A Sacred Storm (46 page)

“Are you alright?” asked Christiano.

Sophia swallowed some more air. “I think so,” she said. “I'm not really sure. I need to get out of here. I'm getting claustrophobic.” She got to her feet and turned the lock. “Come on,” she said. “Come with me, we'll go out together.” She held out her hand.

Christiano reluctantly rose to his feet and followed her. Outside the rest room Ayres and Vittori had turned up and were waiting impatiently.

“Thank God,” said Ayres. “I thought you were never going to come out. Is everything alright?”

Christiano gave a non-committal shrug.

“Come on,” said Ayres. “You've got a press conference to address.” He led them down the corridor to the press room where President Mackenzie was waiting behind the curtain. He looked relieved when they finally turned up.

“I thought we'd lost you there,” he said. “Mind you, this is a big place. I've been here over three years and I still get lost myself at times.”

“I was not lost,” said Christiano, curtly. “I wanted some time on my own.”

“That's fine,” said Mackenzie. “But at least you're here now. Let's get out there and give them what they want.”

“I'm not sure if I can,” said Christiano.

“What do you mean?” said Mackenzie. “We've planned this already.” He turned to Ayres. “What's going on, Jonathan?”

Ayres attempted to assuage the Messiah. “Come on, Christiano,” he said kindly. “I know you have some reservations, but it's not all that bad is it? You only need to give them five minutes and then that'll be it for the day. You can relax and have a wander round the White House with Sophia. Or do whatever you like. All we need you to do is this one little thing.”

“Yes, Jonathan, it is just one little thing. But it is not my little thing. You want me to go out there and tell the world what
you
want them to hear, not what I want them to hear.”

“Well, what do you want them to hear?” asked Ayres.

“I don't know. I have not had enough time to think about it. I need some space to myself.”

“Well, how long do you need? Five minutes, an hour?”

“I need longer, much longer. I am going to go back to Rome, to the Vatican. I need to be somewhere familiar.”

Mackenzie began to panic. “For Christ's sake, Jonathan! Do something will you. I thought we had this all sorted.”

Ayres tried to keep his cool. “Come, Christiano,” he said. “I know you're confused, but that is why we have written your speeches for you. You have to trust that we know what is best for the people of the world.”

“No, Jonathan, I do not trust that. I have come to realize that you only want what is best for you. You only want that which gives you the most power. It is the same with all of you. I have had enough of being told what to say and what to do. I am the Messiah, I shall keep my own counsel from now on.” He took Sophia's hand and started to walk off.

“Listen here, Christiano,” said Mackenzie. “You have a responsibility to the people of the United States. You came here to give an address and we expect you to do it. I cannot allow you to leave until you do.” He nodded to his Secret Service men who stood in front of Christiano blocking his way.

“I suggest you remove yourselves,” said Christiano.

The men didn't move.

“Very well,” he said.

Ayres felt his spine tingle with fear. “No!” he yelled.

It was too late. The men were already on their knees choking. Christiano breezed past and turned to face Ayres and Mackenzie.

“I want a helicopter outside on the lawn in five minutes.”

“Listen here, Christiano…” Mackenzie started. Before he could finish his sentence he felt what he thought was an electric shock pass through his body and slam him against the wall.

Christiano looked down at him coldly. “Five minutes,” he said.

Stratton coughed heavily and reached for his left side, the momentum taking him from his chair. He lay on the floor of the conference room writhing as the pain took hold once again. Cronin, who was nearest, rushed to his aid, but was fended away by a flailing hand.

“No!” spluttered Stratton. “Keep away!”

Cronin stepped back in confusion.

“It's alright,” said Jennings. “The same thing happened yesterday. I tried to help him and got thrown back across the room for my troubles. Give him a minute and he'll be okay.”

Cronin was dubious but sat back down and waited with the others for Stratton to regain control. Bob Tobin watched curiously.

Half a minute later Stratton was back on his feet. He returned to his chair and took a drink of water.

“I take it something bad's happened then,” said Jennings.

“I guess it must have done,” said Stratton. “I've no idea what though.”

“Could somebody enlighten me as to what's going on here?” asked Tobin.

“It's like we told you before,” said Jennings. “Stratton's well-being is linked to whatever's going on around us. At points when something terrible is happening the pain becomes more acute. It happened yesterday just after the Mahdi was assassinated.”

Tobin was about to speak again when Greg Albany burst into the room. “You're still here,” he said, catching his breath. “Good. I was worried you might have gone.”

“What's up, Greg?” asked Grady.

“It's Christiano. He's attacked the President.”

“What?!”

“Behind the press room just now. He took out a couple of Secret Service and then turned on Mackenzie.”

“How the hell did he take out two men?” asked Tobin.

“We don't exactly know. They just crumbled in front of him. The President was thrown against the wall. It seemed like he did it with his mind.”

“Jesus!” said Grady. “What's happening now then?”

“Christiano's waiting for a chopper to take him to the airbase so that he can get a plane back to Rome. It doesn't look like we can do anything to stop him – unless…” He looked to Stratton.

“I'm not sure what I can do,” said Stratton. “I'm not in the best shape at the moment. Perhaps it's best to let him go if that's what he wants.”

“And let him get away with assaulting the President?”

“If you have to, yes.”

“But we need him to make his speech to the people. We need him to pacify their fears. You know the position we're at. We need him visibly backing the President and his Administration.”

“You can't force him to do something he doesn't want to,” said Stratton. “I expect that's how this all started in the first place. You're going to have to let him go otherwise the situation will only get worse.”

“If we let him go then the situation will definitely get worse,” said Albany. “These are troubling times for the United States and people need reassuring. The President's word alone just isn't cutting it. Can't you at least try and talk to him – you're the only one who might be able to understand what he's going through.”

“That's rich,” said Stella. “Half an hour ago you lot were saying that our claims were a load of rubbish. And now you suddenly believe that we were telling the truth?”

“The decision was nothing to do with me,” said Albany. “And it wasn't a slight on the validity of your claims. It was solely a matter of expedience. For what it's worth I believed you from the start – I've been suspicious about these so called ‘Messiahs' from the moment they appeared. It always seemed a bit convenient that they turned up at almost exactly the same time. But look, we haven't got time to argue about it, the chopper will be here any minute. Will you try and talk to him?”

Stratton nodded. “I suppose I'd better. But I'm only doing it to try and calm him down. He's dangerous at the moment and that's no good for anybody. I'm not going to try and persuade him to do your dirty work.”

“Thanks,” said Albany. “Follow me and I'll take you to him.”

He led them through the building at speed, fending off questions from passing staff with a dismissive wave of his hand. Jennings walked beside Stratton helping him along as the pace increased. It hadn't surprised Jennings that Christiano had started to display signs of aggression, his own experience of Reiki attunement may not have been on the same scale but it had certainly caused him a few anxious moments when he felt unable to stay in control. Given the wrong circumstances he could see how easy it would be for someone to get carried away with the flow of energy. Sometimes the power was so strong it left you without a will of your own.

Christiano was waiting outside with Sophia. The sky was grey and steadily blackening. Stratton walked across to join them, leaving the others inside. Christiano eyed him with suspicion as he approached.

“Who are you?” he asked with a scowl.

“My name's Stratton. I've come to see if you're alright,” he said in bad Italian. He held out his hand. Christiano took it, but flinched at the touch and withdrew.

“Have you really come to see if I'm alright?” he grumbled. “Or are you here to try and keep me here like the others. If you have then I suggest you leave.”

“I'm not trying to keep you anywhere. It's none of my concern whether you stay here or not.”

“Well, what is your concern then?”

“My concern is you. I know what you are, Christiano, and I know what you are not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. It means that I know you are not the Messiah. I know where your power comes from.”

Sophia looked at her love questioningly. “What does he mean, Christiano?”

“I don't know what he means. I am the Messiah and no-one should question my divinity.”

A soft rain began to fall.

“I'm not here to argue with you, Christiano, I'm here to help you,” said Stratton. “I know what the Church have done to you. I know that Vittori and Ayres have given you too much power and tried to corrupt you for their own purpose. And I know that if you carry on the way your going you will destroy yourself, and possibly the world.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“I just do.”

“That is no answer.”

“I haven't got time for the long answer. I'm just here to let you know that you're not alone. I know all about the symbols and I know how to use them too. I know what you're going through. I know about the light and the darkness, and I know about the visions and the confusion. I can help you control your emotions and harness your power properly.”

“I do not need help from you or anybody else. I am the one with the knowledge. I am the one with the power. Nobody is going to tell me what to do anymore.”

The sound of rotor blades grew loud overhead.

“I don't want to tell you what to do! I just want to help you!” yelled Stratton, trying to be heard over the approaching helicopter.

“Listen to him, Christiano!” Sophia pleaded, her hair flowing in the downdraft. “You don't have to do this alone!”

Christiano hesitated for a moment and then took Sophia's hand and led her towards the waiting chopper. She looked briefly to Stratton and then resigned herself to leaving.

Stratton watched them climb aboard and rise up into the darkness.

The battle of Bretch Hill raged on. The rioters had been subdued briefly by tear gas, but it hadn't taken them long to regroup and return even more frenzied than before. Paul Smith and his small group had retreated once again and were awaiting fresh orders. He looked up into the ominous sky and felt the hope drain from his soul.

“I think this is it,” said Graham.

“What's that? asked Paul.

“Just it. I've got a bad feeling in my bones about this one. It feels like the end of the world.” He pointed upwards. “Look at that. I can't even tell what time of day it is anymore. It's permanently black.”

“I know what you mean,” said Paul. “And the worst thing is that it's silent and still. It feels like there's something massive happening up there, but it's taking an age to brew.”

“How can you tell if it's silent with all this noise going on behind us?”

“I can just tell.” He pulled out his cigarettes and offered one to Graham.

“Cheers, mate. I don't suppose it matters how much we smoke now, we're not going have time to develop lung cancer.”

“No, I guess not,” laughed Paul. He drew a flask from his pocket. “How about a little nip of the good stuff?”

“Don't mind if I do.”

A hundred yards away the riot continued.

“You'd think they'd have got tired by now,” said Graham. “I mean, how long have they been at it? Must be a good four or five hours.”

Paul checked his watch. “Yeah, it's getting on for that. Maybe it'll cool off once they get hungry. Perhaps everyone will stop for tea, like in the old days.”

Graham swigged at the flask and handed it back to Paul. “Cheers, mate, that's hit the spot. That'll be it for me though. Need to stay alert.”

“Yeah,” Paul nodded. “It's going to be a long night.” He put the flask back in his pocket and took a lungful of smoke.

Out of the gloom the shadowy figure of Alan Rigsby approached. He drew up quickly and knelt down to speak to his men. “It's bad news, guys, I'm afraid. I've just had the order.”

“What?” said Graham. “
The
order.”

Rigsby nodded gravely.

The men took one last drag of their cigarettes and threw them to the floor. They checked their weapons and formed a line and marched forward into the warzone.

Stratton stood in the rain and listened as the helicopter faded into the distance. The look in Christiano's eyes had disturbed him. Whoever he had been before was long departed and all that remained was a fiery torrent of confused energy. He hoped he was wrong, but his gut told him that the young man was probably beyond recall. With a heavy heart he walked back into the White House.