A Sacred Storm (40 page)

Christiano looked uncertain. “I suppose so,” he said.

“Good. Let's give it a go. Let me know when you're ready.”

They stood up and faced each other. Christiano concentrated on the relevant symbol and gave Ayres a nod to indicate his readiness. Ayres threw a tentative tap towards Christiano's shoulder. Then another, this time slightly harder.

“Well?” he asked.

“I cannot feel anything so far.”

“Can I get a little rougher?”

Christiano nodded and Ayres began again, throwing more weight behind his punches. He continued to up the pressure until he was hammering away with full body-blows and hooks and jabs to the face. Christiano stood motionless.

After a while Ayres stopped. “Well,” he said breathlessly. “I guess we can safely say that it definitely works. I used to be a bit of a boxer at Oxford you know.” He poured himself a glass of water and sat back down. “Well, Fabio, what do you think?”

“Very impressive, Jonathan. But a few punches is not a bullet. This defence was designed way before firearms were even thought of. At best it will work against swords and knives.”

“I agree,” said Christiano.

“I appreciate that,” said Ayres. “But my guess is that the field will stop anything physical – be it bullet, arrow or whatever. And anyway it's all hypothetical really. Like I said, the Americans have got extremely tight security so nobody will get through. This was only to try and set Christiano's mind slightly more at ease. I do suggest that you use it before you go on stage though. Just to be sure in yourself.”

“I will,” said Christiano.

Ayres sipped at his water. “Good,” he said. “We shall all feel more comfortable now. This is a highly important address you're making tonight, Christiano, and you certainly mustn't be seen to be afraid. Remember, above all else these people think that you're the Son of God. They expect a voice of calm and reason amongst all the madness that is going on. They need to see that you are in control.”

“I understand what is expected of me,” said Christiano. He got out of his seat. “I think I will go and rest for the afternoon, and perhaps get some sleep. I am still a little jet-lagged.”

“Good idea,” said Ayres. “We'll see you later on.”

Christiano went to his room.

When he was out of earshot Vittori turned to Ayres and said, “Well, Jonathan, I really hope that you know what you're doing. If anything happens to him then we are finished.”

“You worry too much, Fabio,” said Ayres. “This time tomorrow Christiano will be very much alive, and the whole world will be in awe of the new Messiah.” He sat back and allowed himself a broad smile.

Jenna stepped out of her flat and shut the door behind her. She felt slightly better after a shower and a bite to eat, but the long sleepless night still weighed heavily. She decided that she would spend another couple of hours at the hospital, but return home at around eight to get some much-needed shuteye. She felt that Tariq was over the worst now and that her constant presence was no longer required. It would also sit well with his family if she left them alone for some extra private time.

After making doubly sure she had her car keys, she descended the stairs and exited the main entrance, making her way to the residents' car park. She looked up at the overcast sky and wondered if she should go back for her umbrella, but then remembered that it was already in the boot of the car. She hurried along into the wind, her hair cascading behind.

The car park was silent and grey. The wind eddied and blew the first spots of rain into her tired face. A sudden fear overtook her, causing her to cast her eye suspiciously around, watching out for an as-yet-unseen enemy. There was nobody there, but the tingle in her spine told her to move forward as quickly as she could. She shuddered against the breeze and started to jog. She squeezed the key fob and disabled the car alarm, the orange lights blinking brightly in the gloom.

Once inside she slammed the door and locked herself in and started the car. The rain started to hammer down and she flicked on the wipers. She was safe and yet she still felt exposed. She engaged the headlights and set off slowly for the road. It was then that she noticed a group of people assembling at the exit to the car park. She beeped her horn for them to get out of the way.

As she drew closer she started to make out their faces. It was a gathering of young Asian men. Probably a similar age to Tariq, she thought. Instead of moving out of the way they stood their ground and stared through the windscreen. She beeped her horn again, revved the engine, and inched the car forward with intent. This time the group parted and let her through, but not without a number of minatory glares as she passed.

The rain continued to beat down. She turned onto the Causeway and accelerated slowly, watching the group of youths disappear into the background. She was unsure as to their purpose, but whatever it was they had made her more than uncomfortable. There was menace in the air, mirroring the darkness of the sky, and her nerves told her to stay vigilant.

She switched the radio on to try and soothe her fear. She listened in disbelief as she learnt of the Mahdi's assassination for the first time. A chill spread through her body as the implications of his death hit home. Already the Muslims were laying the blame firmly at the door of the Catholic Church, and already the backlash had begun, with rioting reported in a number of major cities, including London. She had no doubt that even more trouble would hit Banbury soon, and that the gang she had just passed were only one of many readying themselves for violence.

The rush-hour traffic was quieter than normal but still provided Jenna with a sense of security. Once she reached it the pressure that had been growing inside started to dissipate slightly. The isolation of the back streets replaced by the relative safety of numbers. She couldn't remember being so pleased to be one of the faceless masses. She turned off the news and put on the CD player, and relaxed into some
Keane
.

Her peace was, however, short-lived. As she passed Morrisons' petrol station a large missile flew out from the left and hit the car in front. She peered out into the rain to see where it had come from, and saw a large gang of Muslims appear from the side street. There were over thirty of them and they were all chanting something in Arabic. They began to pelt the traffic with stones and bricks. All sense was lost as the road descended into mayhem, with drivers mounting the pavement and taking any available gap to get away from the destructive mob. Jenna swerved to her right into the oncoming traffic and then weaved across to the far verge. She had almost made it when something hit her backend and sent the car into an uncontrollable spin. She wrestled desperately with the steering-wheel, but to no avail. The car rotated 360° and crashed into a low wall.

The blow reverberated through her entire body, and for a moment she was completely disoriented. Outside the traffic began to pile up. Gathering herself as best she could she unbuckled her seat-belt and tried to open the driver-side door. She pushed with all her strength but it wouldn't budge. In desperation, with claustrophobia setting in, she jumped across to the passenger seat and pulled vigorously at the door-handle. The door did not move. Feeling herself becoming almost hysterical she took a couple of slow breaths and attempted to think. A few seconds later her stupidity hit her full in the face. She flicked off the lock and opened the door.

By now the road was packed with stationary vehicles, most of them smashed or dented. Jenna was surrounded and only just managed to squeeze herself out. She reached inside for her handbag, and without looking back, began to run away from the burgeoning riot. Behind her the shouting grew louder, heavily punctuated by the sound of breaking glass.

She ran quickly up the street, thankful that she'd worn trainers and not heels. The traffic backed up beside her with horns blaring and irate men shouting blindly out of wound-down windows, but her only interest was to get as far away as possible.

Eventually, almost half a mile later, her body could take no more and she had to stop. By this time she was halfway up Hightown Road and well away from the trouble. She dropped her handbag onto a patch of grass and then flopped down beside it, gasping for breath with her head cradled on her knees. The rain beat down on the back of her neck. The world she knew had changed forever.

Stratton sat in front of the huge television screen in the bar with Jennings and Stella. He watched intently as events around the world unfolded. The Mahdi's assassination had brought about exactly the fear and confusion he and the others had expected. Incensed Muslims all over the globe were taking to the streets, in emphatic displays of anger against the people they believed responsible for the death of their beloved saviour: the West and the Catholic Church. The hatred was escalating to unparalleled levels, and already the military had been deployed in heated troublespots.

“This is unreal,” said Jennings.

“If only it were,” said Stratton. “And this is only the start of it.” He winced and grabbed his left side.

“Are you okay?”

“Just about. I'm starting to feel it now though.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Stratton shook his head. “I don't think so. I would ask you to channel some energy into me, but after what happened earlier on I don't think it would be a good idea. It'd probably send you flying again. The best way to help is to keep calm and don't get caught up in everything that's happening. It'll help counteract all the negative energy. If you can summon up a few cheerful thoughts I expect it'll be even better.”

“I'll have a go,” said Jennings unconvincingly.

Grady walked in to join them. “How's it going?” he asked. “Any break in the storm?”

“No,” said Jennings. “What about you? Have you had any luck with the US government?”

Grady sat down in an armchair. “I've spoken to a few people, and the one thing I do know is that everyone's scared. The whole thing's becoming unmanageable. Internally, the atmosphere in the States isn't too bad, but relations with the Middle East are at an all-time low, as you can imagine. There's a very real concern that before too long this is going to turn nuclear. The Iranians have already made threats.”

“Surely they haven't got enough firepower to be a real concern?” said Stella. “Their capability's nothing compared to the States.”

“Maybe not,” said Grady. “But they've got enough to hurt. And if they start gaining allies elsewhere then who knows what could happen. The whole world's on a knife-edge at the moment. Nobody knows which way anyone else is going to turn.”

“So have you told anyone what's really going on?” asked Jennings.

“I've told people as much as I can without sounding like a lunatic. I've had to tread a bit carefully, because they're not going to let us through to the main men if they think we're off our heads. But having said that, I think they'll be prepared to believe anything that gives them back the advantage over the Church. At the moment they're having to pander to their every request. Take tonight for instance: they've had to second top men from all the various agencies just to police Yankee Stadium for this appearance by the Messiah.”

“That's still going ahead then is it?” said Stratton.

“Yeah,” said Grady. “They tried to get them to cancel it, but apparently the Church won't be swayed. They said that Christiano isn't afraid to face his people and has to make a stand. They said that as he is God's one true messenger there's no way that he could come to any harm. Of course, they still want all the security in place, so I guess they're not that confident in his abilities. What do you make of it?”

“I'm not sure,” said Stratton. “But there's bound to be more to it than meets the eye. They're up to something – I just don't know what.”

Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, New York is home to the New York Yankees baseball team. It opened in 2009 across the street from the old stadium which it replaced. The Vatican had looked at other arenas, but its iconic status made it the perfect venue for Christiano to begin his tour of the States. If there was one thing that united America it was baseball.

Christiano stood nervously in the wings. The stands were filled to capacity, as was the field in front of the stage. He had memorized the speech that Vittori and Ayres had written with him, but the sight of such a large and intense audience gave him goose bumps. In front of his home crowd, using his own language, he had been fairly confident, but now he felt well beyond his comfort zone. His English was very good, but he hadn't used it a lot since his school days.

“Are you nearly ready?” asked Vittori. “The crowd are getting somewhat restless.”

“I think so,” said Christiano. “I just hope they understand me.”

Jonathan Ayres patted him on the back. “Of course they will,” he said. “Just speak like you did when we rehearsed: it was beautiful English – crystal clear. And if you get stuck just look at the autocue.”

“I will do my best.”

“And remember,” said Ayres. “Don't worry about a thing, you're perfectly safe.”

Christiano took a deep breath and then walked out onto the stage. The noise that greeted him was unlike anything he had ever heard or even imagined. The stage shook with the applause, and his ears felt like they were going to implode. He looked out onto the ocean of bodies and for a brief moment thought about turning back. Then the energy grabbed him. It hit his chest like a bolt of lightning. They were here for him. They were all here for him. Forgetting his anxiety he raised his hand and walked boldly to the rostrum. For a while he stood there, soaking up the wild atmosphere with hunger; then he motioned for silence. The masses obeyed his command.