The Pestilence Read online

  “He is too big and too dumb to learn, Ashen-san,” Black said softly.

  Ashen looked at Red’s controller lying in the desert sand. He nodded.

  Black spoke again. “If he can’t fly the toys, the CineStars will be impossible.”

  Ashen rubbed the sparse stubble on his chin. The CineStar-8 Heavy Lift copters were principally used for professional aerial cinematography. The drones were tough; made from carbon fibre and they were big. Each had a Tiger 4012 brushless motor, eight rotors as opposed to the four they were currently flying and were nearly a metre wide. The CineStars were monsters compared to the toys Red had failed to fly. Ashen had chosen the CineStars for one simple reason; payload. Each CineStar had a maximum payload of 5.5 kilograms and by swapping out the on-board video camera for a lighter, less sophisticated model, adding a cell phone, detonator, cord and the PETN, Ashen and his team had transformed the CineStars from simple film-making equipment into remote-controlled flying IEDs. An average M67 fragmentation grenade contains 180 grams of high explosive; the two kilograms of PETN fitted to each of the three CineStars would be lethally effective operating against unprotected human targets.

  “He can’t even fly line-of-sight, Ashen-san.”

  The CineStars would be flown using the on-board video camera which relayed real time images to the screens in their remote controllers. It was much more difficult than flying direct line-of-sight but would allow Ashen and his team to maintain a safe distance of 500 metres from the attack site.

  “If he can’t fly then he is of no use to us, Ashen-san.”

  Ashen nodded. Ultimately this was Mariko’s fault, if she hadn’t been discovered they would have proceeded with the original plan and Red’s strength and power would have come into play. When Mariko was back in his control, he would punish her for this disruption.

  Ashen reached down and picked up Red’s discarded controller and a rectangular slab of granite which was lying nearby. The rock fitted neatly into his palm. Ashen snapped off the retractable metal aerial from the remote control and then using the rock hammered the soft metal base of the aerial into a point. He slipped the makeshift stiletto into his pocket and handed the granite to Black. They picked up their controllers and chased each other’s quads across the sky as they waited for Red to return.

  Red crested the hill into the Makhtesh crater carrying four two-litre bottles of water in his back pack. Ashen signalled to Red for a drink and took a long, satisfying pull.

  “We almost done for today?” said Red hopefully.

  “Just a few more hours.”

  Red couldn’t hide the disappointment from his face. Ashen took another sip of the water and went to pass the bottle back to Red, but he deliberately mistimed the hand off letting the bottle slip from his fingers. It stuck in the rocky sand between their feet spiralling water over their hiking boots. Red instinctively bent to pick up the bottle and at that moment Black withdrew his arm and crashed the granite slab into the back of Red’s skull. Red’s head snapped forward then whiplashed back, the force of the impact sending fragments of skull and brain exploding into the air. Red slumped forward face first into the dirt letting forth a deep, guttural moan. Ashen kneeled beside Red resting his left hand on the back of his shoulder. He had been a member of Ashen’s congregation for over a decade, a good soldier. With his right hand, Ashen stabbed Red in the side of his neck just below the ear with the sharpened aerial. A fountain of red erupted as Ashen punctured the carotid artery.

  Black and Ashen were careful to avoid the arterial spray and manoeuvred Red’s body so he lay flat against the gentle slope of the Makhtesh with his legs above his head. The natural incline of the crater kept a high blood pressure on the puncture and Red’s life blood quickly haemorrhaged into the desert soil.

  Black rolled Red’s body out of the pool of his own blood and removed his soiled clothing and wallet. They left him naked where he had fallen, face down on the slope, the desert sun already congealing and hardening his black blood. In a few weeks the desert scavengers and the irrepressible sun would insure there would be nothing but bleached bones to mark Red’s passing.

  ***

  Chapter 15

  HE was waiting for them seated on the divan used by the Muslim doorkeepers. Samuel could feel his heart stirring as they were led across the narrow, deserted courtyard. He gripped Mariam’s hand tightly, her hand was hot in his. Samuel concentrated, he looked past the wonder of the buildings surrounding him, this area was alive with auras so ancient, some so resplendent that Samuel was humbled before their majesty.

  It was late evening and they had walked the final few hundred metres through the narrow streets of the Old City souk. University of Jerusalem baseball cap pulled low over Samuel’s eyes and Mariam hiding behind her sunglasses, they made easy progress as most of the shoppers and pilgrims had long since drifted home. Stefano had picked up the discrete yet extensive security the moment they had reached the pre-agreed drop-off point. A team of three had swung in behind them on their walk through the souk. As they drew closer to the Parvis, Stefano counted four other spotters tracking and relaying their approach.

  The Parvis itself was closed to tourists. Four men stood across the entrance, three of them openly brandishing Steyr Tactical Machine Pistols. Stefano knew that these men would be Swiss nationals, unmarried Catholics standing at least 174 centimetres tall; it was the basic recruitment criteria for the Pontifical Swiss Guard.

  As a boy Stefano dreamed of joining the famous Swiss company. The Easter Mass at St Peter’s Basilica was a yearly Grigori family pilgrimage. Thirteen of them would travel down to Rome, no later than Maundy Thursday, to queue for a free ticket to the Easter Mass at the bronze door of the Swiss Guards’ office in St. Peter’s Square. Stefano had spent hours waiting beside that door. Above it on a plaque was inscribed the oath of the Swiss Guards and he could still recite it word for word.

  I swear I will faithfully, loyally and honourably serve the Supreme Pontiff Francis and his legitimate successors, and also dedicate myself to them with all my strength, sacrificing if necessary also my life to defend them. I assume this same commitment with regard to the Sacred College of Cardinals whenever the See is vacant. Furthermore, I promise to the Commanding Captain and my other superiors, respect, fidelity and obedience. This I swear! May God and our Holy Patrons assist me!

  “I’m Herr Ramrath, Oberst and Commandant of the Swiss Guard.” He stood 195 centimetres tall, Germanic blonde hair and blue eyes. He greeted Samuel and Mariam with respect and courtesy. He said something to Dressler in German as he stretched out a friendly hand. Dressler shook it offering the Commandant a rare smile. The Commandant welcomed Stefano in perfect Italian, but Stefano returned his greeting stony faced.

  The Commandant then addressed Samuel. “Our Holy Father is waiting beyond the Parvis at the entrance to the Sanctuary. I must ask that Frau Dressler and Herr Grigori wait with my team here. On the Parvis and inside the Sanctuary the Swiss Guard will accept the responsibility of protecting you and Dr Fara. I assure you we will do so with the same commitment as we do towards the Supreme Pontiff.”

  Samuel didn’t doubt him for a second.

  For Mariam, the walk across the Parvis behind the Commandant felt familiar. She had worshipped at the church once with her father when she was no more than seven years old. She barely remembered the buildings, but it was the emotional intensity of being so near to the site of the Crucifixion and Resurrection that had never left her. Mariam gripped Samuel’s hand tightly in return. His hand was hot in hers.

  At the front of the small paved square enclosed by buildings was the facade of the Crusader church and its two entry doorways, one which was permanently bricked over. Adjoined to the facade in the left corner of the square were the remains of a bell tower missing its upper level which collapsed after an earthquake in 1545.

  “Your Holiness, may I present Mr Samuel Srour and Dr Mariam Fara.”

  He rose to greet Samuel and Mariam. His body language
was warm and welcoming. He wore a simple thirty-three button brown priest’s cassock, each button representing a year in the life of Jesus Christ. Mariam noted the discrete papal coat of arms stitched into the fascia worn round his waist.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.” His voice had an unusual timbre. “I thought it important that we speak face to face.” Samuel looked deep into his glittering aura and saw a keen mind locked in a tireless struggle to maintain his faith’s relevance in the modern world. He bore witness to a life of piety and devotion. Yet the aura was damaged. Samuel looked harder, drawing from the man’s memories of regular injections, dietary control and treatment. Samuel became the first person outside the Vatican to discover that the Pope was a type 1 diabetic.

  “No, thank you your Holiness, for travelling to see us,” said Mariam.

  He smiled kindly at Mariam. “I have read much and wished for many years to have been able to make the pilgrimage to the Sepulchre. It is a particular grace for me to visit and you have kindly provided me with the perfect opportunity. Living in proximity to such a wonder I assume you have seen it many times before?”

  “I have been once when I was very young; with my father before the war. We prayed together at the altar of Our Lady of Sorrows.”

  “And you Samuel, have you been here before?”

  Samuel shook his head in response.

  “Do you recall seeing this place before?”

  “Only in a book.”

  “Then I must show you this great marvel.” Addressing Mariam he said, “I understand your father passed in the war, I will remember him in my evening prayers.”

  No need now, Samuel thought.

  “Help me, son. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He put his arm on Samuel’s and together they eased into the Sanctuary. “Three Christian denominations are the primary custodians of the site; ourselves, my friends the Greeks and the Armenians, but we also have Coptics, Ethiopians and Syrians. The only entry to the Sanctuary is through the door you have just walked through. The ritual opening and closing of these doors, opening and closing of the church, has been performed not by any of our fellow Christian denominations but since the time of Saladin, entrusted to two Muslim families. The families pass this responsibility from one generation to the next. This century’s old interreligious and ecumenical cooperation demonstrates that men and women do not have to forsake their identity whether ethnic or religious in order to live in harmony with their brothers and sisters. I wish with all my heart that all the religions of the world could work with this harmony, united to bring the faithful closer to God.”

  Samuel rolled his eyes. Luckily for Samuel, Mariam was looking at the Holy Father.

  The walls rose majestically around them lit by Greek and Armenian lanterns. Directly opposite was the Stone of Unction commemorating the anointing of the lifeless body of Jesus Christ. The stone was gloriously framed by a mosaic depicting Jesus being removed from the cross, sprinkled with perfumed oils and taken to the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. To the right of the stone was the entrance to the Chapel of Adam and to the right of the chapel were several steep stairs leading up to Golgotha. The rock upon which Jesus’ cross was raised.

  “Calvary is up these stairs, come my children.”

  Mariam followed climbing slowly towards the place of Jesus’ crucifixion. Her mind span back to the hated Sunday school and Sister Teresa, to Dina’s father, to her father, their combined devoutness pressing upon her. Mariam recited quietly. “It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said; Father, into your hands I commit my spirit. And having said this he breathed his last.”

  “Luke 23 verse 44-46.”

  “Yes, your Holiness,” said Mariam.

  Samuel said nothing.

  They stepped into the naves, directly in front of them were three altars; the Chapel of the Crucifixion, the altar of Our Lady of Sorrows and finally standing on the crucifixion stone, Golgotha, the Chapel of Calvary.

  Samuel could see a hoard of tiny crosses on the Calvary altar. He pointed them out to Mariam. She shrugged in return.

  “It is the Greek pilgrims,” said their guide. “By placing upon the altar the small wooden crosses brought from their country of origin they discharge the vow they entered into at the start of their pilgrimage.” He picked up a delicately carved cedar cross. “This could be a vow of silence.” He moved on to the next small iron cross. “This perhaps could be celibacy, a good thing in my book. And this,” he said holding a cross made with two ice lolly sticks, “is most definitely abstinence from chocolate.” His smile was infectious; Mariam caught it, but Samuel stood impassively.

  “Tell me Samuel, standing in this holy place where Christ died and rose, never to die again. Here in this place where the history of humanity was decisively changed. The long reign of sin and death was shattered by the triumph of obedience and life; the wood of the cross lay bare the truth about good and evil; God’s judgement was passed on this world and the grace of the Holy Spirit was poured out upon humanity. Here Christ, the new Adam, taught us that evil never has the last word, that love is stronger than death, that our future, and the future of all humanity, lies in the hands of a faithful and provident God. Standing here in the heart of our most sacred place, tell me do you feel a sense of familiarity?”

  It was the same question as before, just rephrased. Samuel gave the identical response. He shook his head.

  “Then tell me Samuel, what do you see?”

  Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “Some relics, some rocks and stones.” Mariam’s mouth opened a fraction as reproach framed her eyes. Her reaction instantly shamed Samuel.

  He came over and covered Samuel’s hands with his, the skin of his hands mottled and frail. “I know you didn’t want to meet me today and I appreciate that you did but please, my son, humour an old man. Tell me what you really see.”

  Samuel glanced over towards Mariam. She looked away, her disappointment still raw. Samuel concentrated. “This place is alive with history stretching back to the times before Christ. I see aura’s everywhere, a concentration and beauty unlike anything I’ve witnessed before. As I walked over the Parvis I could sense this place was special. I see quarrymen crushed by falling rocks, I see criminals executed on the Calvary, I see Roman priests, I see the tortured soul of Al-Hakim the destroyer, I see Crusader kings, I see Jews, Persians, Palestinians and Arabs. Many, many human auras but the one I don’t see is the one you are seeking.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Samuel.” He led them from Calvary down a flight of steps back past the Stone of Unction and between two gigantic columns. “This is the Anastasis or the Constantinian Rotunda. At its centre is the Edicule of the Holy Sepulchre. This empty tomb of Jesus, was separated from the surrounding rocks by Constantine’s architects. The tomb has through the centuries been the object of destructions, reconstructions, embellishments and restorations. The building you see was built by the Greeks following a fire in 1808 which destroyed the sixteenth-century Franciscan building. Inside the Edicule is the Chapel of the Angel which leads to a narrow burial chamber where a marble slab covers the original rock bench on which the body of Jesus was laid and from where Christ conquered death. Come and see the place where he lay.”

  Mariam ventured into the tomb while Samuel chose to stay outside. He circumnavigated the Rotunda, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. The three of them had the entire complex to themselves. He wandered for a time then passed beyond the columns of the Rotunda into the Chapel of Mary Magdalene. There were a series of very modern bronze reliefs hung either side of the altar. Samuel took a pew and for some time stared up at them.

  “They are telling the story of Mary Magdalene at the Resurrection. She was the first to encounter the risen Christ, who had not yet ascended to the Father. Jesus entrusted to her the task of announcing the Resurrectio
n.” They sat beside Samuel. “When the world witnessed the lightning, my cardinals and I immediately brought to mind Matthew 24:27. Then your abilities were publicised and Mariam revealed to us the resurrection of the little girl in Jericho; we could not help but draw similarities with the miracles chronicled in the Gospels. We see this as evidence of the Holy Spirit. And that, Samuel, is really the reason why I’m here. I need to ask you directly this question of divinity.”

  Samuel considered the bronze hung above the altar. In it Jesus was demonstrating his divinity to the enraptured Mary Magdalene. Samuel looked into the eyes of the latter day successor to St Peter, the man upon whom Jesus bestowed the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven. Samuel held his gaze for a number of seconds and then slowly shook his head.

  ***

  DRESSLER was leaning into the conversation with the Commandant of the Swiss Guard. They talked freely and easily in their native German. Under the clear Jerusalem sky Stefano was walking silent laps of the Parvis. He was close enough to observe the entrance to the Holy Sepulchre but also to see Dressler flirting with the tall Swiss. She had sticky eyes, holding the Commandant’s gaze, looking away for a moment then plunging back into his sea of blue. Dressler’s hands hung loosely at her sides with her wrists openly turned towards the Commandant. Stefano breezed past at the crescendo of an amusing story and saw Dressler reach up and touch the Commandant’s arm. Stefano ignored them.