A Sacred Storm (37 page)

“You're right,” said Stratton. “There's no way we can stop the assassination. The Vatican has operatives throughout the Islamic world. It's only a question of when.”

“So what can we do then?” said Jennings.

Stratton looked round the table and said, “Any ideas welcome.”

It was Stella who spoke first. “Well,” she started. “It occurs to me that fighting between the two factions is unavoidable. Once the Mahdi is dead all hell is going to break loose. And although I guess it's going to include everybody eventually, the war is essentially between the Catholics and the Muslims. They make up about a third of the world's population between them I believe – one billion Catholics and one and a half billion Muslims. I'm not including all Christians in that number of course – if you take the whole of the Christian faith then that adds another billion or so I think.” She looked across to Stratton who nodded in agreement. “Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that, even if you take a worst case scenario, not everyone in the world is going to be wrapped up in this fight – in fact just about half. So that leaves three and a half billion people with no allegiance. That's three and a half billion potential allies for us.”

The table fell briefly silent while they took in her statement.

“Theoretically you're right,” said Stratton. “But we'll have to factor in people being converted, although I guess that could be cancelled out by Muslims and Christians who refuse to get caught up in the fervour.”

“And how do we reach these potential allies?” asked Grady.

“Well,” said Stella. “I suppose we reach people the same way everyone else does – through the media. We use television, radio, the internet – whatever's available.”

“And how do we convince them that the religions are lying?”

“We produce a miracle worker of our own. One who tells them exactly where the power comes from.”

Stratton shot her a sharp glance.

“Why not?” she said.

“Because I don't want to, that's why not. I'm supposed to be dead, remember?”

“Exactly,” said Stella. “You'll trump Christiano easily.”

Stratton shook his head. “No. It's not going to happen. People will start treating
me
like some kind of Messiah, and that's what we're trying to get them away from. We're trying to get people to think for themselves. We want them to step away from mass religion, not set up a new one.”

“Look, Stratton,” she said. “If you've got a better idea then we'll try it. But ultimately these people need to be exposed, and you're the only person who can do it. Think about it – not only can you persuade the rest of the world, you'll probably be able to stop a lot of Muslims and Catholics from getting embroiled in the fight. You can appeal to their fundamental desire for peace. The majority of these people don't want confrontation, it's not in their nature, they just need a legitimate voice of reason to persuade them to stay out of the madness. If you stand up and speak then people will listen.”

“Maybe,” Stratton admitted. “But you're forgetting that any power I have is dependent on the prevailing mood. If the whole world's already at odds then I'll have no way of proving that I can perform the same feats as Christiano and the Mahdi.”

“That's why we have to act now,” said Stella. “Before the world does tip over the edge.”

“I don't know, Stella. I'm still not convinced that I won't just be starting another religion.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, Stratton!” she shouted. “Wake up and smell the fucking coffee! Grow a bloody backbone for Christ's sake! You always come out with some bloody excuse to avoid responsibility. It's been the same ever since I've known you. Every time something means putting yourself out you come up with some bloody clever philosophical excuse not to bloody well do it. It's always ‘let people work it out for themselves' or ‘it's not really my place to get involved'. Well this time people aren't working it out for themselves and it
is
your place to get involved. I don't care if you are some super-being from the limits of the cosmos, at the moment you're human and that means taking some action to help the rest of us mortals.” She exhaled loudly. “Christ, you make me angry sometimes.”

The table went deadly silent. Jennings and Grady pulled a grimace at each other. Stella lit a cigarette.

Stratton crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks awkwardly. “Okay,” he said slowly, unsure of how to proceed in the face of Stella's tirade. “I think you might have a point.” He looked around the table to see if anyone else was going to speak. It was clear that they weren't. “But this isn't about me avoiding responsibility. This is about logistics and doing the right thing. My power is dwindling already, so even if I wanted to I can't go out there and perform miracles like Christiano and the Mahdi. And if Ayres has his way the Mahdi will probably be dead within the day, and then I'm going to be no use whatsoever. I think in essence your plan was a good one, and with a few tweaks here and there it might have been viable, but the way things are we just can't implement it as you'd like with me as a figurehead.”

Stella tutted and took a drag of her cigarette.

“I think you're on the right track though,” he said, trying to pacify her. “We need to reach people and let them know that the whole thing is a sham. The question is how we go about it.”

“I think it's like Stella said,” Cronin pitched in. “We need to somehow get control of the media. We need to petition all the world leaders and try to get them to see sense and put a stop to this. The ones that aren't already in the pocket of either religion that is.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” asked Jennings.

“I expect between us we've got more contacts and influence than we think,” Cronin explained. “I know for a fact that Kandinsky was a very good friend of both the Russian President and Prime Minister. Is that right, Gregor?”

Kharkov nodded. “It is true. I will be able to gain the support of Moscow. I will also be able to influence the media, we are friends with major shareholders in a large number of networks throughout the world. Arman knew all the most influential men, including Rupert Murdoch. They were very close and he will be saddened to hear of his demise. I am certain he will want to work against his killers.”

“Good,” said Cronin. “Well that's a start. What about America, Grady? Is there any way that we can get through to the President? Surely you must still have some good contacts?”

“I can give it a go,” said Grady. “I'm certainly owed a few favours. I can't imagine this situation is sitting well with the Washington power brokers. Religion's the one thing they can't control. And there's nothing they hate more than being out of control.”

“What about China?” asked Jennings. “They're the biggest country in the world aren't they? I mean, population wise.”

“Yeah, they are,” said Stratton. “I imagine they're just watching and waiting at the moment to see what happens. They do have some Christians and Muslims, but their main religions are Buddhism and Taoism. They probably won't get themselves involved unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm guessing the state will put an immediate stop to any infighting. If anything you have to put them down as allies because they aren't going to be encouraging violence.”

“Okay then,” said Cronin. “Let's leave China out of the equation for the moment.” He paused. “The Middle East is obviously going one way only, so there's no point appealing to their better nature. Although I expect the Israeli's will quite happily stand against both sides. Any thoughts on India?”

“India's a tricky one,” said Stratton. “I can see all sorts of trouble brewing there. It's so diverse that it'll be impossible for the authorities to control.”

“Good point ,” said Cronin. “What about Europe?”

“Again, it's diverse, isn't it,” said Stratton. “It's predominantly Christian but there's plenty of Muslims. I can see it becoming a real battleground. I'm not sure there's any way for the authorities to get a grip, even if we can persuade them.” He sighed. “Anyway, all this is getting away from the main point. I don't think we're going to have that much trouble convincing governments that the Mahdi and Christiano are fakes: like Grady said they'll be only too happy to hear the news if it means retaining control of their population. What we are going to have trouble doing is getting them to rein people in without recourse to violence. As soon as there's a whiff of civil unrest the military will be sent in.”

“I don't think there's any way of avoiding military action now,” said Grady. “Even if the Mahdi manages to escape being killed I think it's inevitable eventually. But if Stratton's right and it happens today then there's going to be an immediate holy war. And it won't matter how many people we influence – there
will
be bloodshed.”

Stratton leant back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “Maybe you're right,” he said. “But we've got to try at least. If we don't then it's going to be Armageddon.”

Jenna sat by Tariq's bedside holding his hand. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness all night, but the medical staff said his condition was stable. She had lied to them and said she was his wife. She knew, however, that the subterfuge wouldn't last and the police would eventually find out and call his family. Once they arrived she knew she would be unwelcome. Until then she would stay by his side and comfort him as best she could.

Tariq opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Still here?” he croaked.

“Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

“What about work?”

“Don't worry about that. I've phoned in and Bunty's fine with it. How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been run over by a train.”

She squeezed his hand. “I really thought I'd lost you last night. How could somebody do this to another human being? Do you know who it was?”

Tariq shook his head gingerly. “No. Just some blokes. I guess they were white, from what they were shouting.” He coughed loudly. “Have you phoned my parents yet?”

Jenna hung her head. “Not yet,” she admitted. “I wanted to stay with you.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said. “I want you to stay with me as well. They'll only make things worse. Let's wait a while.”

“If that's what you want?” she said.

“That's what I want.”

Jenna looked up to his battered face. She had had plenty of time to get used to it but it still made her sick inside. Not because it made him unattractive or diminished her feelings, but because it reminded her constantly of the violent and fearful nature of man. That anybody could wish to impart such pain on another human being was quite beyond her. She wondered if his attackers could see him now exactly what they would think. Would they stand by their vicious assault? Or in the cold light of day would they repent of their ignorant, senseless crime? She wanted to believe the latter, but perhaps it was a false hope.

“How long will I have to stay in here?” asked Tariq.

“I don't know,” said Jenna. “But I think they'll probably have you out as soon as they possibly can. The doctor said that they'll probably keep you in for today and tonight for observation, but if they're satisfied then you may be able to go home tomorrow. I know it's quite quick, but they're really struggling for beds at the moment. You're not the only person who's been on the wrong end of a beating in the last 24 hours. When I came in with you last night A&E was overrun with people who had been in fights. The town's gone absolutely crazy, and it looks like it's only going to get worse.”

“That bad is it?”

“Yeah. It's getting that way all over the country. The government are calling for people to stay calm, but nobody's listening. There aren't enough police to cope with it now. The feeling in the media is that the army are going to be brought in to try and keep some sort of order. It's turning into some kind of surreal nightmare.”

Tariq gazed at her through his one good eye. “If I come out tomorrow, can I come and stay with you?”

“Of course you can. As long as your parents don't kick up a fuss.”

“I'm sure they will, but it's not their choice. I want to be somewhere where I can get away from all this religious hatred.”

Jenna smiled. “So do I.”

It was then that Tariq's family walked through into the ward. His father, dressed in a suit, was at the head, followed by his elder brother and then his mother and sister. They rushed over to his bed. Tariq looked to Jenna and she held his hand tight.

“Tariq!” exclaimed his father. “My son! What have they done to you?”

“It's okay, Dad. I am alright,” he spluttered.

His father gave him a concerned stare. “You do not sound alright, and you certainly do not look alright. And who is this?” he said, pointing to Jenna.

“This is Jenna,” said Tariq. “She's…”

“I'm his girlfriend,” said Jenna getting out of her chair. “It's good to meet you at last.” She held out her hand.

Tariq's father stood in silent alarm. He took her hand and gave it a half-shake through instinctive politeness. He turned to Tariq with wide, questioning eyes.

“I've been meaning to tell you,” Tariq stumbled.

His father regained his composure. “Could you leave us alone for a while please?” he asked Jenna. “We would like to see him as a family.”

Jenna's immediate reaction was to stay, but wanting to keep on their right side she decided to leave them as requested. “Sure,” she said. “I'll go and grab a coffee.”

As she walked through A&E to get to the coffee shop she couldn't believe how busy it had become. There were no chairs left, and many of the sick and injured were either sitting on the carpet or propped up against the wall in the corridor. She hurried along and tried not to take on the air of despondency.