the Miracle Strain (aka The Messiah Code) (1997)

by Cordy, Michael

  "Some dream," said Tom.

  Holly shifted her head and looked up at him. "So how did you make me better?" she asked quietly, her intelligent eyes looking into his.

  He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy to explain. He still wasn't exactly sure how it had happened himself.

  He said, "I made you better with a special medicine."

  "What kind of medicine?"

  "A medicine so special that it doesn't work on the person who's sick. I had to take it instead, so I could make you better."

  "You had to take medicine to make me better?"

  Tom nodded. He remembered his revelation during the operation, the connection he'd made at the point of crisis: why mice injected with the serum had been cured when kept in cages of two or three, whereas injected individual mice had not. The flash of insight had inspired him to inject himself with the Nazareth genes when he realized that the mice had made each other well; that the Nazareth genes didn't work on the host--but through the host.

  "You see, Holly, the medicine only works by giving a person the power to help someone else. You can't use it to make yourself well--only others."

  Holly thought about this for a while, then gave a matter-offact nod. "I get it," she said, standing up next to the bed, apparently unfazed by what he'd just told her.

  "You do?"

  She shrugged diffidently as if she were discussing a movie. "Yeah, I guess it's kind of like a cool software program that doesn't affect the computer it's installed on--but can do awesome things on other ones it's connected to."

  Tom gave a nod and said, "Yeah, it's sort of like that."

  "Sounds simple," said Holly as she walked out of his bedroom toward her bathroom. Then just as she was going out the door she casually asked, "So why didn't you use this medicine before?"

  Tom groaned and threw his pillow at her. "Because, smartass, it wasn't that easy."

  Outside, the two policemen watching over the house sat slumped in their squad car. It had been another long, boring night and both were looking at their watches. Their relief should be along in half an hour. On and off they had both been staking out the house for the last six months, ever since Mrs. Carter's funeral in December. In all that time nothing had happened, and although neither ever said it, both thought their presence was more to reassure Dr. Carter than to really keep him safe.

  Bill, the taller cop, was rubbing his eyes as he tried to convince his partner.

  "Lou, it's no contest, Ali was the best. Easy."

  Lou shrugged and took another bite of his pastrami on rye. "Best talker, sure. But boxer, no way. Tyson at his peak would have creamed him."

  A laugh. "Tyson? Tyson wouldn't have even got close. Ali would have danced all around him."

  The two cops from the Boston Police Department paid little heed to the broad figure in the Boston Red Sox baseball cap, now walking up the drive to the Carter home. It wasn't unusual for Ted to tend the garden so early on a Saturday.

  "We're not talking dancing here," scoffed Lou. "We're talking boxing. For a faggy pirouette Ali might be the man. But in a fight Tyson would have killed him."

  Both cops were so involved in their discussion that if either man noticed that Ted walked a little taller and straighter than usual, they didn't mention it.

  Jasmine Washington put down her coffee cup in the conservatory and frowned at Tom across the breakfast debris.

  She asked, "So the genes release chemicals that can be passed on by touch? But the chemicals don't work on the host?"

  Tom shrugged. "It seems that way."

  Jasmine shook her head and watched Holly excuse herself from the table. As Holly passed her the little girl raised her right hand in a high five and Jasmine slapped it.

  "Way to go, Holly."

  "You're sure she's completely okay?" Jasmine asked Tom again, watching the young girl leave.

  "She's fine. According to all the tests she's never been better."

  "And all because of the Nazareth genes," she said. Just because you touched her, she thought.

  Tom reached across the table to pour them both more coffee. As he did so Jasmine caught herself staring at his hand---one ofthe hands that had brought Holly back to life. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. If she had found it difficult to accept that the killer, Maria, had been born with Christ's healing genes, then she found it equally confusing that Tom Carter now possessed them. What was evident, though, was that these genes didn't define or determine who the Messiah was, or even whether the possessor was good. The Nazareth genes were simply a rare God-given talent that stretched the Christian tenet of free will to the ultimate. Just because you were blessed with the power to do amazing good, you didn't have to use it. Like Maria Benariac, you could still choose to kill, rather than save. Jasmine had to smile at the irony of Tom Carter, an atheist, unlocking their benign power, using his science to cheat the lottery of nature and possess the genes himself.

  "So what do you think the mysterious third gene does?" she asked, sipping her coffee.

  "I'm not sure." Tom paused, collecting his thoughts. "But guessing from DAN's early findings, naz 3 is a control gene that activates and modifies the other two Nazareth genes. And from the data I think the gene interacts with a host of other genes too. It seems to perform as many as three key functions." Tom put down the coffee flask and began to count on his fingers. "The first is a trigger function--probably linking up with genes that control emotion and thought, so the host can decide when the Nazareth genes should or shouldn't kick in. The second function is that of a control---activating and customizing the naz 1 and naz 2 genes, which repair and regulate DNA respectively, so they give the most benefit to the recipient's damaged cells. The third function is as a vehicle---delivering the optimized genetic instruction from the host to the recipient and then spreading that benefit throughout their body. My guess is that it's a pheromone-type agent that's secreted through the skin--transmitting the healing program through touch."

  "But you don't know exactly how they work yet?"

  "Nope. And we probably won't understand precisely how the genes function for years. But I do know the host has got to want it to happen and believe it can happen at either a conscious or emotional level."

  Jasmine smiled and drank her coffee. "Sounds a lot like good ol' fashioned faith to me. A real gift from God."

  Tom shrugged at that. "Perhaps you're right. And as gifts go it's got to be the ultimate one. It's the only one I know that has to be given away to be enjoyed."

  Jasmine raised her cup in a "cheers" gesture. "Well, it is more blessed to give than receive."

  Tom laughed. "I couldn't have put it better myself."

  Holly walked back into the room, holding a copy of the BostonGlobe. "Paper's come," she said, dropping it on the table between them, before walking over to the garden door.

  "Aren't your friends here yet?" asked Tom, idly picking up the newspaper. He glanced at the front page, his eyes skimming the news.

  "About half an hour," said Holly, opening the door. "I'm going to wait in the garden." She looked outside and shrugged her small shoulders. "I didn't know Ted was here this weekend. I thought he was going to Martha's Vineyard with Marcy."

  "Okay, Hol," Tom mumbled as his daughter walked out into the garden. But Jasmine could see he was barely listening, his face frowning at whatever was in the paper. Suddenly his face turned pale. "Shit!"

  "What? What is it, Tom?"

  Tom Carter felt something cold uncoil in his stomach as he read the type before his eyes. The main story was about the President's trade visit to China, but beneath it with the title " Latest News" was the headline HUNT THE PREACHER and two pictures--one showed a profile of Maria Benariac taken shortly after she was sentenced; the other was the official photograph of witnesses to her execution. He could just make out Ezekiel De La Croix, but that wasn't what surprised him or filled him with dread.

  The article stated that although Maria had been executed and certified dead, her body ha
d disappeared from the morgue. And when he read about the method of execution--lethal injection--his unease deepened.

  What was that story Mother Clemenza had told him about in Corsica?

  Maria neutralized the poison in the bee stings. Isn't that what the former nun had said? Neutralized the poison.

  He remembered how shocked Maria had been when he'd told her how the genes worked.

  Shit, she was planning on being resurrected.

  "What is it, Tom?" Jasmine asked again, leaning forward.

  He passed her the paper. "The witch has apparently got on her broomstick and flown away."

  Jasmine read the article openmouthed. "What does this mean?"

  "Don't you see? She planned on being executed by lethal injection---poison. Then using her genetic ability to neutralize the poison in her body, and bring herself back. She knew she could neutralize poison; she'd done it once before on someone else."

  "I don't believe it. Anyway it wouldn't work on herself--would it? And who did she expect to help her get out?"

  "I don't know," said Tom, turning to look out the conservatory. Holly was bending over the rose bed, smelling the flowers. Beyond her he could see Ted walk across the lawn to the shed at the bottom of the garden. He wore his Boston Red Sox cap but something about his gait was different. He wasn't stooping as he usually did. He looked taller too. Tom watched him open the shed door and step inside.

  What had Holly said?--"I didn't know Ted was here thisweekend. I thought he was going to Martha's Vineyard withMarcy."

  He was.

  A sudden coldness rushed through him, more rage than fear. Tom reached across the table and grabbed Jasmine by the arm. She looked up from the newspaper, surprised.

  "Jazz, don't ask any questions," he said. "Just go out the front door and get the police watching over the house. Tell them Holly and I are in danger. Do it now!"

  "Why? What--?"

  "That's not Ted out there. Just go!"

  Holly was now ten yards from the house, walking toward the shed. A spade rested against the side by the door.

  Tom didn't dare call out to her, in case it alerted whoever was inside. Instead he rushed out of the conservatory and raced across the lawn toward her. She was close to the shed now.

  Tom ran as fast as he could, ignoring his injured leg.

  The shed door began to open toward him. Tom was ten feet away, six feet from Holly. A hand holding a gun reached from behind the door.

  "Holly!" he screamed. "Get back!"

  Holly turned frightened, puzzled eyes toward him. Good, if she was scared she'd run faster.

  "Go back into the house!" he shouted. "Run! Run as fast as you can!"

  As she ran past him, Tom threw all his weight against the shed door. He heard the crunching of bone as the door crushed the man's arm, forcing him to drop his gun. Frantically Tom reached for the spade resting against the shed, jumped around the door, and hit out as hard as he could. As he fell the man tried to roll away and reach for the fallen gun, but Tom rained blows down on his body, forcing him to shield himself with his arms. Tom kept hitting him and hitting him. Only when the man lay still did Tom finally stop, panting from adrenaline and exertion. Now that he was calmer he recognized the man from the Tel Aviv Airport and his helicopter trip to meet the Brotherhood. What was Gomorrah doing here?

  Shaking, Tom threw the spade to the ground and reached for the gun. Why was this man who worked for Ezekiel De La Croix's Brotherhood here with a gun?

  Then he saw the scar on the man's forearm. The same crossshaped scar he had seen on Maria Benariac's forearm. Finally he understood. Tom's spent rage returned when he remembered Karen Tanner's words, "We may never know who was behindthe Preacher."

  Maria had been a member of the Brotherhood all the time. Ezekiel's Brotherhood was responsible for killing Olivia and trying to stop Cana--after they had got what they wanted from him. He realized now that Holly and he would never be safe so long as the Brotherhood continued to exist.

  "Tom, are you okay?" shouted Jasmine, running up behind him. She was flanked by two cops.

  Too angry to speak he gave an abrupt nod as he walked past her toward the house and Holly. He remembered the tracker Jack had made him swallow on his first visit to the Brotherhood's cave. He now knew who had moved Maria's body from the penitentiary and where they had taken her.

  "Tom," said Jasmine. "Where are you going?"

  He didn't turn back when he eventually spoke: "To finish this."

  Chapter Thirty-One.

  Cave of the Sacred Light

  Southern Jordan

  And on the third day the Inner Circle knelt in ceremonial robes before the Sacred Flame--which now burned stronger and whiter than ever. Ahead of him Ezekiel De La Croix could see the open door leading to the Vault of Remembrance. On the altar before it lay the New Messiah. Maria Benariac's corpse was wrapped in a white shroud with only her pale face showing. The pungent oils, herbs, and spices that anointed her body vied with the cavern's usual aroma of incense and burnt wax.

  Ezekiel felt exhausted but exhilarated. Gomorrah should have dispatched Carter and Washington by now, so he could concentrate on Maria. He hadn't slept more than a few minutes since the day she died, and could barely keep his eyes open. He desperately wanted to rest, but couldn't risk missing the moment when Maria awoke. When that happened and she passed her hand through the flame, his part in fulfilling the prophecy would be over, and he could rest for an eternity.

  The plan had worked better than he'd hoped. Brother Bernard had arranged for the guards to be paid off with relative ease. After all, where was the harm in keeping silent and turning a blind eye when a dead prisoner was taken from the prison? It wasn't as if she was actually escaping.

  By all accounts the body had been spirited away so quickly that rumors were already circulating in the prison that Maria Benariac had risen from the dead and walked out. If only they knew, thought Ezekiel with a tired smile.

  Brother Olazabal's brethren in the New World had arranged the ambulance from the prison, and the plane to fly the body from the private hangar at Logan Airport. Brother Haddad and his Brothers in the Holy Lands had arranged for the necessary papers to bring the "deceased son" of one of the Brethren "home" for burial on Jordanian soil.

  On arrival in Amman the body had been transported to Asbaa el-Lah by the Brotherhood's helicopter. Once she was safely ensconced in the Cave of the Sacred Light, Brother Helix had prepared the ritual oils, herbs, and spices with which they had anointed her body. Finally, almost a whole day after the execution, Bernard and Luciano had taken the ritual shroud from the Vault of Remembrance and wrapped her body from head to toe, leaving only the New Messiah's face exposed.

  Now there was no more to do. Except to watch and pray.

  The third day had already arrived and they still waited.

  Ezekiel shifted his weight on the prayer mat, stifling a groan when the movement reawakened the ache in his numbed muscles. He glanced at the others keeping the silent vigil alongside him, checking their faces for any signs of fatigue, trying to gauge their commitment to this endeavor. All knelt, motionless, their heads bowed as if in deep prayer. All except Brother Bernard. Since Ezekiel had explained how Maria had cured his ulcer even the skeptical Bernard seemed to believe. But from the furtive looks the stout Brother was casting at Maria's inert body Ezekiel could tell his doubts were returning.

  Bernard suddenly turned and caught his eye. "Leader De La Croix, how long must we wait?" he hissed, fracturing the quiet of the cave.

  "She didn't say. She only said that we should be patient and have faith."

  "It's been almost three days,"

  "It took as long before," chided Helix from Ezekiel's right.

  Now all the Brothers looked up.

  "But..." started Bernard, scratching his goatee. "What if...?"

  Ezekiel cut him off, guessing the fear he was going to express. "She will. Have faith!" He shrugged off the icy fingers of doubt that threatene
d to walk down his own spine. He couldn't even countenance the possibility that Maria wouldn't return. He had stood by and watched the New Messiah die---let her be executed without doing anything to intervene. Maria had to come back. She'd promised him she would. Any other outcome at this stage was unthinkable.

  "All I'm saying, my Leader," wheedled Bernard, "is that perhaps we should consider a fallback--"

  Ezekiel turned his black eyes on the Brother's round face and fixed him with his most baleful stare. "Have faith, Brother Bernard! She will return!"

  "According to the coordinates we must be here," shouted Karen Tanner above the noise of the helicopter's rotors, pointing to the map on her lap.

  Tom Carter felt a rush of nervous exhilaration as he looked through the glass at the five pillars of rock marooned in the desert below. On the sand near the tallest rock, a helicopter and two vehicles were visible. In the air to his right he could see three helicopters crammed with a joint task force of Delta Force, FBI, and Royal Jordanian Army personnel.

  "Won't they know we're here?" Tom asked.

  Karen adjusted her shades and gave a grim smile. "Oh, they'll know we're here soon enough. But they won't have enough time to do anything about it."

  Tom believed her. It impressed him how quickly Karen Tanner had acted after he'd told her about Gomorrah and the Brotherhood. The FBI had easily pinpointed the location of the cave once Jack Nichols's anonymous friend had given them the tracker coordinates from Tom's first visit here. Then, after a few hurried phone calls from the Director of the FBI and the U. S. State Department to the Jor danian authorities, the Task Force had been dispatched within hours. Karen had tried to leave Tom behind, but nothing was going to stop him from seeing this through to the end. And, as he'd told her, he was the only person outside the Brotherhood who had ever been to the place before.