A Sacred Storm (10 page)

It may have been paranoia, but she was sure she detected a sinister undertone in his final words, and they echoed in her ears. She halted briefly, then put it out of her mind and continued to be civil. “What more could a girl want?” she laughed.

“Exactly,” the sheik agreed. “All a woman needs is to be looked after.” He touched her arm lightly in a show of empathy. She resisted the urge to flinch. “I have some spare time in my schedule this morning,” he continued, “and I thought I might accompany you to the garden if you would not object.”

Of course I object, you disgusting pervert
, she thought.

“I would be delighted,” she said in her very best English.

The sheik opened the door and ushered her out in gentlemanly fashion. They walked side by side through the palace with the guards two paces behind. Stella had the feeling that he wanted to link arms, so she kept a respectful distance and moved subtly sideways if he got too close.

The sheik's garden was situated in a huge central courtyard. It was about half the size of a football pitch and filled with plants from around the world. The many flower beds were intersected by veins of rich green turf which formed a lush walkway. In the middle, surrounded by tall sculpted hedgerows, a magnificent fountain imitated the one outside the Bellagio in Las Vegas, with streams of water rising and falling, and dancing and twirling in a brilliant aquatic ballet. The effect was enhanced by various pieces of classical music to suit the mood, and in the evenings a dazzling light display that took it from awesome to breathtakingly spectacular.

Stella sat down on one of the ornate marble benches and watched the water twist and turn to the graceful sound of Beethoven's Fur Elise. The sheik joined her, but for once kept a comfortable distance.

“You should see this at night,” he said. “It is the most wonderful sight to behold. If you continue to please me I shall allow you the privilege.”

“That would be lovely,” said Stella, resisting the temptation to be sarcastic. “I'm sure it must be absolutely amazing. I expect you have some fantastic parties out here.”

“I do indeed. I have entertained many people in this garden, from businessmen and celebrities to presidents and kings and queens. I am a very influential man. I have wealth beyond most people's imagination.”

“You must have,” said Stella. “I can't begin to think how much all this costs.” She made a sweeping gesture across the whole palace. “I suppose you must be in the oil business.”

The sheik nodded. “I have made most of my money from oil, but I have branched out into many other areas like finance and technology and communications. I am also in the process of buying a football team in England. Not one of the Premiership sides, but one that I can build from the bottom into something great. It would be no fun to buy a readymade success.”

“Don't you worry about people's reaction to foreign money?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he replied. “They will soon change their minds once their team starts rising through the leagues. Teams need money to succeed – it matters not where it comes from. I will bring employment to the area as well, so it is a winning situation for everybody.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” said Stella. “If there's one thing supporters of the smaller teams don't like, it's change. They're quite happy going along every week with their small crowds in their small stadiums. The thought of being successful appeals to them, but they want to keep the intimacy of their little clique – they'll just see you as a threat to their individuality. They'll worry that you'll turn them into a big conglomerate and take the heart right out of the club. Which of course you will.”

The sheik fell briefly silent, then said, “I only wish to make things better for people. I can understand their fears, but the world is constantly changing. They must see that they cannot live in a bubble for the rest of their lives. Progress needs to be embraced, not rejected.”

Stella felt her whole body gush with incandescent anger. She agreed that progress needed to be embraced, but wondered how this man could say such things and still justify his treatment of women. He talked about change eloquently and yet his attitudes were still firmly rooted in the Dark Ages. She wanted to leap up and beat him to a bloody pulp. Again though, she managed to hold her tongue.

“Progress is all very well,” she said calmly. “But it shouldn't be at the expense of people's souls. The problem with you money men is that you think everybody wants the same thing as you, but they don't. Some people like small communities, they enjoy knowing everybody in the village or town. Once you start expanding things it takes away the beauty of their lives, instead of being an essential part of a group they become a faceless number in a sea of faceless numbers.”

“I do not agree,” said the sheik. “But I cannot expect you to understand the bigger picture.”

This statement was nearly all too much for Stella. Every single one of her nerve endings began to bubble with rage. She imagined herself ripping an AK-47 from one of the guards and splattering the sheik's disgusting wiry frame with a thousand hate-filled bullets, each one penetrating deeper than the last until not even dental records could identify him. She tried to combat her wrath by focusing in on the leaping water and breathing the soothing music deep into her lungs. When this failed, however, she reached instinctively for her cigarettes. After a couple of drags the red mist had all but disappeared.

“I am afraid I must leave you on your own soon,” said the sheik, oblivious to his captive's fury. “I have business to attend to, and I must prepare for this evening.”

“What's happening this evening then?” asked Stella, uninterested but making conversation.

“I have a meeting with the local tribesmen. Once a year they come to me with requests for items that they need. It is traditional for me to share my wealth and grant their wishes.”

“What sort of things do they ask for?”

“Anything really – cars, money, livestock, computers – they can have what they want as long as they can justify it as a necessity for their livelihoods.”

“So it's a sort of begging party,” said Stella.

“No,” said the sheik sharply, creasing his brow. “It is not begging. I have a responsibility to my people and I offer them help. They are invited here at my bidding, they do not sit at my doorstep pulling at my conscience. It is a custom that the West could learn from.” He got up and made to leave. “I must go now and attend to my business. Have a good day.”

Stella remained seated and watched him hurry away. Once he was out of sight she leant back and relaxed into the bench, which for stonework was remarkably comfortable. She guessed it was all in the design.

Without the distraction of his odious presence, she enjoyed the rest of her cigarette and updated her mental map of the palace, wondering all the time what her misogynistic jailer would look like with a knife in his back.

Christiano gaped at Vittori incredulously. “Exactly like Jesus?” he repeated. “Nobody could ever be exactly like Jesus, Your Eminence.”

“Could they not?” said Vittori, raising his eyebrows. “You yourself pointed out that the Bible quotes Jesus as saying that we can all do what he did. That we all have it within ourselves. Have you suddenly changed your mind in the last couple of minutes?”

Christiano shuffled awkwardly in his chair under the cardinal's stern gaze. “No, of course not, Your Eminence. It is just that the statement took me quite by surprise. Please, I do not wish to upset you.”

Vittori muted his glare and relaxed. “I know you do not, Christiano. I am sorry to be so serious, but this is a very serious matter. The fate of mankind depends upon it.” He stopped to clear his throat. “I will now divulge to you exactly what is going on, and please leave any questions until the end. Is that okay?”

Christiano nodded.

“Good,” said Vittori, “then I shall begin. You will know from the Bible that Jesus was a great healer, the greatest healer that ever lived. You will also know from the Bible that he was crucified and came back to life. These are both very much facts, as are the tales of his extreme humanity. What is not known is that Jesus was in fact using a form of Reiki to heal people, and also that it was Peter and the disciples that brought him back to life after the crucifixion – again using a form of Reiki. Not only did he survive, but he lived on for many years afterwards, journeying to the East where he remained until his death up to ninety years later. When he eventually died he left his secrets to an order of monks who were to keep them safe until such time as the human race was ready to utilize them safely. These secrets came in the form of hundreds of symbols that could be used to cure any illness. They work in exactly the same way as the regular Reiki symbols that you would use. Are you following me?”

“Yes, I think so, Your Eminence,” replied a bewildered Christiano.

“Good. The thing is Christiano, these symbols have been located by some very dangerous people and I fear they are going to use them to fool the world into thinking that they are God's chosen ones. We need to stop them, and we need your help. There is obviously a lot more to the story, but I wanted to give you the salient points to start with. I know this is all a big shock, but you must try and keep your head. Now, if you have any questions, please ask.”

Christiano had a million questions but his brain was too battered to assimilate them all. Yet, although shocked, a part of him was suddenly overjoyed as everything he had learned suddenly began to make sense. Jesus was a Reiki master, of course he was – the mightiest that ever lived. He had been sent by God to teach human beings the way forward, showing them how to access the power inside of each and every one of them. Christiano felt stupid for never thinking of it before. All those nights of trying to juggle his faith with his healing, when all the time they had been part of the same thing. “I really don't know what to say, Your Eminence. I am honoured that you should tell me all these things, but I don't know how someone like me could possibly help you.”

“You are very humble, Christiano, it is most commendable,” said Vittori. “It is one of the reasons I have chosen you. The thing is my friend, we have a very real problem facing us. The dangerous people I was telling you about are very high up in the Islamic religion. The have stolen this sacred knowledge and have given it to one of their number. At present this man has confined himself to Mecca, healing people and building his following, but soon they will unleash him on the world, and the entire population will begin to come under his sway. Within months,maybe weeks, the whole world will accept him as a new Messiah. Can you imagine what would happen then?”

“I am not sure, Your Eminence. I don't see how somebody healing people could be bad for the world. Surely healing is good – whoever does it.”

A wave of anger crossed Vittori's face, but quickly passed. “Yes, Christiano, of course healing is good, but you must look at the bigger picture. Once people believe that this man has been sent by God himself, they will take to heart everything he says and follow any doctrine that he cares to teach them. You must see how dangerous that will be. Islam will take over the entire world. Sharia law will be introduced everywhere. Women will be treated like animals. No longer will there be tolerance and forgiveness, we will enter a dark age of rule by fear and violence, where any transgression, however minor, will be punished with disproportional retribution. Is that a world you wish to live in Christiano?”

“No, Your Eminence, of course not. You must forgive me, all I saw was the healing, I did not think about the consequences. It would be truly devastating if such a thing came to pass. But again, I ask you, how can I help?”

Vittori reached into a drawer and withdrew three sheets of paper. He laid one out on the surface of the desk and turned it to face Christiano. “This, Christiano, is a copy of the sacred symbols that Jesus left to mankind. I think you'll recognize some of them.”

Christiano studied the paper carefully. The majority of the icons were alien to him, but he did indeed recognize the four Usui characters at each corner, and the repeated power symbol in the centre. “This is amazing,” he said. “But what do they all do? I cannot possibly imagine.”

Vittori held up the other two sheets. “The key to their various properties is held on these.” He laid the papers out next to the first one. Christiano noted that instead of symbols there were small pictures. “You will notice that these pictures are laid out in a grid similar to that of the symbols,” Vittori continued, “each picture corresponds to its relative symbol. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Christiano. “So this symbol here,” he pointed, “corresponds to this picture here.” He pointed again, to a diagram of a man with fire emanating from his stomach. “And I assume that the symbol must be used for the healing of a stomach ailment.”

“The boy's got it,” said Jonathan Ayres, joining the conversation with a clap of his hands.

“Yes, indeed he has,” said Vittori. “Well done, Christiano, that is exactly how to read it. It is very simple really, but I was afraid that it might look confusing. You are obviously a very bright lad, which will help you greatly in your task ahead.”

“What is the task?” asked Christiano.

“To learn all of these symbols and their properties off by heart of course.”

Christiano's mouth fell open. “That is a very great task!”

“I know,” said Vittori. “But it is one that you must complete if you are to do your duty.”

“And what is that, Your Eminence?” asked Christiano, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, and not really wanting an answer.

“You are to become the new Messiah.”