A Sacred Storm (43 page)

“So then,” she said. “Any idea what's been happening outside in the town? Or can't you tell me?”

“I can tell you,” he said. “I can sum it up in two words – ‘fucking nightmare'.”

“That bad is it?”

“Yeah, it is. It's unreal. I've been out on patrol all night, and I can tell you it's not pretty. I did a tour of Afghanistan a couple of years back and I felt safer there than I do here. There's just gangs, gangs, and more fucking gangs – excuse my French. There's no reason for them, they're just out there looking for trouble. As soon as they see anyone in authority they start to attack.”

“But surely they haven't got guns? Not in a town like this.”

“You'd be surprised. But it's not their firepower it's their numbers. And we're under strict orders not to shoot anyone unless it's absolutely necessary. It's all about containment at the moment. We've let off a few warning rounds, but it doesn't seem to stop them. Just makes them keener to have a go. The problem is we're spread too thin. It's happening all over the country and we don't have enough men to cover it. We're getting sent out in pairs to control gangs of a hundred or more, it's fucking ridiculous. I never thought I'd see the day where Britain came to this.”

“I guess it's happening all over the world,” said Jenna.

“I think it is,” he agreed. “But I'm just saying that I never expected to be doing this here, in the country I love. What the fuck has happened to people? It's like they've been infected with anger.”

“Religion happened,” said Jenna. “But that was just a catalyst I guess. It's not all about that any more. It's about everything – race, poverty, jealousy, fear – this country's been simmering with rage for years. And now the dam's burst it's all come flooding out. The forgotten people have suddenly found a purpose.”

The soldier shrugged. “I don't know anything about that, but I do know that it's fucking scary. The fact that it's your own people makes it worse. It's difficult having to turn on the guys you've spent years defending.”

Jenna finished her cigarette and asked the soldier if there was any food available. He pointed her towards a tent on the other side of the one she had slept in. She wished him good luck and went to find something for herself and Tariq to eat.

Stratton woke in a sweat. He could feel the fever running through his body. He leapt from the bed and threw himself into the bathroom, just making it to the toilet bowl before he began throwing up. He knelt there for a good five minutes, convulsing hard with his eyes watering, until he finally felt the last drops leave his stomach. After flushing away the vomit and rinsing out his mouth, he went back and sat against the bed with his head bowed. He remained static until Stella appeared over half an hour later.

“Are you alright?” she asked, walking into the room and finding him half-naked and bent double.

“Not really,” he said, glancing up. “But I suppose it could be worse.”

“You look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you need a hand getting up?”

“No, I'll be fine.” He pulled himself up and sat on the bed and grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the cabinet. “You're up a bit early aren't you?” he said.

“Not really,” said Stella. “It's about 8am GMT. I'd say you were up a bit late.”

“I suppose so. I've lost all track of time to be honest.” He opened the bottle and took some water on board.

Stella sat down at the desk. “I take it you haven't watched any news reports this morning then?”

Stratton shook his head. “No, but the way I'm feeling it's obviously not good.”

“You're right there. Europe's turned into a battle zone and the Middle East is waging a holy war on America and the West.”

“What's happening back home? Have they got that under control yet?”

“No, it's getting worse. The whole of the UK's under martial law.”

“It doesn't surprise me,” said Stratton. “It was only a matter of time before everything exploded.”

“It's ridiculous,” said Stella. “Why can't people see what's happening, and where it's all headed? Why can't they just say ‘enough's enough'.”

“Because it's not that easy now. They're right in the middle of it all. Violence and hatred are like a chain reaction. It's easy enough for us here on board the submarine, we're not being constantly exposed to it. We can sit here and look at everything dispassionately. Out there on the streets it's all about survival – and people will do almost anything to survive. Their lives are being threatened and the only way to deal with that for the majority of people is to fight back. It's just human instinct. I'm not sure if there is any way back now.”

“So we just give up?! Is that it?”

“No, we don't give up,” he said. “We never give up.” He put down his water and lay on the bed and closed his eyes. “I'm just tired. Very, very tired.”

He drifted off and said no more.

Ayres woke refreshed. He ordered his breakfast and showered and then phoned his wife to see how she and the children were holding up. He knew that it must be a strain for them without him around, but he knew that his wife at least understood the importance of what he was doing, even though she had no idea of the whole story. He allayed her fears about the state of the country and assured her that everything was under control. Then, after a brief but happy talk with his kids, he hung up and started to plan the day ahead.

Breakfast arrived at 8am sharp and consisted of pancakes and bacon and eggs. He ate with a good appetite and then settled down with a cup of strong black coffee. Two minutes later Vittori came to join him.

“Good morning, Fabio. I hope you feel suitably revitalized.”

“I do not feel too bad, but I am still trying to adjust to the time.”

“Sit down,” said Ayres. “I'll pour you a coffee. Will you want some brandy in it? Or is it too early?”

“It is never too early,” said Vittori. “And besides, I am still on Italian time.”

Ayres made Vittori's drink and set it down on the table in front of him. “Have you spoken to Christiano this morning?” he asked.

“I have, but only briefly. I have asked him to come and see us as soon as he has breakfasted.”

“Good,” said Ayres. “How was he? Did he seem any different?”

Vittori paused for a moment. “Perhaps a little. But it is difficult to tell with him, as he has changed so much already. He makes great leaps every day.”

Ayres nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he does.”

Twenty minutes later Christiano arrived at Ayres' suite. He looked fresh and ready and certainly none the worse for his ordeal. In fact, Ayres thought, he appeared more relaxed and confident than ever. He waved away Ayres' offer of a coffee and instead took a bottle of mineral water. He sat down at the table opposite his two mentors.

“You look very well this morning,” said Ayres. “You must have had a good sleep.”

“Yes, I did,” said Christiano vaguely, staring out of the window.

“I thought you might have been a little shaken by yesterday's unpleasantness.”

“Not really. I expected something to happen at some point.”

“Maybe,” said Ayres. “But I feel awful after all the promises I made to you about how good the security was.”

“If someone is determined enough they can get in anywhere,” said Christiano. “And anyway, it does not matter now. Security is no longer a relevant issue – I cannot be harmed.”

“All the same,” said Ayres. “I don't think it would be wise to invite people to have a shot at you.”

Christiano shrugged nonchalantly and sipped his water. “So,” he said. “What can I do for you this morning? Why did you want to see me?”

“We just wanted to check that you were alright really,” said Ayres. “The cardinal and I were worried that it might have been all a bit much for you to take in, but I can see that we had no cause for concern. We also wanted to go through your speech for this afternoon in Washington.”

“I am not sure if I wish to go to Washington today.”

“But you have to,” said Ayres. “The President is expecting you. The whole country is expecting you.”

“Maybe they are, but I am sure they can wait.”

Ayres glanced at Vittori for help.

“Come, Christiano,” said the cardinal. “This is all arranged. You cannot let the people down. They might begin to lose faith in you.”

“They will not lose faith in me, not after what they witnessed yesterday.”

“But your itinerary is set,” pleaded Vittori. “The world is in enough confusion already. The people need some sort of consistency in their lives. They need to know that in all this turmoil their Messiah can be relied upon. Please, Christiano, do not let them down.”

“Yes,” said Christiano. “It would be wrong to let them down, and I do not wish to.” He paused. “But in order to comply I have a request of my own.”

Ayres sighed. “And what is this request?”

“I want Sophia to accompany me to the White House.”

“I'm afraid that's just not possible,” said Ayres. “There just isn't the time to arrange it.”

“Isn't there?” said Christiano. “Or are you just trying to put me off?”

“Of course not,” said Ayres. “I am solely looking at the feasibility of it. We're due there in a couple of hours. We cannot get her here that quickly.” Ayres stopped and realized he was becoming flustered. He gathered himself and tried to put his foot down. “And even if we could I do not think it would be a good idea, Christiano. You have a job to do, and a very important one at that. We have been through all this before. You do not need anything distracting you from your task.”

Christiano looked Ayres directly in the eye. “Listen, Jonathan, I do not need you to tell me what I can and cannot do. In case you hadn't noticed I can stop bullets with my mind. If I can do that then I think I am perfectly capable of concentrating on my work with Sophia around.”

Ayres felt the urge to sigh heavily but resisted. “I'm not questioning your capabilities, Christiano. But you're a young man and it's easy for you to be distracted, especially by a girl as lovely as Miss Zola. I'm sure it would be difficult for anybody to keep their mind on things with her as a companion.”

“But I am not just anybody,” said Christiano. “The normal rules no longer apply to me. I will not be swayed from my work by Sophia.”

“I beg to differ,” said Ayres. “The fact that you're asking us to bring her over in itself means that you have already been swayed.”

“This is not open for discussion, Jonathan. I want her with me.”

Ayres' eyes flashed with anger. “How dare you dictate to us!” he barked. “Don't you realize who you're talking to?! Who do you think put you where you are you arrogant shit?! We gave you the knowledge, don't forget that. We can quite easily send you back to repairing roofs.”

“I do not think so,” said Christiano calmly. “How would you explain it to the public? You need me. Without me your whole plan comes crashing down.”

“Don't overestimate your usefulness,” said Ayres coldly.

Christiano stared at him harshly. “And do not overestimate yours.”

Ayres felt Christiano's eyes bore into his own. For the first time he was scared of their young protégé. His jaw tensed and his throat began to congeal with fear. His chest tightened. He found himself struggling for breath. His eyes watered with the strain.

“Jonathan?” said Vittori, concerned.

Ayres heard the cardinal but couldn't answer. He tried to, but all that came out was a muted cough as he continued to gasp for air. His face turned white and then a subtle shade of blue.

Vittori leapt out of his chair. “Jonathan?!” he cried.

Ayres clutched his throat and tried once again to breathe. He toppled forward to the floor and knelt there, looking up to Christiano with pleading eyes.

Vittori turned to his young charge. “Christiano! Help him. For God's sake help him!”

Christiano nodded.

Ayres crashed to the carpet and breathed in rush after rush of air. Vittori reached down to help him up. “Are you alright, Jonathan?” he said, pulling him to his feet.

Ayres nodded and started to even his breaths. “I'll be fine,” he wheezed, easing himself back into the chair. “I'll be fine.”

Vittori handed him a glass of water. “What happened, Jonathan?”

Ayres sipped at the water slowly and then cast a glance at Christiano. “Perhaps our young Messiah would like to explain?”

Christiano shrugged. “I do not know what happened. Perhaps you have asthma or something like that.”

“Don't give me that!” Ayres snapped. “You did this to me! I could feel you.”

Vittori gave an incredulous stare. “Is this true, Christiano? Did you do this to him?”

“He has done it to himself. All I want is for Sophia to come over here. The Church is getting quite enough out of this arrangement and I have only asked for one thing. I think it is time you realized just who is in charge.”

It was nearing midday but the overcast sky made it seem like late evening. Paul Smith walked slowly through Banbury's deserted streets with his weapon at the ready, and wondered if life would ever be normal again. The descent from civilized nation into complete anarchy had happened so quickly that he'd hardly had time for it to register. One minute he was enjoying a well-earned leave, the next he was patrolling the streets of his hometown, fearful that any moment he would have to shoot down one of the people he had sworn to protect: maybe even an associate; a friend; or worse still, a family member.

The High Street had seen many changes over the years, but none quite as dramatic as the one that greeted him now. As he looked ahead at the shattered shop windows with their broken displays, and the rubbish- and rubble-strewn parade, his eyes misted over. He had travelled the world and witnessed destruction and barbarism that defied humanity with barely a flicker of emotion, but seeing the place he grew up in reduced to this was almost too much.