Prophecy. An ARKANE thriller. (Book 2)

by J. F. Penn

  “Death isn’t remarkable, and neither is life, in the grand scheme of things,” Morgan replied. “It’s only when you look at an individual life that meaning can be seen in these special moments. Your company seems to be helping those who are struggling, so you must believe life is precious?”

  Milan seemed to be hypnotized by the gold that glinted from the reliquary of St Thomas, and he spoke in low, mesmerizing tones.

  "Eros and Thanatos, the life and death instincts, they rage inside us all.” He stopped abruptly. “Now Dr Sierra … Morgan … I must go. It has been marvelous to meet you and I hope very much to see you again."

  He shook her hand, snake green eyes challenging hers, and then strode off towards the exit, a head taller than those around him. Morgan stood speechless in front of the display case. The use of the word Thanatos had taken her by surprise. Could the ‘Lord of Life’ really be involved with the death of others?

  London, England. 11.18am

  The sun was already high and Michael Jensen was trying to keep cool in his bulky coat as he sat in the shade of a chestnut tree on a tiny grassy patch opposite Finsbury Park mosque. It fitted easily into the suburban landscape with its red brick exterior and minimal white minaret. There seemed to be some kind of festival and he could hear the sound of chanted prayers as large groups of people entered as he watched. The school holidays meant there were many children and young people in the crowd, some obviously dragged there by their parents but others hurried ahead, keen in their youthful devotion. Michael felt a jealousy as he watched the banter between friends and close knit families going in together for he had never felt part of such a community, even as a young man. A little boy ran along the street ahead of his parents who turned to each other in pride, their love for each other evident even as they kept several paces apart.

  Michael suddenly felt that what he was about to do must be wrong. How could the killing of children be sanctioned? Yet he must obey the highest authority and who was he to question the commands of God? To calm himself, he pulled on the headset and pressed Play on the mp3 player, urging the sensations to fill him again. He thought he’d taken the entire pill packet this morning but the details were fuzzy, colors brighter and time super speedy. The courier who had delivered the pills had also handed him a bulky package.

  “You’ll know what to do with it,” the man had said before leaving. Michael had been so desperate to get back into the presence of God that he had taken the pills immediately and plugged himself into the newly downloaded audio files. Pounding music had filled his brain and this time the God of War emerged, battle ready and with a mission that only Michael could fulfill. Outside the mosque he re-entered that state of readiness with the buzz of the drugs dulling the sensation in his body. At the same time they heightened his perception to light and sound, the immensity and beauty of the world about to be opened wide to the cosmos.

  Michael opened his coat slightly and flicked the countdown button. It showed 70 seconds … 69 … 68 … 67 …

  Michael turned up the audio to full volume … 52 … 51…

  He ran across the road and into the open door of the mosque, passing the last families arriving behind him…39…38…37…

  There were shouts as people tried to tackle him, screams as someone shouted a warning. Michael ran into the main prayer hall, shouldering his way through. It was packed with people. They turned with surprise … 19 … 18 …

  He could see their lips moving in prayer but the soundtrack in his head played only war and rage. The little boy who had been skipping outside knelt next to his father. For a moment, Michael wished his task away but the pounding in his head increased to a crescendo. I will obey, Lord, he thought, closing his eyes as the bomb tore his earthly body apart.

  New York, USA. 9.15am

  Shahzia Mohammad knew she had phoned the Zoebios helpline the previous night to ask for more pills, but the large package that had arrived that morning puzzled her. The twinge of anxiety was quashed when she found the pills and she tore into the packet, desperate to re-enter the state of grace she had felt in the presence of the Divine. For a short time it felt as if nothing was important except the infinitesimal space between her spirit and the omniscient.

  When the audio had finished yesterday, she had played it again and she found her mind opened to the possibilities that life held for her. When Kamil had come home he was angry because she hadn’t done the washing or cleaned the tiny flat, but she had borne his anger with a calm smile. She had lain awake beside him pondering the thoughts that God had awakened in her. Her desire to obey was strong but she wanted to be sure of His will. The pills opened her third eye to the transcendent, enabled her to see beyond petty human existence. She needed that clarity again if she was to be perfect in her submission.

  Shahzia took three of the pills with a glass of water, gulping them down at the sink as soon as she had closed the door on the courier. Then, looking at the packet of fifteen, she took two more for good measure. She felt the stirrings of their power within her and knelt on the prayer rug, pulling the headset over her ears and turning on the audio that would take her back to God. She rocked backwards and forwards as she heard the words and felt the wings of the angels, al-Malaikah, beat the air around her. She had a purpose now, a way to use her anxiety to the glory of God and punish those who did not deserve His grace. The faces of little children in the classes at St Mary’s swam in front of her, eyes wide with innocence but she knew they would be with God soon. She knew now what she needed to do with the package and the crescendo of the music complete with divine orders filled her ears as she unpacked the vest and put it on. She had to hurry if she was to be there for break-time when all the children would be in the yard.

  ARKANE, London, England. 3.02pm

  Elias Marietti waved Morgan and Jake into his office. His usually immaculate desk was cluttered with papers and the wall TV screen showed a news bulletin with the sound muted, repeatedly showing scenes of destruction with tiny body bags laid neatly in rows. Protests had started and firebrand preachers were calling for revenge.

  “It’s started,” said Marietti. “There have been another two incidents this morning in addition to the ones in New York and North London. A Christian has blown himself up at the Independence Mosque in Jakarta and a Jewish soldier opened fire on a bus full of Muslim children near Hebron.”

  “This is the escalation of the religious element, perhaps the reference to death by sword in the prophecy,” Morgan said, concern on her face. “But this will only be the beginning if Thanatos intend to take out a quarter of the world. If it’s being spread through the Zoebios direct network there’s no knowing how fast it will escalate and what extremists it may reach or even create.”

  Jake checked his tablet computer which held the latest information from Martin Klein about the perpetrators of the violence.

  “The patchy information we have on the bombers so far indicates symptoms of anxiety and depression so they would have been candidates for the Zoebios audio program. We don’t have time to wait for the bureaucracy of background checks on these people but there isn’t enough proof to link them to Zoebios as yet.”

  “I know Milan Noble is behind this,” Morgan said, determination in her voice. “We just need to find the evidence.”

  “So we go to him,” Jake said. “There’s a fundraiser tonight in Paris for the Foundation for a Sustainable Population, the politically correct arm of twenty-first century eugenics.”

  Marietti nodded as his private line began to flash again.

  “Go,” he said. “You need to stop this and it’s the only lead we have. The missing pages of the Devil’s Bible will have to wait. Right now, you have to stop this escalating into a holy war.”

  Musée du Louvre, Paris. France. 6.16pm

  The Place du Carrousel in central Paris was filled with beautiful people, while paparazzi snapped away, capturing their elegant dresses and fine jewels. Waiting staff carried trays of champagne and canapés to the guest
s spilling out of a pavilion pitched by the largest of the glass pyramids. The transparent edifices provided a modern foil to the regal architecture of the most visited museum in the world. The security checks to enter the museum were thorough so there was a pre-party catering service for the VIPs who queued in designer dresses, fur and diamonds. Jake watched Morgan skillfully swipe a glass of champagne from a waiter as he passed. She sipped it as Jake continued his briefing, already despairing of her.

  “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough and I’m worried about you. Won’t you consider letting me be your chaperone?”

  Morgan smiled, taking a longer sip of the bubbles.

  “No way. You agreed I would take point on this mission, so don’t be backing out now. Besides, I’m here to find out more about Milan and you’ll just spoil my personal approach.”

  Jake ignored her flirtatious smile.

  “I’m not playing games. This place is a security nightmare and it will be hard for me to get to you if you’re in trouble.”

  “It’s a fundraiser and there are hundreds of people here,” Morgan replied. “He’s not likely to try anything, is he? Not under the noses of all these glitterati. Besides, we do want him to pay attention to me. That was the whole point of this get-up.”

  She pointed at herself, a gold and garnet cross around her neck catching the evening sun. She had received it by courier this morning from Milan Noble with a brief note, thanking her for an expert tour of the relic exhibition. The cross was in a similar style to the one he had pointed out in the gallery. Despite the haste of their departure Martin Klein had modified it into a tracking device and also embedded a USB key in it that would enable him to hack any system Morgan plugged it into.

  Jake couldn’t help but glance at Morgan again, although he’d been trying to keep his eyes elsewhere since they’d left the houseboat. She wore a crimson flamenco style dress with plunging neckline and high spiked heels. The dress accentuated her slight curves and was slit open up one thigh. It left everything he wanted to the imagination. Her dark curls were mostly loose and she had pinned a garnet jewel in her hair to match the necklace. The deep scarlet suited her Mediterranean color. Her skin was darker after the summer months and the tan highlighted her cobalt blue eyes, the violet slash in her right eye darkening at Jake’s intense gaze.

  “You look good, ” he said, flushing slightly. Morgan raised an eyebrow at his understatement. “Honestly, I wouldn’t let you out in public, but the Director wants to know what’s going on. You still need to be careful though.”

  Jake reluctantly agreed to stay in the crowd, observing and in contact with the backup team who were covertly hidden in a houseboat on the Seine nearby. Morgan pointed over his shoulder with her champagne glass.

  “Now that’s what I call a car.”

  Many in the crowd turned to watch as a fiery red sports car swung into the square and pulled up in front of the carpet leading to the pyramid. Jake whistled low.

  “The man definitely has taste. That’s a Joss JP1 super-car. Gorgeous.”

  “And good to see he likes red,” Morgan said. “Now it’s time for you to go socialize elsewhere. We can’t be seen together. I’ll be in contact later tonight, but give me some space Jake, I mean it. You’ve got me covered.”

  She touched the tracker hidden in the necklace. Jake nodded and melted into the crowd, turning briefly to watch Milan Noble stepping out of the car to the applause of the waiting crowd. He was alone and wearing classic black tie. The tuxedo was fitted to his slim hips and his jacket was open, a more casual look. He waved to the crowd but seemed almost embarrassed at the attention. Jake stared at Milan, wondering what secrets he hid behind that incredibly refined exterior. Through the crowd, he noted painfully that Morgan’s eyes shone as she also looked at the man, her applause joining the others around her. Jake supposed the guy did look a little like James Bond and the car was definitely a lady killer. He bridled a little at being relegated to babysitting but he didn’t mind too much as he got to watch Morgan all evening. In that dress, it would be a pleasure.

  Morgan eventually made it down the elevators into the main atrium of the Musée du Louvre. It was light and airy, open to the pyramidal sky above. Diamond shaped panes let in the last of the evening sun which crept into the corners of the space. The evening’s official function would be held in the sheltered sculpture courtyard of the Richelieu wing, but the guests had time to wander through some of the exhibits on their way. Morgan noticed a number of interested male guests who saw that she was unaccompanied so she pretended to be looking for someone specific and headed towards the courtyard. She glimpsed Jake cornered by a young woman, a peach satin sheath clinging to her dangerous curves. He was looking in her direction but didn’t catch her eye, deliberately she thought. A fast pang of annoyance flashed through her, and she was surprised. Jake did look good but then a tux suited practically any man and tonight, her target was Milan Noble, who certainly looked stunning in his.

  Morgan walked up the wide stairwell, mingling with the guests as they slowly made their way through the museum, distracted by the priceless objects. The Louvre was an overwhelming place, so crammed with art that every painting began to look the same after a while. Morgan knew the key to these great museums was to pick an interesting piece and spend longer with it, focusing and appreciating its beauty. En route to the courtyard she stopped before Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss. The white marble looked soft to the touch. The folds of Psyche’s dress, the curves of her arms, the feathers on Cupid’s wings, all fluid and supple. Morgan loved sculpture and it moved her far more than painting. She wanted to run her fingers over the smooth hip, to trace the outline of Cupid’s lips. A voice interrupted her reverie.

  “Mesdames et messieurs, bienvenue au Musée du Louvre. Welcome to the Louvre, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Morgan could hear polite applause as people made their way up into the courtyard and she headed in that direction with a group of guests. The area was open to the sky, protected by glass panes that allowed a buttery light to filter down, touching the guests and statues with gold. There were small trees set with low marble benches and sculptures dotted around the multi-level terraces. It was reminiscent of Narnia, a kingdom of stone where the Gods had been frozen in time.

  The Master of Ceremonies tapped on the microphone.

  “We are here tonight to raise money for the Foundation for a Sustainable Population and our lead patron, Milan Noble from Zoebios, will be speaking to us shortly. He has also donated some amazing prizes for the auction later, so please raise your glasses and join me in a toast. To a sparkling evening.”

  Morgan raised her glass with the crowd as Milan Noble took the stage. He stood like a lord over them, looking down from a raised dais near a statue of reclining Zeus holding a thunderbolt. His face was impassioned as he spoke.

  “Friends, it is evident that we are reaching a critical point in humanity’s journey. We must begin to make sacrifices for the greater good, for never before have we been so threatened by our own choices, and every individual must take responsibility for the planet’s future. Zoebios aims to bring greater health and education to the world’s people, but at the same time, we must reduce the number of our species. We cannot continue at this rate of growth and we are well past the point of sustainable population. Now is the time to change our future.”

  Morgan noted that he was an excellent speaker, making eye contact with many in the audience. She felt him look at her several times and then pass on. He was practiced at the art of working a crowd, but then he was the face and voice of his own organization, clearly experienced at persuasive performance and the manipulation of public opinion. She made her way to the side of the room near to the statues of the four seasons where she would stand out in her scarlet dress. It was important not to chase him for he was a man who could have anyone and anything so she must be just out of his reach, seemingly uninterested.

  Milan finished his speech with anoth
er toast, the room effervescent with enthusiastic applause. As he stepped down from the dais, Milan was crowded by people pressing him with donations. Women wanted just that little bit of personal attention and the men were determined to shake his hand out of respect for his business prowess. But Morgan could see he was clearly moving in her direction through the crowd and she turned to study the statues as he approached.

  “Again we meet in front of ancient and beautiful objects, Dr Sierra.”

  His voice was flirtatious as Morgan turned back to face him.

  “But thankfully these are not quite so macabre. It was an interesting speech. You’re quite the orator.”

  Milan smiled. “I see you’re wearing my gift.” He reached out and touched the garnet cross gently, his fingers near to her breast. Milan lent closer to her ear.

  “I hate these events. I prefer my socializing to be more … intimate.” He brushed a stray curl away from her face and Morgan realized she probably didn’t need to try too hard to get him away from this crowd. She took a step back for it was too early to acquiesce.

  “But these people all came to see you,” she said. “Surely you don’t want to disappoint them?”

  “You’re right, I must make my rounds.” His regret was obvious. “But perhaps you would wait for me and we could go somewhere more private after the party? I’d love to tell you more about the plans Zoebios has for the future. I think you’ll be most interested.”

  “Perhaps,” Morgan said, looking around at the crowd, trying not to appear eager. “If I’m still here later.”

  Milan smiled at her coy reticence and strode back into the throng, immediately surrounded by supporters wanting a word.