The Pestilence

by Faisal Ansari

  “Hey, I’m pretty cool,” he said sounding dull and uninteresting. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Syria and our convoy got hit by an RPG?”

  Miranda ignored him. “Why didn’t you come back earlier Dad? Why didn’t you come back years ago?”

  Bill gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “I guess,” he said, “I got caught up in the madness of my work. I don’t know. Imagine you are doing your favourite stroke at a swimming competition.”

  “One-hundred IM and it’s a meet, not a competition.”

  “Right, you’re swimming the one-hundred IM at a meet. When you are racing you’re in the zone, you are focused. You don’t want to be anywhere else. All you want is to win.”

  Miranda nodded, she knew the feeling.

  “I guess, for me, work was like swimming race after race in a weird marathon of never-ending meets. I thought by reporting what was going on I was helping. Saying look at this, isn’t it horrible, let’s not do this again. I know it sounds sad, but I thought that the next story, the next assignment was the one that would make the world sit up and take notice.” Bill looked over at Miranda. “But now I realise the pointlessness of what I was doing. I haven’t changed anything. All I ended up doing was losing sight of the things that were truly important.” Bill caught Miranda’s eye. “First I lost your mother, then I lost you in the race.”

  Miranda said nothing. She hugged her legs tighter to her chest and rested her cheek on her knees watching her father as he wove his way through the London traffic. He had taken one hand off the steering wheel and rested it on his thigh. He had a calming serenity about him, she saw nobility and felt an unexpected burst of pride at having him next to her. She reached across and put her hand over his. The tip of her middle finger touched the spot where Hazel had stabbed him six days ago. That small section was unmistakably warmer than the rest of his hand.

  “So why now?”

  Bill shrugged and shook his head. He was unable to fathom the depths of his own intentions. He looked out onto the traffic knowing that this short journey was almost at an end. He wished they could keep driving, continue up the A1 heading north on the longest road in Britain. Ideally he wished he could drive back in time, try again and get it right. Having Miranda close brought a sense of purpose and clarity to his life and he knew then that he wouldn’t let her go again.

  “Don’t You Want Me” by the Human League sounded throughout the car. “What in the world is this?” said Miranda. Bill whistled along to the musical intro and pointed to his phone which was leaping out of the cup holder in the dashboard.

  “Shall I answer?” said Miranda.

  “Put it on speaker.”

  “Bill, it’s Mariam.” She was breathless; a stream of consciousness erupted down the phone line. “Have you seen the news? I can’t believe it. Who would do this to us? It’s no one’s business but mine and Samuel’s.”

  “Mariam, just slow down, one thing at a time.” For the first time in decades; the news was the last thing on Bill’s mind. He shot Miranda a “what news” look and she punched in the CNN website on her phone and held up the screen for Bill to see.

  “Mariam, I’m just seeing it now. Yikes.”

  “It’s horrible. It really is.”

  “Is that actually you on camera?”

  “Yes.” The panicky edge that had initially gripped Mariam’s voice had dissolved into one of resigned grief.

  “Mariam, it’s a one news cycle story, just ignore it. You can’t–”

  “I can’t ignore it, the fucking footage is everywhere.” The panic was back. Bill cringed at Mariam’s language. He looked over at Miranda, who pretended she hadn’t heard. “I’m in the middle of the Healed camp in Haran. They adore Samuel here. It feels like everyone is staring at me. News is your business, Bill. Tell me what can I do about this?”

  Bill took a moment before answering. “Mariam, let me be straight,” said Bill gently. “Once this stuff’s out there, it’s out there. Nothing you say will make it go away. You simply have to let it blow over. Doing anything else will just keep the story running.”

  Mariam stayed silent, letting Bill’s advice sink in.

  “Let me see if I can call up a buddy at CNN and find out how it broke. Whoever put it up had obvious malicious intent, attacking Samuel through you.”

  “Okay,” said Mariam quietly. “I will be at my mother’s, you have the number. Where are you? The dial tone was different.”

  “I am back in London with my daughter.”

  “I didn’t know you had one. Well, send her mine and Samuel’s love. Speak soon.” With that Mariam clicked off the phone.

  They continued to glide along the road.

  “You know Samuel Srour?” said Miranda.

  “Yep, I broke the story.”

  “What’s he like Dad?”

  “What he can do, you know, his powers they are truly awe inspiring and I believe they could change the world. As a person, he is quiet, thoughtful and pretty normal. I like him a lot.” Bill smiled to himself. “So do you want me to drive you to swimming?”

  Miranda paused for a second. “No thanks, Mum normally takes me. She likes a poolside gossip with the other swimming mums.”

  Bill nodded, fair enough.

  “Dad, can I ask you something else?”

  Bill nodded again.

  “Are you one of the Healed?”

  “Yes,” he answered emphatically. “See, not so dull and uninteresting after all.”

  Miranda smiled. “I never said you were.”

  ***

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 10 days. Information source: Healed camp proposal: Distribution of surplus assets.

  Proposer: Dalia Srour

  Seconder: Rami Hussein

  Proposal: Due to the goodwill of the public and our fellow Healed the camp in Haran has a surplus of resources. We have far more than is required to complete the building of the farm and to support the camp-site. This proposal (“Proposal”) seeks to authorise the use of the extra money, materials and skills on other projects proposed and run by the Healed.

  Each new project would need to be proposed and submitted for approval at the Haran camp. Successful projects will be allocated the required finances, material and skills. Thereafter these individual projects should be self-sustaining with management structures mirroring the direct participation model used by the Haran camp.

  Supporting Comments, Author Rami Hussein: It is important to use what we are achieving here, our unique way of working and living together to help others. Here in Haran, we have more than we need to fulfil the tasks we have set ourselves. We should be channelling the outpouring of goodwill that Samuel is generating to help others in need. Anywhere a Healed stands up to support his or her community we should be there standing shoulder to shoulder to ensure the Healed have the resources to make the changes that are necessary.

  It is also equally important that we build on the principles of mass participation that we have established at the Haran camp and that is why we have included in the Proposal the requirement for new projects to mirror the structure we have here. It is crucial that all key decisions are taken through simple majority voting, there is full participation in decision making and a rotating team leadership to ensure no council or project leader emerges to override the group decision-making process.

  What we have here is a good thing. The Proposal seeks to replicate this where it is needed in other places, in other projects and camps. No longer are we powerless, no longer do we look to distant others for leadership. As individuals we all decide, as a collective we walk our individual paths together.

  Comments Against the Proposal: None submitted.

  Voting Results:

  Approve: 97%

  Reject: 0%

  Amend: 3%

  Conclusion: Proposal approved

  ***

  Timeline: The Pestilence minus 9 days. Information source: Text messages between Victor Pierre Chaput and Stefano
Grigori.

  Victor Pierre Chaput: How did this footage leak? I thought you deleted all copies.

  Stefano Grigori: I did. Impossible that the leak came from Decapolis.

  Victor Pierre Chaput: This is disappointing.

  Stefano Grigori: We are investigating the source of the leak.

  Victor Pierre Chaput: Fine, but keep up your vigilance and concentrate on keeping our miraculous friend safe.

  ***

  VICTOR didn’t know how it first got into his psyche, but he couldn’t get the words of the song out of his head. It was stuck on a continuous loop. He found himself initially humming the tune at breakfast and by lunch it had turned into a full-blown orchestral movement.

  The CEO’s office was, of course, completely sound proofed and contained a mechanism whereby the glass walls would turn opaque at the touch of a button. Victor and the CEO were alone in song and Victor was in full voice:

  “With Friar Tuck and Little John they had a roguish look,

  They did the deed the others wouldn’t dare.

  He captured all the money that the evil sheriff took,

  And rescued many a lady fair.”

  He was almost done with this one. He was a social media tycoon so obviously new money, completely unrefined and slovenly. Victor stood behind the man one hand clamped down on his forehead the other grabbing his dirty ponytail. To Victor’s relief he recalled that Celine had packed his hand sanitiser in his briefcase.

  Since Victor had rescued the near disaster of the meeting with Connor Bradley, he had completely given up on the hard way. Why intentionally make life more difficult for yourself, he thought. The easy way lacked the intellectual challenge but damn it was simple. Victor absolutely belted out the song’s chorus:

  “Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen,

  Robin Hood, Robin Hood with his band of men… “

  For the next few lines Victor closed his eyes and sang in a glorious baritone:

  “Feared by the bad,

  Loved by the good,

  Robin Hood,

  Robin Hood,

  Robin Hood.”

  The song was done. Victor was done. He performed an impromptu little jig and opened his eyes. To his horror he saw the CEO’s personal assistant standing timorously in the doorway. She made hesitant eye contact with him and half turned to leave. Victor had no idea what she had seen or heard, but he was quick to speak.

  “Come, quick, I think he is having some sort of fit, quickly, quickly.” He beckoned her into the office. She naturally hesitated. Her mind hadn’t quite processed what her eyes and ears had witnessed. Victor laced his voice with urgency. “Quickly, he needs you. Come on.” Victor stepped away from the man giving the assistant a clear run to her boss. The CEO slumped forward and his assistant rushed past Victor to tend him. The office door automatically and silently closed behind her.

  The CEO would be out for a few more minutes but the woman tried desperately to rouse him. Victor slipped behind her and grabbed the woman’s hair, forcing her head back and pulling her down to the ground. She had time to scream and flail before Victor clamped his free hand down onto her forehead. Victor concentrated and the woman felt a small electrical discharge similar to a static shock emanating from Victor’s fingers. The song once again started up in Victor’s head.

  To cheating and corruption, he would never, never yield,

  And danger was his breakfast ev’ry day,

  The cobbler in the hamlet and the farmer in the field,

  Were always helping him get away.

  “So we conclude our meeting and I thank you for your time,” said Victor standing across the desk from the CEO, briefcase in hand. “I’m very grateful for your exceedingly generous donation to the Chaput Foundation. You are truly doing God’s work.” Victor turned to the CEO’s assistant, “And thank you also for the delicious tea. Please, I can find my own way out.” The CEO rose and shook hands with Victor. His assistant waited smiling by his side. She turned to retrieve the tea-cups Victor had mentioned but found there weren’t any in the room. She looked up puzzled, but Victor was already half way across the office; he rummaged in his briefcase for his hand sanitiser and started humming the song once more.

  ***

  STEFANO called Dressler but the call went straight to voicemail and he hung up rather than leave a message. He used the hotel telephone to ring her room; again no answer so he slipped on his shoes and went looking for her. He visited the bar and the hotel’s two restaurants. No sign of her. Stefano bit his lip in frustration. If Dressler wasn’t working, sleeping or eating then the only other place she would be was the gym. He reproached himself for his sloppy thinking; he knew Dressler intimately and the gym should have been the first place he tried.

  The hotel gym was a planning afterthought crammed into the basement in between the catering supply rooms and air conditioning maintenance. The three men who were using it were interspacing their routines with furtive glances in Dressler’s direction. She lay on her back in the centre of the gym imperiously bench pressing seventy kilograms with ease. Stefano watched impatiently. She was working pyramids building up the reps; eight, nine, ten then coming down from the peak; ten, nine, eight. With every exertion her skin rippled with the reflection of the muscle underneath. Stefano jumped in on the rest.

  “Have you done the rotas for the next few days?”

  Dressler lay on the bench letting the lactic acid dissipate from her muscles. “Ja.” She didn’t bother turning to face Stefano and lifted the bar for the next set of reps.

  Stefano towered above her, emitting a restrained malevolent energy.

  Dressler stopped mid lift, turning her head towards Stefano. “Right now?” A fierce mixture of incredulity and exasperation in her voice. Dressler slammed the bar into the rest. The bench shook in protest and the sound made every head turn in the gym. Dressler slid off the bench and raised herself to her full height. She was tall and broad, naturally intimidating, dwarfing most men but then most men were not Stefano. His eyes involuntarily raked her body and alighted on the perspiration glistening in the hollow of her throat.

  “I have been waiting for them. I asked for the rotas hours ago.”

  Dressler fixed Stefano with a cold stare. They stood toe to toe. The men in the gym turned away shrinking back from the looming inevitable confrontation. Dressler reached forward and touched Stefano’s arm, her eyes softened. “What’s wrong?” she said gently.

  Stefano sighed and slumped onto the weight bench. Dressler slid in beside him resting one arm on the bar bell. Stefano was acutely aware of her shoulder brushing against his.

  “Zero leads on the church, it’s like they have disappeared from the face of the fucking earth.”

  “They are re-grouping. The stadium and security is difficult for them.”

  Stefano shrugged. “Maybe and now this damn footage. Chaput chewed my ass off because of it. I sent an investigator to the convenience store and the manager swears we took his only copy. I had cyber security perform a sweep of our systems at HQ. It showed that all records of the footage had been removed. I also had them check and confirm that Chaput’s copy was deleted. The only thing they found was a trace of an expired Trojan on my laptop. If the video came out through my machine then whoever did it was top quality.” Stefano puffed out his cheeks. “But I just can’t help thinking if we hadn’t chased down the footage, it wouldn’t have got out.”

  Dressler shook her head. “It would have somehow.”

  “He must know we were the source of the video.”

  “Ja, if he chooses to look at you in that way of his then he will know. But then he will also know that you did not give it out.”

  “He’s not said anything yet. The journalists keep asking him questions about Mariam, but he ignores them. He just gets on with his business.”

  Dressler began to feel her body cool and her muscles start to relax. “Come,” she said tapping Stefano on the knee. “I want to finish.” She got up
and sauntered over to the lat pull down machine on the other side of the gym. His eyes tracked her as she moved. She glanced back, smiled and called out to him, “Hey, stop looking at my ass.”

  Stefano laughed. “Send me those rotas or you’re fired.” He rose and stalked out of the gym.

  ***

  MARIAM was finalising the first draft of her paper. She felt it was finally in good enough shape for her colleagues at the university to provide her with some initial comments and feedback. In particular she needed Shimon’s input. They usually talked most days but hadn’t spoken since the night they were filmed at the convenience store. Mariam wanted to reach out, to check if he was okay and thought perhaps sending him the draft paper would be the initial step.

  Mariam had set up her study in her old bedroom which was on the shady side of her mother’s house. She always remembered feeling cold in this room, always feeling cold in this house. Her father’s death had drawn a cloud over this place. A silver-framed picture of her and her father rested on her desk. Mariam was standing in front coming up only to his knees; she couldn’t have been any more than three years old. He was dignified and handsome, confidently waving to her mother behind the camera. She drew her shawl tighter around her for protection from the cold and her memories.

  Mariam heard her mother pottering downstairs in the kitchen and now the bark of her new friend coaxed her attention from the laptop and out of the window overlooking the cluster of houses. The dirt road was lined with cars and news trucks. The journalists and news crews stood respectfully on the threshold of her mother’s house. To preserve her peace and that of her mother, the doorbell had long since been disconnected and one of the families in the Healed camp had lent Mariam their pet Canaan. Native to the Holy Land, this ancient breed of scavenging dog was square in stature with highly erect forequarters, a noble neck and a gorgeous tail which curved over her back. She was naturally wary of strangers which made her a particularly effective guard dog. Mariam had tied her up in the front of the house and her presence was sufficient to keep the global news media off her mother’s porch.