The Pestilence (14 page)

Samuel was grateful for the company. “How long are you planning on staying?”

“I'm leaving tomorrow, I have been here for five days and I can't stay burning up the BBC budget forever. No disrespect to you Samuel but now that Bill has published the immunity article he doesn't see much more mileage in your story.”

Samuel shrugged.

“That's just the way the media works; we are always looking for the next big story. I guess it's a reflection of the nature of the people we serve, they want constant distraction and constant novelty.”

“Not everyone is like that.”

“Yeah I know, I'm just sorry to go. For the record I disagree with Bill, I think this is
the
story. There won't ever be anything bigger.”

Samuel shrugged again. “I'm going to demolish the rest of this plate and I don't want to be rude and talk with my mouth full, so you talk. I will listen. Tell me about you.”

Hazel was a little taken aback. “Gosh. Okay. Born in London to very conservative middle-class parents. My mother's a partner in a law firm and my father's a history teacher. I had two older brothers who treated me like those guys treat you.” Hazel pointed to the two Decapolis investigators standing guard by the entrance of the cafeteria. “I went to a local prep school and then a private girls' school for my secondary education; after that university in Bristol. It was fun, studied journalism mostly to rile my mum who always badgered me about undertaking a sensible profession. Was also good with computers and that was mostly learned off my brothers and various nerdy boyfriends.”

“First boy you kissed?” said Samuel biting into his shawarma.

“Oh gosh, one of my older brother's friends. I was sixteen, had braces and was spotty. He was a bit older, eighteen I think and really shy. I pushed him up against a wall in our house and kissed him. Between my vigilant brothers and the girls' school I thought it was about time I had my first kiss. He almost fainted from shock; he was quite terrified of my brother. I was a late starter.” She grinned at Samuel.

“So, why journalism?”

“I'm more of a researcher than a journalist. I like to put my computer skills to work. Bill does the writing and I do the hunting. We make a good team. He has a daughter who he never sees, feels bad about it and I think he thinks of me as a below par substitute.”

“Why doesn't he see his daughter?”

“He's basically an idiot. He has allowed his work to dominate his life.”

Samuel thought back to his day. “I can see how work could do that. So, your mother?”

“Not happy with my life choices. Which, I guess in a perverse way makes me quite pleased. I never wanted to be like my parents. Who does? My mother is a narrow-minded woman. If you don't conform to her world view, she rains displeasure down on you.”

Samuel nodded and pushed back his empty plate with a sigh. He glanced across at Hazel; she hadn't made much progress on her chocolate cake.

“You going to finish that?” he said reaching for her plate. It wasn't really a question.

“No, be my guest. I don't really feel like it, but I wouldn't mind getting a coffee.”

“I thought you were a tea girl?”

“I swing both ways,” she said smiling again.

“The coffee is awful here. Mariam has an espresso pot which brews a mean cup. I can make you something decent back at the flat.”

“Sure,” said Hazel pushing her glasses off her nose and onto the top of her head.

On the walk back to Mariam's apartment Hazel pleasantly slipped her arm into Samuel's. He liked her energy, her warmth and presence. He had spent the day surrounded by almost 100,000 people without really having the time to converse or connect with anyone. He was just thankful for a little human company.

“Samuel, can I ask you something?”

A few metres behind the Decapolis investigators kept in step with them.

“No need to ask permission.”

“I notice you are in more or less the same clothes every time I see you.”

“Oh you noticed. Yes, everything I owned was lost in the bombing. I'm exaggerating; Mariam in her usual brilliance grabbed my wallet when she abandoned the farm. So all I have is a wallet containing an ID card and twenty New Palestinian pounds, these sandals and the few clothes I had left at Mariam's. She hates it, but I even have to use her toothbrush.”

“Yes, I understand and that's my point. Why don't you just charge people? That's what most doctors do. I'm not saying you should exploit anyone but something small. At least it will get you back on your feet and maybe also help Deedee.”

Samuel dug in his pocket for the apartment key. “I'm not really a doctor. Taking money just wouldn't be right. The Healed are helping my family rebuild. Honestly, right now, I can make do with a pair of sandals, a borrowed shirt and some old clothes.”

Samuel sat at the head of the rectangular kitchen table behind a steaming glass of sweet mint tea. It was the same table where they had savoured Dalia's lamb maqluba a few nights before. Hazel's chair was to Samuel's left and her hands were wrapped around an excellent home brewed-espresso. They drank silently, content in each other's company. Samuel looked out blankly over the apartment, Hazel gazing beyond into the Jerusalem night. She quietly brought her chair closer to the corner of the table and her knees gently pressed against the outside of Samuel's thigh.

“There is another thing I wanted to ask.” Hazel brought her scrutiny back into the apartment resting it gently on Samuel's features. Subconsciously she picked at the scab on her palm then deliberately pressed her knees more firmly into Samuel's thigh.

Samuel didn't seem to notice and continued staring out into the apartment.

“I'm leaving tomorrow and wanted you to do me a kindness.”

“What's that?”

“Make me immune.”

Samuel said nothing. He raised his glass and sipped the hot sweet tea.

Hazel leaned closer and rested her wounded hand on Samuel's arm. He could feel the heat from the coffee cup. “Please Samuel. I want to join the Healed.”

Samuel turned his head a fraction towards Hazel. Her face was close; he could feel her hot breath on his cheek. He looked down in sadness and shook his head.

“I can't. I said I would only heal the sick.”

“I know, but it's only me and you here. Nobody would know.”

Samuel shook his head again. “I would know.”

Hazel tightened her grip on Samuel's arm. “You were healing people with migraines and twisted ankles today. Those people could have just taken an ibuprofen and they would have been fine. Why do they deserve your good grace? Why do they deserve to be Healed and not me?”

“I know that was stupid, but we will do it better next time. I must try and heal the most in need first. Hazel, it's the sick who need me the most. How on earth am I supposed to decide who to immunise? How do I prioritise? I can no more choose my mother over my brother. If I suddenly start making exceptions, I worry about the slope I may be slipping down.”

“Samuel. It's what I want. I'm leaving tomorrow.”

“I can't and for that I'm genuinely sorry.”

There was silence between them once more.

Hazel released the coffee cup and slid her hand under the table. She carefully reached past her knees for Samuel's thigh and softly pushed her hand up towards his hip. To Samuel it felt like an electric current running up his leg. He didn't move. He couldn't move. Hazel leaned forward. “Please,” she whispered just millimetres from his ear. She moved her lips down and lightly kissed the side of his neck, running the tip of her tongue along his skin. He could smell her perspiration and her desire. Samuel began to breathe with shorter shallow breaths as he fought to restrain his racing heart. His body trembled at her touch, her lips at his throat, her hand curling round his bicep, the other moving up the inside of his thigh. It was as if Hazel had drawn the winter cold through him.

“Hazel, please don't, I'm with Mariam.”

Hazel was again whispering in his ear. “But she's not with you is she, Samuel? You can see the conflict in her eyes. She's not the same girl from the village. She has grown up; she has moved on and left you behind. Perhaps it's time for you to do the same?” Hazel slipped two fingers between the buttons of Samuel's shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest. She pulled him towards her and covered his lips with her own.

The feet of the chair screeched across the kitchen floor as Samuel pushed back hard. He was furious with himself for not bothering to read Hazel's intentions.

“I‘m sorry I can't,” he said standing, trying to put some distance between them. Hazel also stood. “You should go, it's late,” he said gently. Hazel took a forlorn step towards him, but again Samuel backed away.

Hazel now stood alone in the kitchen. She looked utterly dejected and completely lost. Watching her, doubt began to stir in Samuel's heart. Was she really asking so much of him? Hazel awkwardly made for the front door, but as she did, she staggered slightly as if her legs lacked the will to carry her. To Samuel, in that stumble, all of Hazel's vulnerabilities were laid bare, his heart went out to her and in that split second Samuel made up his mind.

“Hazel, wait.” He strode towards her and placed both his hands tenderly on her face. He lifted her chin and she looked expectantly up at him. Her glasses slipped from her head onto the bridge of her nose. They both smiled as he gently returned them to their original resting place. It was the first time he had really noticed the dazzling luminescence of her eyes. She closed them as he softly covered them with his thumbs. He concentrated and willed his energy into her. Hazel flinched from the shock resisting only momentarily before slipping her arms around him, welcoming his power and letting his energy flow into her. She held him, accepted him inside her and he made her aura anew. When he was spent, he stood back from her. Hazel opened her eyes and saw the world for the first time as one of the Healed.

“Have a safe flight,” said Samuel kissing her goodbye.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 11 days. Information source: Email intercept between Stefano Grigori and Victor Pierre Chaput.

Subject : Srour / Fara investigation

Victor

As requested our investigators have followed up on the metadata analysis presented in our most recent report. We have focused our investigative attention on the night following the Electrical Phenomenon. Using hyperbolic triangulation of Dr Shimon Biram's cell phone we can track him leaving his home and travelling to campus then some time later to a local convenience store. We believe that Dr Fara was also in the same vicinity so our investigators purchased from the management of the convenience store the relevant CCTV video of that evening. It shows definitively that Dr Fara and Dr Biram did meet in the store that night. The images are without sound so it is impossible to discern the context of the meeting. The CCTV footage does show a conversation, an embrace and a brief kiss between the two.

The CCTV images do not prove that a romantic relationship exists or had existed but that inference may certainly be drawn from viewing it. Given the intense media interest in Samuel Srour this footage would absolutely be newsworthy and potentially damaging to Mr Srour and Dr Fara.

Consequently, our investigators have secured the material and confirmed that no other copies exist. So that you can draw your own conclusions, I have attached the CCTV footage to this email. I will subsequently remove any trace of it from the Decapolis systems. I strongly recommend you delete the film once you have viewed it.

The physical threat to Samuel Srour from the Church of the King of Light remains critical and our investigative efforts are now focusing on locating the would-be assassins and protecting Mr Srour. To that end, I have requested seven additional security and investigative personnel to be assigned to this client on your account. I feel the extra personnel are vital to maintain our security operations around Mr Srour.

As to Mr Srour, I have witnessed his healing ability first hand and find his talents truly unique. In addition to his healing abilities, Mr Srour also possesses the ability to explore individuals' memories and in certain cases discern future intentions. His mental abilities are only effective in close proximity while healing is a hands-on endeavour. This is the extent of the abilities we have observed. We will continue to monitor and report anything else of interest.

Kind regards

Stefano

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 11 days. Information source: Email intercept between Victor Pierre Chaput and Stefano Grigori.

Subject RE: Srour / Fara investigation

Stefano

Thanks for the update. I have approved your request for additional agents. Your priority is to keep Mr Srour safe.

I have reviewed the CCTV footage and found it of little interest. I have deleted it as requested.

Victor

***

BILL Irons was bumping around miserably in the back of a London black cab. The cab, originally short for cabriolet was the motorised descendant of the single horse-drawn Hansom cab that dominated the streets of Victorian London. Bill wondered if the horse-drawn predecessor offered a better ride than this modern-day equivalent. After every jolt in the road, he felt as if the vertebrae in his spine were being fused together. The journey made it difficult to concentrate and he tried desperately hard to focus on what he was going to say when the taxi reached its destination.

Bill was struggling to understand. He had been a journalist all his life, dedicated to writing. Words usually lay down for him. Normally so cool and unflustered he could stand and talk into camera while the world burned around him. However, today he found that the words that normally flowed so effortlessly for him had cruelly deserted him. The taxi pulled into its destination, Bill paid the driver, slipped out of the cab and stood behind the railing opposite his daughter's school.

The children streamed out of school, the only adults were a smattering of parents collecting the new Year Sevens and a few of the school staff patrolling the adjoining streets to ensure that the kids dispersed safely. Bill stood directly opposite the main entrance. The older children spilled loudly around him. Most were bent over their smart phones or were listening to music through outsized headphones. He worried briefly at first that he would fail to recognise her but spotted her leaving with a group of girlfriends weaving their way through the crowd. Bill had been thinking of seeing her since the night Hazel stabbed him. He had thought of little else but with her here drifting past him it was as if his breath had been crushed from his chest. The years of guilt and sorrow welled up within him and he clutched the railing lest his legs failed to hold him.

She was now almost as tall as him, broad and angular shoulders. She had barely come up to his chest when he had last seen her and he had trouble remembering exactly where or when that was. It appeared that she hadn't noticed him and continued walking. A few paces down the road she stopped abruptly and stepped out from the circle of friends that surrounded her; perhaps the memory of her father had needed an instant to percolate through her subconscious. She turned almost in slow motion and glanced back over her shoulder. She saw him and stared straight through him. A lifetime of distance now distilled down to a few metres of tarmac.

Bill tentatively walked towards her. She watched him come like a man wading through a vat of concrete. It had been difficult for Bill to get on a plane and fly 2,200 miles to her, but the shame of these last few steps was the hardest of all. She wore neither a smile nor a frown in greeting. He halted half a metre from her and they stood silently appraising one another. He looked fit and strong somehow younger than she remembered. Bill still didn't have the words that could begin to bridge the chasm he had carved between them, so he tried something easy.

“Hi, Miranda. Can I walk you home?”

Miranda gave an uninterested shrug, nothing more than a microscopic dip of her shoulders. “Free country,” she muttered under her breath. She waved her friends away and they walked together for a few moments cloaked in a horrible clinging silence.

“Does Mum know you are here?”

“I called her. She said it was cool for me to see you.”

“No one says cool anymore. It's totally sad.”

Bill said nothing.

“So what do you want? Why are you here?”

What did he want? Why was he here? What had compelled him to drop everything? Bill didn't know exactly. He had no words.

“To see you. I guess.”

“Well, here I am. You've seen me.” Miranda's eyes flashed defiance and a long held anger rose in her voice. “Now you can crawl back to whatever war you came from.”

Miranda increased speed and cut through a small alley onto a canal tow-path. Bill followed. The canals were the ancient arteries that fed the industrial revolution in Great Britain. Now, this one stood stagnant and alone, littered with shopping trolleys, sofas and old bicycle frames.

Bill quickened his pace catching up with his daughter. “Miranda, wait.” He risked reaching out and touching her for the first time. He rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. Miranda spun brushing off his hand. She glowered at him, the hair on her fringe hanging over her eyes and he saw that they were his eyes too. “I know I've been a shit dad, a really poor excuse for a father. I let you down badly. I'm disgusted with myself for being like that but I am here to tell you that I want to change. I'm ready, finally, to step up. I'm sorry for being shit and I want to try and start again with you.”

Miranda shook her head and looked out over the canal. “It's too late, you don't even know me.”

“You're right, I don't know you. What I see is a girl who looks a little like me but who is so much more. I'm begging her to let me spend the time and do whatever it takes to get to know her.”

They walked the tow-path again. “Me and Mum we have done just fine on our own. What's the point of having a dad you only see on TV?”

“It's no point at all having a dad like that. I'm coming back to live in London so I can be close to you again. Just let me try. Give me one chance. I know I don't deserve it but please.”

Miranda walked on silently. Bill gave her some space and time to think. For all its failings and glorious state of disrepair, the canal was still a rare haven of tranquillity in the heart of the city.

“I don't know.”

Bill interrupted with a hasty edge of desperation in his voice. “We can take things really slowly and see how they go. I‘m cool, no pressure.”

Miranda continued walking.

“Perhaps tomorrow you would let me walk you home from school again?”

Miranda stopped and shook her head. Bill knew he had overreached. He ground his teeth to suppress the urge to berate himself. He had pushed too far, way too fast.

“I like walking home with my girlfriends. We have a laugh. I don't see some of them until the end of the day. Besides, it's a bit lame having your dad waiting for you after school. I'm not ten.”

Bill's heart sank. He stared down at his feet in misery for what seemed like a millennium. Miranda let him suffer.

“But perhaps you could run me to the library after school. I go there to study and normally take the bus.”

His joy overflowing, Bill had to restrain himself from jumping into the fusty water of the canal. “Sure, sure, no problem.” His mind raced. He just needed to work out how to get hold of a car by tomorrow.

***

VICTOR stared out from the podium. Behind him blazed the angular, dark and brooding artwork for the
Alara Magazine
Man of the Year awards. Ahead of him, sat in expectation, were the great and the good of New York City.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to be given the opportunity to address you all today and before we talk about serious matters I would like to thank the judging committee from
Alara Magazine
for awarding me the accolade of Man of the Year. The committee had the wisdom to discern that firstly, I am a man, congratulations on that astute observation and secondly, somehow, that this year I have been the best of the 3.5 billion men that inhabit this planet. For the committee are wise indeed to discern that my brilliance outshines all others.”

Victor heard a snatch of embarrassed laughter emanating from the audience. They didn't know what to make of him. He didn't care.

“I stand in illustrious company, for previous years' winners include a politician who routinely rapes chambermaids and a man who designs trousers.”

The initial laughter died quickly. Victor imagined the frosty glare from the chairman of the organising committee boring into his back. He didn't care.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let us put preposterous and meaningless awards to one side, I came here today because it was my best opportunity to talk directly to you, the good people of New York City about my foundation. History tells us repeatedly that each time in our human civilisation where there has been a chasm in financial equality those in society without wealth eventually rise up and kill those with the money and power. The disadvantaged take by force what they can't otherwise earn. In medieval times, the people in feudal societies knew their place. If you were born a peasant then you would stay a peasant. If you were born a king, most likely you would die a king. There was little social and economic mobility, but even in those tightly controlled societies you had instances of peasants attempting to depose kings. I am from France and we know all about that little problem.

“In our democratic society, we are constantly encouraged to achieve more, to want more. We are compelled to chase our dreams but when, as so often happens, we are unable to even begin the chase or we watch our dreams turn to dust the bitterness is profound. That bitterness and sense of injustice can't be contained by feudal power or class structures. Inequality, the financial gap between the 1 per cent, you, and the 99 per cent, everyone else, will bring this great society to its knees. The 99 per cent will overrun and take what we have. The path we are on as a society, as a global nation is one of ruin. We have all heard these warnings before, governments pay due lipservice to the problem, but what has been done? Nothing. So I am standing up and acting for change. I want you good people to stand with me.

“The Chaput Foundation allows people a second chance to remake their lives and it lifts people out of debt poverty. The money to do that comes from good people like you, the 1 per cent. We all have money that we could never spend in a thousand lifetimes. This period we are living through is the pinnacle of human existence; unless we recognise that our achievements have been made standing on the shoulders of millions of our fellow citizens then we, ladies and gentlemen, are doomed to a rapid terminal decline.

“I have been in town a few days and have personally canvased many CEOs of your great institutions for support. Many of you have seen the press release from my good friend Connor Bradley at Avistra. Other CEOs have followed Connor's brave and visionary lead and have personally pledged to support the foundation. The public companies that they run are taking resolutions to their shareholders to allocate a proportion of their sales to the Chaput Foundation. We are talking about donations of tens of billions of dollars. I am grateful for the support, but I need more as the challenge we face is immense. I will try and meet privately with many of the people here in this room to argue my case for change, so please, I beg of you, give me just a little of your time. You are saving our way of life and you are ultimately securing your future and those of your children.

Thank you for your time. Thanks again to
Alara Magazine
for pronouncing me Man of the Year and giving me this award. I know just where I am going to put it.”