The Pestilence (11 page)

***

STEFANO hadn't bothered flying Mariko out of town on a commercial flight. Victor's Boeing Business Jet that brought him and Dressler to Israel was at his disposal, so he flew Mariko out on it. This ensured that an investigator could accompany her all the way to Japan. Stefano needed a trail he could follow that would lead him to the church. Mariko was docile but uncommunicative and the investigator did not extract any useful information on the plans or whereabouts of her fellow church members.

Stefano searched the blue BMW. It was now the only real lead he had. The car had already been combed through twice by his men. They had found the hiring documents on the first pass, but they were a complete dead end. The car had been hired in the city by Mariko. She had given a Japanese address and the Mandarin Oriental as her address in Jerusalem. Stefano's investigators had found no proof of any stay at the Mandarin. So Stefano searched the car forlornly for a third time.

Stefano was a veteran of the Guardia di Finanza, Italy's paramilitary police force. The Guardia has dual responsibilities in combatting both financial crime and smuggling. Stefano had begun his career guarding Italy's territorial waters in high speed patrol boats apprehending drug cruisers from North Africa. He had an innate curiosity and an enquiring mind, a natural precursor for an investigator. This was spotted early and Stefano quickly moved from anti-smuggling to financial crime. Later in his career when he was principally hunting laundered money Stefano harked back to the thrill of a real chase, blasting his patrol boat across the Mediterranean, taking down smugglers. Chasing the Church of the King of Light felt a little like that but he couldn't remember any of his previous chases being so maddeningly infuriating.

The third search of the car was fruitless. Stefano thumped the dashboard in frustration. Neanche spezzata retrocede. The motto of the Guardia: Does not retreat even if broken. Stefano felt a little broken now. He put the key in the ignition. The dash display was controlled in all BMW's by a large dial in the centre consol. He pushed and spun the dial to turn on the radio, searching for something upbeat to temper his mood. As he flicked through the menu options, he saw that the car, a low-spec entry level 3 Series, included satellite navigation and a delicious thought occurred to him. He called up the navigation and hunted for the list of the last entered destinations. Perhaps Mariko had plotted a route to the church's safe house. The screen took a few moments to load the last routes and he drummed his fingers on the wheel with impatience. The results came back; nothing. Stefano swore in his native Italian. As a clue to the whereabouts of the church, the car was a bust.

Stefano slid out of the car and started on the half mile walk to the University College Hospital. He left the car standing in the campus car park and flicked the keys into a nearby bush. He was in no mood to do the church a favour and have one of his men return the car. He assumed that the hire car company would have a tracking device installed and eventually send someone for the vehicle. The thought of the insane bill the hire car company was going to send Mariko cheered him a little.

As Stefano approached, he could see Dressler standing point outside the hospital. Her sheer size meant that she was impossible to miss. Stefano had assigned two of his investigators to walk the wards with Samuel. Another two were supporting campus security. As a location campus was relatively secure and his investigators combined with campus security easily controlled the area. Unfortunately for Stefano there was only one hospital on site. Tomorrow they would have to leave campus and then he was in a world of hurt. With a handful of men at his disposal, he would never be able to keep Samuel safe in an open environment from a well-planned, determined attacking force. Stefano had to catch the church before they moved and he knew he was rapidly running out of time.

From a hundred yards away, Dressler saw him coming. The hunch of his shoulders and the moody stoop of his walk, she knew him well enough to recognise the foul mood he was in. They had met in the financial crime unit of the Guardia. She was a transferee into the division from Interpol. Following Dressler's brief disaster of a marriage to a Florentine politician she and Stefano dated for a time but that was long ago and they had been professionally close since. When Stefano left the Guardia to join Decapolis with an ulcer and alimony to pay, Dressler followed. She decided that she would prefer to have Stefano as a daily constant in her life rather than watching their friendship ebb away from her.

“Fucking car is a dead end,” spat Stefano.

Dressler nodded. “The woman?”

“Wouldn't talk despite someone sitting on her the entire trip back to Tokyo. The car's a dead end, the woman's a dead end; I feel like hitting myself in the balls.” Stefano helpfully mimed the action.

Dressler ignored him. “The police?”

“We can't go to the police. What are we going to say? Please help us find these crazies; we only know there is a plot because Samuel read someone's mind. Are you fucking kidding me?” Dressler stood quietly as Stefano stomped around in front of her. “By the hair on my balls we have nothing and tomorrow, you know what's going to happen?”

Dressler shook her head.

“Samuel is going to leave here, wander the streets in his stupid fucking sandals and get himself killed.”

“Ma, che sei grullo?”

“What, what?” said Stefano throwing up his hands. “Your bastard husband teaches you one Florentine expression and I live to hear it for the rest of my miserable life. Why? Tell me. Why am I so stupid?”

“We do have something. We have the knife, the Tanto. All we have to do is follow it.”

Stefano kept his face blank while his mind kicked into gear racing through the permutations. “White must have arrived in Jerusalem only a few nights ago. You can't just get on a plane with that thing in your pocket. Definitely can't check it into the hold.”

“Ja.”

“She would have had it shipped overnight from Tokyo.”

“Ja.”

“Insured; it's an antique so it has to be specially insured. A blade like that won't be covered by the standard courier policy. If it's specially insured, then we can find the policy through the VPC Capital network. Find the policy and we can track the shipment to its destination right here in Jerusalem.”

“Das stimmt.”

Stefano reached forward to kiss Dressler full on the lips. He caught himself just in time. He let out a little laugh of embarrassment, covering his mouth with his hand. Where on earth had that come from? He hadn't thought of Dressler in that way for a very, very, long time. He didn't wait to find out if she had noticed. He quickly shuffled past her into the hospital, blushing like a teenager.

***

DALIA and Mariam stood at the farmhouse door. It was still propped up against the broken wall just as the corporal had left it twenty-four hours ago. Now it was covered in a myriad of paper, lists, messages and instructions. Around them the site was buzzing with activity. Water was being pumped out of the impact craters, rubble sorted and removed. Trucks rolled into camp depositing supplies and a constant mill of people swirled around. The work extended past the inner buildings of the original farm and into the scrublands beyond. Mariam could see a community of tents and other buildings being constructed.

They were approached and welcomed by one of the Healed, a young man Mariam recognised from The Children's Relief Hospital in Jericho. His eyes widened as he saw them.

“Hey, how's the hand?”

“Perfect.” He beamed, holding up his hand and wiggling his three new fingers.

A ripple of recognition flowed through the camp as word spread that Mariam and Dalia had arrived. The Healed downed tools and flocked to the farmhouse door. Dalia's hands were shaken, her cheeks kissed and they both were overwhelmed by the gratitude and love of the Healed. Rami Hussein burst through the melee, embracing Mariam. “Welcome, welcome, let me show you around.”

“I like what you have done with the place,” said Dalia and the three of them burst into a peal of laughter.

Later, as Dalia enjoyed the hospitality in the camp kitchen, Mariam strolled through the camp in discussion with Rami. “There is something remarkable happening here Mariam. You remember the devastation after the bombing?”

Mariam nodded.

“Yesterday I was the first here, then the veterans came, followed by others throughout the day and into the night. It hasn't stopped. More are coming every hour.”

“How many are here now?”

“At least 250 are staying overnight. The first few we billeted in the village, but the numbers are so high that most of the new arrivals who want to stay have to stay here on the camp-site. We don't want to turn anyone away. We have been clearing the scrub and putting up accommodation tents. Everyone is here to rebuild the farm but the rebuild is going to take at least three months. We have only just restored electricity and water but because of the amount of people wanting to help we have new challenges to face; we need to think longer term and tackle problems such as sanitation, food and even schooling for children.” As if to illuminate Rami's point a woman with a baby strapped into a sling strolled past. Mariam bowed a greeting. “We have families here now.”

“How is all of this being paid for?”

“Everything is donated, everything. If the Healed can't come they send money with those who can. If they come then they bring supplies for themselves, for others or for the project. In such a small space of time because Samuel has cured such a wide range of people, we have a varied and skilled community.”

“Who is in charge Rami, is it you?” Rami ceased walking for a moment.

“No, Mariam. That's the beauty of what is happening here. Nobody is in charge. We met last night after dinner to set the coming day's priorities, work rotas and team leaders. It was a straight forward debate and vote.”

“What about the team leaders?” Rami and Mariam resumed their lap of the camp.

“The team leader runs the planning and organisation for our allocated areas. I used to run a restaurant so I'm team leader for the kitchen. It's my responsibility to feed everyone here. In any project you need to allocate people to tasks according to their skill set. Doesn't mean I'm the camp boss. ”

Mariam shook her head. “A debate around a camp-fire can work when there are only a few of you. Three hundred people trying to agree what should be on the breakfast menu tomorrow will just be chaos.”

“We debated that last night. By tonight we will have a camp intranet up and running and most of the debate and voting we plan to put online. All of the Healed working on this project are welcome to submit new ideas and proposals. We all vote on each proposal, simple majority wins.”

Mariam looked out over the throng of people. “Good luck with that.”

“Mariam,” said Rami gently placing his hand on her arm, “the Healed that have come here have made a choice. They have chosen to take control of their lives. When you make that choice, that sacrifice, when you leave your old life behind the last thing you want is to be powerless. We all want to directly influence decision making here at camp. We are working hard to put in place structures that allow us to do that. We Healed want to take responsibility for our actions and are prepared to accept the consequences of our mistakes. We won't devolve that responsibility to a group of elected officials who decide what the camp should do. We all decide. That's why there won't be a leader or a council of leaders in this place.”

***

DALIA rose to her feet. In the camp fire, she saw many of the faces that had treated her with such warmth and genuine affection that afternoon. Beyond, as the night enclosed and the lights of the camp strayed into the gathering, she could only make out the shapes and shadows of the Healed. Many had urged her to speak at the gathering and Mariam also felt it was right for her to do so. Dalia opted to speak directly and from the heart.

“You know, when I came here today, I didn't know what to expect.” The crackle of the fire and the distant hum of the camp lighting were Dalia's only accompaniment. “But what do I see? A Jew standing with a Christian, standing with a Muslim, standing with an Israeli, standing with a Palestinian; all coming together to do an old woman a blessed kindness.” Dalia radiated a warm smile towards her audience. “Throughout the day many of you had questions for me about my son and I tried to answer your questions as best as I could. I know I disappointed many of you for the grand questions, for the greatest unknowns I just didn't have an answer. ”

A murmur flowed through the gathering. “We weren't disappointed, Deedee,” someone said in the crowd.

“My son did give me a message for you all.” Dalia could sense the Healed pressing forward in anticipation. “He says simply;
Don't look to me or to anyone else for answers. Look only to yourself. Only you can choose the path that your life now demands you take.
What my son is promising you is that he will continue on his path of healing. Your path is for you alone to determine.”

“I am sure some of you feel that my son has changed you. In some ways he has. You have been given a gift. Some may have noticed that your body's ability to heal from injury has been transformed. As the Healed, you will now live longer and your long lives will be free from the curse of disease and illness.” There were gasps as Dalia spoke. “I can only counsel that you use this gift wisely.”

“Thank God for Samuel,” Dalia heard someone say.

“You know, in many other ways my son hasn't changed you. I spent time with so many of you today and the kindness and selflessness I have felt cannot just be implanted from outside. I know that it existed in all of you long before you met my son. Perhaps all he did was to remove your anxieties allowing you to turn your gaze from within to without.”