Together they walked from the cold building into the street, lifting their faces to the sun.
56
Toby Bell had the theatre to himself. He stood by the operating table and closed his eyes, inhaling the bright fluorescence deep into his being. His services were sought, often in desperation, by the wealthy and important, and he was more than happy to accommodate them.
This afternoon’s operation would replace an aortic valve and restore two coronary arteries to full function. The artificial valve selected for the Pope was a composite construction of pyrolytic carbon and Teflon.
Toby Bell opened his eyes, surveying his kingdom. He donned nylon gloves, took the valve from its sealed container and flicked open a small metal compact. Inside were hundreds of pale ceramic balls each the size of a pinhead. Using tweezers, he placed one on a sterile cloth and waved a handheld electronic device above it. A twenty-digit number appeared on a blue-lit screen against the patient’s medical records.
He immersed the ball in a small drop of surgical glue, collected it on the edge of a scalpel blade and deposited it onto the side of the valve. After three minutes, it had bonded permanently.
The Holy Father was briefed by cardiac physicians at Gemelli Hospital one week before arriving at John Hopkins. On the evening prior to his operation he met with Toby Bell in person.
‘Toby, my life is in your hands,’ he said, holding the doctor’s hands in his, raising them up, kissing them reverently. The Pope’s deeper belief had nothing to do with Toby Bell’s skill as a surgeon. He prayed for courage to accept what God had in store for him. He had fears like any other man. From his hospital suite, he summoned a priest from his entourage to hear his confession.
When his chest was closed, the Pope had spent five hours on the operating table. Ten days later, he rested comfortably in his own quarters inside the Vatican.
Toby Bell was completely satisfied.
57
The man captured in the British museum posing as a policeman entered the post office carrying a brief case. His lower jaw throbbed through an amalgam of painkillers and a kaleidoscope of bruising. He slid identification across the counter in exchange for a key to a safe-deposit box into which he placed the ornament.
He sent a text message on a cell phone provided by the British police, left the post office, walked south along the footpath and got into a black car.
Two hours later a courier arrived at the post office and opened the safe-deposit box with his own key. He removed the ornament and a padded parcel bag, put them in a backpack, boarded his motorcycle and fled into traffic. Unmarked police vehicles, in desperate pursuit, were quickly left stranded in the city jam.
‘The ornament is at Firelight Estate - home of billionaire, Lord Felix Jensen,’ Zachary said.
‘Fancy a trip, Rachael?’
Without waiting for a reply, he phoned Father Stephen at the Vatican.
‘Steve, does Lord Felix Jensen ring any bells?’
‘English billionaire, philanthropist and humanitarian. What’s the link, Zach?’
‘The transmitter tracked the ornament to his estate.’
‘Zach, I just saw Cardinal Venti trailing a suitcase and he stared through me like I was invisible. Sister Dorothea let slip he is on his way to London.’
‘See you at Leonardo in an hour, Steve.’
Father Stephen hung up and packed an overnight bag.
Cardinal Venti left Gatwick airport in a limousine, his mind drenched in the most fabulous array of drugs. He’d finally received the call from Jonathon Brown. All three ornaments were now in Jupiter’s possession. His first reaction was to suspend belief since he had seen the ornament from the British Museum in his office. Instead he accepted the pronouncement, for he would soon learn the truth with his own eyes.
The limousine crested a hill, and down in the valley, Hobsgood Castle shone like a fairy tale.
‘Buckle up,’ Zachary said.
The long drooping blades spun to life and the helicopter lifted off and banked left. Rachel sat terrified in the back seat; earmuffs clamped to her head, and wouldn’t have agreed to fly into Cambridge if stepping out of a Lear jet meant hopping into a contraption that in her opinion defied all the laws of gravity and physics. In the dark she could not perceive speed or height. She yelled over the racket, ‘I don’t understand why we didn’t take a car from the airfield. It’s so loud. Won’t we alert Lord Jensen?’
‘Don’t worry. Jensen takes no notice of the tourist traffic. He loves the attention. We’re going to fly right over the top of Hobsgood and drop some friendly bombs.’
Father Stephen frowned at Zachary.
‘Open the box, Steve,’ Zachary said, nodding at the floor.
Father Stephen lifted up a cardboard hat box, sat it on his knees and pulled off the lid.
‘Squash balls?’
‘Feel one.’
Father Stephen expected the balls to be soft and pliable, but instead they were solid and hard.
‘What are they?’
‘RAISINs’
‘Obviously inedible.’
‘Rubber Audio Infiltration System and Information Nets. They can talk to each other and transmit to a receiver anywhere on Earth. Their superfine filters can detect a mouse whisper in a cornfield. There’s enough in the box for one fly over Hobsgood with a drop either side, after which we’ll land in a quiet field for a spot of eavesdropping.’ Zachary’s voice strained over the engine. ‘I’ll signal to slide open the hatch in the floor.’
The castle materialised out of the darkness, a burning beacon on an empty ocean.
‘Get ready, Steve.’
Air hissed across the hatch.
‘Now!’
He tipped half the RAISINs out into the night. Zachary slowed the helicopter to a hover directly above the main turret of the castle. Floodlights lit a wide area around the massive building, illuminating something out of a James Bond set. Seven helicopters sat side by side in a precise line, and the grounds were littered with expensive cars.
A loose RAISIN rolled around the floor of the helicopter, falling through the hatch unnoticed. It hit the castle’s stonework on top of a high wall, rebounded straight up into the air then buried itself in a garden bed outside a window.
Zachary angled the rotors, driving the helicopter forward.
‘Go again, Steve.’
The rest of the RAISINs poured into the darkness and Father Stephen closed the noisy hatch.
‘Let’s land this bird.’ Zachary flew on another minute then put down on a desolate patch of country side. The blades slowed and resumed their droopy pose. He switched on a spotlight attached to the helicopter’s nose, lighting a circle of grass.
‘There’s a rug under the back seat, Rachel.’
She pulled out a woollen tartan square, spreading it on the ground. Zachary sat down cross legged with a box in his lap from which he handed out headphones. Father Stephen glimpsed a shooting star skirt the horizon.
58
Paris Vanderock dripped in diamonds. Monique Zambeel dripped in the height of fashion and the rest just dripped in money. Everyone, that is, except Cardinal Venti. He dripped in sweat, not from the giant log fire in the deep stone fireplace or the thought of his imminent revelation, but because the foreign chemicals in his blood were upsetting his body’s thermostat.
The Jupiters were assembled for the first time since the Amazon, the opulence of Firelight Estate a stark contrast to the steamy jungle. The ceiling soared high above them, curving and plunging in a seascape of reliefs and gargoyles, eerily lit by artificial candlelight that quivered like the real thing. Giant tapestries hung from stone walls and suits of armour stood by the doors and either side of the roaring fireplace. The floor was covered with silk rugs, and a stuffed Grizzly bear towered in the glow of the burning logs. With bared teeth and threatening claws, it looked ready to come alive and massacre everything in sight.
Sumptuous sofas were arranged around a wide ebony coffee tabl
e. The room’s outstanding feature was a pair of elephant tusks mounted above the fireplace. The Guinness Book of World Records listed them as the longest ever found. Poached from a bull elephant on the edge of the Kalahari Desert, Lord Jensen had made an illicit payment to Botswana officials to save them from being burnt as illegal ivory.
As his guests chatted, Lord Jensen nodded to Jonathon Brown who stood and pulled on a rope hanging from the ceiling. A heavy bell tolled throughout the castle. Wary eyes flitted around the vast room searching for a hint of what was to come. A clatter of metal erupted near the fireplace. The suits of armour on either side came to attention, marching into the middle of the room, steel visors masking the dark life-forces within.
Lord Jensen’s eyes shone with the excitement and mischievousness of it all. A suit of armour left its station by the door. Together the three knights rattled to a stop by the coffee table, simultaneously opened three drawers, removed an ornament from each and stood them upright for all to see. Every eye was drawn to the relics, reunited for the first time in over two hundred years.
Lord Jensen addressed the group. ‘The fruition of the prophecy has not been painless. The ornament from Sir Timothy Sivewright’s tomb, northeast of London was obtained without incident. But you are all aware of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the British Museum and the Japanese airliner crash on Toshima Island.
Ten million Euros was rewarded to each of the successful parties as promised, and now I’m filled with great expectation for Cardinal Venti’s revelation.’
Venti stopped sweating but his thermostat remained awry. His shirt clung to his back and he welcomed the heat of the fireplace. Lord Jensen clapped his hands and the suits of armour jangled from the room in single file. Monique Zambeel was drawn to a life-size portrait of a man leaning on a cricket bat. His eyes seemed to watch her every move.
Lord Jensen motioned for Cardinal Venti to stand. A white sticky plaster covered the bridge of his nose and unusual colours spread under his eyes.
‘Thank you, Lord Jensen, for making us so wonderfully welcome. Much has transpired in the history of the world to bring us to this moment,’ Venti said.
He held two ornaments to the light, confirming the clues to identify the tabernacle, then passed them first to Toby Bell sitting to his left. When everyone had held them they were again lined up along the table.
Venti raised his arms to the ceiling. ‘Heavenly Father, we pray for your guidance. The tabernacle is delivered safely into our hands through your divine will. Grant us the wisdom to use this great instrument of your omnipotence in your name and for the greater good. Bless this gathering and enlighten our minds to this end, Amen.’
Venti crossed himself and gently laid two of the ornaments on their sides. He slowly ran his eyes around the faces fixated on him.
‘Ladies and gentleman, behold the tabernacle.’ He indicated the standing ornament with a sweep of his hand. One corner was slightly chipped.
‘Behold the most potent relic in history.’
Venti let the declaration soak deeply into their heads though they had no idea what made the relic so important.
Norman cleared his throat. ‘Forgive my impatience, Cardinal. You can save the theatrics for the pulpit, with all due respect.’
‘Norman, I must convey a sense of importance which this occasion surely demands.’ Venti smiled warmly, but from the bottom of his putrid heart he despised the software mogul, wishing every curse of hell upon him.
‘Through the divinity of God by which Jesus changed water into wine at Cana, the Son of God also presided over the creation of man’s final test.’ He held the tabernacle aloft.
‘Trapped inside is a volatile and invasive presence. Only by the grace of God has it not been exposed to the world. Its destiny is in the present; the prophecy reveals this. It selected us to decide the fate of men, to carve a divide between good and evil. If the tabernacle is broken open it will doom mankind.’
‘You are messing with our minds, Cardinal. Explain your point.’ A touch of anger laced Norman’s request.
‘Against the light, you will see one of the frogs is opaque. If this frog is exposed to the air it will emit rapid self-replicating molecules that will bind to and cause complete and irreparable disruption of the reproductive genes of every man and woman on Earth. This will be accomplished within days. No other life forms will be affected, but the decline of man will be set in stone. God will reclaim his most precious creation to himself, ending the reign of indifference and apathy that plagues the planet. He will abandon man, created in his image, who dared to spurn the message of the Gospels by their lives of false idolatry and hedonism. Humanity will wither away, suffocating the dreams of unborn generations.’ Venti finished on a flourishing note, happy at the unease he cast among them.
Paris Vanderock recovered first. ‘The tabernacle in all its beauty is an abomination. It should be hidden away for all time. Who am I to determine the fate of man? It is enough to know such a toxic thing exists, without the power to play God.’
‘It could be a formidable weapon of persuasion,’ Lord Jensen said.
Venti sensed an uprising.
‘Could such a virulent element even exist?’ Joan said.
‘Would you care to find out?’ Monique Zambeel said, lighting a cigarette in the end of an ivory holder and shooting Joan an icy stare.
‘It makes little difference to me. I’m not inclined to children.’
‘A rather shallow perspective,’ Monique said.
Venti relaxed into his sofa, enjoying the conflict of emotions bubbling around the room.
‘Shallow is too kind a word. I’d say selfish,’ Bianca said.
‘I have a question, Cardinal Venti,’ Paris Vanderock said, ignoring the escalating tensions. ‘Will this molecule cause other illnesses?’
Venti covetously eyed the blonde beauty.
‘According to the scrolls, it will be sublimely deceptive, only negating our ability to reproduce.’
‘In my medical experience, no contagion can spread so quickly or efficiently,’ Toby Bell said.
‘There is nothing known to man, however all things are possible for God. He reveals his power in new and unexpected ways. AIDS, Ebola, Avian Flu, were all ushered into existence by his omnipotent thought. It is His reminder for constant vigilance, and in the case of AIDS, a warning against rampant promiscuity,’ Venti said, though not believing his own pronouncements.
‘People who believe in God need never explain miracles since they defy natural laws and occur beyond the boundaries of known science. What you propose is possible but the evidence to date precludes its likelihood. However, we will not know for certain unless the molecules are unleashed upon the world,’ Toby Bell said.
Monique Zambeel seethed beneath her glamorous exterior. ‘With such a permanent contraceptive, expect a sharp rise in certain diseases. Perhaps Joan will brief us on some of those.’
The poisoned barb struck home. Norman, calm and unfazed at the insinuation, patted his wife’s arm to defray the impact. Monique Zambeel looked away to the thick burning logs, dragging long and hard on her cigarette.
Lord Jensen intervened. ‘If Cardinal Venti is telling the truth, we should all feel a heavy burden of responsibility. No one in their right mind would advocate such a terrible scourge upon humanity. However, the threat could provide great opportunities to address the wrongs of the world.’
‘A well-intentioned theory, Felix, but how will we convince the powers that be of such a weapon? Any government would regard it as fanciful.’
‘Do you have a suggestion, Jonathon?’ Lord Jensen said.
Jonathon Brown cast a glance at Toby Bell whose eyes were fixed on the coffee table.
‘To what extent would you tolerate evil for the greater good?’
‘What did you have in mind, Jonathon?’ Joan said.
Jonathon Brown hesitated for a moment. ‘Murder of the few, to save the many.’
Cardinal Venti watched t
he faces of the eight, delighting in the turmoil the tabernacle was wreaking.
‘You’re not serious, Jonathon?’ Bianca said.
‘Who do you propose to kill in this righteous undertaking?’ Monique Zambeel said.
Joan eagerly reignited the feud. ‘I cannot believe you would even consider such an option, Monique.’
The fashion queen willingly re-engaged her foe. ‘I’d prefer you kept your narrow-minded, God-fearing reservations to yourself.’
She re-addressed Jonathon Brown. ‘Who and how do you intend to kill?’
‘Very important people...’
Monique Zambeel did not wait for the answer to the rest of her question. ‘And how will you protect our identities?’
‘There are components of a plan in place to murder more than fifty of the world’s most prominent people without fear of detection.’
Venti sat upright, intrigued at the possibility. The tabernacle continued to weave its spell.
‘It seems impossible,’ Monique Zambeel said.
‘Toby will explain the mechanics, but first we must establish an agreed approach. Murder is not to be taken lightly. Consider what we might expect in exchange for those lives.’
Paris Vanderock shivered. Venti’s mind exploded with excitement, the rush of power overtaking the luscious drugs pulsing through his veins.
Norman sliced through the paranoia and fear. ‘We can hold the United States of America to ransom, insisting it withdraws its troops from every foreign soil.’
Lord Jensen liked what he was hearing. ‘We could force a redistribution of oil royalties by rich Arab states into the poorest countries, and demand global nuclear disarmament.’
‘Threatening governments with the death of important citizens is unlikely to compromise military and social policies,’ Paris said.
‘A salient point, but we should listen to what Toby has to say. This meeting is two thousand years in the making. It’s important we enter into any commitment with utmost certainty,’ Lord Jensen said.
The Jesus Germ Page 27