The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  For a full five minutes, Mary sat and shook, her mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and inferences. How could he have saved her and from whom? Alexi implied that a woman had fired the shots at her outside the London Science Museum. Was she one of the Minister’s men? If he stopped her, why had he chased after them, what was he trying to achieve?

  The respirator control unit buzzed, skipping a compression. Two red LEDs flashed a warning, distracting Mary from her struggles. Her anguish was affecting Parth’s life giving equipment. She moved to the door, taking a precautionary glance out in the corridor before leaving the Intensive Care room. No sign of Alexi, no nurse at the desk. Sliding her fingers down the casing of the water machine, she found the locking mechanism and opened the unit. The water travelled through plastic piping, encased in thin trunking down the wall from the ceiling tiles above. Mary could see the space inside the casing where the metal cylinder should sit, interrupting the water’s passage to the tap. Alexi was right. The filter was missing.

  To add further turmoil to her already troubled mind, she received a telepathic message from Dan. It was brief and to the point.

  “Too late to run. Yelena is here, and she is not alone.”

  ***

  The entire hospital section crawled with agents. Yelena and Dan stood outside Parth’s room, next to the nurse’s station, while Dr Tendai Harper explained his hypothesis in detail to a preoccupied Mary. Did Alexi inform Yelena of her whereabouts or was it the other way around? Whose side was she on today, the minister’s or Alexi’s?

  Tendai inserted the syringe of specialised ferrous compounds into the cannula supplying Parth’s veins and depressed the plunger. Mary pulled her attention back to the irregular beeping of her husband’s heart monitor. The trace across the screen indicated a rapid escalation in his heart failure. Mary locked eyes with Tendai and said, “Are we too late?”

  “I don’t know. All we can do is try.” Tendai replaced the syringe in a plastic tray and set a timer on his watch. The waiting began. Fifteen long minutes for the compounds to permeate his tissues and start the binding process. The pink tinge in the urine collection bag, had turned fully blood red over the course of the night. Mary prayed that his kidneys would cope with the task of flushing out the poison.

  Mary dragged her chair closer to the bed and stared at Parth’s lidded eyes. Was he aware of his life ebbing away? Was he in pain or had the paralysis relieved him of that at least? Despite the heart ache and suffering he had caused her, he did not deserve to die in such a cruel manner. She wanted him to live long enough to meet his child. The watch chimed on Tendai’s wrist. It was time for Mary to perform a new miracle.

  Under the watchful gaze of medics, nurses, agents and through the glass door, Yelena and Dan, Mary settled to her task. She took a second or two to collect herself, wondering how strong the pulse of electromagnetism would need to be to attract the iron particles. There was a possibility that she could misgauge the strength, causing irrevocable damage to Parth’s body. Too weak, and the poison would linger in his system, crippling his heart muscle unto death.

  How could she reverse her usual pulse? Make it an attracting force rather than repulsion? Closing her eyes and blotting out her audience, Mary lay one hand on the lower abdomen of her dying husband and slid the other hand under his body to the small of his back. If hatred and anger could conjure a massive injurious force, perhaps love could illicit a gentle one. Mary shut out the memories of all the hurtful conversations and actions of the last few weeks and searched her mind for the times she felt most loved.

  The recollection of Parth presenting her with the tickets and full travel plans for their excursion around the world. His insistence that he would always care for her, no matter what. The way he took charge of her entire life when she was least able to fend for herself. It was his love that saved her from the pit of unending grief following her parents’ death. His strength of character that repaired her shattered heart. His tenacity that restored her will to live and love once more. She owed him this. She owed him her life.

  Visualising the toxins streaming through his blood, Mary initiated a mild tingling of electromagnetic conduction in her palm closest to Parth’s kidneys. A faint tickle of a similar magnitude as when she imprinted water with a drug. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the ferrous particles, dragging the poison towards her hand. Estimating two or three minutes, Mary switched the tingling pulse to the hand closest to Parth’s bladder.

  Within moments, Mary heard the sneering nurse gasp. Opening her eyes, Mary watched the nurse flounce out of the room, her nose high in abhorrence. Tendai crouched to the fresh urine bag, unclipped it from the bed frame and held it up for Mary to see. Clear, blood free urine was flowing through the tube.

  “How do we know if it is working?” Mary asked, breaking her train of concentration.

  “A simple urine test, but I think you should keep doing whatever it is that you are doing. The heart trace is starting to normalise.”

  Repositioning her hands, Mary allowed her mind to wander through the happiest memories of their travels, all the time attracting the toxins out of Parth’s body. Tendai extracted a sample from the urine bag, labelled it and sent it via the ward sister for analysis. Two more rounds of pulses to the kidneys, then to the bladder. Mary felt exhausted, and hungry. She stood up and faced the group of medics who had clustered around the nurse’s station to catch a glimpse of the miracle being performed.

  Dr Tendai Harper congratulated Mary on a job well done. Mary flushed crimson and felt as hot as fire. “Has it relieved the paralysis?” She said, edging towards the door.

  “Too early to tell, but his vitals have picked up so there is every hope.” That stunning smile, those masculine hands, his mellow sandalwood scent that masked the all-pervading hospital stench of disinfectant and body fluids whenever he drew near. She had to move away or combust in her own giddy desire.

  Outside the room, Yelena and Dan leaned against the nurse’s desk, guarding a misshapen pile of snacks and drinks. Yelena stepped forwards to greet her, raising her arms to receive a hug. Mary withdrew, circumnavigating the daughter of St. Petersburg, until she knew which face she would be presenting this time. Yelena caught the inference, loud and clear.

  “Please, Mary. Don’t be like that. I am still your friend.”

  “Really? My friend one day, the Prime Minister’s lap dog another day and Alexi’s comrade on the third? You have more faces than casino dice. He was here, earlier… Alexi I mean. Frightened the bejeezus out of me.” Mary barked, then attacked the wrapping of a sandwich pack from the snack pile. Yelena had no answer for her, opening her mouth to defend herself, then closing it once more. Nothing she could say would heal the rift between them.

  “Bloody hell, are you alright?” Dan said, “What did he say? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No. He claimed that he saved Parth and I from another shooter outside the museum. Showed me a wound he sustained on his scalp, then told me not to drink the water here.” Mary glared directly at the MI6 agent. “I wonder how he found out about the water… Yelena?”

  Yelena again, uncharacteristically tongue tied, stared at her stilettoes. There was some commotion at the far end of the corridor. Two of Yelena’s agents were sent to assist, as a man with a long lens camera attempted to force his way in through the department doors. Yelena pressed a small device nestled in her ear and cocked her head side-ways.

  “It seems that the paparazzi have discovered your location too, Mary. My tech tells me that you are trending higher than the royal family on social media and that the press pack is growing outside this building.” Yelena thumbed through her smartphone contacts and hit the green icon. “Do not worry, my team will keep them out.” She turned her back on Dan and Mary to make her telephone call.

  “And who will protect us from your team?” Mary said, through clenched teeth. Yelena chose to ignore her remark, continuing to speak in a hushed voice to whomever she had contacted.
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br />   Mary grabbed Dan’s sleeve. “You have to leave now, while you still can. You are not in the firing line, you can still escape. Get to Connie and lay low.”

  “I’m not leaving you here to face all this on your own. What kind of a brother does that?”

  “You know what they will insist upon. There is no need for you to be locked up in some military bunker, doing their dirty work, too. You have to go.”

  “We are stronger together. Don’t give up just yet.”

  Tendai poked his head out of Parth’s room. “You might want to catch the news on TV.” He said, beckoning them inside and increasing the volume with the remote.

  Dan and Mary shuffled around the crowded room, staring up at the screen. A panning shot of the press pack zoomed out to reveal a group of Christians sitting on the tarmac near the ambulance bays, lighting candles and clutching small bibles to their chests. A makeshift pulpit was under construction while a reporter interviewed a priest, dressed in full robes.

  “Tell us, father, what do you make of the claims that Mary Arora can perform miracles?” The reporter said, shoving a furry microphone under the priest’s nose.

  “I think that this lady should come out and explain herself. Is it all a big hoax to stir up the faithful, or is there some merit to her assertions?”

  “So, you think it is possible that she can genuinely turn water into wine, like Jesus did in the Bible?” The reporter was jostled by several others, trying to commandeer the interview.

  “Well, now. I didn’t say that. That is an impossibility, surely. Only the son of God could create something from nothing.”

  Another female reporter ducked under the elbows of the crowd, pushing her way to the front. “Do you think she is at the hospital to heal the sick, father?”

  “Well, um…ahem. My flock need me to conduct the sermon now. You are all welcome to join us in prayer.”

  The camera flipped back to the news reporter, summarising the scant news and flashing up the same worn images from Hugo’s internet video as before.

  Dan said, “this is all getting way out of hand. We are never going to get through that mob.”

  “Perhaps that was the intention. Whoever leaked my presence here, wants to keep me locked down.” Mary glanced around at the medical team surrounding Parth’s prone body. Most were busy tending to the needs of her husband, replacing fluids or checking nervous response. Mary was sure that Tendai would not have betrayed her. His interest remained fixed on his patient. Where was the sneering nurse and her talisman of Christ? Vanished. No doubt queuing up to inform the reporters outside of Mary’s latest blasphemy.

  Walking back out to the nurse’s station, Mary stopped dead in her tracks. A stab of pain pierced through her abdomen like a slash from razor wire. She doubled over, crying out with the extreme agony. A millisecond of relief before the torture resumed. A warm, wet sensation developed between her legs, accompanied by the unmistakable smell of blood.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Losing the one thing that gave Mary hope, was bad enough, but the indignity of being examined on a gurney in the maternity ward corridor was almost as bad. More urgent, longer term patients filled the beds, and the queue of distraught mothers awaiting post-miscarriage operations were stacked bumper to bumper outside pre-op. Midwives eked out their compassion in a desperate attempt to satisfy the emotional and physical needs of a growing number of bereft.

  Mary’s loss was no less acute but looking at the women of mid-term foetal deaths surrounding her, and the abundance of pre-term babies in neonatal intensive care units, was humbling. Her six-week fantasy of motherhood was insignificant by comparison. The postnatal ward bore a sombre and desolate pall. Grieving fathers, strong by the bedside, excused themselves to weep in private torment in the corridor. Rejecting the offer of medication, Mary lay on her gurney in silent tears and cramping pain.

  Dan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting his shoulder against the cold plaster of the wall. He checked a text notification on his phone and then offered his sister another tissue from a pocket pack. “Pip’s train is just pulling into the station.”

  “You needn’t have called him. I’ll be fine as soon as the bleeding stops.” Bleeding. That was what her baby was reduced to; a mass of blood and tissue needing expulsion. Not a tiny child with budding arms and legs and a heart, but a foreign body nestled in her womb. A foetal sack destined for the incinerator.

  It felt like her inner core was hollowed out. She was a sterile shell of womanhood. A steel thermos flask stripped clean and stacked on the shelf. With her marriage dissolved and the minister’s directives, Mary knew that it was not likely that she would conceive again for a long time to come, if ever.

  Dan scanned the frantic activity in the maternity wing and sighed. “Someone needs to hold the Prime Minister responsible for all this. It can only be the result of the chemicals added to the water. What if women across the country are miscarrying from the toxic effects?”

  “Didn’t you see the news last night? Enquiries are focusing on midwifery malpractice. No mention of the water contamination at all. And who would believe us if we spoke to the media now?”

  Mary lay among the pandemonium and wailing, attempting to adjust her thinking to a new reality. How quickly she had accepted the idea of becoming a parent. It would have been less hurtful to have not taken the pregnancy test at all. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, a secret government base is no place to raise a child. With Yelena and her agents waiting outside the ward, there was no doubt in Mary’s mind where her next change of address would be.

  Another wave of abdominal spasms made her perspire and draw her knees up closer to her chest. Mary wished she had not passed up the offer of drugs. Maybe she could leave her physical presence to bear the pain, while her consciousness took a short flight outside the ward. She could have a little snoop on the Christian picket line outside or assess the likelihood of escape.

  With a light touch to her brother’s arm, Mary said, “Can you watch over me while I let my mind wander?”

  Dan looked perplexed, until comprehension swept a smile across his stubble covered face. He nodded, “Enjoy your flight.”

  Humming softly to herself, the familiar tune eased her psyche loose from the weight of troubles grounding her body. Drifting above the screams emanating from the ten birthing rooms of the labour ward, Mary flew. Liberated from body sensations, she drifted towards the window and out.

  The air cool, but far from refreshing, Mary found herself just a few hundred metres from Paddington Railway Station once again. From her position above maternity, Mary could see the gathering of Catholics, Church of England and assorted religious persons, all vying for media attention. They were tucked in a small enclave, almost blocking the entrance to the ambulance bays. Police formed a line, preventing spillage of protestors from impeding traffic flow.

  It was hard to believe that all that attention and antipathy was directed at her. Why were the camera crews fixating on a priest reading from a little black book? Why had they not picked up on the hundreds, possibly thousands of women suffering in birthing centres right across the country? How had the Prime Minister suppressed such news nationally?

  Mary flew closer to a cluster of reporters surrounding two interviewees, their smartphones and microphones hovering in the airspace between them. The taller one was Hugo. He pushed his black rimmed spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose and stared directly under the glare guard of the camera lens.

  “I think it’s disgraceful, frankly.” Hugo replied to a vague question posed by the reporter. “To think that both Parth and Mary called themselves my friends. How a respected neuroscientist such as he, could think of comparing his wife to that of Jesus Christ, is abhorrent.”

  “Are you confirming that her powers are real, Dr Blom?” A diminutive reporter, with a less than small voice.

  “I am. I have measured her output. I applied rigorous testing protocols back in my lab and have seen her
capability, first hand. There is absolutely no doubt that her abilities are both blasphemous and dangerous.” There was a muscle twitch next to his eye that became more pronounced as he clenched his teeth.

  The reporter moved the microphone beneath the second person’s chin. A woman who rubbed the gold of the crucifix at her neck, and who still wore her nurses uniform from her work shift.

  “And you claim to have witnessed Mary Arora involved in another procedure inside this very hospital. Can you tell us what you saw?” The sound of camera shutters and smartphone notifications merged with that from the continuous traffic.

  The nurse took a breath. “I saw that pretender attempting to heal the sick. She laid her hands on a dying man and looked like she was summoning God in prayer.”

  Mary had seen and heard enough. All common sense and reason had left these people in pursuit of a sensational news story. Shame on Hugo for allowing his scientific realism be overpowered by the resurgence of his beliefs. This was how the most important stories are suppressed, by fanning the fires of outrage as a distraction. Re-entering the maternity department via the main door, her conscious energy ascended the stairs to the entrance of the labour ward. Yelena and two heavy agents stood leaning against the wall. True to form, Yelena was speaking on her phone.

  Drawing closer, Mary only heard fragments of a conversation carried out in a Russian dialect. Her expression changed upon seeing a white-haired gentleman climbing the stairs at a measured pace.

  Aww bless him. He would fly to the ends of the earth for me. Dear old Grampy. I wonder how much Dan has told him. Mary thought to herself, preparing to return to her physical form on the other side of the security door.

  Pip reached the top of the stairs and glowered directly at Yelena. “I know who you are, and who you work for.” The menace in his pale eyes made Yelena take a step back. She steadied herself, grooming her auburn hair behind her ears.