The Messiah Conspiracy - A gripping page-turning Medical Thriller - [Omnibus Edition containing Book 1 & Book 2]

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  “Sounds plausible.”

  “It is plausible. And it's up to us to make it sound plausible...Except that I think the real reason the hit man was sent to kill us all was because of the Haissem project. The Americans will have their own Haissem project by now, and I bet you that Mike was ordered to kill us all, to wipe out the competition, and to stop us from cloning Christ before they do.”

  “Oh no…Jason!” Don suddenly realised that if that was the case, Jason would be the prime target, and that he hadn't turned up at the lab yet!

  “Jason?...Shit, ...your right...you right!....Drop everything. Get round to his place immediately. Leave now...and if he’s not there, check the hospitals!”

  .

  ---------------------

  11.00am

  .

  Don parked his car about a hundred yards up the road from Jason’s house. He was getting increasingly worried about Jason. He hadn’t answered his phone, and Don had been calling him constantly for the past twenty minutes. Jason’s telephone 'Follow Me' service said that only his home phone was enabled, and that his mobile phone was switched off. That was unusual for Jason. He never switched his phone off, but always diverted it to the nearest phone wherever he was, or to his personal voice answering service if he was busy working in the lab. Something was up. Something serious.

  He stood for ten minutes outside the entrance to his house, ringing the doorbell and waiting for an answer. He looked through the post box a few times and was alarmed to see that the morning’s mail was still on the floor, and that the morning’s milk was still on the doorstep.

  Getting no answer from the front of the house, Don decided that he would have to let himself in. He walked round the back of the house, walked up the lane that ran parallel with the main street in between the rows of houses, and climbed the gate into Jason’s garden. Don had been round to Jason’s house thousands of times before, and he knew where he hid the spare key for the back door. Thankfully it was still there, and as he let himself into the house a feeling of dread overcame him. The house was deathly still, except for the sound of the cistern running continuously. He called Jason’s name as he entered the kitchen at the back of the house, and made his way into the hall.

  “Jason…are you there? It’s me! Don! Are you ok? Are you here?”

  There was no one in the front room. Or in the bathroom at the top of the stairs.

  “Jason...?”

  He pushed open the door to the backroom at the top of the stairs and peered inside. There was no one there.

  “He must be still be asleep in his bedroom, sleeping off his hangover,” Don thought to himself.

  “Jason, it’s me...I’m coming in...”

  Don walked quietly towards the bedroom, not wanting to wake Jason too quickly and frighten him if he was still asleep. He pushed the door gently open and stepped inside.

  For a few seconds Don stood in the doorway staring down at Jason’s body on the bed, before he was overcome with nausea and he ran to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet.

  Don cowered on the bathroom floor, shaking and more scared than he had ever been in his life before. It took all his resolve to slowly stand up and walk through to the bedroom and stand beside Jason. Don had only ever seen one dead body before, and that had been in a hospital. He fought back the bile in the back of his throat and pulled the bed cover over Jason’s inert body, covering his lifeless face and the massive holes in the side of his chest. Suddenly Don felt weak. He had to sit down again. Slowly, and very unsteady on his feet, Don found his way downstairs to the sofa in the front room, where he sat down and tried to clear his mind. In truth, Don hadn’t got the faintest idea what to do. He was shaken, shocked, and very sad. Only now did it begin to hit him that he had lost his best friend...Jason was dead.

  “Why God...Why?” Don asked aloud. “If it wasn’t for him...”

  How long Don sat there alone he didn’t know. Time just seemed to stand still, and Don was lost in his own thoughts.

  There was a loud click, and the sound of the front door of the house opening. Only slowly did Don become aware of another presence in the room, and when eventually he raised his head and looked up at the stranger, it was with unseeing eyes that he saw Patrick, the MI5 agent, standing before him.

  "What's going on? Where's Jason?" The MI5 agent asked, panting hard as if he had been running.

  Don responded quietly to the question, not noticing the dull black gun in the agent's hand, or wondering if perhaps it could have been the MI5 agent who had killed Jason.

  "He's upstairs…in his bedroom...he's dead."

  A second agent came into the room behind Patrick, standing quietly beside Don as Patrick ran up the stairs into Jason's bedroom. A few minutes later Patrick returned, speaking loudly into the mobile phone sewn into the lapel of his jacket.

  Dimly Don realised that the second agent had left the room, and that Patrick had sat down beside him on the couch.

  "Don…", Patrick spoke, genuine sympathy almost showing in his voice, " I'm sorry. We got here too late. We picked up the transmissions from the police at Louisa's house and realised that something was badly wrong, probably an American assassination squad. We guessed that you and Jason and the Professor would also be targets and we got here as soon as we could…but too late to help Jason. I'm sorry."

  Don was in shock now, and spoke without realising what he was saying.

  "Why Jason? It's not fair...the whole Haissem project was his idea…it was his idea to clone Jesus Christ! Why did God let him die? Why him?"

  Patrick didn't reply. He wanted to let Don speak. This was his chance to get some useful information. Don stood up and stamped over to the window, turning abruptly to shout at the MI5 agent.

  "So where the hell were you guys? Some guardian angel you turned out to be!"

  "Don..."Patrick tried to speak, but already Don's anger had moved on.

  "...Why did God let him die? I thought we were all on his side…carrying out his divine work? So why didn't God protect us and let the good guys live and the bad guys die?"

  Don stared at the MI5 agent for a while, a mixture of sadness, anger and confusion showing in his eyes, then without warning he crossed the room and pushed past the other agent guarding the doorway and ran out into the street outside. For a second Patrick thought about following him, to see that he was okay, but instead he decided to search the house and see if there was any useful information they could pick up before the police arrived. They would only have a few minutes. He would start with Jason's study.

  .

  Chapter Sixty Seven

  The White House, Washington D.C.

  Monday 19th Dec 2.30 p.m.

  .

  The news was not good. The President was in a foul mood, and by the time Tim reached the Oval Office, two people had already been sent out, their careers in tatters. Tim smiled at the President’s Personal Secretary, and she ushered him straight in.

  “Good luck, Mr Curts…you’ll need it.”

  The President was pacing the office in front of his desk. A pile of empty coffee cups littered the table, and the room was full of cigar smoke. His face was red with rage.

  “Tim…what the hell’s going on? All hell’s broken loose. That was the bloody British Prime Minister on the phone, demanding an immediate international apology and reparations. And, they want us to free three of their agents we have in jail and drop the death penalty on five UK citizens on death row. Otherwise, they're going to take it before the UN Security Council, and ask for international sanctions. Hell’s teeth, we’re in the shit! What the fuck went wrong?”

  The last time Tim had been in his office he had been offered the best reserve whisky and a comfortable chair. This time the President was after his blood, and all because he had insisted on going against the advice Tim had given him.

  “If you may recall, Mr President, I did advise you against trying to assassinate the Oxford team. But on your insistence we carried out your orders a
s instructed.”

  Tim hesitated a second, waiting for the President’s wrath to descend upon him. For a second the President looked slightly embarrassed and said nothing.

  “As you know the situation does not look good. The agent we sent in to complete the job killed the leading member of the Haissem team, Jason Dyke, then, while trying to assassinate a second member of the team, ended up in a gun battle with our agent who was permanently stationed in Oxford. We knew that the Oxford agent claimed he had fallen in love with his deep contact in the Haissem team, but no one could have anticipated that he would be prepared to die for her…”

  “... Unfortunately, the police in England recovered the briefing document that our assassin had been issued from the embassy, and it contained documents on all the Haissem team, and our Oxford agent. Thankfully there was nothing there to link him directly with America or us, and it’s only the word of the Haissem team against ours. They say that Louisa, our Oxford agent’s contact in the Haissem team, had been warned by our Oxford agent that her life was in danger. They knew he was a American agent and have told the police that because they knew who our Oxford agent really was, that we had sent in an assassin to kill the whole team. For some reason they have made no mention of the Haissem project, or of the fact that we have the Crown of Thorns. They’re keeping that completely quiet.”

  “Good. We don’t want that to get out.” the President nodded, relieved that there was at least one piece of good news.

  “Sir, the fact is that we can completely deny their allegations. Unless the British can prove that our assassin was one of our agents, or that our Oxford agent actually worked for us, then as far as we’re concerned we’re in the clear and the whole thing had nothing to do with us...”

  “… Although we can’t admit that we know that files of the whole Haissem team were found in the assassin’s hotel room, we could argue that the whole incident seems to be either a feud between rival lovers, or that the assassin belonged to a militant ante-genetics movement, of which several are known to have made death threats to leading geneticists. Only last year, our best Geneticist was blown up in a car bomb in New York…and the Coalition for the Natural Way claimed responsibility. I was thinking that perhaps we could agree to co-operate with the British in hunting down the ‘terrible people’ who were behind this, and then create a false identity for the assassin, proving links between him and the Coalition for the Natural Way…”

  “... Shift the blame on to them, and get international backing to track them down and bring them to justice. We also then stress that we want to work more closely with the British, and we want to take this opportunity of international misunderstanding to improve our relationship. We start by making a gesture of goodwill by freeing some of their people, and inviting the UK Prime Minister to America for a summit on improving trade between our two countries. If we approach this whole thing positively, we could turn it round to our advantage!” Tim concluded.

  The President stared at Tim, amazed at how in a few minutes Tim was able to come up with a solution which may be workable. The rage visibly disappeared from his face, and normal colour began to return to his cheeks.

  “Fantastic Tim. We’ll go with that for now. I want to call the Prime Minister back before he drinks too much English beer this evening and gets even more unreasonable!”

  “If you have a moment, Sir, there are a few other points that I think we should discuss...”

  “Certainly. Take a seat.” Things had become more relaxed.

  “The fact that the Oxford team have not mentioned the Haissem project is a little bit worrying. It either means that they have abandoned it, have completed it, or are keeping it completely under wraps. Or they’re struggling. We have no information either way. As you know, we’ve been unable to pick up any information at all concerning the project via electronic surveillance. We are still operating blind in that respect.”

  “So, what’s your point?”

  “My point is sir, that I think we should bring our version of the Haissem project forward. I talked to Vale earlier today, and they are in fact all ready to proceed to the next stage. If you were to agree, we could proceed immediately.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means that we have to get Clara out to Vale as soon as possible...tomorrow, if she can manage it. We also need your final approval for the process to go ahead. I would suggest you make arrangements to visit Vale with myself and Clara tomorrow. Oh, by the way, I am able to report to you that the list of names ‘for the wedding’ that you provided me with have all ‘received their invitations’.” Tim was careful not to mention directly that all the people on the list had been killed. For obvious reasons it was standard policy not to mention any incriminating evidence in the President’s office, unless a full surveillance sweep had been conducted. Tim, as Security Advisor, was only too aware of this. The President nodded his understanding of the hidden meaning behind what Tim was telling him.

  “Good job. Well done, and talking of weddings, have you fixed a wedding date for me yet?”

  “Of course, if we move the schedule up, it alters our previous plans, but why not get married just after Christmas, say the 29th or 30th of December and honeymoon in the Caribbean?”

  “I’ll discuss it with Clara, and see what she says…but I like the sound of it! Have you arranged a new identity for Clara?”

  “It’s all taken care of sir. If you wish, Clara could fly out to Vale tomorrow, and come back with a new identity. We just need you to approve it. I’ll drop by your office later and give you a full update on her new identity.”

  “Is there anything else, Tim?”

  “One more thing. Yesterday I sent you over a copy of the press release that the Vatican issued on the ‘False Comet’…did you get a chance to read it yet?”

  “No…not yet…”

  “Pope Peter did as was requested. This time. He only agreed to issue the Press Release and support it in exchange for the file we had on him...the one with the original photographs of him and his ‘boyfriend’ at Oxford. I refused, then we negotiated and in the end we settled for half the file and half the photographs. We’ll get one more favour out of him in the future, and he’ll get the rest then. Then he’ll be a free man. In future I don’t think it will be so easy to persuade him to do anything for us. Now he’s Pope, Cardinal Laurentin has more power than before and he knows it! We have to realise that in a way, the Catholic Church has more influence than America...and apart from not having an army and weapons of mass destruction, they are actually more powerful than us...”

  “A mute point if ever I heard one, Tim. Where are you going on this one?”

  “Basically just that we’re ready to send the old space shuttle into orbit and make the big firework display over America that you want. We’re just waiting for your say so...”

  “So when do you advise?.”

  “Why not Christmas Eve?”

  “Isn’t that a bit tacky?”

  “On the contrary. Doing it this way the people can follow the nativity star of Christmas all over again. It adds that personal touch, and gives the media something more to come to grips with and build a story around...”

  By the end of the that day arrangements had been made with Clara and the team in Vale. The next day Air Force One would fly into Vale, and Mr and Mrs President would go to see the doctor for their fertility treatment.

  .

  Chapter Sixty Eight

  Vale, Colorado, America

  Tuesday 20th Dec 3.00 p.m.

  .

  The work in Vale had gone well. Very well. Although they had promised not to proceed without permission from Tim, in actual fact they had already experimented with genetic material extracted from the new blood type which they believed belonged to Jesus Christ.

  They had also constructed the apparatus which would allow them to irradiate the egg-cell with neutrons, as they simultaneously inserted the new artificial nucleus into it.

  Having
built the equipment, the problem they now faced was that they didn’t really know what level of radiation was necessary to cause the effect they were after.

  To make the membrane tougher so that it would prevent the premature expulsion of the donated nucleus, subsequent experimentation had shown that they had to use higher levels of radiation than previously anticipated. However, they now believed that they had found the minimum level of radiation which would achieve their goal.

  On the last run the nucleus had not been expelled from the egg cell, and had continued to give off the 'Angel Light', although instead of glowing with a soft rainbow-spectrum of light, the light had turned to a deep shade of red. Whether or not the shift in colour in the 'Angel Light' was significant, they could not tell, mainly because they did not understand what caused it in the first place.

  The cell used in the last experiment had not multiplied, because they had been careful not to provide the nutrients necessary to maintain its survival, and they had not applied the electronic pulse which was often necessary to start the process of cell-division.

  As agreed, they had chosen to wait until the President and his Fiancée were there before repeating the final experiment in optimal conditions.

  .

  ---------------------

  .

  Colonel Smart greeted them when they stepped off the transport shuttle from the airport. He had assembled an honour guard for the President, which the President inspected with great pride. He had a special place in his heart for the Military Council Protection Elite, and he took a mental note that at his forthcoming wedding he should be escorted into the church by a troop of MCPE soldiers. It would look great.

  They were escorted down to the executive suites and shown to their apartments. As soon as they stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor another four MCPE soldiers clicked their heels to attention and saluted him. The President returned the salute and asked Tim and the Colonel to join him in his suite for a quick drink.