The Pestilence Page 6
Mariam Fara: Those rumours are untrue. I was there. The little girl was very sick, she was not dead. Samuel’s powers are for healing, nothing more.
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.
Bill Irons: Do you believe people will be threatened by Samuel and his powers?
Mariam Fara: I can’t understand why people would be threatened by someone who is only interested in helping others.
Interview ends.
***
HAZEL was third out of the plane and bustled with energy as she power-walked through arrivals and immigration. The flight had been uneventful but had provided her with necessary thinking time. She prepared herself as she usually did on an aircraft: Took an aisle seat and counted the rows to the exits both forward and aft. In a survivable crash, most people died from smoke and fire, not the impact, so knowing which way to go in the dark, she felt, was somewhat important.
Bill wasn’t waiting for her at arrivals. He had messaged her to let her know he would be around forty minutes late. She didn’t mind the delay as it gave her time to download the last five and a half hours of data from her sniffer programs. She found a coffee shop with Wi-Fi and filtered through the latest results. She re-checked her data and within twenty-five minutes was confident of her analysis and its conclusions. She took off her glasses, cleaned them impatiently and ordered another coffee while ticking off the minutes before Bill arrived.
Bill looked bedraggled as he slumped down next to Hazel on the coffee shop settee. He was unshaven, his eyes brimmed with sleep and he smelt faintly of stale beer. He offered a faltering apology for his tardiness and ordered a strong black coffee. Together they hunched round Hazel’s laptop. Bill retrieved his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. Hazel thought they made him look like a slovenly piano teacher.
“First thing I want to show you is the news timeline I have put together. Have you seen one of these before?”
Bill shook his head and took a large swig of his coffee.
“The timeline is a data amalgamator, an interactive graph if you will. The X-axis is time and runs from left to right in chronological order. The Y-axis is volume of Internet activity related to the events we are looking at. Internet activity can be anything my sniffer can access, so news, blogs, videos anything available online. I can set any item of interest, any parameter I choose against the timeline. This one here relates to the Electrical Phenomenon last night. Each spike of activity is a substantial news event. So you can see here the first volume spike was just after 1.30 a.m. That was the rocket attack from the farm. I can click on each spike and see the data that supports it. So for the rocket launch we have twenty-eight news articles and 700 social media feeds that we can click through to read or watch each data point. Look; here is the IDF press release about the airstrike.” She called it up to show Bill.
“By looking at the peaks and troughs in the activity volume we can track the phenomena occurring through time. We can also click on the X-axis to look at things both on a global or local basis. See how the Internet activity volumes spike as the Electrical Phenomenon hits each major city. I have never seen volumes like this before. The beauty of this program is that it highlights any outliers or anomalies in the data. So if 500 people report something is red and two say it’s blue then blue reports get flagged. So it’s easy to find something out of the ordinary and I found something peculiar.” Hazel excitedly pushed her glasses up her nose. “Now watch as I change the parameter to focus on Paris. See how the timeline spikes as the Electrical Phenomenon passes over the city. Look, here the program is flagging an anomaly. As far as we know there were no reported instances of the lightning directly harming people or damaging property. We also know that the phenomenon originated from the Srour farm and occurred exclusively in the sky. It never grounded. But watch this.”
Hazel clicked on the link and they saw a CCTV image of the Parisian skyline. It was taken from the Eiffel Tower’s west-facing webcam. “Bill, see how the Electrical Phenomenon rolls overhead but watch here, watch this area. Voilà, the lightning strikes a building in La Défense the financial district. Two strikes, the second for a much longer duration than the first. The sniffer cannot scan a video for content but can scan comments and titles and someone kindly commented on this footage. Nowhere else on Earth did this happen. The lightning only grounded here. Also, look again where the lightning strikes, not at the spire on the roof as you would expect but a window on the top floor. A simple map of the skyline shows that the building is called the Tour First. Looking up the building’s directory shows the whole of the top floor is owned by VPC Capital. Managing Partner is Victor Pierre Chaput.”
“The philanthropist?”
“The very same and I can place him in the building. Have you ever noticed that when you park in a car park you receive a ticket which automatically has your licence plate printed on it?” Bill had never noticed. Hazel continued. “Most car parks now automatically log a driver’s licence plate on entry and also track where the car was parked. It helps the forlorn motorist locate their car if they forget what floor they parked it on. So I had my sniffers mine the car park logs of the Tour First management company. Chaput’s car left the building at 1.41 a.m.”
“How do you know that it was Chaput’s car?”
“The licence plate.”
“But how do you know the plate number?”
Hazel smiled. “I don’t. The only car that left the car park after midnight had the licence plate VPC1. Educated guess.”
“Oh, okay.” Bill felt stupid. “So the phenomenon somehow links Dr Fara, Samuel Srour and Victor Pierre Chaput. Why?”
Hazel shrugged. “I don’t know.” Bill huffed his disappointment at her. Hazel ignored him, pushed her glasses into her hair and continued. “I did find the good doctor and her friend. I used the same car park technique and had my sniffers mine the databases of the two biggest Palestinian car parking companies for the plate number you got from Dr Fara’s mother. We got lucky. At 3.12 a.m. yesterday morning Dr Fara’s car entered the car park at the Children’s Relief Hospital in Jericho. They left eleven hours later. So we know where Dr Fara and Samuel Srour went after the airstrike. I then entered Jericho as the only parameter in my news timeline starting from the time when they entered the car park. Here is the graph. See the volume spikes around 7 a.m. and then again around midday. It’s a Jericho-wide search, but the spikes are centred on the Children’s Relief Hospital.” Hazel paused and looked up at Bill. “You are not going to believe me when I show you this.”
“Go on.”
“We have a mass of activity from at least fifty different sources, but I want to show you this one video. It shows the nature of all the activity related to the hospital.”
Hazel clicked on the link in her news timeline and the computer navigated to the video link. It was obviously taken on a cell phone from a hospital ward. The clip focused on a young man’s bandaged hand as he sits on a hospital bed with the privacy curtains drawn round. The young man props up his phone on the side of his bed, the change of angle allowing the viewer to catch a glimpse of the back of a man moving through the curtains followed by a woman. The audio is clear and the sound of laughter echoes throughout the ward. The man begins to unwrap the heavy bandages on his damaged hand, delicately at first, then faster with increasing intent and vigour. He dumps the soiled dressings on the floor. His hand is a bloody mess, ghastly stitched wounds over three missing fingers. The camera stays on the mangled hand for a few seconds and then the young man’s stitches burst open. Three new fingers push out like seedlings on a time lapse camera breaking through fresh soil. The man flexes his healed hand
, runs his thumb across the new fingers and begins to shout praises to God.
“Got to be a fake,” said Bill.
“If seen in isolation this could be some sort of CGI film trickery. But look at the context, look at all the other data points; all the different sources on my timeline say the same thing. Some sort of miraculous healing events took place at the Children’s Relief Hospital today. You even have doctors and nurses complaining and leaving their shifts early as they have no patients to treat. I’m surprised this hasn’t been picked up by the media.”
“Won’t be long before it does. For now, it seems all eyes are still on the Electrical Phenomenon,” said Bill.
“I have more. It’s not just one hospital. I expanded on the parameters of the original Jericho timeline. I included most of the hospitals in Palestine and across the border in Israel. I found volume spikes in these two hospitals; same stories as before, miraculous healings. No pictures this time but a lot of data points. A veterans’ hospital just outside Jericho then another one here and I will wager your BBC Christmas bonus that the next activity spike will be at the Sinai General.”
“Why?”
“Look at this map. We know that Dr Fara and Samuel Srour were in Jericho at the Children’s Relief. See where these hospitals lie and now Dr Fara’s address that you got from her mother. Do you see? It’s a trail of crumbs starting in Jericho and leading all the way back to the good doctor’s university digs in Jerusalem. The Sinai General is the next hospital they hit on their way home.”
***
Timeline: The Pestilence minus 55 days. Information source: Application to the Chaput Foundation.
Dear Trustees
I am writing to apply for a grant from the Chaput Foundation. My wife and I are hardworking folk. Together we ran a small convenience store seven days a week for the last twenty-seven years. The recession hit the store hard and we were struggling, but we worked at it and came through the worst.
Just as we got the store back on its feet my wife was diagnosed with advanced stage Alzheimer’s. I had noticed her forgetfulness for a while but thought it was down to old age and the stress of the store. Sometimes she forgets who I am, her husband going back thirty years. I know there is no cure for the disease and the treatments only slow it down, but I want to try and make the last few years of her life as best as I can.
We don’t have nothing but government cover and it ain’t enough. My wife needs home help and her medications are real expensive. I can’t work the store and look after her. I have to leave her home alone most days and am scared when I get home what I might find. We don’t have family close, but my wife’s sister is an angel as she travels in once a month, but she has young kids and can’t visit long.
When she was diagnosed I re-mortgaged the store and our house to pay for treatment. We spent our lives paying down the original mortgages and having to go back to the bank near enough broke my heart. The sicker she gets the more expensive the treatment gets and the more time I have to spend tending her so the store makes less money. It is a nasty situation we are in now. We are in arrears on our payments. The bank is understanding at the moment, but I am scared we will lose the store and our house.
I am a proud man and have never asked the government or anybody for help, but now I am desperate. I am begging you; please write off our debt of $37,000. By giving us a helping hand out of this crisis you are truly doing God’s work.
Yours faithfully,
T Crowne
Chaput Foundation:
Due diligence on this application has been completed without any red flags.
Distressed mortgage on applicant’s house and shop can be purchased for 40 cents in the dollar.
Credit reference agencies have agreed to expunge the record of any arrears from the applicant’s files.
Grant approved.
***
SAMUEL and Mariam were on the ground floor of the Sinai General. The hospital’s huge size afforded the anonymity to wander freely, aided and abetted by Mariam’s stolen white coat. They had spent the last hour working their way through the first two floors, but they had eleven to go. It was late in the day and they agreed they would have to come back another time. They would need a full day to tackle this enormous building.
They were heading along a corridor towards the west exit when a man called out to them. His right leg was missing below the knee and his right arm was strapped against his chest. He leant clumsily on a wooden crutch tucked under his left arm and was struggling to catch up with them.
“Hey you there, can you help an injured soldier?” The mental and physical wounds that Mariam and Samuel had encountered earlier that evening at the veterans’ hospital were beyond anything they had seen before. Mariam had shed tears of gratitude that Samuel had been able to help those wretched men. She moved immediately to assist the struggling man, to give him her shoulder and offer him her strength. Samuel reached out and pulled her back.
“I am sorry, we were just leaving. I’m sure there are other members of staff around who can help you.” Mariam gawped at Samuel too shocked to speak.
“No son,” said the man with the wooden crutch. “I don’t want anyone else to help me. I don’t think anyone else can help me.” He hobbled past Mariam and stood expectantly in front of Samuel. “I have seen your powers son; I saw what you did in the wards upstairs. You cured veterans like me. So come on, cure me.”
Samuel took a step back and raised his hand, subconsciously putting a barrier between them. “I’m sorry, I will not help you.”
“Son, I’m a war veteran, I fought for my country.” The man with the crutch took a step towards Samuel; Samuel again recoiled. “I fought for this land. I have given my life for the struggle. You have to give me back what I have lost, what they have taken from me.”
Samuel’s eyes hardened. “I will not heal a killer of innocents. I will not heal a murderer of women and children.” Samuel gestured to the man’s leg. “This is your fate and I’m not prepared to liberate you from it.” Samuel turned to leave.
The man with the crutch had seen the men and women Samuel had cured in the hospital that evening, patients walking away from their sickness, walking away from their wounds and their trauma. The hope that burned brightly, the hope that he would also be saved was extinguished in an explosion of impotence and rage. The man leaned against the wall of the corridor and with his one good hand swung his wooden crutch towards the back of Samuel’s head.
If the man had full use of his arms and legs the strike from the crutch would have caved in Samuel’s skull but Samuel’s head only took a glancing blow. It was strong enough to open up a small cut beneath his hairline and unprepared for the assault Samuel fell forward onto his knees. He gasped as the pain detonated through his skull and he felt blood spool down his neck.
Mariam moved quickly. She slammed her boot into the man’s one good leg, kicking out the side of his knee. He crumpled to the floor. Mariam, feeling no compunction about striking a man when he was down, followed up with a vicious right cross crashing onto his ear. She rushed to Samuel who was staggering gingerly to his feet.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I will live.” He leant heavily on Mariam the cut on his head turning the white collar of Rami’s shirt crimson. “That was pleasant.”
Mariam let out a relieved laugh. “Well, you deserved it. Can you do your thing; fix yourself up so we can get out of here?”
Samuel pointed to his burned and bandaged thigh. “I don’t think I can self-heal.”
“Well, at least we are in the right place; come on, let’s go find you a real doctor.”
***
Chapter 5
Timeline: The Pestilence minus 13 days. Information source: Internet video clip; Episode 13 series 11 of the Susan Saltman Show. Special guest: Victor Pierre Chaput.
Susan Saltman: Last year few people outside the financial world would have heard of my next guest. Six months after the launch of the Chaput Foundation, Victor
Pierre Chaput has become a household name. He is at the centre of a revival in philanthropic activity. This is a man who wants to directly tackle the problems facing society. Ladies and gentlemen, please give him the warmest of welcomes.
Victor Pierre Chaput: Thank you, Susan, thank you so much for having me. It really is a pleasure to sit with you today. Excuse me if I am a little nervous; this is my first time on TV.
Susan Saltman: Don’t be nervous, Victor; you are amongst friends. It’s an honour to have you with us. Welcome to the show.
Victor Pierre Chaput: Thank you.
Susan Saltman: Victor, you are best known as the man who set up the Chaput Foundation. Tell me about the genesis of the idea behind the foundation. What was the spark? Did you just wake up one morning and decide that helping others would be your legacy?
Victor Pierre Chaput: Susan, I wish there was a genuine eureka moment in all of this, but the boring reality is the foundation was the culmination of thoughts I had over many years. I have been truly blessed to have the success I have had. I thought for a long time about how best to give something back to society. I thought hard; I am a religious man and often prayed on the question. The wealth I have been lucky enough to earn, I can’t take it with me; I don’t have any children and so giving everything to the foundation was the best way I could give back to the society that has given me so much.
Susan Saltman: Victor, you are too modest, tell the folks at home what you have set up.
Victor Pierre Chaput: I set up the Chaput Foundation in memory of my father, Julien Chaput. The foundation’s principal aim is to provide economic freedom to hardworking people. The richest eighty-five people on this planet own more wealth than the poorest 3.5 billion combined. Inequality is one of the defining problems of our age. It robs millions of people of better life chances. It harms the stability of the financial system and growth of the world economy. Inequality slows development of the human, social and physical capital necessary for raising living standards and improving well-being. My foundation takes money from the top of society, the wealthiest, the most privileged and we use that money to write off the debts of the people who need it the most.