Prophecy. An ARKANE thriller. (Book 2) (9 page)

“And have the experiments been successful?” Milan asked.
 

Maria smiled proudly and flicked onto the next slide to show a detailed graph.
 

“The results have far exceeded what we expected. You can see the various responses here from the different arms of the trial. A physical action was requested through the binaural channel, not just a thought, so we influenced actual behavior. We found that the feeling of the Other being present is particularly enhanced by the subject wearing oversized earphones that are a more portable version of the God helmet. This would also enable an easier rollout to the public.”
 

The screen flicked to show an image of the earphones.
 

“Within our clinics, we were able to pair this with an enhanced drug regime, which was even more successful.”

“But you have had problems as a result of the research, haven’t you?” asked Dr Armen Harghada. Up to this point the subdued lighting in the conference room and the close proximity of Milan Noble meant Maria hadn’t focused on the other men in the room. Harghada was Milan’s right hand man and a medical doctor. His job title was nebulous but he was feared by the Zoebios staff as he was known to have a formidable memory and allegedly made problems ‘disappear’ for the company.
 

“Correct,” Maria replied. “We did have some problems in one clinic. For those individuals already primed for religious mania, the suggestions can make them even more extreme. We have had two suicides in one of the clinics in Israel, where people are hospitalized with Jerusalem Syndrome. But I’m confident that with adjustments to dosage in their drug regime and changes to the audios specifically for such outliers, the research can still be used.”

Harghada leafed through the pages of her report.
 

“You mention LSD in some of your preliminary notes,” he commented. “It’s a class A drug, Dr Van Garre, and not even available for medical usage. What exactly were you doing with it?”
 

His eyes seemed to bore into her.
 

“It was a hunch, sir,” Maria stammered a little under his attack. “We know that LSD is a psychoactive drug that causes extraordinary shifts in consciousness with even small doses. We have conducted several small experimental studies combining its use with the audio input. We have performed the same tests with mescaline, based on Aldous Huxley’s ‘Doors of Perception’.”

“What’s that?” one of the other men cut in. It was Nechiffe, head of accounting. Harghada rolled his eyes but let Maria continue.

“Huxley is well known for his novel ‘Brave New World’ but he also spent many years experimenting with various alternative states of consciousness. ‘Doors of Perception’ was written as a recollection of a trip using mescaline, at a time when it wasn’t restricted.”

“What did he see?” Nechiffe asked. “Did it work?”

“He explained the experience with the analogy of Plato’s ‘Being but not separated from Becoming’,” Maria replied. “This is a complicated concept for those of us who haven’t experienced it but it could be described as a few timeless hours outside the world. There was no striving, just an experience of being.
 
I was particularly interested in his description of not being concerned for survival anymore and I interpreted this experience as a way to open the unconscious further to the suggestions we might plant with binaural technology.”

Harghada wasn’t finished with her and cut back in.
 

“Huxley was on mescaline, so why LSD for your trials?”

“They’re both psychoactive but mescaline leaves the subject mostly lucid and coherent, whereas LSD is characterized by confusion and disorientation. Mescaline has a stronger euphoric effect, but it also makes people want to lie down and relax, whereas LSD is more of a stimulant. We wanted people to be able to actively behave in a way we suggested, so we needed more of a stimulant. But these were tiny trials with willing participants in a highly regulated environment. We were testing whether a variant of the psychoactive drug could be used in extreme cases to reduce the negative side effects of anxiety but still enable the behavioral response.”

“And what do you see as the potential uses of this technology, Doctor?” Milan asked. He was so keen to know more that Maria was sure she would be getting her research funding approved.
 

“In applying it to the therapies Zoebios currently offers, we could use it with schizophrenia medication to encourage self-care and override self-harm. With post-traumatic stress, we could use it for promoting well-being and preventing suicide. It could be applied to treating addiction, in helping people give up smoking or stop taking harmful drugs. It could be used to ensure people follow regimes like weight loss for obesity. These initiatives could transform healthcare as they are non-invasive and have few side effects. Taking it further, the punitive aspect could be used in prisons for sex offenders and murderers. Research has shown that these categories of subjects respect a specific and different kind of authority.”
 

“And what are you asking for today? What is your funding proposal?”

Maria clicked the final slide.
 

“The next phase would be to move to more extensive trials by releasing the headsets to specific groups of people already using Zoebios’ audio programs and counseling. We can also pair with the clinics to test drug regimes, with the permission of the participants, of course. I would also like to publish some papers on the research. It has far reaching implications so it can only be a good thing if the data is shared.”

Milan stood, his eyes hooded as if shutters had come down on his enthusiasm. Maria felt a shift in the room. Had she asked for too much? Her confidence sank a little. She knew the amazing potential of her work, but did they recognize it?
 

“Thank you Dr Van Garre. We’ll discuss your proposal along with some of the others made today. If you would wait in the ante-room, you will be notified shortly.”

“Of course. Thank you your time today, gentlemen.”

Maria unplugged her laptop, picked up her papers and walked to the door where Milan Noble’s sharp nosed personal assistant waited to show her to the ante-room. Maria sat on the edge of the chair and waited.

*****
 

In the Boardroom, Milan addressed the group around the table.
 

“Gentlemen, I think you will agree that this research isn’t our core competency. Therefore it’s not something I want to heavily invest in. The rollout of the audios for anxiety and depression will continue but we won’t jeopardize its success with any changes. I will assign a small budget for some more experimentation, but on no account will this be made public. Persinger and the neuro-theologians are considered to be way outside the realm of science with this research. I fear it would damage our reputation to be seen dabbling in it. I will speak to Dr Van Garre later. Let’s take a break now and be back here in twenty minutes for the next funding presentation. Thank you.”

The board members checked their smart phones and chatted amongst themselves as they left the room, the proposal already forgotten in their busy schedules.

“Armen, would you stay please?”
 

The last man out shut the door, leaving the two men standing by the huge picture window overlooking Paris.

“I know what you want,” Harghada said after a moment. “This is the carrier that can spread the final message of the prophecy.”

Milan nodded slowly as he stared out the window. In his mind he imagined curls of smoke rising from the ancient buildings of Paris, the burning of the dead to come.
 

St Martin-in-the-Fields Church. London, England. 9.13am

Tourist crowds streamed into Trafalgar Square, another busy day in this glorious city as Morgan walked up the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields. She never tired of coming to London, although her retreat would always be Oxford. This city was life in all its infinite variety. There was no stagnation, it was ever-changing. When people couldn’t take the pace anymore, they had to leave, because London wouldn’t wait. Its waters rushed on, drowning those who couldn’t stay afloat in the myriad depths.
 

Morgan had walked past St Martins many times but had never actually entered. The daily concerts had tempted her, but there were always other things going on. Jake had suggested it as a place to meet, somewhere they could talk before seeing Marietti, the Director of ARKANE. After Lior had made the call to Marietti back in Jerusalem, it had taken only an hour before she had been freed although Lior had been livid at her refusal to speak further. She feared that perhaps their friendship was now over for good, but ‘no regrets’ was a keystone of Morgan’s world and she had none now. She believed in reinvention and that meant people were inevitably left behind.
   

At the doorway of the church stood a block of stone, ‘Word became flesh’ carved on its side. On top, a newborn baby emerged from the rock, attached by its umbilical cord to the stone. Morgan stroked the side of the carving, her fingers tracing the baby’s arm. It was beautiful, even though it represented something she didn’t personally believe in. It seemed strange to portray God helpless as a newborn, but the symbolism of the rock was pervasive throughout Christian art and architecture. It was modern art contrasting with the traditional church in a dramatic way.
 

Seen from Trafalgar Square, St Martins looked more like a classical temple, with its Corinthian columns, raised dais and pediment. The British Coat of Arms stood triumphant over the door with the lion, the unicorn and the motto of the monarch, ‘Dieu et mon droit’, God and my right. It was completed with the motto of the Order of the Garter, ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense’, Shame to him who evil thinks.
 

The strains of a recital could be heard from within as Morgan opened the door and entered the church. At the front, near the altar, a string quartet was playing. She didn’t recognize the piece but the music lifted her spirits and soothed her anxiety at seeing Jake again. She knew that this church focused on honoring God by being open and inclusive, a beacon of enlightened faith rejecting fundamentalism and enabling people to question and discover belief for themselves. The space was light and airy, lit by chandeliers in the high coffered ceiling. Carvings were picked out in gilt, the gold and ivory color scheme making the church a relaxing place. The dark wooden pews were hard and there were cushions that could be hired to soften them but Morgan chose to sit directly on the unyielding wood to gaze upwards. A second tier of seats rose above the nave on Corinthian columns, ornate capitals picked out in gold leaf. She was also surprised to see a sunburst of gold above the altar with the Hebrew letters YHWH surrounded by cloud. The God of this church was represented not just by the tiny baby outside but the invisible presence of her own all powerful, un-nameable deity. In the corner, a skeletal figure stood holding a dead child in his arms, representing the victims of injustice and violence. Behind the simple altar, a triple paneled window allowed rays of sunlight to fall on the musicians, who sat in a pool of honeyed light.
 

“Designed by an Iranian woman, you know.”
 

Morgan started at the soft voice and turned to see that Jake had quietly seated himself in the pew behind her. His dark eyes also looked up at the window, amber flecks picked out like the gold in the detail of the church. Clean shaven, Jake was dressed for the office but she knew that under his smart shirt, he was a man of action.
 

“What do you think it means?” he asked her, leaning forward, a touch of South African heritage in his accent. Morgan noticed his clean scent and the corkscrew scar just above his left eyebrow, a twister she longed to touch. He was so close and yet there was too much unsaid between them. He had left her, betrayed her, but then he had come back and saved her life. Now it looked as if a shared enemy would bring them together again.
 

Morgan looked back up at the window. In the centre of the middle pane, an oval of clear glass sat on an oblique angle with black lines of steel skewed around it. They formed a vortex with lines that made an extended cross. Green trees could be seen behind, a breeze rustling the leaves outside.
 

“Space and time bending around the creation spirit?”

Jake smiled. “The cradled egg thrown into this angular world?”

Morgan laughed quietly. “Whatever it means, I like it.”

He sat back in the pew.
 

“Are you really coming in, Morgan? We can find Thanatos with the new information you’ve provided. You don’t need to join us.”
 

Was that hesitation in his voice? Morgan couldn’t read him. But this wasn’t about Jake. She needed the change and the challenge ARKANE would bring.
 

“I want to find Thanatos,” she replied. “And I can’t let you have all the fun now, can I?”

“What about the University, your practice?”
 

“I can’t continue with the practice as it was, not after what happened at Pentecost. The deaths made news, even though I was cleared of everything. Oxford will keep me on in an honorary position and I can continue with my research at ARKANE.”

Morgan paused and the sound of strings soared in the space between them.
 

“Are you OK with it?” she asked.
 

He looked directly at her, his eyes giving no hint of his true feelings, but his voice was warm.
 

“Of course. We made a good team before, I’m sure we can make it work again. We can find Thanatos together, and I know how much you want to get your hands on the ARKANE database.” He stood. “Come on then, let’s go. I’ll show you around your new office.”

Morgan followed Jake down some stairs to the crypt under the church and then to the very back of the low domed space where a corridor dog-legged away from the main meeting area. There, amongst brass rubbings of life-size saints and boxes of postcards, was a tiny back entrance to ARKANE. It looked like a store cupboard, completely nondescript. Jake glanced behind him to check if anyone was watching, but the corridor was empty. He swiped his card and put his eye to the retinal scanner that popped out of a side compartment. The door opened.