A Sacred Storm (38 page)

The coffee shop was inevitably busy and she had to wait for over twenty minutes to be served. Once she'd got her drink she went outside to the car park and lit a cigarette. The air was mild but the sky was filled with portentous black cloud. She looked up and felt a shadow grip her heart. She was suddenly isolated and alone. The wind picked up and blew a crumpled can across the empty tarmac. She shivered and huddled her arms close. A siren wailed in the distance.

She finished her cigarette quickly and downed the tepid and tasteless coffee in a couple of gulps. She checked her watch and saw that she'd been away from Tariq for over half an hour. Plenty of time for them to have had their family discussion, she thought. She went back inside through A&E and headed for the ward.

When she arrived back Tariq's family were still by his bed. His father looked up and stared at her suspiciously.

“Why did you not tell us that Tariq had been injured?” he asked.

“I was going to,” she said. “But I was so worried about him that I forgot all about it.”

“You lied to the police. You told them that you were his wife.”

“I wanted to stay with him.”

“Nevertheless, you lied.”

“Dad! Stop it,” said Tariq. “I wanted her here with me as well.”

“That is no excuse, Tariq. If she had not lied then the police would have got in touch with us much sooner. If we had not rung ourselves we would never have found out.”

“I'm sorry,” said Jenna. “I'm very sorry.”

Tariq's father gave a dismissive grunt. “It is very easy to be sorry after the event.”

Tariq struggled to speak. “Dad, please!” he coughed. “This isn't the time or place.”

“These things need to be said, Tariq,” he said, getting out of his chair. “This woman obviously does not have your best interests at heart. She is interested in herself, and herself alone. She is like all these so-called ‘modern women' from the West – she is greedy, jealous and divisive. Already it appears that she is coming between you and your family. I do not doubt that you were on your way to see her when you were attacked. I had warned you that the streets were dangerous and not to go out, but you disobeyed me. You sloped away like a thief in the night – and for what? For the false promises and wicked allure of a harlot.”

Jenna stood there, for a moment too stunned to speak. “Excuse me?” she said.

“I think you ought to apologize, Dad,” said Tariq.

“I apologize for nothing. My son is in hospital through no fault of his own. He has been blinded by lust and temptation. He is a good boy; a good Muslim, and you have tainted him.”

“Listen to me,” said Jenna. “I've done nothing to him. We're in love. Is that so hard for you to stomach? Don't you believe in love? Or do you only believe in control and subjugating women? It's not me who's in the wrong here, it's you and your outdated beliefs. It's the likes of you who've caused all that's happening at the moment. If you were a bit more tolerant then this world wouldn't be in such a mess.”

Tariq's father glared at her, his eyes ablaze with fury. “How dare you!?” he roared. “This world is in a state because of Godless people like you. You have no respect for Allah, you have no respect for your fellow humans, and you certainly have no respect for yourself. Our troubles are a direct result of the loose morality of the West.”

Jenna was about to reply when a senior nurse came up to calm the situation.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Could you possibly keep this down. This is a hospital – not the House of Commons. If you don't keep quiet I'm going to have to ask you all to leave. I'll call security if I have to.” She gave them a matronly stare.

“I'm sorry,” said Jenna. “You're absolutely right.”

Tariq's father mumbled an apology and sat back down.

Tariq gave Jenna an apologetic glance.

“Listen,” she said. “I'm going to go home and grab a shower and leave you guys to talk. I'll be back in a couple of hours, Taz.” She leant over and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Is there anything you want me to bring you?”

“No thanks, just yourself.”

She smiled and left him with his family. Outside the hospital she lit a cigarette and took a number of heavy drags. She hoped that when she returned Tariq's idiot father would be gone.

The Ataturk Olympics Stadium in Istanbul was packed to capacity. Over 81,000 people were crammed into the stands, and another 40,000 flooded the football pitch. The temperature was 90°F and rising. It was uncomfortable and unsafe in the extreme, but not a soul was heard to complain. They were there for a defining moment in their lives: the moment when they were going to see the Mahdi in the flesh for the very first time. They had watched the television reports and heard all the rumours, and now at last the great redeemer was coming to bless them. Anticipation electrified the air.

At the side of the pitch a large podium had been erected. Behind this was a temporary covered tunnel to allow the Mahdi to appear without obstruction from his followers. It was in here that Ali stood alongside his master waiting for him to take the stand. It had been a busy morning, with an early flight out of Mecca followed by a private audience with the Turkish president. After that they had been swept away to the stadium in a convoy of armoured cars. Ali had not even had time to collect his thoughts properly. He felt tired and confused, and was beginning to wonder whether he was really the right person to assist the Mahdi in his work. Also, the conversation of the night before kept replaying in the back of his mind, and he couldn't help but feel that something awful was going to happen.

“Is everything alright, Ali?” asked the Mahdi.

“Yes, Master, I am just tired. It has been a long morning.”

The Mahdi eyed him curiously. “Are you sure? You look most concerned. I am only going out to talk to these people. I have done it many times.”

“Yes, Master. But…”

The Mahdi rested his hand on Ali's forehead. “There is a reason for everything, Ali. For good things and bad things. As I have told you many times before – only Allah knows his own purpose. Do not fret over what might come to pass, just enjoy the moment you are in.”

Ali forced a smile. “Yes, Master.”

“Now,” said the Mahdi. “I must go and address the faithful. I will see you in a while.”

Ali watched his master ascend the steps to the podium. As he neared the top an air-shattering roar broke out causing Ali to cover his ears. It continued for over a minute until the crowd finally obeyed the Mahdi's appeal for hush.

“Welcome my brothers and sisters!” he started. “Welcome to this magnificent arena! I hope that I have not kept you waiting for too long.” He paused to gather himself. “I am here today to talk of many things. I am here to talk about faith, about respect, and about diligence and hard work. I am here to talk about honour, about truth, and about family. But first and foremost I am here to talk about love and peace.”

The crowd cheered.

“We are living in a world defined by war and hatred,” he continued, “and I am here to tell you of Allah's desire for serenity and harmony. Of his wish to see all men reconciled. There has been much speculation in the media about myself and the Christian Messiah, about which of us represents Allah's true intent. I hope that today I can prove to you that I am indeed a true messenger of Allah.”

The crowd cheered again.

“But I also hope to persuade you that I am not the only messenger he has sent. I wish to tell you…” His voice stopped abruptly and he slumped forward onto the rostrum and then down to the floor. The crowd fell silent. Blood began to stream from a dark hole in his temple. The two guards either side of the podium leapt across to help. They checked his body for vital signs and then picked him up and carried him down the steps away from the crowd who began to vocalize their disarray.

In the tunnel the guards laid the Mahdi down and called the medics over to see to him. Ali watched as they tried to save his life.

“There's nothing we can do,” said one. “We have to get him to a hospital.”

Ali knew in his heart that his master was past saving. He knelt down by his body to say a prayer, but was lifted out of the way. He watched helplessly as the medics stretchered the Mahdi out of the panic-ridden stadium. Before long he was alone in the tunnel. The crowd continued to bay.

When he'd finally gotten over the initial shock, his first instinct was to chase after the entourage and get a lift to the hospital. He cursed himself for being so pathetic and set off through the building. He negotiated the maze of corridors swiftly and made it to the exit just as they lifted the Mahdi into an air-ambulance. He was going to make a run for it and hop aboard when something stopped him. A voice inside his head told him to slow down and think. The Mahdi was dead, of that there was no doubt. The hospital would not be able to save him, and he would not be coming back. This meant that Ali had a task to perform. He remembered his master's words of the previous night, and decided that he must return to the hotel immediately. He needed to retrieve the box before anyone else could get their hands on it.

Stratton lay on his bed meditating. The enormity of their task was almost suffocating and he needed time alone to recharge his failing batteries. Their discussion had been animated and informative, but nevertheless inconclusive. However he looked at it there was no real way of stemming the already powerful tide. Their only option was to carry on regardless and hope that a solution presented itself naturally. He blocked all thought from his mind and drifted off into the ether.

Minutes or maybe hours later his peace was disturbed by a distant tapping. The noise grew until he could ignore it no longer. He opened his eyes and grounded himself back in the room, and then said loudly, “Come in, it's not locked.”

Jennings opened the door and stepped inside. “Hi, mate,” he said. “Hope I'm not disturbing you.”

Stratton swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge. “No, mate, don't worry about it. I was just having a little meditation. I needed to get away for a while. My head was starting to hurt.”

Jennings nodded. “You and me both,” he said. “It's difficult to get any sort of grip on the situation. Everything seems to have been taken out of our hands.”

“Pretty much,” agreed Stratton. “But sometimes that's a good thing. If you've got no decision to make then you can't make a wrong one. Sometimes the universe forces you into the right place at the right time without you realizing it. Remember – we're only little pieces in an infinite jigsaw.”

Jennings went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of mineral water. He handed one to Stratton and then sat down and had a long drink.

“Stella was a bit harsh on you, don't you think?” he said, after quenching his thirst.

“Maybe,” said Stratton. “Maybe not. I guess she had a point in a way. I have tended to shirk responsibility in the past. But it's not as easy as accepting responsibility or not. It's difficult to decide when to intervene in something and when to let nature take it's course. Like I said, we're only tiny pieces of the jigsaw and we don't always know where we're supposed to fit. If I take action on something am I doing the work of the universe or am I trying to force a piece in where it's not wanted?”

“I think that sometimes you think too much,” said Jennings. “There's no real answer once you start delving too deep, is there?”

“No, you're right, there isn't. There's only more questions. But wouldn't it be boring if there weren't?” He smiled and took a sip of water. “How are you feeling at the moment anyway? How's your attunement settled in?”

“I haven't really thought about it for a while to be honest, so I guess I'm used to it now. Although, I did try a bit of healing on Stella the other night, and that was an experience. I really felt the power flowing through me. I think I got just as much out of it as she did actually.”

“Yeah, that's how it works if you're doing it properly – it should be an exchange of energies. I'm glad you've started to put your talent to good use anyway. I might ask you to have a go on me soon if things get much worse.”

“Are you really not good then?”

“Not great, no. I felt fantastic a few days ago when the whole world was rejoicing at the second coming, but now the reality's set in I just feel tired most of the time. I'm certainly no good for healing anybody at the moment, I'm having enough trouble keeping myself alive. I just hope we can start to turn things around. But I've got a feeling they're going to get worse before they get better – if you'll excuse the cliché.” He smiled grimly and then suddenly clutched his side in pain.

“Are you alright?” asked Jennings.

Stratton shook his head and gasped, falling sideways onto the bed. Jennings jumped out of his chair and went to his aid. He manoeuvred his hands around and tried to place them on Stratton's ribcage. But as soon as he made contact a rush of electricity shot through his body and sent him flying backwards to the floor. He pulled himself up on his elbows and shook his head to clear it. Stratton continued to hold his side.

Jennings got to his feet and approached the bed once again.

“No!” yelled Stratton. “Don't! I'll be alright.”

Jennings sat down and took a drink of water. He watched as Stratton slowly regained control of his body and eventually sat up. “Are you okay?”

Stratton nodded. “Yes, mate. Just about anyway.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I just got this really bad pain in my side – like a stitch but ten times worse.”

“Well,” said Jennings, “whatever it was it sent me halfway across the room. I thought I'd been hit with a sledgehammer.”