“No,” said Stratton. “And as of tomorrow I won’t be. I just felt like having a few before the shit starts.”
“I do not blame you,” said Kandinsky. “I feel that we are approaching the point of no return. I have felt it for a long time now.”
Stratton drank his cognac down in one and nodded to the barman for another. “Yes, the point of no return,” he echoed. “Destruction or salvation? Which will we choose? Is it human nature to self-destruct?”
Kandinsky swirled his drink pensively. “Sometimes it is very hard not to self-destruct. It is often the easier path. At certain junctures in life oblivion can seem like a blissful release compared to the constant trials of existence. I have been down the darkest ways, and it is only through great force of will that I have survived. Not everybody is fortunate enough to be endowed with such strength.” He looked across to Stratton. “I hope you do not think I am boasting, it is merely a fact.”
“No, I don’t think you’re boasting Arman. You’re not an arrogant man. You’re just very aware of your own strengths and weaknesses, and by looking inside yourself you’ve developed a strong insight into others as well. Too many people spend their lives picking holes in others’ personalities without taking a good hard look at themselves first. Searching inside and admitting your own shortcomings is a painful process.”
“Yes,” Kandinsky agreed. “But a necessary one if you wish to move forward.” He signalled the barman to replenish his drink. “So, you wish to get to Rome as soon as possible?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall have my private jet meet us when we dock in Aden. You will go straight to the Vatican, and we shall endeavour to rescue Stella.”
“Thanks,” said Stratton. “You’ll be doing me a great favour. I just hope I can be of some use. My body’s all over the place at the moment – one minute I feel invincible, the next I feel drained. Majami did a fantastic job on me in the jungle, but even he can’t stop the will of the universe.” He shrugged philosophically. “But I accepted the limitations when I came back, and I’ll just have to live with the consequences.”
“I do not envy you,” said Kandinsky. “Having your health attached to the minds of the human race cannot be pleasant. There are some very dark people out there, men and women with hearts of sheer blackness and hatred. Anger and fear, and greed and jealousy spread like bacteria. They are subtle and insidious.”
“You’re not wrong Arman. But I’ve got to believe that as a race we’re essentially good, and that faced with a final choice we’ll come through and take the right path, however hard it might prove. It’s my belief that whatever darkness overtakes a person there’s always a light inside that will never go out. A light that’s been there since the beginning and can never be truly extinguished no matter how hard the wind of time blows. It will always be there, like a diamond waiting to be discovered in the coalface. If I didn’t believe it then I wouldn’t have agreed to come back.”
Kandinsky took a long puff on his cigar. “I am glad that you have so much faith, my friend. As for myself, I would like to think as you do, but I have seen far more of the darker side of humanity than you, and I am quite sure that some lights have gone out for ever. I do hope that I am wrong.”
“Your light never went out, did it?” said Stratton.
“No, not totally,” admitted Kandinsky. “But I am one of the lucky few. And the destruction I caused in the meantime may never be eradicated.”
“Oh well,” said Stratton, raising his glass. “Let’s forget about it for the moment. Here’s to lights that never go out!”
“Indeed,” Kandinsky enthused. “To lights that never go out!”
Chapter 25
Jonathan Ayres turned off the television and leant back into the deep sofa with a sigh. There was no news as yet, but it was only a matter of time before the media got into a frenzy over the coming of the Mahdi. He hated to think what it would be like when their reports gained substance as the ‘Hand of Allah’ started performing miracles in front of the camera. Time was heavily of the essence and they were left with very little to get Christiano ready for his grand unveiling.
Ayres lit up a cigarette and took a swig of scotch. He wondered how many non-Muslims would be converted before he and Vittori could unleash their own ‘Messiah’. With the modern world being as suspicious as it was he guessed that most educated people would consider the Mahdi to be some kind of street magician until they witnessed his efforts with their own eyes. And this, together with the West’s acquired fear of anything Islamic, led him to believe that any major religious shift would be a long time coming. But he also knew from years in politics that it was dangerous to predict the mood of the public, and that ultimately anything could happen – so it was wise to get Christiano out there as soon as was viable.
He blew an impressive chain of smoke rings and contemplated, raising a toast to his late friend Henry Mulholland. It was a shame that Yoshima had killed him because Henry probably knew nothing about the box at all. It was also a shame that Augustus Jeremy’s plan had failed, precipitating a disastrous course of events that had nearly cost him everything. But that was all behind him now, soon Christiano would be hailed as the second coming, and quietly pulling his strings with the real power would be the Pope, Vittori, and of course the new leader of the free world – Jonathan Ayres.
Chapter 26
Stella gazed out of the barred window at the setting sun. Judging from its position she guessed the time to be roughly eight o’clock. The sound of music and laughter drifted across from the other side of the palace, exacerbating her feeling of isolation. The sheik had invited her to join him at his little party, but she had politely declined, citing a headache as her excuse. He had been most disappointed, but a heartfelt apology and an assurance that she would make an appearance at his next gathering seemed to lift his mood. Of course, if he knew the real reason for her absence then he might not have been so forgiving.
Turning away from the window she paced about the room, rehearsing the plan of action in her mind. She would have to be quick and she would have to be brutal. She had only one shot at escape, and if she fucked it up tonight the sheik would have her so heavily guarded she wouldn’t be able to pee without his say so.
As the servant knocked on the door her heart started to thump. He entered with a tray of food and shuffled over to the table to lay it down. Stella paced casually across and positioned herself at his unsuspecting back. She lifted her arm and brought her hand down swiftly in a chopping motion, stiffening it at the point of impact for maximum power, the blow hitting the back of his neck with such force that he dropped to the floor without a sound.
Without stopping for breath she picked up the fork from her dinner tray and glided silently across to the open door. She could see nothing of the guard except for the butt of his AK-47 hovering at the side of the jamb. After watching the CCTV camera turn away she steadied herself and shot out into the corridor, at the same time swinging her fork-laden hand round into the general direction of the guard’s face. There was a loud scream and his hands shot up to shield his eyes. Now in front of him, Stella removed the fork and stabbed at the side of his neck aiming for his jugular vein. The bewildered guard moved his hands across but could do nothing to stem the spurting blood. His knees buckled and he slipped to the ground, his life fading with every shallow, stuttering inhalation.
For a moment Stella stood there in a daze. The sight of the dead guard’s mangled features was almost too much. That she could do something so hideous made her want to throw up. But just as she felt her stomach begin to retch she remembered where she was and the task in hand.
First she leapt up and disconnected the camera, and then hoisted the bloodied AK-47 from the guard’s shoulder and set off down the long corridor with caution. The sheik and his household may have been partying in another wing but it didn’t mean the rest of the palace was totally unguarded. She knew a patrol could be along at any minute.
Stopping
only to avoid the glare of the cameras she made her way stealthily through the maze of passages. Luck appeared to be on her side as she navigated one hallway after another without encounter. Within a matter of minutes she was standing at a door that led to the front courtyard where the sheik’s guests had parked their vehicles. She opened it just enough to get a good look at the terrain.
To her right the main entrance to the palace was guarded by two of the sheik’s men, both armed with the same weapon as herself. In front of them was a team of valets, taking it in turns to park the guests’ cars. To her left was a set of open metal gates that led out into the desert and freedom. These too were flanked by a couple of armed guards.
She pulled the door to, grounded herself, and visualized her next move. Then, after a few steadying breaths, she opened it again and slipped out into the makeshift car park, ducking in behind a new Ferrari 453. Peering cautiously over the bonnet she began watching the valets. As she hoped, they were parking the cars in meticulous order, giving her the opportunity to make a pre-emptive strike.
Staying low she made her way through the rows of luxury vehicles, all the while keeping a close eye on the two sets of guards. The intense lighting made her feel conspicuous, but through a mixture of stealth and a general lack of interest from security she made it across the courtyard without incident.
Positioning herself behind a 4x4 she waited for the row in front of her to fill up. Another three cars and she would be ready to make her move. She focused all her attention and ran through the manoeuvre in her head: whack the valet; take the keys; race through the gates – three simple steps to secure her escape. A pulse of joy seared through her body as she thought about seeing the outside world once more. But just as this went through her mind, a cry from the palace doors caused her heart to stop dead. The gate guards turned round to see what the commotion was about, and she suddenly felt naked. Panicking that she had exposed the tip of her gun, or left a foot sticking out, she huddled up tighter, praying silently and hardly daring to breathe. The voices grew louder and closer, until she was sure that any moment she would see a rifle pointing round the side of the 4x4 forcing her to her feet and back inside the palace. She checked the safety was off on her weapon and braced herself for the inevitable.
Whatever had disturbed the guards, though, it wasn’t Stella. The voices were nearly upon her when they abruptly softened and started to drift away. She looked up to the sky in thanks and continued to wait patiently for the row of cars to fill up.
It wasn’t long before her moment arrived.
The valet backed a white Mercedes expertly into the space in front of the 4x4 and quickly opened the door to get out. Before he had a chance to expose more than his left foot, Stella was on him. Crouching next to the unfortunate attendant she thrust the butt of her gun sideways into his face with her full weight. His head jerked back and to the side, and then flopped down limply on his chest. Thankful that he had succumbed quickly Stella grabbed his arm and dragged him out onto the grass. Then, watching for hostile eyes, she leapt into the car and started it up.
Taking it slowly, so as not to draw attention, she casually navigated her way through the grid of automobiles, stifling her desire to put pedal to metal. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d disconnected the camera, but she felt sure that if security hadn’t checked it out already it would only be a matter of minutes.
As she rounded the last row of cars and turned to face the gates she shuddered with a nervous chill and unconsciously slowed to a near standstill. With liberty just a hundred or so yards away, panic began to overtake her, planting doubts in every corner of her brain. She closed her eyes and made a silent pact with God, promising that if he got her out of there then she would be a good girl for the rest of her life, and devote it to helping others. The Lord was apparently out to lunch, because as she opened her eyes once more a loud shout emanated from the direction of the empty space she’d left. She looked across to see one of the valets leaping up and down and pointing to ground. Within seconds the whole courtyard was in uproar and the guards on maximum alert.
Stella did the only thing she could, and that was floor the accelerator. With wheels churning and tyres smoking she made for the gate. The guards turned to face the speeding car and let fly a heavy salvo from their weapons. Stella instinctively ducked behind the steering wheel. The bullets, however, ricocheted off the armoured windshield, leaving her unharmed and careering towards freedom. The heavy gunfire continued.
As she approached the gates the guards leapt aside, and before she had time to think she was through and away. It was then that she sat up and realized that the headlights had been shot out. Spearing into an unfamiliar blackness she had no choice other than to slow down. But before she could react the gunfire began again in earnest. She heard a loud pop from the back of the car and found herself in a desperate fight with the steering wheel; a fight which she had no chance of winning.
The car lurched heavily to the right, the front end dropping off an unseen ledge, and then flipped into the air. Stella gripped the wheel as she drifted in a weightlessness that seemed to last for ever. And then came the first impact; so severe she thought her spine was going to skewer her brain. After that the world became a dizzying mass of noise and disorienting twists, until eventually there was silence.
Chapter 27
Jennings sprang up and gasped for air in the darkness, gripped by the terror that comes of changing worlds too quickly. For a while he sat motionless, unable to make sense of where he was or what was happening. And then, as his consciousness finally synchronized with his body, he remembered.
Reaching to his left he pulled the switch on the bedside lamp and blinked in the sudden light. He picked up a half bottle of Evian and drained it in an attempt to quench his unnatural thirst. Still too hot to think straight he went to the sink and doused his head in cold water until he finally regained his composure.
The dream had been vivid. Stella; the gunfire; the crash – it was all so real. He could still feel every last bump and jolt as the car turned over and over, crunching and smashing its way to a flattened standstill. He paced about the room stretching his arms and legs to remove the stiffness then picked up the phone.
Two minutes later a rather merry and twinkly-eyed Stratton knocked on the door and entered Jennings’ quarters. “What’s up, mate?” he asked cheerily. “You sounded a bit put out.”
“I am,” said Jennings. “Well, not so much put out as disturbed. I’ve had a bad dream.”
Stratton was about to make a comment about calling Jennings’ mother but decided against it. Instead he took a more sensitive tact. “What was it about?” he asked sympathetically. “You look really shaken up?”
Jennings described what he’d seen.
“That doesn’t sound good,” said Stratton, pouring a couple of brandies from the mini-bar. He handed one to Jennings and sat down next to him on the bed. “Do you reckon she survived?”
Jennings swigged a hefty measure from his tumbler. “I’m not sure - but I don’t know that she didn’t.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“It tells me that she’s hurt and we’ve got to get to her as soon as possible.”
“You’re probably right,” said Stratton. “But it’s going to be at least another 24 hours before we get to Yemen. Until then you’re just going to have to keep calm. I know it’s difficult, but there’s fuck all you can do about it at the moment.”
Jennings shook his head. “This is an absolute fucking nightmare,” he said, getting up and pacing anxiously. “I’m all over the place. My mind just won’t stay still. It’s like billions of little explosives going off every second.”
“Your eyes have been opened mate,” said Stratton. “And you’re still getting used to the light.”
“I guess so, but knowing it doesn’t help. I need to be out there doing something to help her, not sitting about here twiddling my fingers. I just feel so fucking useless and helples
s.” He kicked the side of the bed in frustration.
“Careful there,” said Stratton. “You’re not going to be any use to her with a broken foot.”
Jennings gave Stratton an angry glance and then, with the tension building up to a crescendo inside, he began to laugh. “Sorry, mate,” he said. “You must think I’m a real twat.”
“Not at all,” said Stratton. “You just need to clear your mind and get some sleep. Lie down on the bed and close your eyes.”
Jennings put down his drink and did as his friend suggested.
“Now,” said Stratton. “I’m going to put my hand on your forehead, and I want you to count slowly down from ten.”
Jennings felt Stratton’s warm hand on his brow and began to count. He was out before he reached six.
Chapter 28
Sophia Zola had not been able to walk since the age of ten. A car accident had left her paralyzed from the waist down for fourteen years. And although she was quite used to her disability and living a happy and fulfilled life, there was still a part of her that longed to roam free, unencumbered by wheels and ramps. The doctors, of course, had told her that this would never happen, but with technology and medicine moving on at a barely believable pace, and the advent of stem-cell research, she had not given up hope that one day she might walk again.
Sophia’s mother and father were staunch Catholics, and they were also very wealthy and influential. They went to, and occasionally hosted, the best parties in Rome and were personal friends with His Holiness the Pope. They doted on their daughter and had spent fortunes sending her to the best medical centres in the world. There was nothing they wouldn’t do to see their daughter back on her feet once more. So when Cardinal Vittori called and said that he may have found someone to help Sophia, there was no delay in arranging a meeting.
As Christiano walked into the Zola’s mansion he was immediately taken aback by its splendour. Working at the Vatican he was used to architectural grandeur, but he had no idea that a private residence could be quite so ornate. He looked around the entrance hall admiring the statues and artwork, and wondered how anyone could possibly afford such luxury.
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