End of Days, page 21
They rounded a corner. Facing Julia was a large infinity swimming pool, its waters the colour of the Mediterranean, pouring downward in a waterfall to a sea below. Pale-pink and cream fabric cushions covered twelve gold-plated chaises longues. A swing seat with a canopy in the softest gold and cream stripe, with pale aqua cushions, swung gently to and fro in the mild breeze.
Books of every description lined the outside tables: fashion and beauty, Chanel, Lagerfeld, art . . . A white scalloped French dining table with matching chairs stood to the right, set exquisitely with Limoges china and crystal glass.
‘Oh, Adrian,’ Julia murmured, ‘it’s exquisite.’
‘It’s yours, Julia,’ he said, and kissed her hand. ‘All yours. This is your private garden, for you to recuperate from all you’ve been through. Your suite is through the orange grove.’
Julia moved nearer the waterfall and looked below. ‘Who are those people?’ She frowned. ‘They look like they’re shackled.’
‘Don’t worry your pretty head over our resisters. Follow me.’
Julia followed Adrian, her senses overwhelmed by the sensual fragrances all around her. They stopped at a dwelling of pure crystal.
Adrian pushed open the doors. ‘It is a small palace, created by my architects to suit your every taste.’
Julia gasped. The entire open-plan living room was in shades of azure, robin’s-egg blue, the palest pinks, gold leaf, and silver. Aubusson and Savonnerie rugs covered the floors. There was a library with a reading area, and a relaxing area with sofas.
‘To the right, you have your own personal spa. Swedish massage, facials, body wraps. Your sleeping chambers.’ They walked into a vast bedchamber with an enormous white French antique bed, with a silver and white canopy.
Adrian pushed the crystal doors leading to a vast dressing room. Julia sifted through the left side of the wardrobe. There were suits, blouses, dresses, all in her favourite colours, and all somehow tailored to her exact measurements.
‘Oscar de la Renta, Stella McCartney, Vera Wang, Vivienne Westwood. All your size.’
Adrian led her through to a closet off the main dressing room. Julia stared in wonder at the ball gowns of silk and tulle and organza. She gazed up at the crystal ceilings.
‘Light. Oh, you remembered how much I love light!’
‘At night,’ Adrian said tenderly, ‘you can see the stars.’
A nun stood in the doorway, holding a tray. Only her eyes and the lower half of her pasty face showed beneath her wimple, yet somehow even this betrayed her deep Teutonic origins. A long habit was draped over her thick-set frame. Below it, dark stockings covered a pair of calves like tree trunks.
‘Abbess Helewis Vghtred will look after you. You can trust her implicitly. She has been with our family for years. She tutored me when I was a boy, and she is here to meet your every need.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s time for Madam Julia’s medicine, Abbess.’
Julia frowned.
‘You were very ill when we found you, Julia. Rebekah had been drugging you every day. We need Dr Gravenstein to examine you. He is my own personal physician – nothing less than the best for you, darling Julia. You’ll be sedated to calm you. It will take less than an hour.
‘Madam Julia is to be at Dr Gravenstein’s surgery tomorrow evening at six.’
‘We have to get you strong,’ the abbess said softly in a strong Germanic accent.
‘Rest, my beautiful Julia.’ Adrian smiled. ‘I have my duties to attend to, but I will be there with you. I promise.’
Julia smiled weakly. ‘You’re so good to me, Adrian.’ She kissed him on the cheek and embraced him. ‘You promise.’
‘I promise.’
Petra
‘He’s going to sedate her; then Adrian’s ghoul Gravenstein will give her the Mark,’ said Alex. ‘Julia doesn’t have a clue who she’s dealing with. She’s like a lamb to the slaughter.’
David Weiss said, ‘If she doesn’t get the antidote within a six-hour window after receiving the Mark, her DNA will be permanently changed into Nephilim DNA. She’ll . . .’
Alex finished the sentence. ‘Aunt Jules will be a monster.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Two Hundred Metres Underground
Petra
‘My god!’ Dylan Weaver stopped and turned to Storm, who was looking pale. They both I turned to Dr Von Bechstein.
‘It can’t be,’ Storm mumbled.
Weaver nodded slowly, shaken to the core. ‘It is, isn’t it, Professor Von Bechstein?’
Von Bechstein nodded gravely. ‘Yes. We have been working on it for over eight years. It is the Resistance’s supercollider. It lies in a massive underground ring over two hundred metres beneath Petra and measures more than fifty kilometres in circumference. From a magnetic perspective, this device acts like a wormhole, as if the magnetic field were transferred through an extra dimension.’
‘Einstein-Rosen,’ said Maxim.
Von Bechstein gave him a curious look.
Maxim continued. ‘In 1935 Einstein and Rosen discovered what they believed was the existence of certain bridges that would be able to link two different points in space-time. The Einstein-Rosen bridges – call them portals or wormholes if you will – could theoretically allow something to travel instantly across huge distances.’
Von Bechstein ran a hand through his thick silvering hair. ‘Common knowledge in our field: the “wormhole from Jordan”, in layman’s terms. It should in theory connect straight to the Fallen’s collider in Babylon.’
Maxim coughed. ‘Has any form of matter been proved to have materialized from here to the Babylon portal?’
Von Bechstein shook his head. ‘The challenge is: how do we turn the theoretical into an actual working practical solution? We’ve approached the challenge from every angle. We’re missing something – some logarithm, some component. It continually eludes us.’ He raised his hands in frustration.
Maxim said, ‘Can I have a tinker?’
Von Bechstein frowned coldly.’ Is this, as you British say, a joke?’ He turned to Weaver and Storm. ‘He’s a butler.’
Dylan Weaver took him aside. ‘I’d watch your manners, Professor. The gentleman you see before you, mate, is one of the world’s foremost experts on wormholes. Astrophysicist and particle physicist extraordinaire.’
Maxim was already studying every aspect of the collider. Then, as Von Bechstein looked on, utter disbelief written on his face, Maxim transformed into Xacheriel, eight feet tall, his white corkscrew hair awry, his voluminous robes askew.
‘Blueprints!’ Xacheriel commanded, fierce authority in his voice.
Half-stupefied, Von Bechstein walked to the far side of the laboratory and came back laden with three huge bound manuals. Then he went back and returned with three more.
Xacheriel grabbed one and started reading. Von Bechstein watched in shock as the being he had known as Maxim the butler speed-read all six manuals in just over a minute.
‘You just downloaded the information straight into your cerebral cortex,’ Von Bechstein said softly.
Xacheriel gave him an impatient look. ‘Kindergarten stuff, Bechstein.’
Weaver rubbed his hands in glee. ‘Told you.’
‘I need a cat,’ Xacheriel said. ‘Or a chimpanzee.’
Bechstein pressed a buzzer, ‘Bring Atlas immediately.’
‘Give me two hours,’ Xacheriel barked. ‘Alone. I will have your answer.
‘Oh,’ he added, ‘I need to contact your counterpart in the Resistance working on the collider in Babylon.’
Bechstein, for some strange reason that defied his logical brain, wrote down a name and a series of logarithms. ‘Von Lowenstein is our contact. You can communicate with him through our secret communications system that links directly to the Resistance in Babylon.’
The door slid open, and Atlas the chimpanzee’s cage was wheeled in. Xacheriel looked deeply into the creature’s eyes.
‘Atlas, you are going on a trip to Babylon,’ he declared dramatically.
He continued to converse with the chimpanzee, making strange simian noises, which Atlas seemed to understand and respond to.
‘Ha!’ Xacheriel clapped his hands. ‘Atlas says he will travel through the wormhole on two conditions: one, that he is no longer forced to live incarcerated in that cage; and two, that he is given a supply of ripe bananas each day. He tells me that the bananas supplied to him are too green. Is that accepted?’
Von Bechstein was by now as white as the pages that Xacheriel had just read through. ‘Yes, yes. Ripe bananas, no cage.’
‘I shall convey the message,’ said Xacheriel. He whispered in Atlas’s ear, and the chimp jumped up and down, screeching.
Xacheriel flapped his large hands, waving everyone out. Go, go,’ he commanded. ‘Go! Now, Weaver, Storm, as my younglings are absent, I will need your hands.’
‘Two hours,’ Von Bechstein said.
Xacheriel grunted.
Two Hours Later
Von Bechstein entered the supercollider to find Xacheriel dancing around the centrifuge, his large hands raised in ecstasy.
‘Lowenstein tells me Atlas arrived in Babylon twenty minutes ago. And if my calculations are correct, which they always are’ – this with a glare at Von Bechstein – ‘he should be arriving back with us in perfect shape . . . any minute now.’
Lightning and loud thunder began to erupt from the centrifuge. When the noise finally stilled, Xacheriel carefully opened the door of the collider and walked into the embrace of an exhilarated chimpanzee.
‘Lady and gentlemen,’ he declared triumphantly, ‘we have an Einstein-Rosen bridge straight to Babylon. We can travel through the wormhole directly to the Fallen’s portal there.’
When the astonished professor could speak, he said, ‘Yes, it works!’
‘And now,’ Xacheriel said, ‘someone has to deliver the antidote to Julia St Cartier.’
They all stared at one another in silence, the same thought in everyone’s mind: Who?
King Jibril’s Quarters
Petra
Jibril and Alex walked in silence. Jibril stopped mid-stride.
‘Alex, I need your help.’
Alex frowned. ‘Of course.’
Jibril shook his head. ‘No. I have no right to expect you to embark on such a dangerous mission. But I have to lay it before you.’
‘It’s Aunt Jules, isn’t it?’
Jibril nodded.
‘Julia St Cartier. Alex, they’ve moved their plan forward. My intelligence alerted me that Dr Gravenstein will sedate her and implant her with the Mark in less than four hours. Her DNA will be transformed into Nephilim DNA. The so-called nuclear spill over Babylon was a complete hoax – a strategic plan by De Vere to eliminate all human contact: 150 square miles with no prying eyes. There is only one way to infiltrate it and get Julia the antidote,’ Jibril said. ‘Jordan’s supercollider.’
‘You already know my answer,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll do anything for Julia and Jason. I’m like a son to them. My mother and Aunt Jules were inseparable. She’d want me to do this. It’s a fait accompli, Jibril. I’m in.’
‘It’s extremely dangerous, Alex. Plus you’ll have to pass an intensive physical with Dr Gustav Anders. He was chief medical officer for NASA; looked after the astronauts.’
‘Jibril, promise me one thing – that you will protect Lily.’
‘My promise in the name of my ancestor Aretas the Great.’
‘Lily can’t know that her mother is in any danger, Jibril. It will break her.’
Jibril put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘She’s in good hands. We’ll look after her.’ He studied Alex intently. ‘I didn’t realize you cared about her so deeply.’
‘I do,’ Alex murmured.
‘I give you my word. As your brother-in-arms.’
Alex nodded. ‘I’m Aunt Jules’s only chance, Jibril.’
‘Come,’ Jibril said. ‘There’s no time to lose. Dr Anders, then the supercollider.’
Underground Gardens
Petra
Lily bent over the jasmine bush, inhaling the intoxicating scent. Alex studied her. She had changed this past year. She was twenty-one now. She had always been slightly built, but her strong features had softened. Her glossy dark hair framed the heart-shaped face. Lily had grown beautiful – not breathtaking like Polly, who could have been a supermodel, but she had a real, ethereal beauty.
‘Lily,’ Alex said, ‘I came to tell you I have to leave for a while.’
Slowly she raised her face to his. ‘You’re leaving?’
‘I have to complete a mission. It could be dangerous.’
Lily looked into Alex’s eyes. ‘How long will you be gone?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Lils.’
‘When do you leave?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Can’t you tell me anything?’
Again he shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Lils. I just can’t.’
‘James Bond,’ Lily said weakly. ‘If you told me, you’d have to kill me.’
Alex smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very James Bond, Lils.’
‘Is it connected with Dad?’
‘No. That much I can tell you. Jibril . . .’
Lily finished his sentence. ‘Will look after me while you’re gone.’
Alex moved a step nearer. ‘Yes, I did come to tell you that. He’s given me his promise.’
Lily turned away from the jasmine bush, her expression blank. ‘When will Mum arrive, Alex? I miss her so much.’
Alex grasped Lily’s hand. ‘Soon, Lily. Very soon. They’re working out her travel arrangements now, as we speak.’
Lily drew a deep sigh of relief. ‘At least I know Mum’s safe.’ She looked up at Alex with trusting eyes.
‘She’s safe, Lily. You don’t have to worry.’
‘And Dad . . . Oh, Alex, they’re going to execute Dad.’
Tears rolled down Lily’s cheeks. She made a heroic but unsuccessful attempt to wipe the mascara from her cheeks.
‘Here . . .’ Alex took the tissue from her and tenderly wiped away the smudged make-up.
‘No, they’re not, Lils. There’s a huge rescue operation under way. Elite forces. The very best. Your dad’s going to be back with you in no time.’
‘It’s okay,’ she sniffed. ‘It’s . . . it’s just that I’ve never been so scared in my life, Alex.’
Alex held the sobbing Lily tightly.
‘I’m so sorry, Lils.’ He took a step back. ‘I’m out of time. I have to go.’
He kissed her gently on her head, moved her gleaming black hair out of her eyes.
‘Hey, Lils. I think Jibril’s taken quite a shine to you. Imagine, you could be Queen Lily of the House of Jordan. Has quite a ring to it.’
‘My heart’s already taken,’ she said softly.
Alex strode out of the garden, leaving her staring after him with tears of undisguised longing in her eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tower of Alexander
Babel
Julia wandered out into the palatial gardens. She was still groggy. Every day, it seemed her memories of Lily and Jason were weakening.
She walked to the edge of the waterfall, then stepped back. She was sure she heard the sound of sobbing. She moved nearer the conservatory of orange, lime, and lemon trees. The old abbess had her apron over her face, her shoulders heaving.
Julia went to her and tentatively placed her hand on the abbess’s shoulder.
The nun looked up in horror. ‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘You cannot see me like this. There will be retribution. Now, go!’ The abbess ran into the tower as fast as her heavy legs could take her.
Underground Crypts, Supercollider
Petra
4 a.m.
Alex and Weaver threw on the olive-green coveralls of the Jordanian astrophysicists.
‘Storm, you, too.’
Storm pulled the uniform on over her jeans.
Weaver threw two official-looking passes to Alex. They were of the highest-level security clearance.
Weaver opened the small administrative room door, looked left and right down the corridor.
‘Follow me.’
Fifty metres later, they arrived at a desk manned by eight Jordanian soldiers.
Weaver bowed his head in deference.
‘Mr Weaver,’ the colonel acknowledged.
‘We are here on Professor Von Bechstein’s direct orders.’ Weaver passed over an official document in triplicate.
‘We have been expecting you,’ the colonel said.
Weaver nodded. ‘Thank you, Colonel Habib. You know the astrophysicist Storm Mackenzie, of course.’
The colonel nodded. ‘I have had the honour. You are from CERN.’
‘I was, Colonel, sir.’
‘My guard will escort you to the collider. We go no farther.’
‘Understood.’ Weaver passed him Alex’s documentation.
The colonel stamped Alex’s papers.
‘Rather you than me. Some strange things happening down there.’
He beckoned two guards armed with machine-guns.
‘Escort them to the supercollider.’
Babylon
Tower of Alexander
Julia sat up in her palatial bed, leaning against the pillows, flipping through the latest fashion magazines flown in from New York.
There was a knock on her door.
‘I’m awake.’
The abbess entered with a tray of steaming hot coffee in a cafetière, eggs Benedict, and the usual medications.
‘Your breakfast, Madam.’
Julia put down the magazine. ‘Please stay,’ she said. ‘It’s so lonely here with no one to talk to.’ She patted the bed.
The abbess shook her head vehemently. ‘It is not my place.’
‘Adrian’s left,’ Julia said. ‘And Guber with him. No one’s going to tell on us.’
The abbess put her fingers to her lips and walked to the far side of the room. She pointed to the ceiling, the two bedside lamps, and the television.
‘Take my breakfast outside,’ Julia said gaily.
The abbess nodded. They walked to the far side of the gardens.
