by Ian Young
‘It’s the same in computer programming.’ Tom nods. ‘Everything’s connected.’
‘That table’s big enough for more than two, let’s ask if we can sit there.’
Tom sighs and rolls his eyes. ‘Not again.’
‘Hey, guys,’ says Alabama breezily. ‘Can we share your table?’
‘Sure.’ Mason shifts a newspaper to the other side of the table and shuffles along the bench.
‘Jeez, it’s hot, ain’t it?’ Alabama sits beside Mason. ‘Thanks guys, really appreciate it.’
Tom takes the chair next to Mason’s friend, introducing himself in English, but the conversation quickly slides into Czech.
‘Are you both Czech?’ asks Alabama, lighting up her face with faked wonder.
‘No, I’m English,’ says Mason. ‘This is Pavel, my guide.’
‘Ditto,’ says Alabama. ‘This is Tom.’
‘You don’t sound English.’ Mason had this face you want to smack, a kind of smugness.
‘No, obviously I’m not English.’ Alabama gives him a wobble of her head, a wobble of attitude. ‘I mean this is my guide.’
‘Sure. Would you excuse us, Miss …?’
‘Kendrick,’ said Alabama with a sweet smile. ‘Andrea Kendrick.’
If Mason is unsettled by the name, he doesn’t show it. ‘Well – Miss Kendrick – Pavel and I have to go. It’s been … a pleasure.’
‘Something I said?’
‘Not at all. I’ve had … I’ve had news from a friend, that’s all.’
Alabama wants to squeal ‘Andreia!’ but manages to supress the urge and instead adopts a concerned expression. ‘Nothing bad, I hope.’
‘It depends on your viewpoint,’ says Mason, flashing a supercilious smile. ‘Nevertheless, quite a … quite a revelation. Have a good evening.’
Alabama’s head is spinning with fractals of clues, whirling around, coming closer and closer together but not quite forming a single mass she could call an answer. Mason’s had a revelation. He thought carefully about that word. And no fucking way did he not pick up on the name she used for herself. He’d have to be pretty thick not to smell a rat. She looks across the table and spots the red-topped newspaper and its gory headline. Suddenly the clues pull together and she has her own revelation.
‘Tom, I’ve got it!’
Tom glugs the remaining beer in the bottle and slams it on to the table. ‘Don’t give it to me!’
‘No, you jerk. I think these atheists discovered something that’s driving them to suicide.’
Chapter 37
For someone used to sleeping on a sofa most nights, last night was worthless as a period of sleep. Then again, I’m not used to sleeping with a hired thug in the next room. Oh wait …
But nevertheless, I barely slept a wink. In fact, winking is what I did most of the night if trying to sleep with one eye can be considered winking.
Dave, or whatever, locked the kitchen then retreated to an office nearby to give me some privacy (he said), but I suspect he thought I’d try and murder him in his sleep. Apparently I am a murderer, so beware.
I lift myself from the armchair and stretch. Oh, that feels good. We’re clearly not designed for sitting around in comfy chairs for very long. That’s evolution. Environment demands certain behaviours if life is to survive. I once read that most human babies, like other animals, are born at night (I haven’t checked this) because it’s when predators are least active. Makes sense. So this is one of many traits of evolution that hasn’t been erased by social living. We evolved into hunter-gatherers because our environment demanded (and our bodies allowed) that lifestyle. One 150,000 years of evolution cannot be entirely dismissed when humans decide that they can now become shopper-loungers. And it is for this reason I have just limped, with aching joints, to the kettle. My father would say if God meant me to sit around all day he would have given me a bigger ass. Don’t even get me started on what’s wrong with that – on just about every level.
Dave must have heard me groaning. The door rattles and seconds later opens up to his smiling face.
‘Morning, Doc, how you feeling?’
‘Like a kidnap victim.’ Well, there’s no point smiling and telling him I’m fine.
‘Don’t think of this as a kidnapping, Doc,’ says Dave, actually looking serious, ‘think of it more as a rescue – an intervention as they say.’
I just shake my head, unable to find a reply to his bullshit. It’s like arguing with my dad. I always ended up exasperated by the wishy-washy nonsense he’d throw at me to squash my logic. You can pick apart any reason-based argument, but you can’t dissect water (well, you can on a molecular level, but that’s science for you, and my dad doesn’t do science).
‘Coffee?’ I say wearily.
‘Sure.’ Dave steps forward and leans on the worktop. ‘Listen, uh, Andi, there’s been a change of plan.’
Oh, here it comes. ‘You’re going to shoot me after all.’
‘I don’t shoot people, Doc.’ Dave looks at the floor, nodding his head as though trying to agree with himself on the next words.
‘I suppose you know that, at one time, the Pillars of Abraham were set on taking you out.’ Dave makes a gun with his fingers and places it by his temple.
It’s the first time Dave has mentioned the Pillars of Abraham and I get a squeeze in my stomach as he does. ‘Just a little,’ I manage. ‘You work for them, right? One of their Vrazis?’
‘No way!’ he says, like I’ve accused him of being in a drug dealing ring or something.
‘I don’t want to be rude, but who the hell are you?’
Dave laughs. ‘Who the hell am I? I’m your guardian angel, Doc. That’s who I am.’
‘Well, there’s something you need to know about me, in that case.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ says Dave dismissively. ‘You don’t believe in all that. You’re an atheist, I know.’
He goes over to the sofa and sits down, spreading his legs like he owns the whole place. ‘I don’t have that choice … to be an atheist, that is. I’m Jewish, what can you do? It’s in the contract.’
‘Everyone has a choice,’ I say. I almost spit the words at him.
‘Tell my mother that.’ Dave chuckles to himself and gazes at the floor for a moment. Perhaps he’s remembering his mother. ‘Don’t you believe any of it? The Bible, a higher being, someone watching over us?’
‘A higher being watching over his followers murdering his children because they don’t believe in him? You’ve gotta be kidding me.’
‘Yeah, you’ve got a point. Anyways, what your science can’t explain – and can’t ever know – is what sparked off this Big Bang of yours, and what was here before it.’
‘Oh, OK. We can’t answer that, so let’s make up some mumbo jumbo about a mythical creature.’
‘God as a mythical creature, eh? Don’t confuse us with the Ancient Greeks, Doc.’
‘Whatever. I accept there’s evidence for the existence of Jesus Christ – some kind of revolutionary figure, fighting injustice …’ I wave my arm around breezily, like I really don’t care about the details ‘… or whatever. But I don’t have to believe he was the son of some higher being.’
‘I’m with you on that one, Doc. Whoever he was, he stirred up a hornet’s nest in the Promised Land that we just can’t put to bed. Still we get Santa Claus out of it.’
What a fucking jerk! ‘That’s why I want to prove the whole religion thing is a sham. Once and for all.’
‘That ain’t gonna happen, Doc.’
Ah, here it comes. ‘You were telling me there’s been a change of plan?’
I realise I’ve been so wrapped up in philosophy, I’ve done nothing about making the coffee. Perhaps Howie was right; people can’t multitask.<
br />
‘Oh yeah, new orders from on high – not that high!’ Dave looks at the ceiling. Ha ha, hilarious. ‘So, what do you know about the Pillars of Abraham?’
I shrug, trying to look as disrespectful as possible. ‘They’re a bunch of murdering psychos?’
Dave’s doing a lot of laughing this morning. Another cough, another chuckle, then he clears his throat. ‘Well, I might agree with half of that.’ He crosses his legs and settles back on to the sofa. I guess I’m about to receive a lecture.
‘The Pillars of Abraham comprise representatives from the three main God-worshipping religious groups: Christians, Muslims and Jews.’ He spreads his arms upon saying the last group, then points at this chest with both hands.
‘They meet in Prague because the Czech Republic is the least religious country in Europe, second in the world after Japan. Japan’s too far away. This is considered the most neutral country for a group of disparate religious leaders to meet. At the head of the Pillars is the Triumvirát, a Czech word meaning—’
‘Triumvirate?’
Another laugh. ‘The Triumvirát presides over the Kolegium, or council, which is made up of three groups, with one representative from each religion making up a group. There are nine members in total.’
I’m about to thank him for the math lesson but the flow of information keeps me quiet.
‘Then there’s the Představený. They are the Pillars’ representatives who sit on the various religious councils around the world, reporting back the current thinking of their respective faiths.’
Dave plucks his cell phone from his pocket and holds it up to his face like he’s about to take a photo. He isn’t, unless he wants a picture of the kitchen wall. I take the opportunity to put the kettle on and spoon some instant coffee into a mug. Two mugs – he didn’t actually answer my question but he’s going to get coffee whether he wants it or not.
‘But the contractors you have encountered are way down the food chain.’ Dave holds the phone in his hand, ready to stare at it again. ‘When the shit hits the proverbial, they send these guys out to eliminate the threat.’
‘The Vrazi,’ I say, pouring scalding water into the mugs. ‘Murderers.’
‘We prefer contractors, but each to his own. Or her own, in this case.’ There’s a trace of a smile on Dave’s face, a smile that wouldn’t be there if I pour the scalding water over his head.
‘So where do you fit in, if you’re not a Vrazi?’
Dave shrugs. ‘Press attaché?’ he says, like he doesn’t really know.
‘Alright, so why are they so intent on killing people?’
‘Ah, well there’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar proverbial.’ Dave’s smile widens and he glances at his phone again. ‘The Pillars exist to preserve the notion of God. They take their name from the father of all three religions and they stand to uphold the word of their God.’
‘That’s not a good enough reason to kill people, not for Catholics anyway, it’s not medieval times.’
‘True … and for many Jews,’ he points to himself again. ‘The reason they want to preserve the notion of God is because—’
Dave’s phone rings. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, placing the phone to his ear. He doesn’t speak, but he does look at his watch for several seconds. When he hangs up he rises to his feet and places the phone back in his pocket.
‘Well anyways, I’ll let them explain it to you themselves. Let’s go.’
This is madness. Dave is taking me to meet the Pillars of Abraham, a cabal of religious overlords so secret not even governments know about them. So this can’t end well. What am I? The sacrificial lamb? Why does everything come back to religion? Probably because I was forced to read the Bible every night instead of Harry Potter. At least everyone knows witches, wizards and magic aren’t actually real. That’s probably not true: most rationally minded people know they’re not real. You could say the same for the Bible, well, I could.
This is it: the moment I discover the truth about life. But there’ll be no one to tell, assuming I’ve been right all these years. I could be wrong. What if I’m wrong? Should I convert? Is it too late? Is this why Dad’s church is filled with old people: a last minute effort to atone for a lifetime of disbelief, like students cramming for an exam the night before? Fuck it. What will be, will be. Whoa, hang on! Fatalism right at the end. So what am I saying, it’s not too late to start praying?
Dave leads me back the way we came last night. As I walk down the long corridor, the light dimming as we stray further … further through the valley of the shadow of death, towards the door at the end … I will fear no evil … ‘What’s the next line?’
‘Excuse me?’
I look up from the floor. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
Dave shrugs and carries on walking.
I watch my feet lightly padding on the tiled floor … ‘For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff comfort me.’
We reach the door and Dave stops, turning to me again. ‘You OK?’
I realise I’ve been mumbling the words out loud, the words Dad always said when he was afraid of something. The 23rd Psalm. I’ve never spoken these words before, but somehow I know them. Worse still, I don’t doubt myself as I consider that God might be prompting me.
Dave opens the door and we enter the warehouse. I freeze. Nine men sit at three curved tables forming a broken circle. Three more men sit at a raised table beyond the circle. They are all wearing the same grey robes and have their hands placed palms-up on the tables. I’m sure the damned place was empty when I came through last night. No one looks at me, but I look at them. There’s Unsworth! I feel my legs twitch like I’m trying to run at him, my brain immediately overriding the impulse. Dave closes the door and moves away, skulking in a dark corner, for all I know. As I look around for him I spot the large flat-screen TV on a stand bedside a computer. And there it is, sitting on the table, fully open and just resting peacefully: Howie’s ball.
My legs twitch again but before I can react someone speaks.
‘Dr Menendes, we’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’
I look up at the man sitting in the middle of the raised table. He speaks with an accent – North African? There was no trace of menace in his voice or about his appearance, he even smiles. That’s good, isn’t it? Of course it isn’t, you’ve watched movies.
After he speaks, the other men move their hands and begin to look around. I glare at Unsworth and he actually smiles back. The murderous priest who tried to kill me, is smiling at me like a benevolent uncle.
Dad said we were made in God’s likeness, so how about some humanity, Lord? If there is a God, it’s time to step up and stop these people killing another of your children. Dad would say it doesn’t work like that; you can’t put thy Lord God to the test. They’ve really got it covered.
‘Dr Menendes, please accept our apologies for the unnecessary death of your friend Howard Dyer.’
‘Un-unnecessary death?’ I stutter the words out as though really not expecting to make a contribution. That’s good, isn’t it? Unnecessary death. Killing me would be unnecessary. Wouldn’t it? Maybe I’ll live.
‘What about Kendrick?’ I ask, trying to gauge where these people stand on what’s necessary and what isn’t.
‘Unfortunate. He had everything to live for,’ said the man in the middle. ‘Perhaps he found everything to die for.’
‘What the—’ I don’t want to swear or blaspheme, though I don’t know why. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Before he left us, Dr Kendrick coaxed the secrets from your artefact.’ The man waved his hand towards Howie’s ball. ‘A curious object. Dr Kendrick isn’t the only scientist to witness the extraordinary secrets lying within. And you will be next.’
I can’t help glancing at Unsworth – he smiles again. I bor
e into him with the most contemptuous face I can muster, but Unsworth shakes his head and frowns.
‘You were right, Dr Menendes – may I call you Andreia?’
I shrug.
‘You were right, Andreia, to suppose that this artefact could contain evidence to disprove the existence of God.’
My stomach knots itself and I raise my eyebrows. What did he say?
‘It contains traces of amino acids, RNA molecules and more, all the building blocks of life, does it not? It contains a blueprint for every animal that has ever lived. It maps out the course of history, data stored for billions of years in DNA strands. All this protected by a shell made from an element unknown to humankind.’
I almost smile at the choice of humankind over mankind – a small concession to me, perhaps. He has a deep voice, lyrical, soothing, a voice I could listen to regardless of what he’s saying.
‘A shell that knew when conditions for life on our planet were right: a magnetic field to protect life from solar winds, and thermal vents under the ocean to permit chemical reactions.’
Why is he telling me this? I need to sit down; my thighs tremble – a tremble that spreads down my legs through my knees to my feet. It’s like Howie’s ball is vibrating, but it lies still, harmless.
‘But where did it come from?’ he says with a kind of fake wonder.
My head snaps back to the priest, or imam – what is he?
‘It doesn’t really fit with the Old Testament,’ he says.
Now they will have to kill me. Surely they can’t let this come out. But at least I was right.
‘Aliens?’ he asks. ‘You might be surprised to learn that some here are quite accepting of such a theory. Others are more questioning. Myself included. For instance, how could an alien race predict the shape of life over the course of four billion years?’
I’m speechless. I want to shout ‘evolution!’ He’s just denounced creationism, hasn’t he? Is this what’s happening here?