The Pestilence (10 page)

A barely disguised look of revulsion crossed Mariko's face.

“I know that isn't what you want. You hate the way he looks at you. With your family now gone, who will protect you from him?”

Samuel had exposed Mariko's shame, the root of her uncertainty but he wasn't sure it was the right button to push. He was close to reaching her, he could see in her aura that he was getting through. He desperately wanted to steer her from the twisted path she was on.

“I think it's a profound human need to feel that you belong. Whether it's to a family, a group of friends or a church, the need for belonging is powerful, we all feel it. But this need shouldn't override your individual sense of what is right and what is wrong because in our hearts we all know the truth. When the group you are part of murders innocents in the name of God you need to have the courage to walk away. I can help do that. I can help you walk away.” Samuel extended his hand to Mariko.

White ignored it.

“Let me help you, Mariko. Your scripture says that the False Messiah controls an army, is bedecked in the finest jewels and silks and he deploys advanced weapons in battle against the coming of the King.” Samuel spread his arms wide, no shoes on his feet. “Look at me Mariko; I'm nothing more than a simple farmer.”

“Your tongue is forked and you have drawn a veil over my eyes.”

Samuel wondered if White always spoke like that or was it because she was talking to him. He was tempted to stick out his tongue to show her the
unforkedness
of it. He imagined her in Tokyo ordering sushi: “I command you to bring forth my maki roll this instant.”

They stood eyeing each other warily. Samuel was sure Mariko had not been sent to engage him. She was a spy, an advanced party for the ferocious killers who were to follow. He was constantly trying to read her intentions but her aura was similar to when he had first looked upon it, hugely conflicted and with each passing moment shifting one way then the other. Samuel saw her strength gather and her aura shimmered with a dark malevolence. He glanced at the sheathed Tanto and for the first time wished he was safely back on the balcony three floors up.

“Mariko what would your father think of you becoming a killer at the behest of the man who murdered the rest of your family? He was a man loyal to Ashen and was betrayed; is this how he would want you to act?”

The fierceness of White's stare wavered momentarily. “My father was descended from a noble samurai family. He lived his life through the Bushido warrior code. Above all he believed in loyalty, devotion and duty to our liege lord. He would be ashamed.” White shook her head. Her intentions suddenly crystallised and blazed through her aura.

Samuel instantly realised his mistake. He had questioned her loyalty and that sense of loyalty, of duty, had been brainwashed into her since birth. He knew he was dead; killed by his own arrogance. This was no test; this wasn't ever the answer he was seeking. He had begged for guidance and found only the twisted bitterness of failure.

“My father would be ashamed that I waivered in my duty or questioned in any way my loyalty to our liege lord.” It was pointless running, she was too close and the Tanto was already silently sliding out of its scabbard. Samuel closed his eyes, thought of his sleeping family three floors up and waited for the end to come.

Behind him and to his right Samuel heard two firecrackers explode. He opened his eyes to see Mariko lurching towards him, rich, dark arterial blood spraying from a wound in her neck. Samuel caught her as she fell and the Tanto dropped to the grass at his feet. The first bullet had caught her in the auricle of the ear, causing a myriad of micro fractures as it penetrated her skull. The second bullet passed straight through her neck severing the carotid artery. The damage was catastrophic. Samuel witnessed the light of life leaving Mariko's eyes as she bled onto the grass. Her aura grew pallid and rapidly diminished. Samuel laid Mariko down as gently as he could. He was trembling from the shock of witnessing her shooting. Her blood leached into his clothes, staining his skin. Mariko, through the dark pools of her eyes, stared defiantly into the half distance. He had failed her. Samuel did the only thing he could think of, he placed his hands on her face and his thumbs covered her eyes.

“Don't do it Mr Srour. She was about to slice open your throat. She's not worth saving.” A tall man in an expensive suit kneeled down beside him, his cologne failed to drown out the stench of Mariko's blood and bodily fluids pooling around them. Mariko's aura was fading into the Jerusalem night. She was a damaged woman, but Samuel saw that her heart was not in itself evil. Samuel concentrated. He felt the energy flow through his fingers pulsing into Mariko's aura, recalling it from oblivion.

The first bullet had broken into fragments on impact with Mariko's skull and it was these fragments that were forced out by the healing energy. The second bullet had passed straight through her neck. The tall man watched as the artery, the cartilage, the muscle, the tendons and finally the skin renewed itself and the hole in Mariko's neck closed before his eyes.

The vast amounts of lost blood were rapidly being reproduced in Mariko's bone marrow and she took some time to stir. Samuel picked up the Tanto and tucked it into the back of his shorts. “I'm keeping this. I don't want to see you ever again.”

“You're lucky he saved you.” The tall man had a southern European accent. “You deserved to die.”

Samuel turned to the tall man and said, “There is a blue BMW parked in the campus car park. The keys are in her pocket. Her purse is in the trunk with her passport. Have your men take her to the airport and put her on the next plane back to Tokyo. There are more people like her, well not like her, much, much, worse. They have a base in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City. You need to find them. They won't stop until I'm dead and they will kill anyone who gets in their way.”

“Yes sir,” the tall man held out his hand. Samuel used the grass to wipe the blood from his and shook it. “Stefano Grigori, a pleasure.”

“Samuel Srour, good shooting Stefano, Victor said you were on your way. I'm really glad you are here. Now that ulcer, come. Let me heal you.”

***

VICTOR was shown to the meeting room. Predictably, the room was empty save for the customary refreshments and the glorious view along Fifth Avenue. The Avistra building was on the corner of East 40th Street and Fifth overlooking the New York Public Library and Bryant Park. Victor loved New York; for him New York and Hong Kong stood out as the most vertiginous and breathtaking urban vistas on the planet; the pinnacle of human engineering and evolutionary design.

Connor Bradley was, no doubt, deliberately late. Bradley was the CEO and majority shareholder of Avistra, one of the fastest growing platforms on the Internet. Bradley and his partners had built Avistra as a closed system with the simple aim of protecting the identity and preserving the anonymity of its users. Avistra had tapped into the growing backlash against the increasing supervision and monitoring of the Internet. The platform offered email, videos, pictures, blogs, online shopping and messaging without third parties being able to monitor or track activity. Members could only join the network through an invitation from existing registered users. No advertising was permitted and the membership fee was ten dollars per month. The platform had 150 million members.

Bradley kept Victor waiting. Bradley kept everybody waiting. The man was a despot of the highest order. Famously blunt and utterly contemptuous of anyone who he deemed to be wasting his time. Victor had sold a cloud server business to him a few years ago. He didn't attend the final negotiations himself but Bradley did for a few seconds before storming out when he discovered that Victor had sent another VPC Capital partner to close the deal. Victor didn't know if Bradley had ever truly forgiven him for the perceived sleight. I guess, he thought, I'm about to find out.

Victor hated being first into a meeting room. He never usually was. No better way to stamp your authority on the people you were meeting than to keep them waiting. As Victor had lost that particular advantage, he didn't want to concede further ground to Bradley by being seated when he arrived. He felt that there was no dignified way to get out of a chair and greet someone. If you got up too quickly you were jumping to attention, giving up the first strike in the cock-fight. Too slowly and you were simply being rude, projecting your disdain at the person you were meeting. Victor avoided the chairs and stood by the windows overlooking Manhattan. He ensured that the sun was on his back so that Bradley would have to squint to first see him.

Before every meeting Victor had a routine, he spread out his arms and pointed his fingers. He was opening up, a classic power pose making himself bigger and more effective. He held the pose for a full minute before relaxing into a neutral stance. By adopting the power pose Victor was flooding his body with testosterone, the dominance hormone, while at the same time reducing the body's levels of the stress hormone cortisol. He was ready for Bradley.

The meeting room door burst open. Bradley stood for a second, framed in the doorway, scanning the near empty meeting room. He fixed on Victor, smiled and strode over with purpose and energy. It was a textbook alpha male entrance.

“Victor, it has been too long.” Victor was more than a match for Bradley's vice grip. The tendon's in both men's hands flexed and strained while their faces remained smiling, warm and friendly. Bradley, looking into the sun, had to squint to maintain eye contact and Victor felt a tiny stirring of pleasure. If Victor was going to choose the easy way to run the meeting now, with Bradley's hand in his, was the time.

“Indeed it has Connor. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Victor let Bradley's hand slip from his grasp. He felt like a challenge and today, his first donors meeting, he decided to try the hard way.

“I hope you're not here to get me to sign up to your ridiculous foundation.” That was the small talk done with, thought Victor.

“Yes I am and before you kick me out let me tell you why you should.”

“Sit, sit,” said Bradley pointing to a seat out of the sunlight. He placed his cell phone on the table in front of him. “I have read the literature and even saw your turn on the
Susan Saltman Show
. I'm not convinced; I don't see the point of giving my hard earned money to a bunch of deadbeats who can't balance their cheque books every month. I don't see it.”

Victor sat in the shade. “Bradley, forget about the moral implications of what I'm doing. I know you don't have a bleeding heart for me to appeal to. I want you, as a visionary, as a business man to focus on the economic implications. I am taking dead capital, capital which is doing nothing but earning a small turn and using it to generate new demand for our products.”

“I know what you're doing, you are pump priming demand. Putting disposable income back into consumers' pockets, but that's the government's job. Your job and mine is selling people stuff they want but don't need. There are plenty of people I can sell my network to; the Chinese and Indians. These people aren't stuffed to the gills with debt.”

“Yes, but the emerging market still needs demand from the West to grow. Where is that demand coming from? We can't drop interest rates as they are the lowest they have ever been. People can't or won't take more debt because they are saturated. Incomes are falling or stagnating at best. No demand, no growth.”

“My business has the best growth rate on the Street.”

“No doubt Connor, it's a great product.”

“It's not the American way, Victor. In this country, you stand on your own two feet or you fall into the dust. You're French, Victor; you have taken this whole égalité thing too far.”

“But Connor, no society can function with 99 per cent of the people in the dust. What I am talking about is the whole system. This global economic system we have built and that has made us rich, it's broken. We need to fix it before it completely disintegrates.”

Bradley frowned and shook his head. “It's not my problem. I'm happy just selling my network. As I said it's not my job to fix it, nor is it yours, Victor. What happened to you? When did you turn into such a liberal pussy? We are wasting time here.” Bradley picked up his cell phone, dismissing Victor. That was it, meeting done. Victor looked across the table at his fellow high capitalist. This was his first fundraising meeting and he knew now that the others would be as short-sighted. He now regretted trying the hard way; perhaps he should have just gone with the easy way from the beginning.

Victor stood, reached across the table and broke the seal on his bottle of Norwegian glacial water. He took a sip and walked round the room. Bradley wasn't going to get up to see his guest out, his contempt for Victor and his foundation was clear. Bradley was absorbed with the messages that were streaming into his phone. As Victor approached, Bradley limply held out a hand for Victor to shake. He didn't even bother to look at him. Victor drew his arm back and slapped Bradley's hand as hard as he could. The noise echoed round the room, followed by a look of shock, then fury on Bradley's face. He started to get up, but Victor slipped behind him and firmly pushed him back into his chair. Victor grabbed the wispy remains of Bradley's hair and yanked his head back forcefully. Bradley's Adam's apple protruded grotesquely from his neck. With his free hand Victor clamped down on Bradley's forehead and concentrated. Bradley felt a small electrical discharge, similar to a static shock flowing from Victor's fingers. He tried lashing out but Victor used his bodyweight to jam Bradley's chair under the table. Bradley dug his fingers into Victor's arms but Victor was just too strong and the power flowing from his hands too great for Connor Bradley to resist.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 12 days. Information source: Avistra Inc. press release.

AVISTRA INC (AVI) Donation to the Chaput Foundation

Avistra Inc. announces today that the Group CEO, Founder and Chairman Connor Bradley will personally donate US$5 billion to the Chaput Foundation.

In addition, Avistra Inc. will pledge 1 per cent of total group sales annually to the foundation. The current donation for this financial year will be US$180 million.

The Chaput Foundation aims to eradicate the poverty and alleviate the suffering caused by individual indebtedness. The foundation strives to achieve these aims by purchasing and cancelling individual debt.

Connor Bradley: CEO and Chairman of Avistra Inc.

“The late Princess Diana once said;
Nothing brings me more happiness than trying to help the most vulnerable people in society. It is a goal and an essential part of my life, a kind of destiny.
”

“My personal donation and the annual contribution of my company will bring succour and economic freedom to millions. I am pleased that I can support such a worthwhile and important cause and I urge my fellow entrepreneurs and industrialists to join this crusade against inequality.”

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 13 days. Information source: Decapolis background report – Stefano Grigori as the reporting agent. Executive summary prepared for Victor Pierre Chaput.

As instructed our investigators have produced a background report on the relationship between Dr Mariam Fara and Dr Shimon Biram.

The investigation was primarily conducted through analysis of metadata gathered from Dr Fara's and Dr Biram's personal cell phones over the six month period prior to this report.

Please note for the purpose of this report the definition of “Calls” includes both phone calls and messages.

Metadata information includes frequency of Calls, time of Calls and their length. The content of Calls cannot be monitored.

Additionally, we have used hyperbolic positioning (triangulation of the time difference in the arrival of signals transmitted between cell phones and cell towers) to establish the location of callers at the time the Calls were made.

The metadata analysis results are as follows:

Dr Fara's number is the second most frequently used by Dr Biram. Dr Biram's wife's number is the most frequently used

Dr Biram's number is the fifth most frequently used by Dr Fara. Behind Dr Fara's mother, Samuel Srour, two school friends and the local falafel takeaway

Dr Biram and Dr Fara travel together. Two such trips were to Chile and Canada

Volume of Calls is 70% lower than the mean at weekends

Volume of Calls is 95% lower than the mean when location data suggests Dr Fara is visiting her home village of Haran

Total Call volume split by time; 6 a.m.-9 a.m. (5%), 9 a.m.-12 p.m. (20%), 12 p.m.-3 p.m. (25%), 3 p.m.-6 p.m. (30%), 6 p.m.-9 p.m. (13%), 9 p.m.-12 a.m. (5%), 12 a.m.-3 a.m. (2%), 3 a.m.-6 a.m. (<1%)

Location based data places both Dr Biram and Dr Fara together at University of Jerusalem campus on 27 occasions later than 11 p.m.

The most recent location data tracks Dr Biram leaving his residence and travelling to campus in the late evening on the night after the Electrical Phenomenon. We believe Dr Fara was also on campus that night with Samuel Srour

The metadata must be read with respect to the background of the two parties.

The doctors are colleagues in the Astrophysical Sciences Department at the University of Jerusalem and have cooperated and co-authored a number of published papers.

The source data for their work is produced from telescopes around the world. The majority of this data is collected through observations of the night sky. Hence the working hours of the department are skewed towards the evening.

The travel indicated by the metadata corresponds to science conferences and delegations to other academic establishments for and on behalf of the University of Jerusalem.

Location data is not sensitive enough to distinguish between academic buildings and residential buildings on the Jerusalem campus.

Our findings are that the metadata evidence is inconclusive. Our team is following up on Dr Fara and Dr Biram's potential last meeting.

***

“WHAT'S this?” asked Mariam picking up the sheathed Tanto from the kitchen counter.

Samuel was seated at the breakfast table while Mariam and Dalia were making preparations to leave for Haran. “It's a Kissaki-Moroha-Zukuri style Tanto, a real samurai knife. We had a visitor last night who wanted to run me through with it.”

Mariam and Dalia both stopped what they were doing and gathered around Samuel. Dalia placed her hand on Samuel's shoulder.

“Don't worry, everything's fine. We have some new friends who are looking after us.” Samuel rose from the table and opened the front door. A woman stood in the doorway almost filling the entire door frame. “This is Frau Dressler; she is part of our new security team. They arrived last night.” Dressler nodded a greeting and both Dalia and Mariam had to crane their necks upwards to return it. “Something I agreed with Victor Chaput.”

Mariam silently unsheathed the Tanto. It caught the sun fully resplendent in the morning light. Mariam almost gasped. “Wow, it's astonishingly beautiful.”

“Ja,
but very dangerous.” Dressler's East German voice boomed across the room. Six feet two inches in her flat working boots Dressler had to stoop slightly to enter the apartment. When she did there seemed precious little room for anyone else. She moved with a powerful, athletic grace, reaching the kitchen in a few paces and taking a metal ladle from the counter. She held her hand out towards Mariam, who gave her the Tanto. “Look, watch.” Dressler grasped the bowl of the ladle in her left hand holding it at arm's length. She drew the Tanto across her left shoulder and in a backhand motion struck the handle of the ladle. The metal tip of the ladle flew off into the kitchen sink. Frau Dressler repeated the action and another segment of the handle sailed into the air this time missing the sink and clattering onto the floor. It was effortless, the Tanto slicing straight through the metal ladle with ease. “Very dangerous, ja.” The room nodded in agreement. Then Dressler ceased immolating the ladle, sheathed the Tanto and returned it to Mariam with a curt bow. Mariam ran her fingers along the leather scabbard and quietly slipped the knife into her travelling ruck sack.