The Miracle Strain

The Miracle Strain

Aka The Messiah Code

Michael Cordy

PROLOGUE:

1968. Southern Jordan.

Was it really true? After two thousand years of waiting had the prophecy finally come to pass in his lifetime, during his leadership?

The Sikorsky helicopter passed over Petra, its shadow flitting like an insect over the ancient city carved into cliffs of rock. The magnificent statues and pillars glowed red in the late afternoon light, but Ezekiel De La Croix didn't look down; for once he was oblivious to the breathtaking beauty of the deserted city below him. Keeping his eyes on the horizon ahead, he searched the endless ocean of sand for the place the helicopter would eventually set down.

One of his two fellow passengers--their dark suits as creased as his own--stirred beside him. Both men slept, exhausted from their journey. They had not rested since traveling to Geneva, where they had interrupted his board meeting at the Brotherhood's Bank in order to bring him the news.

The news that would change everything. If it were true.

Checking the Rolex on his wrist, Ezekiel brushed a hand through his thin white hair. From the time he'd been told what had happened, to chartering the plane to Amman and boarding the Brotherhood's waiting helicopter, it had taken a whole working day to get here, as well as costing thousands more Swiss francs than the scheduled flight. But then money had never been an issue for the Brotherhood, only time--two thousand years of time.

They should be only minutes away now. He nervously twisted the ring of leadership on his finger--a blood-red ruby mounted in a cross of white gold--and reassured himself that he couldn't have come here any sooner.

The rhythmic whup-whup of the rotor blades served only to heighten his tension as the helicopter sped across the sand, leaving the cliffs of Petra far behind. A further ten minutes elapsed before he finally saw what he was looking for: five lone rocks clustered in a defiant fist against the surrounding desert. He sat forward and looked down at the tallest pillar of rock, over forty feet high. Its crooked shape seemed to be beckoning him. A shiver ran down the back of his neck. The power of this place had always moved him, but today it was almost too much to bear.

The five rocks appeared on few maps, and then only as a series of contour lines, never a name. Few outside the Brotherhood were aware of their existence, apart from the ancient water finders, the Nabataeans, who thousands of years ago would wander this sandy wilderness. And in more recent centuries, the nomadic Bedouin. But even these Princes of the Desert avoided the cluster of rocks, eschewing their meager shade, preferring to move on to Petra in the north. For reasons known only to themselves they felt uneasy going too close to this place they called Asbaa el-Lah--the fingers of God.

"Going down!" shouted the pilot above the noise of the rotors.

Ezekiel said nothing, still mesmerized by the rocks looming up below him. Parked under the overhang of one were three dusty Land Rovers. A fan of matting was draped from their rear bumpers to cover their tracks in the sand. Clearly other members were already here.

Ezekiel glanced at the men asleep beside him. In the world outside the Brotherhood one was an eminent American industrialist, the other a prominent Italian politician. Both were members of the six-strong Inner Circle and Ezekiel assumed that the others had already assembled by the Sacred Cavern. He wondered how many more from the Brotherhood had also been drawn here by the rumors. Even their organization's obsession with secrecy couldn't hide this.

As they neared the base of the tallest rock, the noise of the rotors seemed to increase in volume. When the helicopter finally landed Ezekiel De La Croix threw open the door and, with a grace that belied his sixty years, leaped out onto the sun-baked ground. Squinting against the stinging grains of sand, he hurried from under the rotors. Ahead he could see an opening in the tall rock. A man, dressed in a lightweight suit, stood beneath the cave's archway and Ezekiel immediately recognized him as Brother Michael Urquart, another member of the Inner Circle. Urquart had been a highly successful lawyer, but when Ezekiel looked at his bloated, aged frame he worried whether the Brother, like so many others in the Inner Circle, was now too old and too tired to meet the new challenges ahead.

Ezekiel extended his right hand, taking Brother Michael's in his. "May he be saved," Ezekiel said.

The Brother's left hand then clasped his, the two hand-shakes forming a cross. "So he may save the righteous," replied Urquart, completing the ancient greeting.

Their hands parted and Ezekiel demanded, "Has it changed again?" His eyes dared the man to tell him his grueling journey had been wasted.

Brother Michael's tired face broke into a smile. "No, Father Ezekiel, it is still as you were told."

The tension Ezekiel felt in every muscle only allowed him to return the briefest flicker of a smile. Ignoring the other two Brothers now alighting groggily from the helicopter behind, he patted Urquart on the shoulder and walked into the cave.

The eroded space was no different from any of the natural caves found in these parts, some ten feet high, with a width and depth approaching twenty feet. There were no obvious signs of man's intervention, apart from the torches resting against the walls. But ahead of him in the gloom Ezekiel was relieved to see that the concealed portal in the far wall had been opened; the heavy stone could take ages to lever aside. Walking through the opening, Ezekiel De La Croix was greeted by two large gas lamps, illuminating a mosaic floor and walls carved with the names of all those who had gone before: the thousands of Brothers who had waited in vain for this moment to arrive. In the center of the chamber were the Great Stairs, a rough-hewn spiral staircase that snaked its way two hundred feet down into the rock beneath the sands of Jordan.

Without waiting for the others, Ezekiel made his way down the worn steps. He ignored the rope handrail, using the cool surface of the stone walls to steady himself as he made the descent. At the bottom the inky darkness was beaten back by flame torches, flickering in a subterranean breeze blown in from the labyrinth of air tunnels. In this pulsing light the carvings and frescoes on the low ceiling seemed to dance before him.

From here he entered the meandering passageway that led to the Sacred Cavern. Restraining himself from breaking into a run, he hurried down the passage, his heels clicking on the smooth rock floor polished by countless feet before him.

Turning the last corner, he heard voices and saw ten or so men gathered outside the ten-foot-tall ebony doors, carved with heraldic chevrons and crosses, which guarded the cavern. Plainly the news had spread beyond the Inner Circle, and others from the Brotherhood had come to see if the rumors were true. He recognized the last two members of the Inner Circle standing by the arched doors: stout Brother Bernard Trier, nervously stroking his goatee, and the tall, gaunt Brother Darius. Darius saw Ezekiel first and raised his hand to still the group, who immediately turned to their leader and fell silent.

Brushing past the assembled Brothers, Ezekiel exchanged the ritual greeting with Brother Darius.

"May he be saved."

"So he may save the righteous."

Their hands parted and before Ezekiel could question him Darius turned to his younger colleague, saying: "Brother Bernard, you will wait here while I escort the Father inside. Once he has given his decision, and declared the sign genuine, you may open the doors to the others."

Bernard opened the left door a few inches, its ancient hinges groaning in protest. Ezekiel and Darius stole inside; then the door was shut behind them, the noise of its closing echoing around the space before them.

As always when Ezekiel entered the Sacred Cavern he paused, struck by its simple grandeur: the rough, square pillars supporting the tons of rock above; the tapestries that adorned the chiseled walls; the multitude of torches and candles whose warm light gilded the hewn ceiling of rock with the appearance of beaten gold. But today his eyes moved to one place only: to the altar at the far end of the cavern.

He strode past the pillars to gain a clearer view into the center of the mosaic floor. The altar, with its familiar white linen cloth emblazoned with the red cross, was visible now. But his eyes focused in front of it, on the round fissure in the stone floor. The hole, no larger than a man's head, was lined with lead in the shape of a star. A two-foot flame issued from its core.

With hesitant steps Ezekiel De La Croix approached the Sacred Fire that had burned for two thousand years. Pacing around it four times he eventually acknowledged the truth of what he saw. There could be no more doubt. The flame that had burned orange for almost twenty centuries had changed to white, a bluewhite of dazzling brightness not seen since the first Messiah had walked the earth.

The tears came then. He couldn't stop them. His sense of destiny and honor was too great. He had always suspected that with the passing of the second millennium the change in the sacred flame that heralded Parousia--the Second Coming--could occur. But he had never dared hope that the prophecy might come true in his lifetime. Yet now, during his leadership, it had finally come to pass. He only wished his father, and every ancestor and past member of the Brotherhood listed on the walls above, could share this moment with him--the moment to which they had dedicated their lives.

"Father Ezekiel, shall I allow in the others?" asked the hoarse voice of Brother Darius behind him.

Ezekiel turned and saw that the Brother's eyes were also wet with tears. He smiled. "Yes, my friend. Let them see what we have seen."

Waiting by the altar, he watched the members of the Inner Circle stream into the Sacred Cavern, followed by those Brothers who had been drawn here by rumor alone. He said nothing for a while, allowing them to feast their famished eyes on the flame. When they had seen their fill he raised his arms for silence.

"My brethren, the sign is genuine. The Prophecy of Lazarus has come to pass." Pausing, he scanned their faces, trying to meet every eye with his. "The Messiah walks among us once more. Our long wait has ended, and the search can now begin."

As he watched his jubilant followers, Ezekiel had only one prayer on his lips: that he would live long enough to fulfill the Primary Imperative of the Brotherhood of the Second Coming. Smiling now, he raised his arms high into the air as if reaching for heaven itself.

"May he be saved," he said, his voice booming out across the cavern.

Every face glowed with excitement as they threw their arms in the air, responding with one voice:

"So he may save the righteous."

PART I

The Prophets Within

Chapter One.

Midnight. December 10, 2002

Stockholm, Sweden

It continues to snow. As it has done throughout the award ceremony and the celebration banquet that followed. Huge flakes ofwhite fall from the dark sky, appearing suddenly in the powerfullights that illuminate the red brick of the Stadshuset, Stockholm'sCity Hall. Despite the cold and the snow, a small hardy crowdhas gathered by the steps to watch the royal couple and theprizewinners leave.

Hands pushed deep into overcoat pockets, one broad-shoulderedfigure moves to the front, perhaps hoping for a better view. Butas Olivia follows Dr. Tom Carter out of the City Hall and into theSwedish night, she doesn't notice this watcher's unusual eyesstaring at her husband.

She's too busy checking that her eight-year-old daughter buttonsher red coat. "Put your hat on too, Holly. It's freezing."

Holly scrunches up her hazel eyes as she buttons her collar. "Itmakes me feel dorky."

"Dorky? That's a new one." Olivia laughs and puts the Russianstyle fur hat over Holly's spiky blond hair. "Anyway, it's betterto feel dorky than cold."

"You don't look dorky, Holly," Tom says, turning to his daughter. He crouches down to Holly's level, his blue eyes studying heras if she's something in his laboratory. Then he shrugs and smiles. "Well, perhaps a little."

Holly giggles then as he takes her hand and leads her downthe steps.

They look good together, thinks Olivia, following behind. Theirdaughter is beautiful, although Olivia would never dare tell herthat. Just getting Holly to forsake her jeans and Nikes and put ona dress for the ceremony has been a major achievement.

Tom turns and laughs at something Holly says, and Olivia seeshis intense blue eyes soften. Looking at his tall, gangly frame andthe flakes of snow resting in his unruly black hair, she is remindedhow handsome he looks, especially in the white tie and tails hewears beneath his cashmere coat. Both he and Jasmine deservedthe prize and Olivia feels so proud of them that she barely noticesthe biting cold.

At that moment Dr. Jasmine Washington comes up beside her. The young computer scientist's short, styled Afro is hidden beneaththe hood of a bright blue cape, which looks almost electric in thespotlights. The dark skin of her elfin face contrasts with the snowand the whites of her eyes.

Next to her is Jack Nichols, Tom's business partner at GENIUSBiotech Diagnostics. He walks straight up to her husband andpats him on the shoulder, congratulating him again. A few inchesshorter than Tom, Jack is still over six feet, and powerful with it. His craggy face, complete with a crescent-shaped scar runningfrom his left nostril to the left side of his mouth, makes him lookmore like a boxer than the joint head of the world's largest biotechcompany.

Their group is now almost complete as they make their way tothe waiting limousines, their interiors lit up like carriages of old. Olivia is impressed with the size of the crowd gathered at the baseof the steps. She suspects that most of them, along with the police,are focused on King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia, whoselimousine is just leaving. But more than enough lights focus ontheir small group.

"Jazz, where are the others?" asks Olivia. Tom's father andJasmine's fiance are also in their party.

Jasmine gestures behind her. "They're back there talk ing with the guy who won the literature prize."

"So how does it feel being a Nobel laureate?" Olivia asks, smiling at her old roommate from Stanford. "And to think, twelve orso years ago, you were worried about getting a job that wouldmake a difference. Remember?"

Jasmine laughs, her teeth white against her skin. "Yeah." Sheshrugs dismissively, but Olivia can see how thrilled she is. Gettinga scholarship to Stanford, followed by a Ph. D. from MIT, was animpressive achievement for anyone, let alone a ghetto kid fromthe projects of South Central L. A. But this--this was somethingelse.

"And now you and Tom have changed the world," says Olivia. They had indeed, according to the head of the Karolinska Institute,the body that awards the Nobel Prize for Medicine and Physiology. The short, silver-haired man had hailed Tom's brainchild, bornof his mastery of genetics and Jasmine's genius with protein-basedcomputers, the most significant scientific achievement since Watson and Crick discovered the DNA double helix. One that wouldsave countless lives. Olivia remembers how back in January 1999Tom and Jasmine had first demonstrated the Genescope's abilityto decode every human gene from just a single body cell. In onestroke their invention had made the international Human GenomeProject redundant.

Jasmine reaches forward and pats Holly on the back. "Well, mygoddaughter didn't seem too impressed. I saw her yawn twice."

"Were you yawning in the ceremony, Holly?" asks Tom with alaugh.

Holly gives a sheepish shrug and blows a snowflake off hernose. "No. Well, a little. It was pretty long, wasn't it?"

Tom turns his head and catches Olivia's eye behind him. Theysmile at each other and he extends his other hand behind his back,toward her. They are now some ten feet from the limousine. Theirhands clasp and Tom turns around, leaning toward her as hedoes when he's about to kiss her.

At that moment the broad-shouldered figure steps out of thecrowd in front of them.

Moving closer to Tom, Olivia doesn't see the person atfirst. Then out of the corner of her eye she sees the crescent-shapescar on Jack Nichols's face twist into a scowl. Why does he lookso angry? So frightened?

Then time seems to slow down.

There is a sharp report, and Jack is pushing Tom away fromher. Wrenching his hand out of hers, making him fall againstHolly.

In that split instant she clearly sees the man in the bigshouldered coat. He's standing in front of her, pointing at whereTom was.

Where she is.

A flash comes from the man's hand and another report cracksthe cold night. An enormous force hammers into her chest, pushingthe air out of her lungs, throwing her onto the ground. Then another impact hits her, and another, and another, rolling her downthe steps like a rag doll. She is more stunned than pained whenshe tries vainly to get up.

She must help Tom and Holly.

On the steps above her she can see Jasmine standing stock still,her electric blue cape dark with blood. Olivia hears a scream andsees Holly's big hazel eyes--so like her own--staring at her withhorror. She's no longer wearing her hat and Olivia's first thoughtis that Holly will get cold. Olivia tries to smile. She wants to reassure Holly, but she can't move and the back of her head feels wetand sticky. She suddenly realizes that this is all she can feel.

As her head rolls to one side she locks eyes with her fleeingkiller, who is already fading back into the stunned crowd, and issurprised by what she sees.

Where's Tom? she thinks. He'll make everything all right.

She hears him calling her name. He sounds far, far away.

Then, like a forgotten thought, his voice is gone, and she seesand hears no more.

"Olivia! Olivia! Olivia!"

The more Dr. Tom Carter screamed his wife's name, the harder he found it to believe what he saw. Crawling down the icy steps, he ignored the one bullet wound in his own leg. In all his years as a surgeon he had never seen so much blood from one person; the snow around Olivia's body was red with it. This couldn't be happening. Not tonight of all nights.

Everything had happened too fast---was happening too fast. Seconds ago he had everything. And now...

He could barely continue the thought. The world had gone mad. The crowd was shouting and screaming as the police tried to hold it back, forming a circle around his mini hell. Sirens screamed and cameras flashed. Jack was coming toward him, his face ashen white.

Leaning over Olivia, Tom gently brushed strands of blond hair from her face, expecting her open eyes to blink--to smile in recognition. But they just stared back at him. There was something strange about her head. With horrible detachment he realized that the back of her skull was missing.

He bent down and held her to him. "Why?" he cried, unaware he was shouting his thoughts out loud.

Then a realization, even colder than the night, froze his heart. Jack had pushed him out of the line of fire. The killer had been aiming at him, not Olivia.

He should be dead, not her.

Guilt, like a dagger, pierced the shock, making him retch. Then through the chaos, he heard a small whimpering sound behind him.

Holly? A panic seized him, just as Jack put a hand on his shoulder.

"Holly?" he shouted, pushing his friend away, twisting around to see his bloodstained daughter being comforted by her godmother. Jasmine's face was deadly pale. Reaching for Holly, Tom checked his daughter for injuries, all the time looking into pleading eyes, which begged him to explain what no sane man could. With a relief so fierce it made him gasp, Tom realized she was physically unhurt and squeezed her to his chest.

"It'll be okay," he said, stroking Holly's face, putting himself between her and Olivia. "It'll all be okay. I promise you." He spoke the words as much for his sake as hers, and as the paramedics pushed through the circle of police, all he could hold on to was the fact that at least Holly was unharmed.

At least she was safe.

Chapter Two.

Saturday, December 21, 2002