Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001)

by Cordy, Michael

  One of the men slipped and banged the coffin against the far wall.

  'Whoa,' whispered Bukowski, almost laughing, 'the old bird's not dead yet. Can't have her croaking before we're ready.'

  Bukowski opened the door to the black sector and Fleming's mouth dried.

  He recognized the motif stamped on the coffin, the stylized red ark with the cruciform mast. Even in the dim light he could just make out the wording beneath it: Church of Soul Truth Hospice.

  In that instant, as she watched the coffin, with its distinctive logo, being wheeled into the black sector, all thoughts of escape left Amber. All she cared about was stifling the hideous fear uncoiling in her belly.

  It couldn't be. It simply couldn't.

  Clutching the smart disk she stepped out into the corridor and headed back to the black sector. Silently, Miles Fleming followed her.

  *

  The black sector conference room

  The wolves behaved as though they were invisibly attached to Bradley Soames. Flanking his chair at the head of the conference table, tongues lolling from slack jaws, they stared down the table, unnerving, unfathomable, untouchable. Occasionally Soames would dangle his hand beneath the table and one of the wolves would take something from it.

  The others in the room, including Accosta, sat further down the table. Most feared the wolves, but Accosta hated them. There was something pagan about them - ungodly almost. He rose from his chair and walked to the two-way mirror, supporting himself on Diageo's strong arm. The white coffin was laid out on the gurney beside the laboratory couch. Watching the lid being removed to reveal the body, with its saline drip, oxygen mask and other life-support systems, saddened him. But this would be the last necessary killing. The last sacrifice - before he sacrificed himself.

  'You see the NeuroTranslator, Your Holiness?' Soames asked, pointing at the translucent blue cube containing a pulsing sphere of light and topped with a computer monitor. 'With its modified infrared communication ports it can connect with the head-sphere's photon-detector screen, which records the subject's unique soul barcode.' He pointed to the foot of the laboratory bed, at the black box displaying four columns of flashing lights. 'And by setting the locking signal we gained from Amber we should be able to keep the communication line open indefinitely. With this experiment we intend to let the soul escape. Then, seconds later, using both the subject's unique soul barcode and the locking signal, we'll page it, as it were. Immediately we've done that, we'll communicate with it through the soul wavelength and the NeuroTranslator.'

  Accosta watched as the frail patient was laid on the bed and her eyes were pegged open. He envied her imminent release, half wishing he could take her place. But his time would come. 'After tonight we can put an end to all this suffering,' he said, as the glass sphere was placed over the subject's head. 'And after the Day of the Soul Truth there will be no need to do anything like this ever again, because when the truth is revealed for all to see, evil will have no more place in this world.'

  'Yes, Your Holiness,' agreed Soames. 'Yes, indeed.'

  'Look,' Amber hissed at Fleming.

  Crouching in the corridor, he peered through the circular windows of the main black sector laboratory. Through the heavily tinted glass he could see the white coffin being opened and a body lifted out. Bukowski and Tripp obscured his view but he could tell that it was wearing an oxygen mask and had an intravenous drip in its left arm.

  'Whoever was in that coffin isn't dead,' Amber whispered.

  'I can see that,' he replied. He was about to say something else to her, when the translucent cube resting on the table beside the laboratory couch caught his eye. 'That's the improved NeuroTranslator I helped Bradley's people build.'

  Amber frowned. 'Why build one for Bradley?'

  'I'm beginning to ask myself the same question.'

  He looked around the laboratory. A bank of apparatus stood at the foot of the bed, and he could hear a hum. There was a blank monitor on one of the units and four columns of randomly flashing lights on another. One of the scientists moved. Through the dark glass Fleming could just make out that the person on the couch was a woman and that her head was being shaved. Then something was put into her eyes.

  'That's what they did to me,' Amber said, as they placed a glass sphere over the woman's head.

  'How do you mean?'

  'When they experimented on me.'

  'What?' He turned to her in disbelief. 'Who experimented on you? Soames?'

  'Who else?' she said. 'It seems he's been using you and me. But I don't know why. All I do know is that it's got something to do with Ariel and my dreams.'

  He didn't understand, and continued to stare through the tinted window. Above the bed two large screens showed close-ups of the subject's face but because of the reflections in the glass Fleming couldn't see it clearly. One of the scientists, Tripp, turned towards the mirror that lined the left-hand wall and raised a thumb as if giving a signal to himself - or to someone beyond the mirror.

  Still unable to explain what he was witnessing, Fleming turned back to Amber. She was staring intently at the scene unfolding before them, trembling with barely controlled rage. 'How could he do this? How could he?' she whispered.

  The humming grew louder and the scientists stood back from the laboratory bed and put on eye-protectors. Then, through the tinted glass, Fleming saw a dazzling spark of light illuminate the sphere around the woman's head. It seemed to come from her eyes before pulsing around the outer layer of the sphere like a halo.

  In that instant there was a high-pitched beep and the four columns of lights, which had been flashing randomly, were suddenly in perfect alignment. On the previously blank monitor beside the lights he now saw a zebra-striped pattern of white photon dots, which he recognized as the classic wave interference pattern from a double-slit experiment.

  Then the light faded from the head-sphere.

  Seconds later, before he could process what he had seen, the halo returned, as if summoned back. For one chilling moment the light was such that the reflections shifted on the monitors suspended above the bed and the close-up images of the subject's face were clearly visible.

  Amber jumped as if she had been scalded, tore herself out of Fleming's grip, burst through the doors and ran screaming into the laboratory.

  Fleming had no choice but to follow her.

  Bukowski turned first and tried to block her, but such was Amber's momentum that she was pushed aside as though she was made of paper. Amber let out a desperate cry. 'Bastards,' she shouted. 'You fucking bastards!'

  Above him Fleming could see the close-up monitors, and the frail face staring out from the screen. The pegged-open eyes staring out through bizarre contact lenses were lifeless now.

  'Mom,' Amber yelled, reaching for the couch. A male scientist lunged at her but Fleming pushed him away before hitting him hard on the chin with the heel of his hand. Tears streaming down her face, Amber pulled the glass sphere off her mother's head and plucked the lenses from her eyes, but she was dead.

  'Bastards!' Amber cried again, gently laying her mother's head on the bed. Lifting the glass sphere, she turned to face the mirrored wall.

  The hair rose on the back of Fleming's neck when he saw the soul wavelength on the NeuroTranslator monitor pulse into life and heard a cry as strident as Amber's issue from its speakers: 'Amber.'

  In that instant Fleming understood how Soames had used him, and he knew with a certainty that went beyond scientific proof that the mind could exist beyond death. All his scientific reasoning and scepticism withered under the onslaught of pent-up rage voiced by the wronged soul whose body lay dead on the couch.

  'Murderers!' screamed the NeuroTranslator speakers, and Amber flung the head-sphere at the wall mirror. For a moment it remained intact, then cracks darted across its surface, reaching every edge and corner.

  Then, with a resounding crash, it collapsed in a symphony of shattered glass.

  And there stood Xavier Accosta,
Bradley Soames and Virginia Knight.

  The ensuing silence transcended the noise of the shards ricocheting off the floor.

  After two armed VenTec security guards escorted Fleming and Amber through the broken glass and into the conference room, it was Accosta who attempted to restore some dignity to the situation. 'Please sit down,' he said courteously. 'You deserve an explanation.'

  It was only now that Amber saw the wolves, standing behind their master, hackles raised.

  'Yes,' Soames nodded, 'I'm sorry we weren't able to reveal more to you sooner.' He proceeded to introduce Monsignor Diageo and Frank Carvelli, as if they were all at a cocktail party.

  'What the hell's going on?' Fleming demanded.

  Amber lunged for Soames but was forced into a chair. 'What have you done, Bradley? What the fuck have you done?' she screamed at him. 'How could you? We were partners, for Christ's sake.'

  Soames looked genuinely shocked. He seemed not to understand her outrage. 'We only had her here because of you, Amber, and she was dying. Because of her death no one need be harmed any more. Not you, Miles or anyone.'

  Amber stared blankly at him, her rage so intense it choked her. It was as if her earlier shock at seeing her mother's death and her subsequent outburst had leached all the energy from her. Fleming laid a hand on her shoulder.

  The need to comfort Amber was strong but it was beyond Fleming. He couldn't even reassure himself.

  Seeing Virginia Knight with Soames and Accosta, wearing tfie red cruciform broocA of the CAurcA of the Soul Truth on her chest, helped him snap out of his shock. And the sight of Accosta's haggard face, suffused with its smile of triumph, brought back Father Peter Riga's words of warning.

  He and Amber had been set up. He had been so driven to seek out the truth about his brother that he had been blind to Soames's lies. At least Amber had been used against her will, but he had helped the bastards. Fleming was filled with such a profound sense of humiliation that he wanted to lash out. But he wouldn't yield to emotion. Not yet.

  Soames looked at him. 'You remember our first meeting? You wanted to explain away the soul wavelength as proof of an afterlife and I told you that you should try to prove it instead. Remember? Well, how does it feel to know that such things are possible?

  Fleming kept his face impassive. 'How do I know they are?'

  'You heard Gillian Grant's soul.' 'I heard her call you murderers. A delayed reaction of some kind.'

  Soames shook his head impatiently. 'No, you heard her soul. Not at the point of death like you heard your brother's but after we had paged it. We let her go arid then we called her back. You see, you were right when you said that to prove the real existence of an afterlife you'd need to find a way to lock on to the soul and contact it after it had gone. That way you could establish that contact wasn't just some last gasp, as you called it. Well, we've done that. We used Amber to gain our lock-on - like you wanted to. She just gave us die co-ordinates first. Incidentally, we tried with a number of terminal patients too - as you mentioned so disapprovingly' Soames seemed pleased to impart his knowledge. 'You want to know how we page the soul, how we identify the individual consciousness?'

  'I suspect you're going to tell me, whatever I say'

  'You aware of the double-slit experiment, Miles?' Fleming nodded.

  'Well, I modified it from detecting photons of standard light energy moving through a double slit to detecting life energy photons leaving a dying human body. We've done it over a hundred times and each individual soul leaves a different striped wave interference pattern, not unlike a barcode. It seems that each of us not only has our own unique genetic blueprint for our physical body but also a photon blueprint for our metaphysical soul.' Soames smiled. 'Quantum duality is everywhere.' Fleming and Amber both stared at Soames in disbelief. A hundred?' they said in unison.

  'You've killed a hundred people for this?' Fleming gasped. He turned to Virginia. And you helped him. Christ, you set us both up. You needed the lock-on from Amber and the NeuroTranslator soul wavelength from me.'

  Knight had the grace to look uncomfortable. 'It's for the best, Miles,' she said. 'You'll see. Believe me.'

  'Believe you? How the hell can I believe a word you tell me? You were my boss, for Christ's sake, I was supposed to be able to trust you, and all the time you've been involved in this crock of evil shit.'

  'This is not evil, Dr Fleming,' Accosta interjected calmly. 'On the contrary. Dr Grant should be proof of that. When we most needed help she was delivered to us. Amber is unique, a gift from God. You don't believe me now, but in time you'll see that I'm right.'

  'But you didn't just abuse Amber, you killed her mother. And what about the other poor bastards you murdered? How the hell can you justify that?'

  They were dying, as I am. We merely eased their passing. And this final experiment was a success. Amber's mother served her purpose, as we all serve our purpose in the eyes of God.'

  Fleming knew it was impossible to continue the argument. He had once heard it said that faith was something people died for, whereas dogma was something people killed for. Riga had been right: Accosta was as arrogant and dogmatic as the fools in the Vatican - and even more dangerous. 'But what can you possibly hope to achieve by meddling with souls?' he asked.

  'Salvation,' Accosta said simply. 'The salvation of billions of souls. And you ought to be proud of what you've done to help the cause. You've both performed a great service to humankind. We live in a technological age inundated by choice. People need direction today more than they've ever needed it. No longer are they prepared to trust in blind faith or useless reams of information. They want - they demand - the truth.

  'With this technology I'll remove all doubt about the greatest question still troubling mankind. What happens to us after we die? And unlike other religious leaders I won't demand faith, I will show them the truth about the human soul. I will embody the truth so that no one - atheist, Jew, Roman Catholic, Moslem, Buddhist or humanist -will have any cause to doubt my vision. All will join the Church of the Soul Truth because they'll have no rational reason not to.'

  Assuming, of course, your vision is correct,' Fleming said.

  Accosta gave him a pitying smile. The smile of someone who is so certain of a belief that the more you argue rationally and coherently against it, the more they become convinced of your blindness and their insight into the truth. 'I understand from Dr Soames that you're concerned about your brother, that he has a soul and he might still be suffering. I believe it's a valid concern, Dr Fleming. But whatever I tell you about his fate, or the fate that awaits you, is irrelevant because I belong to a Church in which you have no faith. But after the Day of the Soul Truth I'll convert you, just as I'll convert everyone else, regardless of their current beliefs. I'll prove to you that I alone know the truth about what happens to the soul after death.'

  'How on earth will you do that?'

  'Because I will no longer be on this earth when I prove it,' Accosta said calmly.

  Before Fleming could absorb this, Soames stepped forward and patted him on the back. 'I can't see what you're so upset about, Miles,' he said. 'You got what you asked for. You came here to find out about your brother and in due course you will. In fact, I'd planned it as a surprise. There's no need for this ugliness.'

  Fleming looked at him: the man had had a component removed. Somewhere along the line, during his mixed-up life, he had had what amounted to an empathy bypass. Fleming spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable. 'Bradley, you abducted and experimented on Amber, murdered her mother and a hundred other people for some half-baked crazy scheme, and you deceived me along the way. And yet you wonder why we're angry'

  'Yes, I do.'

  Fleming shrugged, as if in defeat, and gave Soames a broad, apologetic grin. 'You're right, I overreacted.' Still smiling, he clenched his right hand into a fist, tensed his shoulder and punched Soames as hard as he could in the face. The guards were slow to react but the wolves were on him in seconds, their dam
p feral smell stifling him as they covered his body. The larger one clawed at his arm as he tried to protect his throat.

  'Call them off!' the Red Pope shouted. 'There's no need for any more violence.'

  Grudgingly Soames issued an unintelligible command and the wolves backed away. Amber reached for Fleming's arm - the claw's had left only a scratch.

  As the guards moved to escort him and Amber from the room, Fleming took some satisfaction from the anger in Soames's eyes as he gingerly touched his chin. As they passed him, Amber turned and spat in his red, contorted face.

  'I can't see what you're so upset about, Bradley' Fleming said, 'You got what you asked for.'

  'What are you going to do with them?' Accosta asked Soames, once Amber and Fleming had left.