Prophecy. An ARKANE thriller. (Book 2) (5 page)

She had spent years arguing with colleagues over the inherent goodness of people, the importance of the freedom to work, of education, equal rights for women and political democracy on both sides. Elian had been at her side for many of those arguments, smoking Noblesse and drinking his favorite Clos de Gat Har’el Syrah. She could still remember the taste of grapes and smoke when he kissed her. Morgan rubbed the back of her neck, willing the images away for this wasn’t the time to be melancholy. Elian was lost to her but he had believed in her strength and in what she could achieve. A passionate man, Elian had died as violently as he had lived. Perhaps they wouldn’t have made it through the fiery arguments, but now she would never know. Their love had been frozen forever that day on the Golan Heights and he was a hard man to replace. An image of Jake Timber, the ARKANE agent, suddenly came to Morgan’s mind, torn shirt on a muscled back, framed by the fires of Pentecost. As he turned she saw ash on his face and his tawny eyes alight with the flames. She sighed. Clearly it was time to get a date.
 

The taxi pulled into the gates of the Ezra Institute and after paying her fare, Morgan stepped out into the yard. It looked more like a prison from the outside and it seemed impossible for a patient to escape as Dinah had said. Morgan was officially here as an Oxford University psychologist who specialized in the psychology of religion. With her years of experience she could definitely justify her presence as a consultant. The door buzzed, clicked open and Dinah stood framed in the metal doorway. She beckoned Morgan through and enfolded her friend in a warm embrace.
 

“I’ve missed you. It’s been too long.” Dinah’s strong arms crushed Morgan’s slender figure to her own abundant curves.
 

“You too, Di.”
 

For a moment, they just stood there, hugging. There was so much history between them and Morgan felt like she’d come home to a beloved sister. Dinah broke away and poked at Morgan’s waist.
 

“You’re too skinny. What have you been doing with yourself?”

Morgan laughed.
 

“Feed me later. Let’s see this cell.”

“Always the workaholic.” Dinah looked serious. “But we need to be careful. Some of the people here know more than they’re letting on. The razor blade Abraham used has disappeared and no one seems keen to investigate how he got hold of it in the maximum security wing. It’s as if there is an active cover-up going on and I’m worried, Morgan. But come, I’ll show you Abraham’s room.”

They walked through the scrubbed halls of the Institute, past the wards of beds and interview rooms.
 

“It seems like you have more funding than when I was last here. What’s changed?” Morgan asked.
 

“The Israeli government withdrew all funding a few years ago,” Dinah said. “We had some money from religious groups, but they had a restrictive agenda. Now we get the bulk of our money from Zoebios.”
 

Morgan raised an eyebrow.
 

“Do you know of them?” Dinah asked.
 

“I’m just beginning to hear about their work,” Morgan replied. “What do they provide here?”
 

She noted the well stocked cupboards along the corridor and how clean the place looked. The last time she’d been there, the corridors were dark and run down.
 

“They provide bulk funding for the doctors and even pay my salary, as well as sending medication. ”

“And what do they want in return?” Morgan asked.
 

“Data. They use the information from Ezra in their global studies on health and well-being. We’ve been part of their neuroscience trials focused on anxiety.”

“It sounds like you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid on this one.”
 

“Still the cynic, Morgan?” replied Dinah. “But perhaps I have. I’ve gotten so tired struggling for funding all the time and it’s good to know we have long term support in Zoebios. They’ve funded several of my projects and they also offer sabbaticals at their other global sites. I’m considering taking a post at a clinic in South Africa, just for a change. Not so many Isaiahs and John the Baptists down there.”
 

Dinah laughed, but her smile faltered as they arrived at the secure wing.
 

“This is … was … Abraham’s room.”
 

Morgan looked through the square glass window.
 

“He was a special patient of mine,” Dinah continued. “I’d done a lot of individual work with him. I thought he was getting better, but then this. Something tipped him over the edge, and at the same time, Daniel threw himself from the Western Wall. Two suicides in one day. It’s unbelievable.” Dinah shook her head.
 

“Can we go in?” Morgan pushed at the door.
 

Dinah glanced down the hall where an orderly was wheeling a patient. Morgan could sense her friend was wary, afraid of what might be overheard, but she had come all this way to help. Dinah unlocked the door and they entered the room, now spotlessly clean and smelling of bleach and disinfectant. Dinah pointed at the wall above the metal bed.
 

“You can still see the faint lines of the image. We can’t get it all off and we need to paint over it. Abraham drew it in his own blood, Morgan.” Dinah’s voice was bereft. “I can still see his face when he said that God told him to kill himself. I feel like I’ve failed him, and I’m scared for the others. They’re vulnerable and they’re in my care.”

“It’s OK, Di. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

Morgan studied the outline on the wall. She had the original pictures that Dinah had emailed on her phone but they hadn’t adequately shown the scale. It was a life-size horse, rearing up with nostrils wide and flaring in wild abandon. On its back was the rider of death. She had seen this image before in the pale horse tattoo of Thanatos.
 

“What’s going on?” she whispered, studying the surface of the drawing. This had to be connected to the group who had pursued her across the world for the Pentecost stones, but why might they be interested in this Institute? A community of mentally disturbed people on the outskirts of a city turbulent with religious fervor. What was she missing?
Morgan went to Abraham’s desk, an old wooden table and chair that looked like one she had used at school. There was an mp3 player on the desk, its green chrome surface unmarked. It looked new, a contrast to the aged wood it sat upon.
 

“Are the patients allowed audio?” she asked Dinah, who was now sitting on the bed, her face haggard and drawn.
 

“Yes, that’s part of the study Zoebios is doing here. It’s a combination of drug trial paired with audio stimulation.”

“So where are the headphones?”

“There’s a special headset that goes with the audio program. Maybe someone took it back to the storage area. It uses deep trans-cranial stimulation and it’s been shown to reduce depression and improve mood. We’ve been trialling them for Zoebios in recent weeks.”

Morgan turned to her friend, her voice urgent.
 

“Di, I need to see them. Trans-cranial stimulation has also been used to invoke visions of God. Remember the Persinger God helmet we studied?”
 

Dinah looked up.
 

“Of course, but these headphones are nothing like that. They’re just slightly bigger than usual. The God helmet used by Persinger was more like a motorcycle helmet covered in electrodes. Anyway, I thought it didn’t even work.”

Morgan turned back to look at the outline on the wall.
 

“Certain types of people did sense a presence physically near them in the room during the study. Those with religious leanings believed it was God or sometimes Satan, so it might be relevant. Could you get me one of those headsets? I want to listen to what’s on this mp3 player.”
 

Dinah rose slowly from the bed, her back hunched and taut with stress. Morgan could see the toll this situation was taking on her friend. Dinah went back into the corridor and Morgan heard her footsteps recede down the hallway. The Dinah she knew was fast and active, but these steps were slow and heavy. She frowned and returned to her search of the room. Aldous Huxley’s book ‘The Doors Of Perception’ sat on a shelf and a quote from the book was stuck to the wall.
“Maybe this world is another planet’s hell."
Morgan smiled wryly. She had this book on her own bookshelf. She felt a flash of compassion for the dead man. In other circumstances would she be the one shut in an institute like this?
 

She heard a click from behind her.
 

Morgan turned to see the door shut and a brief glimpse of a face staring in at her. She rushed to the door to find it locked. She banged on it, shouting for Dinah. Then an explosion rocked the building.
 

Morgan braced herself against the door as chunks of masonry fell from the ceiling. She ducked to the floor, covering her head and then rolled under the metal bed to protect herself. She could hear patients’ screams above the cacophony of the alarm. Where was Dinah? Was she safe?
 

Another explosion, closer now. But this time the door buckled as the door frame broke and Morgan saw her chance to escape. Struggling out from under the bed, she grabbed the old wooden chair by the desk and smashed it against the wall. The chair broke apart as she focused her energy into the blow. Morgan wedged the leg into the crack in the door which had opened up in the blast. She used it as a lever until the lock mechanism broke and splintered, weakened as it was by the blast. Morgan forced the door back until she could slip through.
 

The corridor was full of panicked patients and nurses trying to keep them calm while leading them out of the building. Smoke was pouring into the corridor and there were visible flames at the far end. Morgan knew it wouldn’t be long until the fire caught hold and the whole building would be destroyed. She grabbed the arm of a passing nurse and shouted,
 

“Where do you keep the headsets for the patients? Where’s your storage area?”
 

“We need to get out. Please help me with the patients.” The nurse was clearly in shock but Morgan had to find Dinah.
 

“Which way?” she shouted at the woman, shaking her. The nurse pointed towards the flames.
 

“It’s back there, but you can’t go now, the fire is too close.”

But Morgan was already sprinting down the corridor. As the smoke made it harder to see and breathe, she dropped to her hands and knees. Covering her mouth with a discarded robe, she crawled onwards as the blazing heat threatened to push her back. Through stinging eyes, she saw a doorway open on her left and through the smoke, the shape of a body. Dinah was lying on the floor, her head bloody. It looked like she had been attacked before the explosion.
 

Morgan grabbed a sheet from the pile in the storeroom and laid it down. She rolled her friend onto it. Then she spotted a number of headsets with oversized earpieces in a box marked with the Zoebios logo. But there was no time to examine them now. Taking the end of the sheet, Morgan began to crawl back down the corridor, dragging Dinah’s body behind her, grateful that the linoleum meant she could pull the body easily on the slippery surface.
 

The smoke was heavy and thick now, billowing near the ceiling with flashes of flame shot through it. Morgan knew that the gases were building up to the point where there would soon be another explosion. They had to get out. She took another breath from the air close to the floor and then stood up, eyes squinting. She had more leverage standing, but had to hold her breath in order not to inhale the gases. Drawing on her last reserves of energy, Morgan pulled Dinah faster down the corridor, until they turned a corner and the air began to clear. At the end was a door opened to the courtyard beyond. Re-energized now, Morgan ran for it, pulling her friend to safety. They were spotted by firemen who were entering to tackle the flames and who helped them to safety.
 

Three ambulances with lights flashing stood in the yard outside the block. The patients who were still standing were being helped further away from the building. A paramedic moved to take the sheet from Morgan’s hand but she clutched it tighter, unwilling to let Dinah out of her sight.
 

“It’s OK,” the young paramedic said. “You can let go now. We’ll help your friend.”

Coughing and retching from the smoke, as her eyes streamed, Morgan finally relented and let go. She watched as they lifted Dinah onto a stretcher, briefly assessed her and began wheeling her to an ambulance. Morgan sat down on the pavement and breathed from the oxygen mask they had given her. She looked back towards the wards of the Ezra Institute, flames curling from the windows up the walls, the noise of roaring as fire consumed the building. The old furnishings, linen supplies and even the paint meant the fire caught quickly. People around her were talking about a bomb attack, perhaps the Palestinians or an extremist religious group. But Morgan knew this wasn’t a coincidence. There had to be a connection between the deaths of the men, the prophecy and this explosion. Perhaps it was a way to silence a particular doctor from investigating just a little too thoroughly.
 

Dinah.
 

Morgan had lost sight of where they had taken her.
 

She stood, looking around in desperation, oxygen mask discarded by her side. In that moment, she saw the orderly who had been in the corridor just before the explosions. He was getting into the back of the ambulance that Dinah had been put in. Heart racing, Morgan looked for a way to stop the vehicle before it drove off. She knew the man would finish what he had started if that door closed.
 

Behind her, a policeman was taking a statement and, like all Israeli police, he had a handgun in his belt. She knew the Jericho 941 semi-automatic would be enough to stop the man, if she could use it in time. Spinning round, she caught the policeman off guard and unclipped his gun in one movement. Morgan ran towards the back door of the ambulance as she aimed the weapon. The policeman pursued her, shouting at his colleagues to bring her down.