The Pestilence (8 page)

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Rami Hussein was in the kitchen of his old restaurant. He had spent the previous night at Salim's place. He needed a few days to get his affairs in order and Salim was more than happy to have his old friend close to him again. Other than dropping in to see his lawyer and the real estate agent Rami had no plans for tomorrow. He wasn't thinking much beyond chopping vegetables for the evening service. In the corner of the kitchen, a small radio was tuned into the BBC World Service. The radio echoed the reports being broadcast around the world. Bill Irons made the introduction to the news piece and started by linking the airstrike and the Electrical Phenomenon back to the Srour family farm. At the mention of Samuel's name, Rami grazed the cutting edge of the chef's knife across the back of his thumb. An angry red gash appeared and began to bleed profusely. Still with half an ear on the radio Rami walked over to the sink and held his thumb under the running tap. He fished for blue plasters on the shelf above. The water ran red for a moment then quickly became clear once more. Rami opened the plaster with his teeth and withdrew his sliced thumb from the stream of water, drying it carefully with a dish-cloth. He couldn't immediately see the cut. He moved into the light and held his thumb up. The light revealed nothing but unbroken skin. The wound had healed almost instantly.

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Victor Pierre Chaput was sitting in the lounge of his private hanger. His plane a Boeing Business Jet, a modified variant of the standard Boeing 737-700, was being refuelled and his luggage loaded. He had a bed, gym, office, bar and lounge at his disposal on board. With a range of 11,500 kilometres, the Business Jet could take Victor practically anywhere he wanted in the world. Of course, in the eventuality the jet was grounded for maintenance or repair, Victor owned two.

He was bound for New York where he had scheduled meetings with potential donors to the Chaput Foundation. The television in the lounge was locked into rolling news. Victor glanced at the muted screen. He stood up immediately, couldn't find the remote controller so he walked over to the television and manually increased the volume. Bill Irons was talking to Dalia about her son.

Bill Irons: Was Samuel religious?

Dalia Srour: Not at all. My family going back a few generations on my mother's side were originally Jewish and Samuel's father was Christian but we as a family don't observe either faith; I suppose we wear the cloak of religion very lightly. I have left my children to choose their own paths. My other boys had some interest but Samuel had none. You know, he read everything, history, art, fact, fiction, but for all his reading, all the hours with his nose in a book, I never saw him read a single religious book or text. Even after his brother passed, he didn't lean on faith.

Victor flicked over but all the channels were carrying the same story. Victor watched for a little while and then picked up his mobile and dialled Stefano Grigori.

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Dr Shimon Biram was sitting down to dinner at his family home. He had left work early as he wanted to catch his daughter's softball game. He wished he hadn't bothered. Her team had been soundly beaten, she had dropped three catches and had sulked all the way home. He was rarely home for dinner so his wife insisted on a full family meal. She was shuttling in the food from the kitchen when she called out to him. Shimon entered the kitchen to investigate and found his wife pointing at the television screen.

“Isn't that Dr Fara your colleague?” Shimon stared bemused at the screen. Mariam was being interviewed by Bill Irons.

Bill Irons: Why do you think he was chosen?

Mariam Fara: I don't know, neither does Samuel. We don't know why he has been blessed with these abilities. I know people will be looking to him for leadership, for guidance, but he doesn't have those kind of answers. He really is just an ordinary man. He's not interested in telling people how to live their lives or society how to function.

“Yes, that's Dr Fara,” said Shimon.

“Well, it looks like her boyfriend is about to become the most famous person on the planet,” said his wife.

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Dina's father sat with Dina on his lap in front of the television. The set was expectantly tuned into the BBC World News. Dina squirmed and wriggled, her attention everywhere else but the television.

“Sit still, my darling, I want to show you the man who cured you. He is coming on TV. Look, there he is, that's Samuel.” Dina settled slightly but she was still a fidgeting mass of pure energy. “He's going to cure that sick woman. See how he puts his hands on her face. He did that with you. He has God's power flowing from his hands. And now the woman is cured, she looks much better.”

“But why is she crying, Baba? She is better.”

“Oh my darling, when we are really, really happy sometimes we cry; like we did when Samuel cured you. We were so happy. We couldn't stop crying for hours.”

“Is Samuel an angel, Baba?”

“Yes my baby, he is.”

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Stefano Grigori was at his desk in Paris. He was receiving a briefing by videoconference from his agents on the ground in Jerusalem.

“Sir, we tracked Samuel Srour to Jerusalem through Dr Fara's cell phone. She made a couple of calls today and we were able to track her cell consistently throughout the day. We now also have a visual from our agent on the ground. They spent most of their day at the Sinai General Hospital, they moved on to the BBC studios for a few hours and they are now on campus at the University of Jerusalem. We believe that Dr Fara has a residence there.”

“Why didn't we know about this residence yesterday?”

“It's a transient location not registered in her name. The university loans the apartment out on a grace and favour basis.”

An alert popped up on Stefano's computer. The alert was sent by the cyber security division: Information pertinent to his current case.

“Hold on a second, gentlemen,” Stefano said as he clicked through to the link. The BBC News website flashed up. Front page a picture of Samuel Srour. He quickly scanned through the article and clicked on the video link to the news special. “Gentlemen, I suggest we reconvene in an hour. Our target is all over the news.”

Stefano picked up his phone and searched through his address book for Chaput's number. He felt a familiar and unwelcome kick from his ulcer as his stress levels rose. This was going to be a difficult call to make. He was about to tap send when the phone rang in his hand. Darth Vader's “Imperial March” from
Star Wars
echoed through his office, Victor Pierre Chaput calling.

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Hazel was sinking a drink with Bill at the Whisky Bar at the Mandarin Oriental. Hazel nursed a gin and tonic while Bill uncharacteristically stuck to mineral water. The biggest story of their lives was breaking around them and they were taking a brief respite from the storm.

“You know, I feel different since Samuel fixed the hole you made in my hand. Difficult to describe how, and hard to put my finger on it but I have been noticing a few things.”

“Hmm,” said Hazel. She brought her glasses from her hair and placed them over her eyes. She downed her drink and looked over Bill's shoulder at a handsome IDF soldier in full dress uniform.

“I just feel strong, invigorated. I feel able. My sleep patterns are usually all over the place and I mostly need a nightcap to sleep. Not last night. I woke up this morning refreshed for a change, ready to face the world.”

Hazel picked at the bandage on her left hand. She was regretting not insisting that Samuel heal her. Bill did look better; somehow younger, more vigorous. She glanced over at the soldier once more. To her disappointment, he had been joined by a tall, blonde woman. “Maybe it's the adrenalin rush from the story breaking,” she said.

“Yeah, perhaps, but I want to speak to the other people Samuel has healed. People from the hospitals they visited yesterday. How are they feeling, what are they doing with their lives since their interaction with him? There is something happening here bigger than this healing but I just don't know what.” Hazel nodded. “One thing I do know is that I definitely don't need these anymore,” he said fishing out his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and dropping them into Hazel's empty glass.

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time Dalia was sitting on the uncomfortable sofa in Mariam's apartment. The television was tuned to the BBC World News. Mariam lay lengthways on the same sofa with her feet tucked under Dalia's legs for warmth. Samuel was making dinner. He looked at his mother's aura for the first time. It was illuminating the room, far greater in size and stature than Mariam's. A lifetime of thoughts and emotions danced in front of him full of their subtle textures and complexities. One emotion dominated all else and for the first time Samuel realised that this was the emotion which defined his mother, the emotion which bled into all aspects of her life; the ever present pain at the loss of her eldest son.

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time in a small apartment above a fishmonger's shop four people were deep in discussion. They had flown in on separate flights from Tokyo and Osaka making their way to the pre-agreed meeting place in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City.

“I am grateful that you have all joined me. We are amongst the few that have been chosen. It's our duty to honour our family who now sit at the foot of His throne in the glorious Kingdom of Heaven. It has fallen to us my brothers, and of course sister, to honour their sacrifice. We must clear the obstacle to His return.”

The others nodded in silent agreement.

“As you can see the False Messiah has announced himself to the world.” The man waved his hand at the television screen. Bill Irons was standing in front of the Sinai General talking into camera. The man turned to his warriors, the last of his church. “We have much work to do. To follow the Path of Determination we must be reborn, remade anew, pure and ready to do His bidding. You will leave your old lives and your old names behind. I will rename each of you. You will be White, you will be Red, you Black and myself, I will be Ashen. Tomorrow we begin.”

***

AT 7 p.m. Jerusalem time the Scientist fed the last few remaining papers into the shredder in his lab. He was closely watched by a new security detail. The terms of the buyout were such that he was not permitted to remove any papers or electronic material from the facility. All his research, his life's work had been sold without his consent. His office in his home had already been stripped and cleared. He had been handsomely rewarded but for him the money was an irrelevance. Once again his research had been suspended; only this time, months before the project was due to enter final testing. He had seen the end coming and unlike before he was prepared and determined to take what he needed. He would have to start afresh, he hoped, for the final time.

The Scientist had begun as soon as the rumours of the takeover were circulating and was careful from the beginning not to leave any sort of audit trail. He couldn't email documents to a private email address and the systems blocked his USB ports. Instead, for the key files he needed, his research, the engineering and the build schematics, he simply converted the files into pure binary form consisting of nothing more than a simple series of ones and zeros. The Scientist then used a free Internet QR code creator to transform the binary documents into a QR code, the two dimensional equivalent of a bar code. Often used for advertising, QR codes encourage consumers to scan a square box with their phones. The QR code itself consists of black dots on a white background arranged in a square grid made up of 177 columns and 177 rows.

Once the data was transformed into a series of QR codes the Scientist simply took a picture of each QR code on his personal cell phone. He then deleted the binary files and QR codes from the system. He could convert the QR codes into binary and then back to their original documents at leisure on his private computer.

That final night, under the eyes of the watching security guards and in spite of the formidable IT security surrounding the facility the Scientist was able to walk out of his lab with his most valuable data tucked safely away as simple pictures on his cell phone.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 13 days. Information source: Original Task List for the clearing of the Srour family farm.

***

THERE was a four-day wait for the next seat on any bus heading west out of Jericho. Rami only wanted to go as far as Haran but unfortunately Haran was on the road to Jerusalem. All westward transportation was taken by people seeking to bear witness to the farmer who could heal the sick.

Salim had been urging Rami to stay and he was greatly tempted. There was something joyous about living in the chaos of Salim's household. Salim, his four young children, his corpulent wife, her parents and a random distant cousin all crammed into a small, three bedroomed flat. Mealtimes were a scrum, the bathroom permanently occupied and Rami had been sleeping in the corridor to the kitchen. He felt a deep sense of shame at never finding the time in his old life to visit with Salim's family. The previous two nights he had spent in the company of truly generous and caring people were the happiest he could remember.

Rami wanted to stay, but his thoughts were captured by Dalia Srour. Her son had saved him and yet Dalia and her family were destitute, their farm and livelihood gone. Rami felt an overpowering compulsion to try and help. No matter how often he turned away from it and focused on the joy of Salim and his family, something always made him return to Dalia and her plight. Rami initially considered donating money but again a whispering impulse demanded he give more of himself, a physical expression of his gratitude.

Rami completed his business in Jericho giving full power of attorney over the sale of the apartment to his real estate agent. She was confident of a quick sale. Peace had driven the Palestinian property market into a full-blown boom.

With the buses full and the taxis gone, Salim kindly offered to drive Rami to Haran but before they could leave Rami had one final appointment to keep. The contract was short and the signing ceremony simple. The restaurant was sold to Salim for one New Palestinian pound. Salim fought back tears of unbound gratitude as they put pen to paper. He threw his arms around Rami thanking him profusely for his generosity. Rami asked only that Salim kiss his beautiful children goodbye for him.

Haran was a place unaccustomed to receiving visitors. There were no hotels or guest houses amongst the small cluster of dwellings huddled around the dirt road. Haran's only callers tended to be the young émigrés returning to visit the family they had left behind. After asking at the village bakery/coffee house Rami found lodging with an elderly couple. Leaving his hospital rucksack in their care he cut through the scrub and made the ten-minute walk to the Srour farm.

The farm had transformed into a place dominated by rubble, debris and death. A burst main had filled the two overlapping impact craters and animal carcasses floated in the fetid water.

Shortly after Rami arrived, an old pick-up truck parked up and three men disembarked. At a glance, Rami could tell they were military men; short hair, standard issue military duffle bags and army boots. Two of the men hung back while the captain approached Rami. They exchanged greetings and the captain conveyed his story.

“These men are all that's left of my old unit. One mortar strike wiped us out. Years of fighting and one lucky shot put us all in the Veterans' Hospital. The surgeons bolted my leg back together but I still needed a frame to walk. I was in for some physio when Samuel came. The lieutenant here had shrapnel lodged in his spine and was lying in traction. Our corporal was a vegetable, in a coma since the attack. Now look at him. It only took Samuel a few minutes to make us men again.”

“I was in Jericho,” said Rami. “I had made my will and was just waiting to die; the cancer. This is my second life.” The men had all felt the same need to come and together they surveyed the wrecked landscape.

“No soldier goes into battle without a basic plan,” said the captain. He walked over to the old pick-up truck and returned momentarily with a pen and a pad of paper. Rami and the veterans sat by the side of one of the impact craters and drew up the Original Task List.

They pooled their money and the captain and the lieutenant then drove for food and supplies. Rami and the corporal marked out and started clearing the site for the temporary animal pens. As they worked more people came, a steady trickle throughout the afternoon. They arrived by car, on foot, driving motorcycles and scooters. One woman even rode in on a small mule. They came mostly from Jericho, some from Jerusalem. They came unasked to give their time and skill for Samuel and his family so what had been lost could be restored once again.

On clearing some debris the corporal found the door of the farmhouse. It was a handsome hand-carved cedar piece adorned with brass engravings and finished with camel bone. He pulled it largely intact out of the rubble. He carefully washed the dirt from it and as best as he could, polished up the engravings. The corporal propped the door up against a demolished wall at the centre of the site. The Original Task List sketched out by Rami and the veterans was then nailed to it. The door became a focal point for new arrivals, a map of the progress made and a glimpse of the long road ahead.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 13 days. Information source: Telephone intercept between Mariam Fara and unknown.

Unknown: Hi Mariam. Glad I caught you.

Mariam Fara: Hi, everything okay?

Unknown: I think everything's fine but I was calling because I noticed something a little strange about Dina. I wanted to talk to Samuel about it. Is he there? May I speak with him?

Mariam Fara: Yes, he is here, I'll get him - Dina okay?

Unknown: I think she's fine.

Mariam Fara: Okay, good give me a second… Hi, I'm back, Samuel is here; I will put you on speaker.

Samuel Srour: Hey, how are you? Nice of you to call.

Unknown: I'm well. Thank you again for everything.

Samuel Srour: I did what I could. How's Dina?

Unknown: Something happened and that's the reason I'm calling. Since she has been home, it has been incredible. Who would have known she has so much spirit? Charging around, playing football non-stop with her cousins.

Samuel Srour: That's good to hear. So what happened?

Unknown: She was playing football this morning. She was in goal, trying to save a penalty. She dived and fell quite heavily. As children do she bounced back up and tried to carry on but after a few moments she stopped. My wife was watching and could see that Dina had gashed her knee quite badly. When she went over to our daughter, there was a deep wound and the blood was still flowing freely. Dina was brave; there were no tears but in front of my wife's eyes the bleeding just stopped. When my wife took Dina inside to wash the dried blood off her knee, there was no wound at all; nothing, not even a scratch. Dina was perfectly fine. She just ran back out to play.

Mariam Fara: That's weird.

Unknown: It's strange isn't it? So I thought I would call.

Samuel Srour: I'm not sure why that happened.

Unknown: What do you think?

Samuel Srour: I honestly have no idea. This is new to me. So basically she is still healing without my intervention; interesting. It might be the energy I gave her. I had to give her a lot to bring her back. Maybe she has retained some of it.

Mariam Fara: Or it takes time to wear off. You did give her more than anyone else. Also Samuel perhaps it's not the energy. Perhaps you have changed her?

Samuel Srour: Maybe, I don't know.

Unknown: What does that mean?

Mariam Fara: We won't know until we get some more data. Keep an eye on her and let us know if you notice anything else. We will call you back when we figure this out.

***

SAMUEL stood at the bottom of a flight of steps leading up to the entrance to the second largest hospital in Jerusalem. Behind him were a scrum of photographers and news people. The St Luke's Hospital was owned by the Welfare Trust, the largest private provider of healthcare in the world. The Trust was a for profit organisation ultimately owned by VPC Capital. Shortly after the BBC News broadcast, the CEO of the hospital had received instructions from the head of the Middle East, who had in turn received his instructions from the Global CEO. Clear instructions; under no circumstances were they to admit Samuel Srour into the St Luke's or any other group hospital in Israel or Palestine. The following day on the hospital steps it was left to the Senior Registrar to deliver this message to Samuel.

“I am sorry, Mr Srour. Under the terms of our professional insurance only employees of St Luke's or the Welfare Trust are permitted to practise medicine on the premises. The trust will open itself up to numerous legal issues if we allow you to heal inside the hospital. I am sorry; as much as I would like to see you practising. I'm unable to let you do so on the premises.”

“Doctor, how many patients do you have in the hospital?” Samuel asked.

“Around 800 Mr Srour.”

“It will take me about two and a half hours to heal them all completely, whatever condition or illness they have. Don't you want your patients cured, Doctor?

“I sincerely do, but I'm under strict instructions.”

“I can also heal your sciatica.” A few of the camera crews pressed forward some urging the Senior Registrar to relent. Most of the crews were streaming live to the rolling news networks. The Senior Registrar looked increasingly uncomfortable. He didn't want to be seen to be looking like a jerk live on global television.

“I am sorry,” said the Senior Registrar shaking his head and he genuinely was. He placed his right hand on the small of his back and subconsciously rubbed the vertebrae which gave him the most trouble.

Behind the Senior Registrar, two burly security guards stood impassive guarding the main entrance. One of the guards felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned and a frail slip of a man asked him to stand aside. The man wore a hospital dressing gown and slippers. Behind him, five more patients were easing themselves through the hospital doors. Behind them, twenty-five more were making their way gingerly across the lobby. The hospital elevators were discharging clusters of patients some walking proudly alone, others provided a supporting arm or shoulder for their fellow infirm. Families were transporting their loved ones in hospital wheelchairs. A father simply carried his dying son in his arms. All were determined to meet the farmer who healed the sick. The security guards initially tried to shepherd the first few patients back into the hospital, but they were politely ignored and then ultimately overwhelmed by the surging crowd.

Samuel smiled as the people spilled out of the hospital. “I will heal them in the street if I have to.”

The Senior Registrar thought for a second. He leaned forward and whispered to Samuel. “You won't need to. The hospital car park is run by the council. It's municipal land. Go there.”

“And the patients who can't walk?”

“We will wheel them out to you.”

“Okay, thank you.” Samuel took a few steps up towards the Senior Registrar and lifted his hands.

***

Timeline: The Pestilence minus 14 days. Information source: Email intercept between Victor Pierre Chaput and Stefano Grigori.

Subject RE: Srour Investigation

Stefano

Thank you for the Srour file. Great work. The files hint at some sort of connection between Dr Fara and her colleague at the University Dr Biram. I want your team to dig a little further. If their relationship has strayed beyond the professional, I want to know about it.

In addition, I want you to personally lead a security team in Jerusalem to run security for Samuel Srour. Report back to me on his abilities and above all keep him safe. My plane will take you to Jerusalem. I want you to leave immediately.

Victor

***

MARIAM opened the door and welcomed Bill and Hazel once again into the apartment. Dalia was preparing dinner and Samuel lounged on the uncomfortable sofa. Hazel slotted in beside Samuel and Mariam retrieved a chair from the kitchen.

Dalia asked, “Are you two eating? I am making a lamb maqluba. There will be plenty. So, you know, if you want to eat you can.”

“Thank you but I have already eaten,” said Hazel. “Smells delicious though.”

“If Hazel won't take you up on that kind offer Mrs Srour, I certainly will,” said Bill.

“Good, good. Please do, William.” Dalia beamed at Bill.

Samuel raised an eyebrow. Mariam focused the discussion. “Guys, thanks for coming over, we appreciate it.” She laughed. “Bill, we have a couple of questions for you, for a change.”

Bill grinned. “Sure,” he said.

“I want to know, how have you felt since I healed your hand two nights ago?”

Bill sat back in his chair. “I have been feeling great. I mentioned to Hazel yesterday that I feel strong and alive even. I am sleeping brilliantly and am much more alert. I haven't had a drink since that night, which is a big deal for me. I even went for a little run this morning and didn't straight away drop dead from a heart attack.”

Samuel grinned. “Good, have you injured yourself in any way? A paper cut, or a graze, could you have bumped into something and picked up a little bruise?”