Page 5
