The Pestilence (18 page)

“It's okay, it's okay,” shouted Mariam. “He's from the camp.” Mariam dropped the Tanto and rushed over to the boy helping him up while apologising profusely. He stood awkwardly as Mariam dusted down his trousers all the while his eyes were shooting daggers at Stefano. The boy nodded a greeting to Samuel while pressing a parcel of food into Mariam's hands. “From Deedee,” he said. “She saw you on the news.” Mariam thanked him for his trouble and apologised again. The boy looked less aggrieved, but Stefano's presence robbed him of any desire to linger. He bade farewell to Samuel and Mariam and strode out of the clearing. He fired one last look of pure hatred towards Stefano as he disappeared into the trees.

The food was welcome and Samuel invited Stefano and Dressler to join them. Dalia had sent up a simple meal of babaganoush, kibbeh and hummus accompanied by some flat bread. Mariam was bitterly disappointed by the omission of Dalia's legendary falafel.

“What about you Samuel?” said Dressler “Who would you bring back?” She picked up a kibbeh broke it in half and popped it into her mouth.

“Mariam's father and my eldest brother, both were taken by the war.”

“Hey, no family,” objected Stefano.

Samuel shrugged. “That's who I'm going to bring back.” The phrasing of Samuel's answer was lost on everyone bar Mariam. She reached forward to scoop her bread into the pot of hummus and as she did so she put her hand on Samuel's knee. It appeared a lover's gesture but was, in fact, a subtle warning.

“Why not Elvis?” said Stefano.

Samuel smiled and said nothing.

***

ASHEN punched his tracking number into the keyboard at the sparse business suite of his downtown hotel. Beersheba was a fair-sized city of almost 200,000 people, but the specialised pieces of equipment that Ashen needed were not to be found within the city or even within Israel itself. The shipment tracking data showed that his three packages, labelled “film-making equipment”, had left the United States four days ago and had just cleared Israeli customs. With shipping and taxes, they had cost US$8,000 each. It wasn't Ashen's money; he had taken the identity of one of his congregation. Ashen had emptied the church's bank accounts into the man's account and had ushered him with the rest of his people onto the Path of Light.

Complacency, Ashen believed, would be the undoing of the False Messiah. When one has made a decision to kill a person, even if it will be very difficult to succeed by advancing straight ahead, it will not do to think about doing it in a long, roundabout way. Ashen's plan was one of immediacy. They would execute a direct attack using devastating explosive force and would target the False Messiah at his safest, most secure location. They would destroy his strength and pave a way for the return of the King.

The order tracker indicated that the film-making equipment was due to be delivered to the hotel the day after tomorrow. Since their expedition to the quarry, Ashen and his team had spent most days by the pool waiting for their delivery. They kept tabs on their target through the BBC or the Haran camp website. The PETN, the detonators and cord had been boxed and stowed in a storage locker on the south side of the city. Ashen consulted his mental list of the items they needed; with the impending arrival of the equipment from the United States it was now time to fully equip themselves for the strike. He also needed to leave as much time as possible for training.

First on his list were cell phones. Ashen wanted something old, something basic to do the job. None of the church members had risked bringing their personal mobiles from Japan. They would need to purchase four pay-as-you-go burners, three to act as remote detonators, one to place the calls. Ashen considered sending each of his team to separate retailers. What would look more suspicious, he thought, a single person buying one or two phones or three buying four? On balance, he didn't think it mattered. There were probably only a handful of Japanese tourists in the city and his team weren't guaranteed any kind of anonymity by splitting up.

Secondly, Ashen needed some basic tools. Any local hardware store should furnish them with what they required; a cordless drill and soldering iron being chief amongst them. Ashen couldn't think of a good reason why a tourist would want to purchase such things so to be prudent he would send Red out of the city to pick up the items. They needed two other things; training aids to practise for the attack and transport in Jerusalem. The transport they would buy for cash. It would be far simpler than trying to steal it and potentially attracting police attention. For the training aids he called up a directory of business listings in Beersheba, found what he was looking for and clicked through to the store's website. He ordered three, along with the relevant batteries and chose the “collect at store” option. Red, Black and Ashen would pick them up on the drive out to their training session in the desert.

Ashen mentally checked and re-checked his planning and preparation. He was meticulous, walking through the planned attack, probing for weakness or areas where they were overexposed. When he was finally satisfied he allowed his thoughts to turn to Mariko. It had been over a week since White had disappeared. He had chosen to save her while he gassed and burned her family in Tokyo. She was the one; she was to have been his prize, his Eve. He tasted the bitterness of her loss once more. She knew of his plans once the King came, she knew that her destiny was to be by his side. Had she rejected him? The thought sickened him. Or had there been something else? Not knowing gnawed at him. He played the scenarios over and over again in his mind as he had done since the day of her disappearance. Ashen was a cautious man, but now because of White he made his first mistake.

Since the Electrical Phenomenon had announced the arrival of the False Messiah and the end of his followers in Tokyo, Ashen had ensured his team stayed off the grid. He had sent one email to gather his lieutenants but since then no electronic communication of any kind within the team or with outsiders had been permitted. They paid cash wherever they could, no cell phones were carried and except for mission critical assignments no access to the Internet was permitted. Ashen was a man used to being obeyed and accustomed to making the rules, but now his desire caused him to break his most important rule. He logged into an anonymous email account and fired off an email.

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 5 days. Information source: Email intercept between unknown and Mariko Tanaka.

Subject:

White

No word on your whereabouts. Father is concerned. Please respond.

***

ASHEN looked at his sent box for a moment weighing the choice he had just made. He was about to close his browser when a response slipped into his inbox.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 5 days. Information source: Email intercept between Mariko Tanaka and unknown.

Subject:

Father

I have been waiting for your message. I am sorry I couldn't come home. I had trouble with the neighbours, but I am safe now. They are no longer a problem. I wish to be reunited once again with the family. Where shall we meet?

White

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 5 days. Information source: Email intercept between unknown and Mariko Tanaka.

Subject:

White

We will be returning to Jerusalem in four days. Will advise on meeting location shortly before. My heart is filled with joy that you are safe. Your place is by my side.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 5 days. Information source: Email intercept between Mariko Tanaka and unknown.

Subject:

Father

I want nothing more than to regain my rightful place. Can we not meet sooner?

White

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 5 days. Information source: Email intercept between unknown and Mariko Tanaka.

Subject:

Patience my daughter. We will be together soon. Await my instructions.

***

ASHEN was talking to a mirror. Decapolis cyber security had deployed it to stand between White's inbox and the outside world. White could not detect the replication, she could send and receive messages, but all incoming and outgoing mail was filtered and controlled by a Decapolis investigator. None of Ashen's messages were ever seen by White.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 3 days. Information source: Email intercept between Hazel Sears and Dr Mariam Fara.

Subject RE: Help!

Hi Mariam

I can't believe that email. Some people are totally out of order. It will take me a little while to track his IP address via his Internet service provider. I will get it to you once I have it. Honestly Mariam, I would just leave be. He could be a psycho.

I am back in London now. I didn't know if Samuel told you but he made me one of the Healed before I left. Bill was right, as one of the Healed you do see things differently. Physically you feel fitter, stronger and more mentally alert. There aren't many Healed here in Britain, but I have been speaking to some of the community online. It is clear that becoming Healed means different things to different people. Some have drawn closer to family or friends; others have started rebuilding broken bridges. For me, I just see beauty in the small things all around me. I don't think I will stay in journalism. I want to do more with my life but at the moment am not sure what that could be.

I will always be grateful for meeting you and Samuel. I wish you the very best and hope we will keep in touch.

Please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything else.

Kind regards

Hazel

***

THE afternoon had commenced its slow draw into the evening. “Have you spoken to Dr Biram?” said Samuel. They were on the outskirts of the village casually winding their way back to Mariam's house.

“Not since the night after the airstrike. I sent him a message today. I need him to review my paper.”

“His wife has kicked him out.”

Mariam looked down at the floor. “How do you know?”

“On the way here I was listening to the news in the car.”

“Is there seriously nothing else happening in the world today for that to be news?”

“You should call him,” said Samuel.

Mariam sighed.

“You will think of something to say.” Samuel's voice had a bitter-sweet edge.

“I am not sure about this,” said Mariam.

A look of pain crossed Samuel's face. “What? Us?”

“No moron, my father. How would he be? What would he look like? There is something unnatural about what you're suggesting. It just feels… well, it just feels wrong. I don't know. If he died yesterday I wouldn't hesitate. But it's been so long, I was just a little girl.”

Samuel slipped his arm around Mariam's waist.

“I used to think about my father every day but as time passed, he faded from view. They say time heals these kinds of wounds, but that's a straight fucking lie. The wounds they lurk, festering in the dark, waiting for someone like that man with his email to bring them raw and painfully back into the light. As a kid this kind of thing shapes who you are, it shapes who you grow up to become. For me, for many years, I was the girl without a father. Deep down, I do want him back, but I'm ashamed for saying this, Mama and I have both learnt to live without him.”

They had reached the porch of the house. Most of the news reporters had gone. Samuel tied up the Canaan and removed his sandals. He asked Stefano and Dressler to wait outside and turned to Mariam.

“There is still love in your heart for your father. Why would that change? He will be the same man that you loved all those years ago.”

“I'm worried for Mama; we need to make sure this is what she wants. Let me explain to her.”

Samuel nodded.

“Are you ready?” he said.

Mariam gazed into Samuel's eyes for a long, intense moment. She then reached up and touched the side of his face.

“Thank you for this,” she said.

Samuel closed the space between them and kissed her hard on the lips. Mariam slid one arm round his waist slipping her thumb into the rear belt loop of his trousers. Her other hand floated up his back and she pushed her fingers into his hair gripping him urgently.

Dressler looked away while Stefano's eyes remained fixed on Dressler.

***

THE same young man who had been manhandled by Stefano at the creek was walking alongside Dalia. He carried straw and feed for Dalia's goats. The walk took them away from the hustle of the ever-expanding camp towards the village of Haran. When they reached the temporary pens, the boy removed the soiled bedding and replaced it with fresh straw. He laid the feed unopened at Dalia's feet and began the short trip back to the camp. Dalia's animals were her quiet solace in an otherwise busy day and she normally fed them alone. Dalia watched the boy recede into the hubbub of the camp. He had attached himself to her. His mother was one of the first Healed to arrive at the farm and she now worked as the lead architect managing the needs of the growing camp population. Her son, when he was not at the camp school, ran Dalia's errands and to her delight generally got under her feet.

Dalia tended her flock with care. She had known most of the animals since birth and it pained her to see that so many were missing. Dalia ran her fingers along the back of the nearest goat. The hair was coarse and singed in places from the destruction that had rained down on her life, a life which was slowly being pieced together with the love and support of strangers.

Daylight was failing; in the distance, silhouetted against the village glare almost half a kilometre away, two people were approaching. Somehow Dalia sensed them drawing near. Perhaps the wind filtering over the scrub carried their oncoming footsteps, or perhaps Dalia was so attuned to her animals that she felt the herd's unease. Later Dalia would say that it was simply a mother's intuition that made her step out of the animal pens and sweep her gaze across the savannah.

They were almost 450 metres away now coming slowly across the wasteland. Dalia squinted harder through the gloaming to distinguish the shapes before her. They were walking shoulder to shoulder, two people melting into one.

At 400 metres, Dalia could decipher the profile of a tall man and with him a familiar broad-shouldered companion.

At 350 metres, Dalia recognised one of the men. His outline, the structure and the gait of his walk, it was Samuel, her son, it was unmistakeably him. A smile of delight flashed across her face.

At 300 metres, Dalia was still lost as to the identity of Samuel's companion. He had a certain familiarity and she sifted through the fog of her memories straining to rediscover, knowing yet struggling to comprehend.

At 250 metres, Samuel's glee carried over the distance, his laughter was pure joy, pure, unbridled delight. Abruptly, like a jolt of consciousness Samuel's voice was joined by one she knew. It was a voice she thought forever lost but one she carried always within her heart.

At 200 metres, Dalia started running. She ran directly towards the two men, tears of disbelief coursing across her cheeks, sobs racking the breath from her. Her scarf slipped from her head and streamed behind her like a tail of an onrushing comet. She lost one shoe then another but she still ran hard, her bare feet churning up the dust of the desert.

At 100 metres, she was sure. She didn't know or care how this miracle had happened but she knew it was him. Dalia left the animal enclosures behind, she left the camp behind. In 100 metres, she was destined to leave fifteen years of grief and heartbreak behind.

At fifty metres, the sight of his face was clear and distinct in the virgin moonlight; a face she had consigned to the earth, one that resided now only in her dreams. Dalia let out a guttural, primal scream of elation.

They were watching her run. Samuel's companion wore a bemused look at the sight of Dalia hurtling barefoot across the scrub. Samuel laughed in delight and stood back as Dalia thundered into the man's arms.

She was panting, breathless with euphoria. She kissed his face, she smelt his skin, and she held him with all the strength she could summon. Samuel was standing, smiling but uncertain. Dalia reached out for him and brought him close to complete the embrace with his resurrected brother.

***

A few hours earlier Samuel had slipped quietly out of Mariam's front door.

“Sounds like they're having a party,” said Stefano.

“It's a family reunion,” replied Samuel. “I thought I would leave them to it. I need to do one more thing before we head back to campus. You guys okay to walk with me?”

“Ja.”

Samuel tucked a small plastic bag under his arm and petted the Canaan as they passed. The dog regarded him briefly with one weary eye. Samuel led his protectors along the short path towards the main street of Haran. Stefano and Dressler automatically fell in a few metres behind him. Just past the village bakery/coffee house Samuel momentarily stopped allowing his shadows to catch up. Samuel offered his arm to Dressler, the plastic bag now dangling from his wrist. She accepted graciously and Stefano involuntarily stiffened. Samuel walked in between his giant protectors, for once feeling completely safe.

“I need a favour from you guys.” They had cut through the ring of houses and out towards open land on the other side of the village.

“What do you need?” said Stefano.

“A promise to keep silent.”

“About?”

They had reached the entrance to the village cemetery which sat on a small hill behind the village. Like everything else in Haran, it was tired and ancient. Samuel navigated them through the Muslim section of the graveyard. The graves were neatly aligned, all facing north-west to ensure the dead could look over their shoulders towards Mecca. Samuel walked on past the ordered section to a smaller number of scattered graves.

“I know Chaput sent you to keep an eye on me and I know you report back to him,” said Samuel. “I have no issue with that but what I'm about to do now needs to stay between the three of us.”

Stefano looked uncomfortable; he hesitated, throwing a glance towards Dressler before answering. “It's part of my role here. It's difficult. If I don't report and something comes out another way, I will be removed from this assignment. I, we,” he said gesturing to Dressler, “don't want that.”

“I know, and am grateful to you both for protecting me, for being here beside me, but I need you to consider what I'm asking.”

Dressler moved over to read the name on the gravestone that Samuel was standing beside.

“Ja, it's fine. We won't report,” she said immediately.

Samuel looked over at Stefano, who scrutinised the floor. “You might want to give me some space,” he said dropping the plastic bag by his feet.

Perhaps they had misheard Samuel or were still contemplating his request but neither Dressler nor Stefano moved. Samuel didn't notice. His eyes were closed. He held out his hands and concentrated.

Instantly, Dressler saw a shimmering spectre erupting from the grave. It hung between Samuel's hands, spiralling and twisting in the air. The aura was dazzling in its luminescence, radiating colour and shimmering with energy. Dressler was mesmerised; the magnificence of the aura captivated her, drawing her in, her feet moving involuntarily towards it. She felt an overpowering urge to touch it, to push her fingers into it and feel its silken caress over her skin. Samuel's concentration and focus deepened and the aura began to glow white hot. Dressler watched for as long as she could but the aura was raging with a terrible intensity. She shielded her eyes first with one hand then the other before finally turning away, the aura's spell broken. Yet the light still seared into her retina. Unable to see and increasingly unable to think Dressler stumbled to the floor. Her body ached; her mind felt as if it was being overloaded, collapsing under the sheer, brilliant intensity of the fire that Samuel held within his hands. Dressler tried desperately to crawl away from the supernova her limbs wooden and her spirit broken. She collapsed face first into the dirt.

The light stopped, Dressler's pain and confusion ebbed. She slowly, gingerly flipped over onto her back blowing out the dirt between her lips. It took all the energy she could muster. She lay panting with one arm slung over her eyes. Dressler reached for Stefano and brushed his shoulder. She dug her fingers into him and was relieved to feel movement in response. Dressler felt Stefano's hand reach for her and clasp onto her bicep. They clung to each other. After a few moments Dressler risked opening one eye, the world slowly came back into focus and she saw standing by the headstone a tall, naked man.

“Who are you?” asked the tall man of Samuel.

“I'm Samuel, your brother.”

The tall man laughed. “Samuel is twelve.”

“I was twelve when you died, but that was fifteen years ago.”

The tall man didn't seem to hear Samuel. He was looking at Stefano and Dressler lying on the floor. “What are they doing?” he said pointing.

“I had to use an enormous amount of energy to bring you back. My friends here were too close for comfort. They are dazed.”

The tall man considered this. “Am I dead?”

“Not any more. You were killed and buried here. Look at the headstone by your feet. You will see I'm not lying.” The tall man squatted, his lips moved a fraction as he read and re-read the engraved marble, tracing his fingers along the letters of his name.

“Hold on, excuse me, sorry, sorry,” said Stefano slowly rising to his feet and manically waving his hands. “Samuel, what do you mean he was dead? Who is this? Is this your brother? Did you just bring him the fuck back to life?”

Samuel nodded.

Stefano felt a chill rushing up his spine; he crossed himself and shot a look of wild concern at Dressler. “Samuel back at the river you weren't joking were you?”

Samuel shook his head.

“So you were dead,” said Stefano to the tall man. “What, were you in heaven, with St Peter?”

The tall man looked out over the cemetery and back down the hill to Haran.

“What did you see? A white light? Angels? Anything?”

“Nothing.” The tall man sighed. “One moment in the war, the next here with you. In between, nothing. It's like I've been woken from a dreamless sleep.”

Stefano crossed himself once more.

Dressler cleared her throat pointing to the plastic bag lying at Samuel's feet. Dressler stared down at her shoes.

“Of course,” said Samuel. “Here take these, put them on.”

The three of them stood in silence as Samuel's brother dressed. Once he was fully clothed, he turned to Samuel. “Samuel.”

“Yes Brother.”

“I have missed a lot, haven't I?”

Sadness swept over Samuel like a black wave. He tried hard to keep from his eyes the reality of the wasted years. Their lives had continued to flow. The family his brother had left behind fifteen years ago wasn't the same. They had changed, everything had changed, everything except him. Samuel stared blankly at his brother, his sadness robbing him of his voice, but Dressler came to his aid.

“No sadness, please. You've missed much; yes, but think of the incredible things you are going to discover. The world is different. Better. Your family is safe.”

“Yes, Dressler is right,” said Samuel brightening. “Do you remember when we were kids and we had to study by candle-light when the electricity went out, or queueing by the wall for hours to get through the checkpoint into Israel. That's all gone now, no more war, no more occupation and the wall is coming down. The two countries are trying hard to live in peace.”

His brother nodded.

“And we are all still here. Khalid has kids, you are an uncle! And Mama would love to see you. She is not far away. So come Brother. Let's go directly.” Samuel turned towards Dressler. “Why don't you two return to Mariam's and pick up the car? Meet me just outside the camp in an hour. I still want to head back to Jerusalem tonight.”

***

DRESSLER'S phone rang. She used the standard ring tone that came preloaded with the handset. They were twenty minutes into their journey. Samuel sat in the back thinking of his brother. He hated leaving him, but he had no choice. Dressler mumbled something into the phone and passed it to Samuel.

“Mariam.”

Samuel reached forward for the phone shooting Dressler a look. She caught it out of the corner of her eye and smiled. “I gave her my number. It's good to talk, ja.”

Samuel grinned. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Mariam laughed almost subconsciously. “My father is very disappointed in the current crop of heavyweights.”

Samuel knew nothing of boxing. Mariam's joy beamed through the phone.

“He's in the kitchen with Mama; they have a lot of catching up to do. You were right. It feels like he was never gone.”

“Good.”

“Dressler said you were heading back, not staying with your brother?”

Samuel sighed. “I really wanted to, but I can't spend any more time away. My brother has my mother. They are going to Haifa to see Khalid and the kids. They will come to Jerusalem in a week or so. I didn't want to hang around in camp. It's massive and I felt weird being there.”

Mariam changed the subject. “You could have warned me about the nakedness.”

Samuel chuckled. “Sorry about that, I had no idea that would happen. It was my first time. Anyway, your father has nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Don't go there,” warned Mariam. “Was your brother okay?”

“I think so, a little bit spaced out at first. He didn't recognise me. Mama ran the 100 metres faster than Ben Johnson when she saw him.”

Samuel took a breath before he asked the next question; it was the only one he had wanted to ask of her all day and finally the distance gave him the courage to do so. “When are you coming home?”

Mariam answered immediately. “Tomorrow evening. There is a meeting. Ideally I would have wanted some more time with my father but I don't think we can move the meeting.”

Samuel was indignant. “Of course you can. You haven't seen your father in over a decade. Take the time. Work can wait.”